Flick of a wrist - and innocence died.

I started listening to Queen already as a child. Killer Queen was heard every day on the radio.
One other early tune of theirs is "Flick of the wrist." from Sheer Heart Attack, 1974.
That title came to me this morning when I heard the news of a 14 year old boy committing murder in our country. What ever will become of him?? Why???It was indeed depressing news and I thought of the fact that the person who bombed the wedding in Turkey recently also was a teenage boy.
How easily a life can turn. From future to grave in a second, a flick of the wrist only. A moment of anger, hatred, or total disorder. Oh dear Lord, how awful isn't this ??!!

And so I remembered something that happened when I was about 10-12 years old, about 1975 perhaps?  This is something I will never forget, now perhaps I can share it.
I grew up in a neighbourhood of apartments in three, four and eightstory buildings. Most of my schoolmates lived in apartments and spent there sparetime in the yard or around the blocks, close to the small tobaccostores and groceriestores that kept us alive with bubblegum and candy. A few playgrounds completed the scenery but getting older that was forbidden grounds.  One tobaccostore in particular was popular, the owner always had time for us and if money was scarce he could hand us something anyway. His teenaged son was very friendly.
Many teenagers gathered in a gang. In this gang was , let's call him Marcus, a tall, blond boy about 16-17 years old. He was also very nice , strong, friendly and always laughing. His friends loved him . He was nice to us children too. The teenagers in our block where not so bad. 
Everybody was smoking in those days, few exceptions.  Teenagers stayed out late, we children did not.
As a young girl I was constantly in love with one or other of the older boys, but we knew our place and went home when teenage time started. Sulking a bit, perhaps.

This warm evening I went home, many of the older stayed out for a while, maybe school was out for the week, that part I don't recall..but we heard sirens that night, wondering about them until next morning when the disaster fell upon us:
There had been a murder and Marcus was dead. Marcus was dead!  Murdered. There was still blood where he fell. He was actually dead. It was incomprehensible. He stood there smiling friendly when I left, hours later he dragged himself bleeding in to the tobaccostore and died on the floor.  For a child this was so shocking that I didn't know what to say, feel or do.

Later we heard from his best friend, who saw him die, that there had been some arguing during
the evening. A gang from some blocks away arrived and started to make fuss. Marcus wanted 
everything to quiet down and started talking to them. They turned to him and asked for matches for their cigarettes and he declined because he wasn't a smoker, one of the few.
Somehow the voices raised and there was shouting and shuffling and everybody in that yard was getting nervous and before they knew, a fight broke out and all of a sudden Marcus screamed and the other gang made a quick departure. His friends saw him stagger and head for the store, hands tightly gripping his chest. He had been stabbed.  Blood was, they told us later on, flooding from him. I don't remember the details, we were all in shock, but his best friend, standing in the store, later told us this the most horrifying experience he had ever had. A nightmare.  Who would have thought it could happend where we lived?  

I was too young to notice much of what happened after those first days. If I did I don't remember any longer.  If the boy was captured, if Marcus's family got any help to get over it, how many people came to church, how his friends reacted, if there was any talk of revenge. My mother didn't know his parents. I so hope they are alright and got help . 
We talked about it for a long time, it was so strange and foreign to these times and our neighbourhood.  People didn't get killed like that. Only in the States, everybody knew that. A few years later that 16 year old schoolgirl didn't like mondays and shot her schoolfriends. That is when my world started to change badly. Being an outsider already , I started to see the world around me as an evil place. And evil was closing up.

"Flick of the wrist and you're dead , baby."  And now that is a truth spilling blood all over and all the time.  My innocent childhood died with Marcus. Like so many many innocent childhoods die every second.  We can't let this go on. We can't let evil flick its wrist every split second, destroying life and future in whatever name he uses.  There is a better name to use.
"He who is within you are stronger than he who is in the world"  When he flicks his wrist - evil backs off.  That's a flick I like.  Darkness can't prevail - the light is stronger. 
And the lyrics for that song is still very very current and valid.

