Inner storm, part 1/2

Translation and adaptation of "une histoire " text written in french - 22 mai 2016 Shinji.

Painting Thomas Moran, la mer en colère 1911

Erin is an incredibly rational-atypical artist, a keen observer. She synthesizes and dissects reality, favouring the creative process rather than the very realization of her works. Antithesis of the bohemian, stranded on the pebbles of an imaginary shoreline, she avoids the burn of «the salt of life» as much as the bites of a raw sun.

Lannick embodies objectivity and his job ; he is a doctor. He camisoles his inner paradox : a solitary navigator in the depths of his own life, waiting on his skiff, despairing of drafts, wishing for the crash of a storm.

Their meeting was fortuitous during a summer celebration. A banal fall, a torn ligament in the ankle that, like an Ariadne's thread, unrolled the skein of an invisible link between them. Prescriptions, appointments, during which, not surprisingly, the codified gestures of medical care do not make them capsize. One stormy day, in this village perched atop a sea cliff, Lannick's hand drifted from the initial anchorage point, his fingers slipped along this frail coastline, from the ankle to the calf, to the popliteal fossa. . . Driven by a sudden wind born out of nowhere, they entangled in Erin's blurry bun. His face snuggled down in her neck, Lannick breathed his skin as one fills his lungs with the gusts that swept a torn coast, the intensity of his gaze betrayed him.

This sudden ardour destructured Erin by submerging her feelings. She escaped under the explosion of this wave, as if she were a badly secured rock rolling in the middle of a sandy banner. Her hands on Lannick nascent beard anchored her in reality, he caressed and kissed her delicate face. He smiled : he felt alive, the dam of his reason gave way, a warm wind finally rose, animating him, unleashing him.

An intoxicating moment for them both, embrace, love, freedom, here and now.

It is in the ocean that Lannick will lead this fragile bond to its loss. A broken boat on the coast, its powerlessness in a celerate storm, an in-extremis rescue. At the hospital, they will be told that they are lucky to be alive and that they will be able to create life again. . . Again?

Silence, disbelief. Their dazed gazes probe each other without seeing, question each other while knowing the answer, implore and resign themselves, already. Lost glances, empty glances of the living, dead inside. Deep cuts in Lannick's hands, a bleeding in Erin's artist's entrails, an invisible scar that their inner self, hearts and bodies, carries and loses forever, at the same time, an unexpected « little life promise ».

Their tears roll, not a sound. Responsible, guilty, for this unfortunate escapade ? They will be bound by this silence, unable to externalize their feelings. As emotions arise, questions jostle, such sharp pains : will they become nagging ? will they disappear ?

They must separate, it becomes an evidence, of course, separate to repair their bodies, then to reintegrate their own intimacy, to reinvent themselves in their devastated lives.

The Cartesian artist has cast off her inner moorings, to brave the seas and oceans she feared. The doctor placed his craft in dry dock, giving up hope for rolling and pitching.

Yet they seal a promise : to find themselves once they have experienced all their feelings, settled their questionings, once the effects of the emotional tsunami will have been « cleaned up ». Confusingly they know that they are more than just few nights lovers.

Time passes, (…) One, then many years.