Night Clouds E-Book

Domenico Corna

• Herausgeber: Robin Edizioni
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

In this mystical novel, a girl finds herself divided between her own reality and an alternative world created by her own mind. She will have to discover what the imagination can create. "Thought can reach wherever you want. To heaven, if you will, or to the darkest misery, if you think there might be, and to nightmares such as to call them hell." The route is full of unforeseen events and pain in the background of a town square and its boys adrift.
That novel keeps readers asking questions throughout, but its fragmented style often means that the puzzles never quite fit back together. However, readers who enjoy introspective, philosophical stories will likely enjoy it. A poetic novel that effectively integrates elements of science fiction, fantasy and drama.

Leseprobe

Domenico Corna

Night Clouds

To all the dogs and cats who have crowded our lives with love

“Fantasy can go wherever you want. In heaven if you desire it or to the darkest unhappiness if you think it can exist and you are afraid of it, make you live terrible nightmares so you can call them hell. Fantasy is a great and powerful instrument to be used just as a musical instrument, can lead to the best melody or make you shiver.”

PART ONE ...Up There on the Upland

Chapter One

The day was so beautiful; some wind came down from the mountain. Perhaps it was spring, or only its scent that, from the high layers slipped into the valley. Large, white clouds floated in the sky like ships that were being detached from the port begin their travel slowly, swinging, an enormous flock of sheep behind to invisible shepherd. Sometimes they joined, sometimes they were separated following an instinct that Martina couldn’t understand.

She had her eyes turned upwards, taken by their dynamism—their enchantment. Even her ears heard nothing but that slow flow along with a sweet music—an unknown mental motion. Also closing her eyes, the clouds continued to move in her thoughts, slowly. So she seemed to be in the middle of them—part of that soft and tender walk. Martina spread her arms for a moment in an instinctive movement, following an illogical urge to catch the clouds.

An unexpected and uneasy feeling, impossible to define, made a dark contrast in her mind. She began to gasp for breath like after a long race.

It was not an apprehension or a real fear; it seemed instead the effect of its consequence, as if she had as soon leave an disagreeable and distressing situation. A tense moment stirred her physical and mental state and made her heart race.

She did not know how much the white clouds and the heat of the sun had kidnapped her attention. Sitting on a large lawn, leaning on a willow tree with her nose turned upside down, was all her memory suggested at that time.

* * *

In front of her there was a white earth road furrowed with two parallels stripes like train tracks. The road unwound in wide curves between depressions and swellings of the land, as flowers bloomed from that fertile earth. Her glance followed the road until a pine woods, a black spot where the sun could not enter. Only one beam from above infiltrated, piercing the dark, dense woods like a fire sword, illuminating the land like a projector on the scene of a movie.

Martina turned her head to look the other way; the road disappeared just beyond. So she thought she was on some part on a plateau.

Her breath was back to normal; she decided to get up. Her legs answered to hard work, as if they were raising an enormous weight. Standing, she turned to look at the tree against which she had been leaning a little earlier. It was unusual the presence of a willow tree, which were accustomed to the humidity of the plains, on a plateau near pastures and pine woods.

She could not remember the reason for her presence: how she got here and what she was thinking before watching the clouds passing.

“Where am I?” she whispered slowly.

The sound of her voice seemed to alter the tranquility of the environment around her, as if an object were set down in the wrong place.

Lacking memory was a problem more serious than she had imagined. She had lost much more than few seconds: back in time, could not find anything. Memory was an empty can—completely empty.

“Oh my God, what happened to me?” She passed her hand over forehead. She did not remember anything: how she had come here and all the rest. Behind clouds all was disappeared. She looked like she had sunk her hands into a bag, sure to find something that was just there. But no recent memory was inside, and each time her hands emerged full only of uncertainty and fear. Only her childhood could give her some faded pictures. She knew who she was, how she lived her childhood, but the certainties stopped shortly after adolescence; after then, she did not remember anything.

Something serious must have happened. She looked down at her legs, arms, hips, breasts, and touched her head and hair.

“I’m not so old. Nor shabby” she thought, taking the first steps on the road in the direction of the woods.

She walked slowly, looking around carefully, paying attention to everything. Perhaps if she had caught any small reference or recollection in her head, everything would resume the lost order, composing like a puzzle.