Moments in time - shared in the present

There is something really appealing in old buildings, ruins and rocks. Wherever I go, my hands keep following the rough surface of ancient life. The cut edges, the broken fences, the carved pillars, tresholds all torn down by centuries of footsteps. It doesn't really matter if it's the remains of an old temple or just a farmers cottage. The treat of it lies in the voices echoing inside. At least in my imagination.  Buildings of all kind once contained life, voices, tears and laughter, praying, singing or perhaps chanting.  Loners or large families, farmers or knights, spectators or invaders.  All within the walls, within the fences the hopes and dreams, the fighting and the blessings. The starvation and the days of plenty. 

I have written in my other blog about houses on the countryside, abandoned when progress pushed on . This post is about the tales and emotions of ancient Greece. So much more absent in time and still so vivid in mind when you are walking right through it, lingering, stroking, breething and experiencing decades of life for a second. 

This was 1992. We went on our first trip abroad, just the two of us. We planned to be engaged, the rings where safely stored in a little grey box .  Simple rings, nothing fancy. We had been saving up for the trip, plenty of tours, plenty of sights we planned to cover. We had a faint idea of where to make this happend, the golden bond.  We had read about  Epidauros, the ancient town by the eastcoast, once a lively centre. There would be the theatre, no amphi but one of those halfcircle theatres. Epidauros holds the sanctuary of Asclepius. There was a cult in the area around the 6th century BC and centuries on. The theatre was situated close by.

There are more than 30 rows in here.  No comfortable chairs though for the long spectacles.

In the evening we arrived at the hotel, close to the harbour. There was a thunderstorm of the kind you can experience in the tropics. Before dinner, the rain stopped and we slipped down to the harbour, rings in pocket.  With the crickets chirping away and the sun setting, we exchanged rings. Our guide found out and raced into the kitchen, commanding the staff to present us with a bottle of champagne. On the double!!! He had that kind of appearence, nobody would say no and survive. Champagne it was.

Next day we stood there, awstruck in the centre of this pile of rocks, this grey and uncomfortable place. It's still in use. But the mind can't really get a grip of the decades that has passed and the efforts it took to create this pile of rocks.  Actually, this particular theatre
is worldandtimewide known for its accoustics. Breaking out of the almost tangible atmosphere we started to mount the stairs. It was a hot day after that thunder, the stairs where steep. At the same time, it felt like we ought to step very carefully, not destroying or disturbing something important. Delicate and rough at the same time.

We had learned that a voice would carry easily from the performer on the stage and up to the spectators at the top. So there we stood, viewing the valley below , the heat in our faces and spotting that small figure down there. She began to speak to us as if we were standing next to her. Every single word echoed clearly through the hot air and up to where we stood.
How is that possible? Many architects have tried to solve the mystery. Once, in the 20th century, a famous architect betted he could build a perfect copy at home, with the same accoustic qualities. He meassured and crawled, making calculations for weeks. But when it finally stood there in place, the accoustic was not there.  So great was his despair that he couldn't live with it.  That's the impact of history alive. You must treat it with respect.

And this is what happends when we step carefully in the landscape of times lost and forgotten, we pick up small pieces and glimpses of life once lived, moments of importance, thoughts and dreams being shared, dramatic events taking place beneath the cloudless sky of ancient Greece or anywhere, why not Ireland with its mystery cultsites.
 I don't believe in the forefathers spirits but we are created to bear forth our inner and outer efforts, making traces for generations to follow. Moments in time for us was lifetimes for someone else. We see but glimpses of entire lifespans and can only guess the conversations and actions taking place between people that once occupied this region and believed that to be the only life possible .
The known world. The known culture. The known ways of life. The once brand new theatre
and the daily activities in the town and out here by the sanctuary. It all falls upon us in a split second, moments of time becomes one with the present. It's hard to leave, my hand keep touching the stone.  But we know that our next stop is Delphi, and I know it will be an even greater impact on our minds.  The meeting with the ancient Delphi above the valleys of red earth is another story altogether.

