DRAGON HUNTER

If you ask me today, my dream profession would be a dragon hunter. Not hunting dragons. Just search and look for them. What job do you dream about having, if only for one day?
picture from http://oraclefox.blogspot.com

CHAPTER 4

Watch out for the circus…

Already on the street I heard the music. High notes echoed through the brick walls and made the windows rattle. Parade drums, trombones, violins and trumpets with banners played like mad from Elfvie’s house.  It actually sounded as if she had an entire circus orchestra in her living room.

I stood outside her house and tried to open her front door with one hand over my ear and the other hand trembling on the door handle. The dramatic music made the walls breath like the belly of a trumpet player and my feet wobbled by the swinging of the stairs.  Once inside the house, I had expected to see Elfvie fly through the hallway hugging her broomstick. But the house seemed to be empty.

The music reminded me of something. Hands over ears I went into the living room searching for the vinyl player. The stodgy waltz went sometimes sky-high into a stormy tornado of horns and flutes. It sounded like a clown’s idiotic dance between elephants and sea lions. I could see his clumsy feet tap-dance across the sand with his hands by the red-striped braces. I identified the music as I recognized my fear, my fear of clowns. The music was a troll’s parade.

I sat on the floor leaning against the wall with my arms over my head when the music abruptly stopped.  It clicked in the door lock and Polo rushed in. I heard Elfvie’s content giggling in the hallway while changing into slippers. I did not lift my head until I saw the worn slippers in front of me.  Elfvie’s sky blue eyes blinked at me behind the round glasses. She had already put on her apron. “I think we have lost a troll”, I said. “Really?” she replied while lending me her warm hand to get me back on my feet.

Indeed, one of the trolls had left its position on the glass table. The other trolls did not look sad. They looked happier than usual even though they’d lost a friend.  I go out and look for him later, Elfvie said and closed the porch door to the garden. We sat down in the kitchen and read out loud from the new multi-coloured newspapers that Elfvie had brought with her home. Polo took a seat in Elfvies knee and glared up at me under his curly fringe. If a dog can smile, so he did.

It was nice to sit in Elfvies kitchen reading the tabloids.  Her laughter made me feel better.  Still reading she said, “It’s not healthy to get that upset you know”. Her fingers twisted Polos fur. I am not upset, I replied. But don’t you feel a bit sad about the troll gone missing? I do not refer to the little troll who went exploring; I am referring to you creating a troll’s parade, Elfvie looked up from her paper. She tore out a page from the magazine and translated the twisted letters. “The Circus comes to town”, Elfvie whispered and a dimple popped up in her face. We must go and see it, she continued and placed the poster on the fridge with two cookie magnets. It will be a great spectacle!

We decided to buy tickets for the Circus the next day and at the same time go troll hunting. I also decided it was time for me to go home and Elfvie let me out by the porch exit. After I left she grabbed the broomstick from the garden shed. It took almost al night to sweep up the glass fragments from the living room floor.  Broken glass from sentiments often explodes into their smallest components. The light pink injustices were scattered over the floor and the hypersensitivity had spread over the carpet and in under the couch. As soon Elfvie approached with the brush the broken glass fled to another part of the room. At last she had managed to capture every little piece in a glass jar. She decided to save these passionate glass sentiments in the pantry for later. Before Elfvie went to bed that night she had sat down by her kitchen table and written letters to all her elderly neighbours. With squiggly ink writing she told them to watch out for the circus.

CHAPTER 3

Elfvie – the Gaffer

Strolling around in Elfvie’s house raises many emotions to life. Her life seems in so many ways filled with happiness, but it is the feeling of loneliness that strikes you. Photo frames adorn every wall and garnishes every chest of drawers. Elderly, children, family and friends smiles widely through the glasses of the frames.  Take a seat in her chaise longue and take in all the little things in the room before opening one of her many photo albums.

Feel the cracks in the leather couch complaining under your weight. Pull your hands over the longhaired carpet and then stand on the footstool to make out the carpet’s true motive. The lucid garn in ocean blue, plum and white looks like a spur of the moment pattern. But from the birds eye you can explore the careful outline of a girl kissing a dove. 

