Magical tales to tell
What about Christmas stories ... often they are made to good children. But, nowadays, who cares stories of wonderings stories of our childhood. And then there is at least one good child ?By the way, what's the story ? In principle they are, mostly, wonderful stories, embellished relating a fact and there heard that. It will be peddled over the imagination of one that ensures its transmission. We have in mind the stories reported by Messrs.Grimm and Charles Perrault. A gallery of fantastic adventures that have, at first glance no chance of being real, credible ... unless ...
To be their attorney, we will say that these stories are mostly made to explain, prepare a situation at a time when the only means of communication possible is still the fabulous story that can strike the mind to which it is intended. At that time the term will be considered wise in the sense that the adult is encouraged to become wise,AWARE, and in fact initiated. There will be a wise and in this scenario again in his knowledge, as maybe a child.
Normally, this drama unfolds on several dimensions that can be summed up by a great story and a kind of initiation events to a defined category of individuals entering their working lives or symbolic.For example, for a future woman (Little Red Riding Hood) entering adult life. Then the story goes further, reaching the borders of symbolism and a final stage where it opens to the applicant, the mysteries of hermeticism. The symbolism in principle is everywhere in the tale, such as seven-league boots for a little Poucet fleeing an ogre who furiously devoured his seven daughters instead of sons.The kicked Cat defending the interests of his master, a certain Marquis de Carabas, who invents a vast territory. Then Blue Beard kill as mournfully to his wives, then leave them hanging in a closet whose key is bleeding in the hands of his last, but too curious wife ... and fairies, Cinderellas asleepwaiting for the prince charming to awaken with a kiss ... while a king's daughter escapes the royali ncest covered with a skin of an ass.
One could say that all this violence hidden, this criminal horror of creatures beyond our common should frighten the child, while he listens amazed. The incredible becomes acceptable, ordinary and tolerable. The child grows up, forget ... but in his heart, the wonderful rests until ...
Once upon a time ...
Yes, until ... Until the day we are faced with the unnamed, the unreasonable, the impossible, however, that our eyes record by ensuring that we are alone, we have not fallen into the field of delirium. This loneliness in the event makes the transmission of this really difficult because of the irrational making an incredible story that is if the front of the word reassuring 'children's story' ... making it safe and harmless. The pill is passed without fear or contemptuous shrug. Its active ingredient will make its way into our being to our last breath. So yes, of course, everything could start with "Once upon a time." But is it just one time there is this kind of thing, when and where ?Where ? But in a place called "The Gagogne", a night of winter solstice when the night is the longest in the Pilat. The farm is very old as evidenced by mullioned windows and openings Renaissance period paintings. Ownership of land not very large, as long truncated, with a river behind. A river, above the sandstone rocks covered short casts flow and wide wells. In this connection a hats off to the EDF engineer who came to decide on the implant support low voltage, admitted it was fashionable not to deface this megalithic tower and move a few meters.
It's snowing that night. A heavy snow heavy snow, thick. It falls into a haunting quiet hiss in the night without gust of wind that suddenly fells after the meal that lasted until suddenly the household decides to fall asleep.
Out. Outside, the dogs sleep too well fed after a paste composed of the remains except the rich, but family meals shared in a brotherly friendship with Raymond and his family. In this darkness enveloped by the snow descends inexorably right, surprisingly dense, adding to the power cables to make them break under the weight of a white hot ice.It's over ... the peaceful and reassuring hum of the boiler died for lack of energy. A surprising silence,cotton, on which the light does not control.Out. These are dogs that about two o'clock in the morning stir, then yelp secretly, meanly, in an unusual way.Him. He wakes up by the sound of this unique movement of dogs in this darkness that now reaches the atmosphere inside the house. The children sleep in the sweet dream of colorful packages they know there under the tree when they wake up in the morning. Adults also fast asleep.
Everything becomes a little unusual, in another dimension ... the move of the candles, he scratched a match tha lit right, opening a short break in the dark of the room as though he knows, or at least thinks knowing well.
And the dogs. They moan as if they were preparing to clear barking yet they retain as regret or fear. He advances towards the window.Dogs behave well for the first time and it is this exceptional reaction plot, surprised he has not scared. And why should he fear ? Santa Claus, thebogeyman, the devil guy ? A faint smile, a shrug of irritation, eyes full of sleep.
He opens the window overlooking the front yard, that of the portal to the path, then the shutter. That's it ... it looks to calm the animals which continue to behave in this mixture of fear and want to shout louder and dry faithful guardians of their fears. He obviously thinks that a stray animal is lost in the snow that eventually fall in search of the remains left by enticing the dogs forcefed.Probably a dry "just! lying!", wll soon restore order and silence in the night now pierced by a few stars.No, that's not enough and the animals have the tail down, seeming to crawl, torn between fear andanger of not having chased the intruder.
Incomprehensible ... He needs to be addressed, for now the flashlight beam pierces the front yard milky. He sees the dogs, but especially now he sees ... He sees deep snow footprints. Yes, footprints, out there in that white on the edge of a passive aggressivity.
