Work in progress, The Grey Country (p.17)
Morgan, who was the chief librarian of a university library, left her prestigious job in a big city to return to her home town, Morryb, in a small place on the sea, to assist Mael, the old librarian, in the digitization of the library catalogue . The homecoming happens without apparent harm, but in the mind of Morgan. Or at least, this is how it seems.
This impression was probably born from my imagination, but on the moving day, I had the feeling that Morrybans followed my every move while a clumsy truck was bringing me some furniture. I felt a bit shaky, like every time I have to give up an apartment. The desolation of the void, the echo of my own. steps slamming on the floor, while I check one last time if I have forgotten something before closing the door forever on a piece of my life, like one would on a tomb, all these gestures exhausted me more than any other task.
Leaving at dawn, inhabited with the unpleasant impression that I was deserting a body still warm, I had obstinately driven on the winding road leading to Morryb. Only by seeing the lighthouse, which seemed to wait for me, I felt exhilarated. Although not being used anymore as a landmark for sailors, its mere presence had always had the ability to reassure the Morryban population, who felt protected thanks to its warm presence on the cliff, only symbolically perhaps, but protected all the same, against real and imaginary storms striking the country. And from the moment I saw it from the road, I felt the need to put myself under its protection.
As soon as I arrived, without knowing why, I put a wet white T-shirt on the clothing line, taut between a pipe along the lighthouse and the twisted branch of the single oak carving the cliff for kilometers, as a sign of peace: to dry one’s clothes in the wind, is like starting to live somewhere, I said to myself, while watching the white T-shirt swinging in the cool morning air. As if, suddenly, there was nothing more important to the world than this movement and flexibility, this balancing whiteness in the November air, which also had the effect of instantly calming down the urgency I felt to put my possessions away. Instead, I sat down in the black wooden rocking chair and looked at the boxes stacked on both floors of the lighthouse, while a sense of order invaded my mind where the disorder had dominated as far as my memory could go with words. It seemed that with words, disorder had arrived in my brain, and also questions, the doubts, but the lighthouse had finally calmed this shaking of the spirit and I now felt at home. Finally.
…. Maybe I had always expected this day I would live on the certainty of a cliff. When I think of it.
Sylvie G @