.
.
CALLASSA
The Rebirth of Rosa Rubens
.
Extract
.
Intoxication and Transfiguration
.
.
My old cronk, I refer to my Ford XR3 was literally falling apart and it was unlikely to last much longer. I was attached to it, decrepitude and all. The new reconditioned radiator fitted last year was leaking and one of the tires needed inflating before every journey.
It was a half hour or so to Rosa’s residence. I’d felt disoriented from thinking about her earlier while in the library and it had lasted until I’d gotten home to my apartment. Then following a few cups of coffee and something to eat I felt better though it did concern me that day dreams might be construed by others as a mental affliction of sorts.
I had driven to Estuary Hill Road on the odd occasion because it was one of the roads leading out of town and on to open moorland. The Sycamores sat at the bottom of a hill and not obvious until its gates were reached. I’d noticed before that there was a sign stating that it was government property. I assumed this area of Yorkshire was open for military activity and related affairs. About what to expect and what to say when asked, if indeed I would be asked anything, I was as yet undecided. Whatever transpired at these installations or more accurate appellation was anyone’s guess and the only assumption I had been able to arrive at as to why on earth Rosa lived somewhere like that was was that she was the daughter of a resident service family.
I was heading down the hill and my heart began on a secondary beat, even the rock n’roll station on the radio hadn’t quelled it and the effect was bothering me in that I didn’t want to pass out before I arrived. Perhaps I would be turned away because she didn’t really live there at all?
Then, there it was and the possibility of driving by first crossed my mind. What would be the point?
Well, everything appeared as one would expect, I mean there were the tall, ornate brick gate posts and the gates were open. I could see the house, Victorian red brick and huge, the side of which faced the drive and this suggested the front was facing away from the road. Through the tall trees I had a glimpse of a lawn. The driveway abruptly turned to the right but it wasn’t likely I would find out much more because there was a soldier requesting I come to a halt at a white line across the drive. The soldier was at the window to my car almost immediately I’d stopped. He was wearing a red beret and had a holstered revolver. In his gloved hands was a clipboard. I wound down the window grateful for its efficiency because sometimes it didn’t work. If it hadn’t worked I would have had to open the door and he was standing close.
“Sir, I require your name and driving license.”
“I’m Nathaniel Lawrence, student, visitor,” I told him. I retrieved my license from the sun visor and gave it to him. He took it away without saying anything. I couldn’t see where he’d gone. Why were there no other vehicles? The milieu was that of any evening during mid-summer and this house and its gardens were a compliment to nature. This was the impression and the security presence made little difference. Many establishments had guards, even the university and up to now the addition or better stated the requirement was less obvious here. Of course, things had a habit of changing quickly and to the extreme.
The soldier was walking toward my car and I wondered if he’d found out I had two unpaid parking tickets?
“Sir, if you would leave your vehicle. You will be escorted to your rendezvous with Miss. Rubens.”
I opened the door and while I was getting out I realized there were two soldiers standing behind him. I hadn’t seen them appear. These were attired in camouflage and held machine guns. These were my escorts. Wow. I say again, wow.
“Sir, the keys for your vehicle.”
I promptly handed him the keys.
“Miss. Rubens is waiting in the rear gardens. Good evening sir.”
The two soldiers in camouflage began walking. They said nothing so I assumed I was to head in the direction they were going which was the rear of the house.
I was now undecided about how I felt. I was intrigued because I guessed there was much happening here that was out of sight, likely beneath ground but there were no obvious indications.
Before the rear there was a path and we were walking along this for about thirty very long seconds before I caught sight of Rosa. The soldiers walked away when she began waving to me. I was going to say thank you to them but I hadn’t been given the chance.
I put one foot in front of the other but any semblance of surety I might previously have had in my step had gone with the departing soldiers. I saw that Rosa was standing beneath a willow tree and on the small lake beside her there was a swan. Now was the red hue of evening and scattering from this hue were red birds flying toward a nearby thick of trees. This was the very scene I had sketched earlier in the day, the poetic perfection of the ballerina, the music of the water and the tree. It was also the scene in which Rosa had said and subsequently, where she wanted to be, if in fact I had not imagined her being in the library and saying it. I couldn’t think so much about that question because within moments I would be with her in the ultimate fantasy come alive.
Was I really with an alien? Was I? With an alien? Was it true? Was the most fantastic of all . . . true? That between the beautiful representation of nature’s gift and so, in the face of the immemorial shame of humanity, there was Rosa Rubens. Rosa . . . a woman who was not a woman because she was not a human, not in any way whatsoever, and she was here and waving to me.
.
copyright (c) Callassa MMXXI
.
.
transgender.london
.
CALLASSA CALLASSA
The Rebirth of Rosa Rubens
Extract
.
Intoxication and Transfiguration
.
