| There was a country by the sea, but I cannot say for certain, whether it was
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| part of a lonely isle, or merely some coastal region.
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| A landing-stage of rotten blanks stretched carefully into the waves,
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| and for one moment I did wonder, what frightening purpose it might serve.
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| O, heavy, roaring, endless seas, what secrets does this rage entomb?
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| Have ancient memories or hungry ghosts, gathered all their strength,
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| to call for this storm?
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| Deep-seated gardens, almost a labyrinth, walled in by ruins and rocks ivy-clad,
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| perhaps this strange place had once been a palace, where now viole (n)t bushes
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| bear dark thorns instead.
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| A young boy was taking me by the hand and unerringly he was leading me down
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| below the gardens, which I hardly remembered, the moment I took the first step
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| underground.
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| We came to a room with only small windows, and to my suprise I could somehow
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| still hear, though reduced to a murmur, now chant-like and humming,
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| to once savage voice of the roaring sea.
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| The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb, below the ground,
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| where there"s no sound, he is hiding, from the world.
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| Something resembling an altar was built there, a secret overshadow
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| ed structure and use, underneath, in inanimate self-contemplation,
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| lay a jet-black mass of coal-like granules.
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| Yet, this dark material had an unearthly lightness, and when I touched it,
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| to feel what it was, it did seem to totally ignore my presence …
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| -without leaving a trace, it came trickling off.
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| Then out of a sudden from under the barrow something, appeared, unexpectedly:
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| it was the bones of the little boy"s mother, which he had placed with greatest
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| care underneath
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| There must have been something in my look (s), «cause the little boy started to
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| speak, and to my unvoiced Question of why he had done this, he answered these
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| words to me:
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| «This is the only way I can be save from her, only this can guarantee,
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| that she will not rise again, because when she does, she is always following
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| me.
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| There"s just no alternative, I cannot escape from her, because as soon as I try,
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| she will get up again, merely to haunt me…-oh, believe me, I have tried
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| numerous times!
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| But here in these vaults I have finally found something that works like a seal,
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| these jet-black granules do keep me from harm, and her bones can no longer
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| hurt me.
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| Piled up in a certain, specific form, all the remains must be covered with it,
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| then everything keeps still and for a brief moment I can pretend,
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| that she does not exist.
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| Yet, all the time I must be on my guards, because now and then it can happen
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| indeed, that frequently the earth does tremble and shaken, and some of the
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| stones are Starting to slip.
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| So, constantly I have to control the barrow, the jet-black darkness of the
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| coal-like mass, in order to be there, to repair the damage, to pile all back
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| safely and to replace…"
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| The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb. |
| below the ground,
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| where there"s no sound, he is hiding from the (terrible) world.
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| It took me a while to realism that we all have secrets and fears …
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| — is it then a surprise that we close our minds from the pain that is causing
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| these tears? |