No Return Track

Part 3

The studio had big windows and Kazuya liked the way it was filled with the daylight, when he wasn’t working and the heavy louvers were lifted up. It was 9:30 and no one was there, besides some spiders, living at the ceiling near the wooden beams. Last night mother had called. It started as always with questioning about how he feels, his eating habits and if he found some nice young woman to keep him company, to which he answered, that an elder woman could also be a “nice company”. Mother laughed at him. So it was quite a surprise that she ended the conversation asking when does he plan to come home.  Thinking that he simply overheard the last sentence, he asked to repeat it. Mother sighed: “Don’t tell me your decision yet. Just think about it.”
“Buranko ga yureteru
Warau youni yureteru”

Well, it couldn’t always run smooth and you can’t change the direction of rails, so it was kind of inevitable. The timing wasn’t right, or it was him, who forgot about the time table.
- Beautiful song, what is it about?
- A swing is moving, moving like it's laughing...In the moonlit park I see the person I was that day,- he translated the first lines,- I guess it’s about a person who wants to go back to his old self. That person left his home, but after a while he begins to realize that he only pretended to be strong, - Kazuya turned to look at her face and again it was blank.
- Why are you frowning at me? I have come; shouldn’t you be at least a bit happy?
Kazuya bowed his head to the right and blinked once. Nothing changed about her face. Not the beginning he was hoping for.
- Figures, you’re not only crazy, but also quite well known photographer. So, what do you want me to do?
- Take that black bag.
- Huh?
He came to hear and handed a big sports bag.
- Take this, and don’t let it fall. Important things.
Kazuya hid his smile, while putting his coat on. He managed to do it. The cover was discarded, they could start.
The whole ride she complained about the bag being too heavy, him being too crazy, explanation of what their going to do not enough, of the train being to slow. Normally whining people really get on his nerves, but she wasn’t whining and complaining. She was expressing her thoughts aloud and it made his day.
- We’ve made it.
She dropped the bag on the ground with a puff and only then looked around.
- What?! Where in the hell are we?
- It’s a children’s playground.
- That much I can tell myself! Why did you bring me here? And why does it look like this…
Indeed the playground was in a disastrous state, the ladder was broken, two bars were missing and the swing, lost most of its paint, was squeaking to the winds song.
- Bloody, - he placed his palm against her mouth.
- You shouldn’t swear in front of children.
- What children, unless you’re talking about yourself!
Kazuya bend down and opened the bag. Inside were photos of children in life size, made so that it was possible to place them standing on any surface. Three boys and four girls, together they’ve put the photos in various places, the most difficult was with the little blond girl and the swing. Kazuya wanted it to look like she was really swinging, but after Gabriela repeated for the 10th time that it wasn’t possible and hasn’t he ever heard of Photoshop,  he agreed on putting the idea a side. “For a while”- he added to himself.
Surprisingly, while he was taking pictures and ordering Gabriela around, she didn’t question him, nor did she interfere.
“But I don’t know
How to connect”

