HANNE

HANNE | by Balder Velic

1. (3 May)
What I previously thought to be love at a first glance, a deep and, to be sincere, an inexplicable attraction to her subsequently gained a so profound meaning that, now, this heterogeneous feeling can not be translated into simple words anymore.

2. (4 May)
What a bizarre world is this in which we live in. How volatile seem our principles, how fickle are our ideals! But, at least for me, a certainty rises from this herd of corrupted soul values, from this deplorable muddle of very low expectations and reprehensible cravings touched, in general, by the invisible hands of so many Dalis that have chosen, instead of following a mangy artistic path, to work in the field of politics: the fascination for her. What kind of other inner pilings or puzzle pieces should my spirit desire when I have her image?

The bare truth is that in the backstage of the fascination I have for her are hiding so many thoughts, so many fictitious experiences! I know I could have easily said "love" to encompass all of my emotions, yet love was just the first step. I surely do not reject that for many happy mortals love represents the ultimate goal of the attraction process, the finality of it. Well, for me was not just a beginning and, with certainty, not just another beginning but the only beginning I still consider to be undeniable.

I'm going to the lake. I wish myself best of luck!

###
Who would have thought that I will reach the point of being overworked by happiness? Who would have thought that? My hearth is pounding, my hands are trembling, my eyes are tearing. I can hardly control myself! I think I will come back on it tomorrow.

3. (5 May)
Up to this very day I saw her twice... twice!

Yesterday, as the first time I stumbled upon her willowy body, she was in the vicinity of that lake. She was not any more accompanied by, I presume, a close friend of her as she sat alone near the edge of the lake, leaning against a tree and sketching something on a piece of paper. Actually, my first idea was that she kept a sort of diary, just like myself, but shortly afterwards I noticed, after my senses were helped by her wide gestures and long pauses, that she was, in fact, drawing. So, I said to myself, "What a sensitive spirit!" and I left that scene taking care not to make any significant noises.

So, her matchless appearance is accompanied by a passion for which I have only words of praise!

4. (6 May)
Paraphrasing Flaubert, writing is the art of putting your thoughts in order.

Very dear is to me the feeling of being detached when I try to make an introspection or to summarize what happened during the day. When I write, the minutes invested in this action are separating me from an entire suite of harmful feelings. It's a short divorce followed by an inescapable and sumptuous marriage; the first is giving me a shield, while the second is proving the weakness of this shield by destroying it, inaugurating hours upon hours of misery! However, judging from the past experiences, if I'm going to abuse this writing technique I will not only increase its inefficiency but also the time in which this last poisonous element will be active.

It's time to head to the lake.

###
The chirping of a nightingale did not let my spiritual pain go beyond the threshold of common despair. She did not come. Or, at least, I did not see her.

###
That creature is godlike and this notebook will be the new Bible in which I will record all the meetings with her!

5. (7 May)
In the morning, after I came back from the lake, I took a walk through the local park. I passed beside a row of tulips who immediately reminded me of the love between Cornelius and Rosa. I really wonder how I did not notice them until today. Sadly, the reason failed to convince my hearth to let me pick one when no one was watching.

6. (8 May)
Today I will celebrate 2 months of friendship with the lake. Better be there before the party starts!

###
Oh, she was not there! Why? Just... why? Maybe my fate has begun to make fun of my insistence!

I have been around that lake for 2 months, as soon as I quit attending the courses of that bloody university and moved in this remote town. I then gradually got to know the surroundings pretty well and when I thought nothing could surprise me, I saw her for the first time. Now, I hope that I have not lost her living image for eternity because then I will have to remain content with a more or less disfigured internal projection of her, projection that will disappear only along with the disintegration of the matter form which I am composed. But, in this event, there will be no cause for concern that I would miss her; no, no!

7. (9 May)
Today I wrote a short message to my brother. He is worried about my state of health. He was also interested about when I will return back home. In this respect, I preferred to send him an elusive answer. Although I abandoned that silly university, the one that firstly attracted me to Austria, something still made me to not want to leave too soon. And that something was not just a unique factor, but rather a sum of reasons, a sum that could only tempt free spirits like me -- the pleasant air, the delightful atmosphere, the charming people! In spite of that, I did not know that the last item that was getting ready to add to that quantity of so many bright motives will manage to turn the balance of my appreciation upside down and will confuse me so much.

What would I not sacrifice to see her one more time?

8. (11 May)
I'm tired. I'm so tired! At least, I have this little notebook to pour in it my anguish in unequal, almost discordant waves.

I've spent an entire night at the root of that bushy tree whose rind I forcefully hold and scratched whenever I felt the sadness invading me. When I got there, I promised myself to stay only for three hours, but, after the initial time had passed, each new hour brought a revisal of my word. She did not come and, thinking of her, I stayed all the night with my eyes fully opened under the smell of the living wet roofs made by branches and leaves, shivering at each minuscule sound.