But more she looked around, the more she shook her head and spread her arms in a terrible feeling of helplessness.

“Maybe on a vacation,” she thought, walking and looking around, “I came up here and, running, I bumped my head somewhere, losing my memory. Of course it must have been so; it cannot be otherwise.”

She touched her head, looking for some confirmation of her hypothesis, but her head, like everything else, was in good condition.

“Now, behind the woods I will meet somebody and the nightmare will end. He′ll tell me what really happened. I just need to get beyond the forest.”

It was only a short walk to the first pine trees.

“And if people were on the other side instead? If I were walking in the wrong direction?”

As she entered the woods and walked through the pines, the sun disappeared behind a wave of fresh branches, wrapped together with the intense scent of underbrush and fruitful humidity. There was a great variety of birds and small rodents running, immersed in their occupations, not at all scared by her presence. It seemed that nobody lent her attention, not even out of fear for a foreign presence; she had to be careful where she put her feet to avoid crushing somebody.

She felt a brief hiss and a blow to the head. Something solid hit her then bounced on the ground. She bent down, picking up an acorn. She looked at it while she again put a hand to her head. She had been hit by an acorn and, given the intensity of the blow, it could not have been falling from a tree. She peered around, looking for the culprit.

A squirrel from a nearby tree, after spying the effect of his wrongdoing, ran away and hid in a hole.

She remained for some time with the acorn in her hand, looking at the plant where the squirrel was gone. She wondered where acorns came from if there were only pine trees here. It was really a very strange place.

The sound of a brook stole her attention and also her doubts. A small river stood there, a little further on, foaming down between rock and moss.

Martina watched the water running, then chose two large stones to place in the water as steps and easily crossed the river.

“Maybe I died and ended up in some kind of earthly paradise.” she thought, stopping. There was also something humorous in this situation. Hit by acorns in paradise.

Walking slowly, the woods were soon behind her, and in front appeared some green hills slowly descending downhill. On the right side stood a massive mountain. The top was covered with snow and the wind, flowing on a deep and wide gravel, brought together a deaf and dark noise.

Martina resumed her walking on the way down, bypassing the bumps. The slope began to increase, denying perspective. She could see only directly in front of her eyes. The trip turned into something like a run.

After some minutes she had an image of the horizon: there were lowlands hills rising from awkward and fat clouds, all somewhat blending together in the fog. The hills had little definition, like mirages in the desert. Between her and the hills on the horizon was interposed a long and endless prairie of arid and stringy vegetation. The heat distorted images, and the bushes moved, swaying in a slow dance. The dry land seems to be a huge expanse of water reflecting the sunlight. It looked like one of those American prairies populated by bison and wild horses. The only plants were cactus like great fingers pointing to the sky.

Martina stopped her walk in disbelief at the sight. She looked back: the mountain was always still there, as was the dark sound of wind over the scree, as was the forest from which she had come. Her feet were still treading the fields whose consistency was more like that of expanses covered in moss. So radical a change of nature could not be justified, so fast a transition from alpine vegetation to another semi-desert.

“What kind of place am I now?” she asked.

There was no way for such a coexistence, two landscapes so different, with so strong a difference of weather. The fertile with the arid, dry climate with frequent rain—all so close to each other.

She passed the last green hills; down there it was an open space of beaten earth. Next, like a vision, a red and sloping roof of a house appeared. A pole came out from the corner; at the top there was a waving and cheerful flag flapping in the mountain wind.

“Thank God!” she thought, “for sure, somebody lives there. This is a good news for my confused head.”

The thought came back to the willow and the clouds as she checked to see if at least those recent images were stored. She was able to perfectly reconstruct the events from that time until now.

“Whatever happened before, my head has started again to work.”

* * *

Martina, following the road, went up to the building with the red roof. She stopped in the large courtyard right in front. The house was shaped like a horseshoe: two separate buildings connected by a covered front porch. The road ended in the courtyard, and three small paths branched off in different directions. A low fence, a little less than three feet tall, wrapped around the yard. It was formed by tree branches tied together with wire and nails, right as a mountain fence. Beyond the fence began the endless prairie.

She still could not believe that strange union of forest and desert. The fresh breeze from the mountain, laden with pasture and pine-tree fragrance, mixed with hot and strong aromas coming from the prairie and dry land, as if the wind itself, in strange eddies, delighted in confusing her sense of smell.