Jeans, parka, boots and it's the moment to open the door to the outside taking the shotgun hanging in the hall, oblivious to the idiocy of this action moved in the circumstances of that night in mystery. He is out. He goes while the dogs do not seem to consider him. They whine, their eyes fixed on a point of the old court of the time or the property was protected by a kind of summary shirt before sufficient to stop a few vagrants wandering in search of a chicken or a paltry theft. From this space up a stone staircase along one wall thick, covered with a large canopy, high enough to adequately protect a man.
This is not only scanned by the animals. No ... this opening is low, hunched under the stairs, the opening after a narrow space is confronted with a door opened and closed on centuries of cellars, earning or anything of such and ignored or alleged it is probably better.
This is where the intruder is, he knows now that it can not be otherwise. Moreover, not driven into the snow come from this entry and return, after a narrow circle of hesitant wandering in the first courtyard.Simple reflection, the dogs detected a marauder, he's feeling threatened, uncovered, back into hiding in the cellar where he seems to have found shelter for the night of Christmas. The unusual snow squall has surprised him and perhaps the individual is lost. He does not wonder at that moment, how this has been wandering into an area closed and locked and protected by high walls.He will move decisively dislodge him and ask some explanation. The sharp sound of the breech of the gun he comes to arm gives him the silly courage to take one step forward, then another, preceded by a clear circle of the flashlight and the gun barrel. Dogs are now behind him, they are silent but he feels anxious, they run no real purpose to follow.
The old door is closed on what he fears now. He takes his breath, ensures the gun in his hand he is nervous now. A dry kick opens on the warm darkness. The torch quickly swept this cave that from time residents call ... 'Chapel' and no one can explain its origin.
He goes now, as in the empty cavity, or almost ...there is no one. No one ! Yes no one ... and yet the traces leave here in the snow, since this local low cut in the rock and return without further ado. The torch still shines without add. The gun hangs useless at arm's length. He now feels ridiculous standing there before the empty tomb ... the dogs behind him, now calmed down, return to their baskets despite their low growl.
That's it ... He closes the door of the cellar. Besides,that's it, the electricity came back and the wind picked up again. Quick, before the storm clears the footprints, he takes some pictures. But what these pictures devoid of any substance, wonders the real ready.
Why, He wonders there now, thirty years later looking at these old pictures ? And yes ... on the eve of this new night of the winter solstice of 2011, what good pictures of footprints that can be taken anywhere, by anyone, anyhow, anywhere, anytime. Moreover, he well remembers as if it were last night... the next day with snow, wind and nothing more of these tracks except perhaps the dog approaching, sniffing, fearful of the opening the impossible.
He will not say anything ... Besides, why talk about it except to make fun or hear "yeah, that's what happens when you force, Christmas Eve, the Chartreuse green, and more ... and the next once this will be of little green men that you seepacing in the yard. "
You do not believe me ... do not worry me either because I do not believe if I am told. Let's say it's a silly Christmas story.
We say, and read on an outdated property act by the notary Pélussin, only one property was there,an during the Revolution we had lots more dispersed.Then, walls, fences and changes did the rest.The old document reports briefly a very old local was found and turned into cellars. But the document says nothing about a few stones found there with a few engravings simplistic ... crosses, circles, hollow and we do not know much else. Moreover, perhaps we would not try to remember what "we do not know much else". There are some things that it is better to let sleep at the bottom of an ancient forgotten by all except the unnamed ... which in a crushing obscure whiteness He remembered the door to a forbidden dimension that is not ours if indeed it was one day.
Him. Him so, or so it was not he that came down in the yard that night. This was not the Pilat, and not to Gagogne, a name that some advised never to read by turning on itself, so that the letters G, without their consonants, become repeated by three of six times to reach 666. The 666 will find that after 15 years on his mobile phone number on his credit card and a definition buried deep in a book of stations of France.
Two final details of this period he remembers at the time to write the tale of another time and another place. Yep, this door sealed one porch. Or in old Celtic Pilat means the door, the door ... So from one to the other, he wondered if there might be a step or more in a loop in an otherwise snow also here. And then he remembers that this is old, heavy, but surprisingly in good condition had two heavy latches locking it ...from the inside ! From the inside, as if the wine and apples winter finally barricaded themselves in 'mature' peacefully away of humans of the first court. But is it reasonable to think that something is closed from the inside in the vault, the vault so why be afraid of this word, as if he had an unspeakable reason. The most unusual is that many people who still remember this old farm, the vault under the staircase of the heavy door with two locks are only maneuvering inside.
But why all this ... if we consider that the unthinkable is not known for designing some digital manipulation or alphabetic necessarily lead toanything and everything to the point where this Solstice night he no longer knew where his step sled him .... And it's probably better that way once upon a time ... or not, who can really say or deny it really ?
André Douzet
The 23 décembre 2011
