I’m looking for the face I had before the world was made. William Butler Yeats
After twenty seven days of taking, I finally put down antibiotics. I still feel poor, but after such a dose of chemistry, I can’t feel better. From an idyllic village I moved back to a noisy city. No one threw me out, but I did not want to abuse hospitality of the owners, with whom I initially made an agreement that I would stay a few days, and yesterday two weeks passed since I had arrived to their house. Probably if I had asked, I could have stayed a bit longer, but moving to the city, moving anywhere, was a sort of ersatz of motion – a faint, if not fake, because without any visible horizon, but anyway – moving out was a good substitute of the road.
In two days I’m heading towards Ecuador. I will accept what the wind will bring. I will be heading towards Quito, from where, either I will go back to Poland, or, if I finally feel better, I will go further south. I don’t want to think about going back now, my thoughts invariably are swinging among warm memories. Sometimes I do not know if that’s what I remember really happened, or whether I only imagined that, and by remembering – I create it.
Yesterday I was lying on the green grass and ran beside two little kittens. Someone dropped them at the gate. They were miaowing terribly. I sheltered them. They cuddled at me right away, murmured loudly, looking for breasts to suck. I intertwined my fingers with their sticky fur. I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time.
In the morning, I noticed with astonishment that all the other cats had disappeared. Two little kittens got food – they were miaowing, when I entered the building, and they ceased when I was close. I’m sad because I could not take them. Because I do not know if they can make it alone. Because I felt I was needed. Because I lay with them on the green, warm meadow, and they were walking around my head. Because in the end they lay next to me and muttering, were twisting their little claws in my beard.
And I simply do not know, whether I really saw them, and I was twining my fingers in their soft fur, or maybe there weren’t any small kittens, there was nothing. There was only my red, disheveled beard and moving fingers in the thick grass, seeking someone’s warm hand. Lay your head where my heart used to be. Hold the earth above me. Lay down on the green grass. Remember when you loved me.