April 10, 2005.

Marina and the Falcon

by Dwаynе Bеll

When I was 6, gypsies came to my little country village and changed my life forever. Late one afternnon they walked into our neighbourhood out of the setting sun, made tall and skinny as trees by the orange glow behind them.

A curved, feminine shape among them caught my eye. A woman, or a girl. I couldn't quite tell. But somehow in that instant I knew that she was about to open up a new world for me in ways I could barely imagine, that she was bringing with her strange charmed secrets from a far away place, and that she was about to make these mysteries only too real for me.

She terrified me.

A feeling of strange excitement and dread flung my body homeward, driven by both fear and an awesome anticipation. I remember feeling a chill run down my back, as though she had reached out with an impossibly long arm and gently caressed my body. I ran faster, knowing it was only bringing us closer together. My legs weakened at the thought.

For the next few days I heard rumours of the gypsies in town. I purposely avoided any of our neighbors' homes they visited. And at night, after I'd gone to bed, I heard unfamiliar gay laughter and strange snips of voices coming though my window with the cold night air, and I could see the shadows cast by bonfires flickering on my ceiling and wall.

I swore could see a feminine shadow dancing among them.

The next day, pursued by these haunting thoughts of the gypsy woman, I hiked out into the fields and up into the hills, where I was forbidden to go, to my special place - a row of large bare trees on the side of a rocky cliff. I used to go there when I wanted to be alone. I'd build a roofless fort out of the fallen chunks of bark, climb in, and spend hours watching the clouds go by.

She was there. Standing still as one of the trees, tall and silent, with long dark hair. There on the rocks above.

I froze. Then jumped behind a ledge, trying to keep my heart from leaping up my throat.

After several moments of real terror, I dared to peek out.

She was topless in a long skirt. Her hair danced and circled her head and body. It teased her face and touched her bare breasts like a lover.

I knew then that inspite of being 6 years old I was madly in love with this woman. I had no idea what to do about it.

I remember being grateful that she hadn't seen me.

But she was not alone. She had a falcon with her - a beautiful, sleek, dark bird with burning yellow eyes that missed nothing and claws that seemed to sink into her sun-tanned flesh.

I was certain the bird had seen me.

I watched the woman play with the falcon for a long time. I had no idea if it was hers or if she had simply charmed it down from the sky. She smiled and hummed to herself, never letting on if she knew I was there. Instead, she talked gently to the bird. And when she did I ached with the wish that she would talk to me like that. And when she touched it, I swear I felt her hands on me. She seemed aware of the effect, since she stopped when it was too much for me, pausing to let the falcon and the wind do as they would.

I don't know how long this went on, maybe minutes, maybe hours passed. I guess you could say it was an eternal moment, whatever that means. It was not sexual, even though she was topless and unbelievably beautiful. How could it have been? I was only a child. Yet it was the most profoundly romantic episode of my entire life.

I remember cold. It became very cold that day, and in my short pants and shirt sleeves I began to shiver uncontrollably. Maybe night was coming, or maybe a north wind blew in. Or maybe the gypsy girl had drained my strength. I can't remember.

Unfortunately I don't remember how this ends either. If I simply left, or if she did. I really can't remember much about it at all most of the time. Sitting down to write this has brought some things back, others seem dull and lost.

In fact, sometimes I'm not even sure it happened at all. Or if I've embellished a simple childhood memory into a full fledged fantasy. Memory can do that.

All I know is that one sunny summer afternoon long ago I fell in love for the first time, and I've been in love with beautiful women ever since. That wonderful gyspy girl opened a man's heart in me when I was only a little boy, and I grew up between breezes.

I think it did happen. I really think so. After all, the echoes are real. I've since used that same heart to fall in love with many women over the years, and it loves them all still. They are all that gypsy girl to me.

And where there's an echo, there's a sound.

In any event, one thing's for certain, today's gallery of Marina and the Falcon by Vаlеry Anzіlоv perfectly captures and recreates that day. And the lesson. Female beauty is a profound, lifechanging experience. It's one of the rare things worthy of an afternoon's contemplation and a lifetime's memories.

It'll fly out of the sun, sink it's claws into your flesh, and never let go.

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