The dark wood shutters and trim gave elegance to the house′s exterior. A wooden staircase led to a mezzanine floor with a corridor. On the ground floor there was a large door with a sign hanging above: Edi′s Home.

“What a strange place.” she thought, looking around. She watched the yard, the house, the mountains, and the prairies.

“I wonder who lives here.”

She was sure she had never been here before and, in the deep silence all around her, she felt like it was likely that no one had been there for a long time. After some hesitation, she decided to verify.

She slowly and carefully approached the door. At the door she paused to look at the very strange bell: it was a long rope, like the one that announces the beginning of functions in the church. At the upper end, the rope had been unraveled into many other smaller and different cords. There were many hanging pieces of wrought iron in the shapes of animals. The wind made them sway slowly, sometimes touching, producing an unreal sound that seemed to come from a wider area.

Martina pulled the cord, bringing together all the animals. A large amount of clinking spread all around. She pulled a second time, waiting apprehensively, and was not sure whether to hope for someone’s arrival.

After the second chime, a sound of footsteps was heard from inside. Shortly after appeared the smiling face of a woman with a large apron. Martina lost any apprehension. The woman was short and, like in a mirrors fun house, the lacking height appeared in the width of her flanks. But especially, Martina noted her smile: spontaneous and joyful; for sure she would help her.

“Good morning, Martina—welcome!”

The unexpected greeting from the woman surprised the girl and stopped her any other consideration.

“Excuse me, but do you know me?”

The woman seemed surprised at such a question. “Of course I know you—you′re Martina.”

The girl nodded but watched the woman with curiosity and suspicion.

“Is something wrong with you?” the woman asked and smiled.

“No, no! I think not, it’s okay. I only have a little confusion in my head, but it’s okay.”

“Confusion?” asked the woman, surprised.

“Yes, I think I have some kind of amnesia.”

A contracted face further accentuated Martina’s expression. “I don′t even remember who you are.”

The woman smiled.

“It’s been a long time. It′s understandable you don’t remember me. My name is Ginetta; I am Edi′s mother.” She put a particular emphasis on Edi.

Martina still looked at the woman with curiosity. “Really—we know each other?”

“Of course, from a long time ago. Edi did not believe you’d come back, but I said, ‘You’ll see; soon she will be back.’ So now, here you are.” She opened her arms emphatically, as to welcome Martina′s having come back.

“I’m sorry, but I can′t join your joy; I completely lost my memory—I don′t remember ever being up here. I have such a mess in my head. I forgot everything. Who I am, who I was, what I did in my life. I keep only some memories about childhood.”

Ginetta smiled with wide-open eyes; she seemed to struggle to restrain a great emotional urge to hug the girl. She seemed only to be waiting for a nod from Martina for permission to show her joy.

Martina would have this affection—that round and nice face, but the woman was a stranger to her, and she did not feel like hugging her. She looked down, and Ginetta understood her reticence; she changed her demeanor but not her smile.

“I’m really glad you′re here again; you’ll see, everything will work out, and you′ll have back your memory, I’m sure. Meanwhile, it’s better have a little rest; I have prepared your usual room.”

“My usual room?” interrupted Martina.

“Of course, your favorite room. All the times you′re up here, you′ve always wanted the same room.”

“I′ve been long here?”

“Oh yes! There was a time when you did not want down anymore; you said this was your world, and you just wanted to stay here forever.”

Ginetta looked back again at Martina. “But really you don’t remember?”

Martina shook her head. “I don’t remember anything about all the things you are telling me and who knows how many other.”

“Don’t worry; everything′s gonna be okay.”

Martina nodded with a smile. “But—for the payment? I just don′t have any money with me,” she said, putting her hands in her pockets.

Ginetta smiled, amused. “Don′t worry! It’s all already paid in advance—from a long time!”

Martina could not understand.

“From a long time,” said Ginetta, still smiling wistfully.

* * *

They crossed the courtyard and climbed the wooden staircase to the first floor. They climbed, silently except a slowly creaking the polished floorboards. They went into the hall and Ginetta opened the door of the first room. “Here we are, this is the room! Do you like it?”

Martina smiled and went inside, but the contrast with the strong external light made the room dark; without checking, she replied affirmatively.