Since yesterday morning I chose the path of a dry fasting, yet the temptation to bring the lip of a glass full of water to my mouth before I go to sleep has currently a lower impact on me that the boiling desire to just plunge into this flat hell made of dark foam and rusty springs that I have learned to call "bed". And how small this room lined with wooden barns became...

###
Oh, I dreamed about her! She was near the lake in which all the hopes of seeing her in flesh and blood are preparing to be forever drowned. The light of a tremulous sunset was passing through her plaited metallic blonde hair slightly ravaged, on top, by an intermittent gentle wind and was further dripping on her shoulders. I clearly remember that she was wearing her simple white blouse and was staring in the orange wilderness of the sky. I stayed far away from her, but, concurrent, close enough to admire her Nordic profile along with her faintly rosy cheeks.

"Not even Aphrodite would rise to the greatness of this creature!" I said to myself and I woke up mumbling the last sounds of this sentence.

9. (12 May)
I just came back home after a walk around the lake. I have never felt so tired. Early in the morning, after agonizing the rest of the previous night in the dirty sheets of my bed thinking about the dream I had, I thought that would be appropriate to not just wait in a single spot when I visit the lake, but to take long walks roundabout it -- of course, being careful not to be perceived by her in case if she was, in essence, near my fluctuating location.

Today I was, like in other days, abandoned by the luck of being delighted with her image.

###
I received three calls from my brother, but I refused to answer. Trying to think about his face locked into a grimace of concern, her image sank into my mind and sent me shivers of guilt.

10. (15 May)
I begin to lose my patience. I'm also thinking more and more often about my lack of importance in this world which almost become strange to me. People are no longer kind, the weather is no longer pleasant...

11. (17 May)
Today, wandering around the lake, as I made from this monotonous action a habit, I've found a book which includes the dissertations of Friedrich Schiller, a book that I have kept alongside since my returning in this room. After its covers, I judge it is a pretty old book, but its general condition makes me think that it has not been lost for a long time. The pages are, to be honest, slightly wet, but their firmness and the legibility of the printed lines betray a possessor which is still searching for it -- of course if its last owner did not leave the book there with the thought of getting rid of it. But who would do that? In general, the life of books is more important than the life of those who wrote them. People disappear under the tumult of years who demand, sooner or later, their tribute, while the books, good books, are made to resist for eternity!

If a person receives at least 20 years in prison for homicide, one that abandons a book or that leads it to the guillotine what kind of punishment deserves? I still have no answer to this question as the desperation wore out my gavel.

12. (18 May)
My watch indicates almost 7 in the morning. I hope the battery does not prepare to die. But who am I to judge it? Why would not everyone, why would not everything has the right to just give up?

Yesternight I read from that book until I fell asleep. It proved itself a great companion. Also, the rather heavy style turned out to be better than any sleeping pill. I woke up with it lying opened on my chest to one of the aesthetic letters.

###
I cut myself while I was trying to shave with that rusty blade, yet not the cut was the one that frightened me the most but the pale and gaunt cheeks hiding beneath the thin layer of my former auburn teenage beard. And, for the first time, I lingeringly stared at my clean face in the mirror and studied, from all the possible angles, its corners and its lines that simultaneously gave it a distinct Slavic shape. An amateur would have been tempted to say that the elongated shape of the lower half of my head and the voids in the cheeks resemble a Nordic ancestry, but I know it's not true in the slightest.

13. (20 May)
I came back from the walk around the lake. More's the pity, I have not seen her. I'm going to the inn next door to eat something and maybe I will return to the lake. The budget seems to follow its owner, the last element weakening at the rhythm of the first one. Or maybe it's the other way round?

###
I'm at the inn. Although I was about to eat, I only ordered a bottle of water. I feel very weak and my body asks for food, but an unknown force does not let me feed myself. I will drink my water and leave as soon as possible. I also have the vague impression that some clients at a adjacent table are throwing me some puzzling looks.

###
I have never felt so happy! I saw her, I saw her! She was again with her friend (or, maybe, brother) walking arm in arm with him. But I have not been capable of indulging my eyes with her dazzling beauty for as much as I would have wanted, as much as this long wait has made me deserve. I inadvertently leaned on a fallen twig and I made a loud cracking noise. Sadly, the heads of the two, once turned in the direction where I was, abruptly ended my long-awaited moment of contemplation and made me ran back, full of shame, to my rented room.

Now, at my shelter coated with cold wooden beams, any sign of anger is immediately repressed by the joy of remembering her face which was even brighter and better proportioned than I remembered! I do not even think that I'm in love with her... or, not just with her! I'm seduced by the kind she eminently represents. I can not anymore see her as a mere person, an individual detached from the stories of the past, but a row of Germanic women, a row of Germanic warriors who shed their blood on dozens of battlegrounds. All of them have come together, before entrusting their own lives to the great Creator, to give life... to give life to this girl who is their successor, who is their living and palpable product!