There are too many details for the eye to absorb. You need to walk up to the first figurine in order to detect the other ones standing next to it. They are all deliberately placed. The china dancer on one leg leans gently toward the little glass bird in cobalt. Every statuette stands firmly on a crocheted homemade tablecloth. All this knitting, must have taken a lifetime to complete. Whenever you feel ready you can start with the album to the left in the bookshelf.

Elfvie was born one year after a legendary ocean liner sank on its maiden voyage.  On her first birthday a black hand caused the outburst of a world war.  What she remembers from this period are knee high socks, black patent sandals and colourful hand-knits. She gets frustrated of the black and white pictures and from that she does not like to read papers whiteout colour. “That time was as lively and bright as my garden”, she says. Furthermore, she thinks that each and every book and picture from this period should be added with some colour to be perceived with justice. “And while they are still on to it they can apply some music and scent to the old paper leaves as well”, she said once.

Elfvie has added real essences to her photo albums. It is very easy to miss and most people fail to take notice of the unthinkable. I try to look at the pictures in the same way as you do with a three-dimensional image. It’s kind of a dull stare. You look at the picture with sleepiness. The difficulty is to remain calm in the eye when the picture starts to come alive. You get a real glimpse of a bygone time. By page two you should also be able to take in the violin’s sweet whining like a leaf in heavy wind.

Elfvie still has the look of an angel on a bookmark. The cute rounded face and the short curly hair has not changed over the years. She has just taken on a brighter almost transparent image. When Elfvie smiles her dimples pop up like firecrackers in her face and the whole world shiver of amusement. It’s totally contagious. Her laugh tickles anyone and anything. 

Once, Elfvie´s two great-grandchildren came to visit and as a tradition they got a chocolate bar with a coin properly taped to it. The eldest girl gratefully refused the little penny. “It is just too much” she said”.  Since, the girl declined her gift Elfvie took it back and put it again in it’s jar in the pantry.  Not even a tearful eye of a great-grandchild may make Elfvie surrender to her stubbornness.  Thus, Elfvie is a gaffer. You will see the whole event in a later photo album.

These days, I know how hard it is to be a slave under your own persistence. Even behind the curtain waving to the children’s departure Elfvie did not admit her defeat. When the sad lump in her belly would not go away she chose to bury it in the garden. With shovel and rake, she set out into autumn and under the afternoon sun she buried the big lump of discomfort under the flowerbed.

SIGNALS

As soon as the summer evenings are getting shorter and strawberries are replaced with chanterelle I get possessed. Under the moon I fish for signals. Alive they are black as the raven, with dill from the king they turn red as this dress. In August I eat crayfish.

CHAPTER 2

Polo

Polo is a dog. A miniature poodle black as the raven and soft as the lamb. He sits in Elfvie´s lap constantly watching over her. You will find him fairly cute, but do not stretch out your hand. This is not a pet for everyone. Polo has scared me many times with his force barking. He still makes me nervous and sometimes I believe he can hear what I think. Maybe you will be able to solve the mystery and obscurity of Polo.  

I think Elfvie and Polo have aged jointly. Do not hassle and ask his age. You will soon enough be aware of Polo being on every yellowed photograph since Elfvie´s childhood. I am not that keen of this dog. Although, I do not wish to find him standing in the hallway stiff-legged of porcelain. Polo has a wine red collar with a number plate in case of him getting lost.  Every day you can hear Elfvie humming in the kitchen while she prepares his food. Cooked meat, breaded duck, rice pudding and slow roasted lamb is served three times a day. Elfvie sits by the kitchen window and watches him as he eats. She chuckle and snigger at his big appetite.  

Once, I stood on the pavement of Beckasin road holding Polo in his leash when a car swishes by out of nowhere. I quickly pulled the dog leash not being aware of the wasp resting in my arm fold.  Elfvie dabbed with melted butter and sugar. I remember myself crying. I got homesick and my mouth filled up with sharp metallic taste. I ended up at the retirement home where a doctor dragged out the wasps tag while I tried to count the obituaries on the wall.  

Polo and Elfvie are so unlike and have such distinct souls. The black raven patrolling the ground of a glassy translucent elderly woman. Not being a dog I would have taken Polo for my bad conscience.  

