les gantes

I give you a pen; you may put it to paper, or like children do, to walls. Wherever its lines touch, a story will have begun.

You are the painter of this story, yet you cannot draw the cold of a morning. You can only show it, perhaps with a shivering body, perhaps with a breath rising in the air.

I, too, can only tell you of a shivering body and a breath rising in the air. But God is not like that; He can draw, He can paint, He can express Himself through sacred texts. The truth is, man is weak; yet, he can easily erase himself from God's canvas.

⸻

The young woman left her house in the early hours of the morning. She was walking quietly on the cold and dark street. When she reached the end of the road, turned right, and stepped onto the avenue, there was still no one around. She had waited, thinking at least a few cars would pass, so she continued walking on the sidewalk. Her hands were in her coat pockets; as she walked with quick steps, a familiar voice suddenly stopped her:

"You forgot your gloves!"

She turned her head and saw the man sitting on the opposite sidewalk, watching her. If she had continued straight at the end of the road, or if she had never left the house, this moment would never have happened. She was glad to see him; but she didn't like this coincidence. Because this wasn't like winning the lottery; it was more like having a supernatural power. Those around her would think she was crazy; not lucky.

The young woman stood silently for a while, not looking back. Neither of them moved. Finally, her knees gave way against her will, and she sat on the curb. She drew her knees to her chest, clasped her hands, and hid her head. She no longer wanted to carry her head; she wanted to tuck it under her arm and walk only with her body. If she buried it in the ground, there would be nothing left to think about.

*I'm not mad*, she thought.

‘I’m not mad.’

"You forgot your gloves."

After the repeated sentence, the young woman waited for him to say something else, but silence prevailed. She lifted her head from its hiding place and looked at him; he was wearing the same clothes, his wounds were still there.

She didn't want to answer, but she felt obliged to:

"I know," she said.

The man took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out, and lit it. Blowing the smoke slowly, he said:

"It's cold, you know."

"I'm not cold," replied the young woman in a quiet, ordinary voice.

The man finished his cigarette, threw it on the ground, and crushed it with the sole of his foot. Then he slowly stood up, turned his back, and started walking. The young woman froze in momentary hesitation; she waited as if trying to understand if this parting was real, then sprang from her spot and ran after him.

The street melted behind her like a dream. The man's shadow glided ahead. The woman's lungs expanded as if tearing with each breath, the air she drew in heavy with the fear of loss. Only when her feet slipped from stone to soil did she notice the change. She stumbled. Though her heart paused for a moment, this wasn't reality; nor was it a dream. The dim light filtering through the trees made the man's silhouette even more indistinct. Yet, she continued to run after him. Because there was no turning back now. The forest was like a living creature swallowing them.

The trees were like black lines drawn against the sky; their branches interlocked, weaving an impassable net. A cold wind filtering through the leaves wandered over her skin with a shiver. The man advanced without stopping. The young woman ran, holding her breath for fear of losing him.

Finally, she caught up with him on the bank of a roaring river. The man was watching the dark face of the water. The young woman mustered her last strength, took steps forward, and touched his shoulder with her trembling hands.

The man turned slowly. His face was pale in the forest light; his eyes lacked their old, familiar sparkle. He seemed real in every feature, yet the woman felt her heart constrict. She took one more step; they were almost nose to nose.

She reached out to touch his face. But her fingers passed through cold emptiness instead of skin. As the woman recoiled, she muttered in a choked voice.

"You… you're not real."

The man's eyes were looking at her; but there was no earthly spark within them. His lips appeared as thin and transparent as a ghost's, they moved:

"You haven't changed at all."

At that moment, a strong wind blew. Leaves swirled and flew, scattering everywhere. They both looked in the direction the leaves were coming from. The wind intensified; a roar rose in their ears. Leaves slapped her face, preventing her from seeing ahead. Suddenly, she was thrown to the ground.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, a terrifying tornado was rising before her. And the man, without any hesitation, was walking straight into it with calm steps.

"Hey!" she called out, her voice trembling like a leaf shredding in the wind.

"Can't you see what's coming?" she shouted repeatedly, her cries lost in the howl of the storm.

But the man didn't hear. The young woman wanted to follow him, but she was too afraid to cross the river. The moment the man entered the tornado, the vortex sucked him in. The young woman remained on her knees, watching his disappearance with her eyes.

"You didn't see…" she said, her voice filled with sorrow and pain.

The tornado dispersed like a dream; thousands of leaves trapped within it descended quietly to the ground like a falling autumn rain. When the wind settled, the young woman stepped into the cold waters of the river. The water rose to her knees but couldn't stop her. She reached the opposite bank and, with wet feet, walked towards that empty, silent spot where the tornado had vanished.

On the ground, among the leaves, lay a pair of ‘gants’. The young woman bent down, picked them up with trembling hands, and put them on.

They fit her hands perfectly, as if meticulously tailored for her. The cold, familiar touch she felt on her fingertips awakened something within her.

*I'm not mad*, she said again.

When she closed and opened her eyes, she found herself at the head of a grave.

‘There are countless pieces in our lives. I thought I had gathered the ones that belonged to me before you. When you died, I had lost one; now I have lost another, baba.