Life unknown

"Twothirtie, can you put the kettle on?"
It was no great effort, she was actually passing the kitchen, heading for the xerox.
" I will, in a minu...hang on, phones ringing somewhere. "
" Phone? What kind of tune is that?"  He was teasing her . He raised his voice a bit;
"Yours, it must be. No one else left here"
" It's Lord of the rings, surely you recognize it!"
" I'm not in for fantasy, really. There it goes again, answer it!"
She was now running towards her desk but missed by seconds. She glanced at the screen, not
one of those again, insurance, trustfonds, Fitnesscentre...it went on again! Who was this?

Greg stood in the doorway, watching her puzzled face.
" Answer it, woman, or not, that tune is annoying"
She would have, normally, but she had a strange sensation in her stomach. Who was this?? She hoped it would just stop and she could forget all about it.
Two minutes. Three. Nothing.  She let it slip into her pocket and looked at Greg.
" Probably a salesman, real nuisance if you ask me!"
" Mmm, so ..... tea?"  He kept looking at her. She seemed nervous, kept fiddling with the phone in her pocket. He shrugged and turned to leave when the music started again. Lord of the rings, was it?
" There now, answer it!!  You answer, I'll put the kettle on, ok?"  He left the room.

She pulled it out of the pocket. The ringing stopped. Yes, same number alright. Why ??
Oh for heavens sake, not again!!   She started shaking it, as if shaking it would make the caller get dizzy and lie down for a rest.
Two minutes. Three. Gone.  Good, now she could relax.  She remembered the copies she was suppose to take, where did she leave them...?
Ten minutes later, they both sat by the table in the coffeeroom. Normally they would have a loud conversation about odds and ends, this and that, but he couldn't get her attention. The phone laid
on the table, she got the shell in Athens last spring, he recalled.  They both jumped when the tune
started again. She let it ring. And again.

" What is the matter with you? If you want to know, call them back! Or check the number out first if that makes you feel better"
" You're right. Yeah, I should. Really. Silly of me, I don't know why it bothers me so. I'll....check it...later"
He bent over her, picked up the phone and touched the screen to view the number.
" Here, I'll do it for you!"
" No, no, it can wait, it's not important, leave it"
" Sorry love, just can't do that.  Here....that's odd..."
She stiffened and stared at him " What? What is odd?"
" It seems to be from..... Budapest"
" What?? Give me my phone!"   She stood up now, eyes glowing and her face all red.
The tune started again and he answered it, it was just a whim, he wouldn't have done anything like that normally but this was different. Her face went blank and she sat down, heavily.
" No, but she's sitting here next to me, hang on..."     He handed her the phone, with the word "sorry"
in a quiet whisper. She took the phone without looking at him. She held it with two fingers. You could hear a voice coming from it: "Hello??? Miss Summers?? Hello?"

Greg held his breath. Finally she lifted the phone to her mouth and kind of croaked: "Hello?"
He badly wanted to stay and find out what was going on and he realized she couldn't move from where she was so he left the room and got back to his office. He tried not to listen to the muffled
voice coming from the kitchen. Ten minutes passed, he couldn't get anything done. He stared at his screen, shuffled documents around and counted paperclips. What was that? Did she say: "Goodbye?"

He heard her move the chair and get up. After a while she appeared in his doorway. She had been crying. Crying?? Oh no. This was his fault, he answered it, God, why did he do it, what an idiot!!
" Look, Cathy, I'm sorry...that was ..." She interrupted him with an absentminded wave. "Hush!"
" It was an undertaker. Hungarian. He, I.., you don't want to hear this anyway, Greg"
" Are you serious, I can't wait, I mean, if you're up to it"
" You remember I told you once my father died when I was just a baby?"  .  Oh yes he did, word by word.
" Yes, actually I do. Why?"
" Well, this man, this undertaker, called to tell me the sad news"
" What sad news? I didn't know you had relatives in Hungary"
" Neither did I.  I seem to have a lot of them. One has died now"
" I don't believe it, who could that be?? You must be all confused?"
" I am.  Really. You see, they told me that my father passed away two weeks ago and.... they have been searching for me since then.....what does this mean? Has he been alive all my life? What am I to do? " She stood there, readeyed, shoulders dropping a bit. Not her confident self at all.
He looked at her . This was his moment, his heart was pounding hard now;
" We'll figure it out, love, we'll figure it out"