WATCH OUT WHERE YOU GO

We are hunting for mushrooms with yellow feet and brown hats. We must be wary of ticks and wild pigs. Whatch your feet so you do not stumble over this little house not bigger than my rubber boot

CHAPTER 1

Pull down the sleeves of your jersey because the wasps on Beckasin road stings…

The Beckasin road is a road between real life and everything else that is not said to be normal. It begins at the corner of a park and ends at the establishment of a retirement home. The houses on Beckasin road are simple and made of red brick. It looks a bit like if children have put them together.  Squared gardens, juniper berries and boxwood hedges.

One of the houses has bubbly windows and from the street you can see straight into the kitchen. The front door has a small glass where someone carefully has hung neat little curtains.  If you walk around the house you will be astonished. On the other side of this simple construction of a living you step into a lovely garden. A garden that is so well taken care of that even the paths of the ants are raked and swept.  

This is Elfvie’s house. Elfvie is a gardener and will soon be very old. She is also a banker and hides her life savings in various pots and jars in the pantry. Sitting in front of the television she makes troll bodies by putting assorted stones together with glue. The trolls get hair from horses and eyes that rolls and sways.  With brush and paint she gives them some fine clothing. It happens that trolls disappear. Then Elfvie just sits down and makes another one.

The door handle to Elfvies house is heavy and tough. A crocheted curtain separates the anteroom and the hall. If you’d like you can put your fingers in the handmade loops while waiting for a “welcome”. It smells like old cloth and curly dog. The first time I stood there waiting with my fingers captured in the net I did not know how I was related to this person. A person whose wardrobe is bursting of flowery long-sleeved dresses and whose memories are collected in a wooden frame on the wall.  

The hallway is dark. The walls are papered with some fuzzy fabric in forest green. In front of the frame with the memories hang a mirror with two crystal lamps on either side. Beneath the mirror stands a small table and a stool with curvy legs.  Do not be frightened when you come out from the bathroom. It is just your own reflection made by the mirror you’ll see.  From the hallway you can reach all parts of the house. The kitchen is to the right, the bedroom to the left and the living room with an indoor porch is straight ahead. From the porch you should be able to see every corner of Elfvie´s garden.

First time you enter this room you will not pay notice of the garden outside. Instead you will sweep your eyes over all the flowerpots flocking the windowsill. Old perennials and other wintering plants stand on line for another chance to life. Later on you will learn all their names. I do not mean their plant names, but their first names. We will get back to this room next time a troll disappears. Once you have been let in to number 20 Beckasin road the porch door is the only way out.

NORRLAND

Yesterday I went to Norrland and enjoyed reindeer and horseradish. Today I will give you the first chapter. Follow me to Beckasin road in just a moment...

http://www.knighttcat.com

GODS HORSE

I met an old friend today on the subway. Frida is a special friend- not least because she is working with God's horses. Frida also live very close to the main character in one of my favorite books "Låt den rätta komma in". One autumn day, we locked the doors on Frida's car "the red menace" and drove into Blackeberg. The neighborhood of Eli. 


http://johnajvide.com/bocker/lat-den-ratte-komma-in-3

PROLOGUE

The Beckasin road. A road between real life and everything else that is not said be normal. It begins at the corner of a park and ends at the establishment of a retirement home.  It sounds as if life on Beckasin road is like a flower duet from Lakme. As if the dogs are smiling at you while you walk past them. As if the chestnut trees raises their arms over your head.  You need to walk the dogs or make trolls of the chestnuts to pay attention to anything else.

I came about to walk Polo and some time later I also took my forefinger and stroke the hair of a troll. I am not sure of Polo being a real poodle nor have I questioned me spending so much time with a gaffer. However, I have had a different taste on my tongue since that first day I met Elfvie and Polo. A taste of metal. I will continue to visit Beckasin road as long as I can find my way there.

LIKE A CHILD

I am alive. Literally. I never thought I could create a room for my thoughts- that's also open for everyone. Also, I managed to add a picture. Now I need to find a way to get rid of it. Yes, it's my dream catcher.

A THOUGT CATCHER

 

This happened to be my first blog post. I bought this dream catcher to counteract my nightmares. This blog will serve to capture my thoughts.