With a smile, Ginetta handed her the keys and went back into the hallway. “Keep your time; here, you can take all the time you want.”

The door closed, leaving Martina alone in gloom. She waited for a moment, then went to one of the two windows. The shutters creaked, opening; the wind hit Martina on the forehead and blew back her hair. She turned around to look at the whole room and just smiled.

The four walls were covered with drawings of dogs and cats of all shapes and colors and in all possible attitudes: dogs eating, running, and even peeing. Cats sneaked behind bushes or slept on straw chairs. The ceiling was full of clouds: drawn clouds with noses, eyes, and expressions of wonder. They had some features in common with the clouds Martina had seen near the willow tree.

“What an odd place,” she whispered, looking at the drawings.

She went back to the window and rested her arms on the windowsill that faced the mountain. Pushed by the wind, inside came a pleasant smell of grass and undergrowth.

On the opposite side there was another window; Martina went in that direction and opened two shutters and was impressed by a sight so out of the ordinary: an endless prairie undulating in the heat from the ground.

Maybe because of the immensity of the prairie or the limitless vista, something moved in her head—feelings impossible to define, excitation so strong. She felt the desire to run away until she reached the low hills on the horizon.

It was the imagination calling Martina to let herself go: close her eyes and run without limits on an inviting prairie—bright, near and far, timeless. Those profiles of vegetation, so brave to adapt to the dry land, seemed to arise from nowhere.

Martina′s thinking was behaving as if she were back home and, out of happiness, she would run up and down into the prairie. Her mind was much larger than the body that surrounded it; an irrepressible force urged her to set her body aside, close her eyes, and let go.

Martina was scared, wondering if this urge was of the same power that had wiped her past from her mind as a load too heavy to bring along. Her heart began beating faster and her breath stumbled. It was all too powerful to be compressed into a small body.

She was scared; she opened her eyes looked down, and checked her breath. It was the same breathlessness feeling she had had near the willow when she was watching the clouds.

Now she was sure something was wrong in her head. It was too dependent on external feelings; a place so dry and sunny had the strength to penetrate her mind and carry away her thoughts.

“I’m too tired now to understand.”

She waited with apprehension for her breathing to return back to normal. She was puzzled.

“It’s really a strange place.”

* * *

The sun was still hot when Martina slowly came out of the room and went down the stairs, slowly, being careful to prevent any noise. She left the courtyard behind without looking back; she did not want other oddities from Ginetta. She passed the fence and dropped down to the prairie.

The ground was hard and dry; there were stringy and sharp bushes, low and curved, like the profile of unhappy people who complained of their ungrateful fate to be there. The prairie was the image of a perpetual struggle for life; Martina seemed fascinated by the courage coming from that land. The struggle for life gave to those dry shrubs an eternal dimension.

There were no trails around; no one passed before her. The sun was very hot, the cicadas pushed their singing from bush to bush—far away. Intense flavors came to her nose. She turned, looking to the other side: the green pastures and woods, where the climate was so different. The shelter seemed a crib set at the beginning of the mountain.

She returned to the prairie with her head down, reflecting on the strange instinct felt on the windowsill. She tried to close her eyes by simulating the same situation. At the call, the fantasy responded like a long horse held in the fence. It asked her to put aside any other thoughts to follow it. The mountains, the woods, the plain were places to explore.

She immediately opened her eyes again while her heart was beating fast. She had to wait a few minutes to get back to normal.

She couldn’t understand why, by closing her eyes, she felt carried away from her fantasy in such an abnormal way like someone with the power to steal her thoughts. Maybe it’s happened before. Perhaps next to that willow she had followed that instinct and had returned from that strange journey with completely empty memory. Maybe it could have happened again.

* * *

The evening was slowly coming down from the mountain, along the prairie to the far hills, when Martina was back to Ginetta; she had prepared dinner and made Martina sit at an old wooden table.

The girl told her about her walk down into the plain. “It’s a very strange place. We are only one step from a big mountain in the middle of woods with meadows so green to dazzle the eyes, and, just a few feet down, there are desert bushes and dead branches. The sun is so strong that it seems always near to burning everything.

“Even animals behave in a strange way; there was a squirrel in the woods who liked to throw the acorns against me.”

Ginetta was smiling. “It’s just because of that, why you liked so much to come here. You said that there was no place in the world more beautiful.”