Only when he took out a piece of wire to attach “Alice”, Gabriela thought of names for all the children-models, to the swing, watching his manipulations, she started to talk to him again.
- Why not use living children for this? Or are you trying to save some money on this?
- “Living children”? It’s not like I’m using dead ones. It’s not a place for children. Used to be, but not anymore.
- It’s like you want to say that children are never going to return here.
- Ma... Something along those lines.
- What? - She sarcastically eyed him, - A true artist doesn’t like to share his thoughts with us, mere mortals?
- Speak for yourself.
- I’m not an artist, - now she looked away from him.
- Then, what do you call yourself?
- Vocal. I’m just a vocal.
Kazuya returned to his camera, while she had to swing Alice. Two more shoots and they’ve finished. While they were at it the clouds managed to take over all of the sky, but it didn’t feel like it was going to rain. Gabriela started humming “Buranko” waiting for him to finish gathering his stuff, at which he had been quite surprised.
- You’ve managed to memorize the melody this fast?
- You’ve listened to it 5 times in row, it’s more then enough when I like a song.
She smiled at him, as if daring to ask since when had she actually been in the studio, before he noticed her presence.
- Amazing. Especially to me, I’m nearly sound-deaf.
- Have you ever tried to sing?
- Yes, in school, and wouldn’t dear to repeat the nightmare, thank you.
It was much colder there then in the city. Nearly no leaves left on the trees, just some old grass showing it’s dried out ends like women in all those adverts of shampoos. Nothing more, nothing to show a tourist in autumn.
Well except for all the crows sitting on a big old leafless tree like some mystical gathering. That is, if you still remember all the old British fairytales, were the crow has the role of a mage.
They’ve resumed the small-talk only in the train.
- So, how did you like working with me?
It wasn’t what I have expected, but it has been nice… you know, for a change.
-  Great artists need to take a break.
She caught the light sarcasm in the phrase and immediately her expression changed from still to cranky.
- If you say so. Not like I know, what “great artists” do in their free time. I’m a lowly worker, doing translations, taking every little opportunity which comes my way.
- Actually, I know that much about you. Which language?
- English-German. Speaking of work, my mom would have liked today’s work for sure. She would say “it’s very veine”.
- What kind of woman is she?
- Was. She died 3 years ago, - she didn’t give him time to present his condolence, and Kazuya didn’t think it was necessary to interrupt her, - she was French. Born here, but still it didn’t scare her esprit, her true French soul, so when I was about to become 20, she moved to France, where her relatives lived. Wanted to take me with her, but I, peculiarly compared to her, am a London girl. I don’t speak French only know some words. She still tried to persuade me through letters, she send them twice a month, with beautiful pictures of young man or some postcards showing Paris and other places. But I never came, saying it’s here where I feel at ease. Then one day came a letter from her cousin, saying that she had a heart infarct, presumably from having too much pressure – on that day she helped a friend move some furniture.
- Must have been hard for you, receiving this kind of news, being many miles away.
- You’re really strange, Kazuya, - she looked him in the eyes,- most of the people would say “your poor mother, I’m so sorry for her, not being able to see her daughter for the last time”.
- It doesn’t really matter. I don’t know what your mother had felt at that time, but you’re the one sitting in front of me. We should care more about the living. But if you want me to say, - Kazuya averted he’s gaze trying to find at least one appropriate sentence.
- No need. That’s the point. Besides, I know that she was indeed happy all these 3 years. Here she always had some problems to take care of, her posture was always tense, and each time she looked in the window it was like she waited for a storm.
- What about your father?
- Have no clue who he is. Mom was the one who raised me,- she shrugged as if it was a question about where was her boots made in.
- Didn’t you ever ask?
- I probably did, when I was like 5 years old. She told me it hadn’t mattered and so I never wondered about it. In comparison to all those movies, where an adopted child after having reached the legal age, starts desperately searching for his biological parents, I never really cared. I mean it’s such a bullshit. You have parents that raised and spend their life energy on you, but it’s not enough. There are people who don’t even have one parent. You could say, I was simply thankful, she decided to keep me as it had been obviously a not planned pregnancy.
- And you say I’m strange.
- We could start a club,- Gabriela smiled at him,- What about you?
- A pattern family. My father is a director of a bank, mother staying at home and indulging in traditional things like tea ceremony.
- No siblings?
- Unfortunately, otherwise it wouldn’t be such a surprise for my parents.
- That you decided to become a photograph? Weren’t they seeing where your passion lies?
- Not exactly. I myself had been a “model child”, the best notes, not a troublemaker, polite and so on. I’ve never talked about what I wanted to do after school, but they presumed I would choose economics-something and continue on being a “good son”, just like my father was.
- But in reality, you’ve planned a rebellious path and only waited till you could run away from home.
- Sorry to disappoint you, - he chuckled, - it’s much more trivial. In the last school year a friend of mine managed to drag me in the photography club. First I it did for my friend, then because it was fun, and at the time when the school ended and I realized that photography is the only thing I kind of enjoy. Can’t say I was in love with it, but at least it made me feel more at right then all those studies. I’ve send an application to London’s University and because of good marks, it had been kind of easy to get enrolled. My parents were first very proud of it.
- Till the moment they’ve found out hat faculty you had chosen?
- Bingo. My father had been shocked, and tried to find a reason for such drastic actions. Still he didn’t threaten not to give me support or something along that way. He told himself that the whole thing is my kind of “late rebelling” and that I wanted to try something new. He thought that after some months I would see the “true side” of my choice, come to my senses and change the subject. It didn’t happen. Still, they’ve come to acknowledge my decision as something more than a crazy idea of a youngster, only after I successfully sold one of my pictures.
- So, now you’re on good terms with them?
- We don’t try to rip each others heads off, if that’s what you mean, - Kazuya again had to search for the words, which made him a bit annoyed with himself. It’s like he forgot how to lead a conversation, - Simply put: while I’m still here, they can’t reach me and try to change my way of doing things.
- Do you ever plan on going back?
Kazuya remembered the recent phone call and didn’t feel like talking about it anymore.
- We’ll see.  So, how about a drink?
-  Now? We haven’t reached London yet and I kind of have things to do tomorrow.
- Then Friday. Or Thursday, or Saturday.
- Or Sunday? - She looked at him like he made some really stupid joke.

“If tomorrow never comes
Will she know how much I loved her?”
Kazuya shook his imagination and lines, that appeared, God knows where from, in his mind.
- Choose one you like more, - Kazuya turned his palm to her as if showing allowance, - but I would still like to see you on Friday.
- Thank you, your Highness. Where would you like to meet a mere commoner like myself? - Despite for the words she had used, her eyes were reflecting amusement and laughter.
In the end they have agreed to meet at a bus stop, because Gabriela wasn’t familiar with the surroundings of the place, he wanted to take her to.