###
I can't sleep. The rhythm of "Wotans Abscheid" is keeping me awake. It's inside my head. It consumes my being.

14. (22 May)
I'm sure somebody will find the books I have donated to the antique shop useful in some way or another.

15. (24 May)
Today I was again in the town center to eat. I will not go near the lake for a few days. My flesh is burning again so I will rest in bed. I think it's more like a disease than a symptom: the Germanic fever.

17. (26 May)
My brother asked me whether I need money or something else here, in Austria. I politely refused him in advance if his intention was to send me some cash. I told him I found a part-time job. He believed me.

I will have to leave this room because I will have no money to pay the rent. But to return back home? Nevermore. My family is facing financial problems, my only friends got rid of me. I have no reason to come back. In fact, I have nothing in this world but her image, the voice of my conscience and this book with old covers above which I've put my little notebook to write this.

18. (29 May)
I've composed a few poems, but I did not like them. All of them were dedicated to her.

19. (30 May)
Why killing what I admire?

I considered approaching her, but I eventually discovered that by just observing her from a certain distance can make me achieve spiritual gratification. I do not deserve to see her more closely, much less talking to her or touching her. I am not worthy of her love because not only we are part of different worlds, but my moral instinct doesn't allow me to corrupt her life, to share my poverty and suffering with her. It's purely unthinkable to kidnap her from the bosom of her kin and to disturb her inner harmony, her destiny. Some are meant to perpetuate their happiness and their beauty, others to drown their sorrow for good and all.

20. (6 June)
I have not laid my thoughts on paper for a week. I just did not know what to write. I tried to draw something, but I definitely do not posses her boundless talent.

###
I am threatened with the evacuation. Anyway, who needs this uncomfortable room and this unclean mattress?

21. (8 June)
Is 8 o'clock in the evening. Outside is enough light. I just came back from the lake and started to pack up some of my things.

###
How picturesque this sunset is!

I love the miracles of nature; I love them so much that I believe they have to find only supreme forms of manifestation; life is one of these miracles and although I do not hate life itself, I truly despise the wrong forms in which it occasionally insinuates. To be one of these flawed forms and do nothing to fix this mistake represents the most unforgivable sin. Life must be released from the containers that are to tight for its development!

So far I have proven... my lack of worth! I'm an unwonted, incompetent, stupid consumer which has not returned any favors done by this world for him.

22. (9 June)
Hanne is her name. Hanne...

So many things have happened...

###
This morning, after I left the rented room, I decided to revisit the lake. I hid in a hard-to-reach place, I removed the book that I've found from my backpack, I opened it at an accidental page and I started reading the first row that jumped into my visual field; and, sinking into the subject, only a moment of distraction was enough to be lured by my tiredness into a deep sleep. I do not recall what I was dreaming, yet I know that when I woke up I saw her, smiling in front of me, pointing at the book which, in the meantime, had slipped from my hands and, at that moment, was resting inertly in my lap.

It rapidly came to my knowledge that it was her boyfriend's book. So he was not her brother...

I looked pitiful. My hair was unkempt, my face was pale, but shortly I became acquainted with both of them. I trembled when she touched my hand and I hardly managed not to fall unconscious. She was so beautiful! Straight away I did not have two nameless people before me, but a Hanne and an Otto. I also got some questions from the boy whose deep blue eyes remained stuck in my mind. I can't remember what those questions contained but I'm sure they ended with an outright affirmation "We will surely come back here very soon". At that moment, I could barely concentrate and even the simplest reply seemed very hard to compose. I was hypnotized by her...

After I gave Otto his book, I apologized for my presence and I left. Now, looking back and analyzing my behavior, I sincerely can not explain why I did that last action. Well, I guess not everything must have a clear reason behind it. Where the magic of this life will going to reside, assuming we need it, if we can not afford to leave it exist in the substance of our little unexplainable acts?

23. (10 June)
The church bell that rung earlier vanquished the quietness in which I scalded. So many times I heard its solemn sound, yet, when its final echo pierced my being, I felt an inner void and my body seemed to leak though the slats of this bench. I hardly managed to pull myself together and hold my tears.

Currently, the alleys of the park are empty. Soon, the sky will get dark and I have to finish filling my backpack with rocks.

###
The fire of my soul has been finally extinguished, here, in the light of this late lamp post.

Otto seemed a good boy. Clearly, he is a suitable partner for my Hanne. After I will bury my pen in its cap, I'll put on my backpack that is resting here, next to this bench, and I will pluck a tulip from the colorful border that has caught my eye so many times. It will be a sacrifice for a farewell gesture. The last page of my notebook has already a message on it "FUR HANNE UND OTTO". I just have to take it out and to fix it with some tape, along with the lovely tulip, on a tree near their favorite place.

THE END.