Martina was watching the woman with suspicion. “I have the impression you know much more about the oddities in my head.”

Ginetta, bowing her head, smiled at the girl′s provocation. “Once I knew everything about you: I could guess your thoughts, your movements—but it was a long time ago. Now I’m not so sure; you look so changed.”

Martina did not know what to say.

“I have no doubt about your memory coming back. But I don′t know how will happen and how long it will take. Meanwhile you′ll be here with me. If you want, this place will get into your head and make you understand how important is fantasy and imagination.”

Ginetta smiled; Martina was listening carefully.

“This is not a place like any other. The woods, the meadows and the mountains are not only forests, grassland and mountains. This is the closest place to the heart; it’s a mirror and, if you want to look inside, will take you far—far beyond your normal possibilities.”

The woman’s eyes were bright with an inner light.

“The Martina I knew ran so fast, her fantasy was so strong to leave behind nature. I watched her every sunset leaning against the fence, pushing the sight down to the prairie. I saw her, into the night, overcome and move away, slowly following an instinct that I could not understand.”

The woman seemed strange, gently remembering the times when she was with her.

“Don′t be in a hurry to bring back your memory; let it return without haste. Don’t be afraid. If you knew how important and rewarding it is to follow your fantasy while it runs free, you wouldn’t go around trying to retrieve pieces of your past life with their heavy and overwhelming fears like boulders. Consider the great opportunity to stay here and not hold your thoughts back. Let the imagination run free.”

Chapter Two

The willow tree was still up there on the upland; Martina had some about it. She left in the morning, together with Ginetta. The woman had reluctantly agreed to the climbing effort; she hard panted and took long and frequent breaks, leaning on a stick.

The girl seemed rather invigorated, and urged the woman with continuous questions. When they reached the upland, Martina pointed to the tree of the earliest memory and Ginetta had a long sigh of relief and sank into the grass, her back to the trunk, and waited the breath be normal.

Even the girl leaned against the willow tree, on the opposite side. She stared at the sky, which brought to mind the day before′s impressions. She spoke slowly, with long pauses, sometimes closing her eyes to better compare the previous day′s memories.

“Even today, the clouds seem to behave the same way. Like yesterday they are so fascinating. They go from one to another part of the sky as if to follow a precise fate. They meet and leave each other, immersed in their own dimension—so close that they seem alive.” Martina paused, with a deep sigh. “Who knows how long I have been there to watch? One minute, an hour, a day, or maybe more.”

Ginetta also turned her eyes upward, carefully watching while she listened.

“I even thought I was a cloud, accidentally falling down in a place like heaven.”

Ginetta smiled again.

“I also thought I was a victim of some disease. Confined in some closed and protected park.” She turned to Ginetta, watching the woman′s reaction. “It’s not that true I’m really in some mental hospital and you’re checking my madness?”

Ginetta turned to her again, looking stern. Martina did not wait for the woman’s reply, shrugged her shoulders, it was plausible to think also this possibility. She looked at the clouds again, but the smile faded slowly to sadness. “What do you think about? I don′t know my character. I just feel scared. I’m worried—”

“I don′t remember that you were so complicated!” interrupted Ginetta. “Why do you worry so much about the past? The past is just a moment like so many. What do you care if seems to be disappeared? Sooner or later it will come back. Instead, you should be pleased for an open mind, without a lot of weight on you.”

“But I can′t live without knowing who I was before!” Martina turned to look at Ginetta, who, instead of responding, remained quiet, seemingly indifferent to the girl′s problems.

In the silence between their words, there was only the sound of the leaves touching each other under the wind′s breath. The clouds still were flowing and Martina, watching, tried to hold back the following instinct—a strange invitation to free her mind from any other thought. She turned her eyes away when she realized the imminent danger.

Ginetta smiled but was sad in spite of her gesture. “You’re so different! How much you’re changed; it’s sad, watching, to discover that you are afraid. It never happened before. See, you look away and avoid your imagination, just to keep a handful of small memories.” The woman sighed, shaking slowly her head. “I′m really sad, following your words. The Martina I knew when she coming here, did not bring anything with her. The sad thoughts, worries, and fears were not able to follow her. Looking at her, I understood her emotions, her happiness.”

She had a nostalgic smile.