Breakthrough

Our way among the old branchy trees and bushes graced with the golden leaves would look magically beautiful, if we were not hungry and tired of our previous silly adventures. Silly adventures given by the technological, scientific and economic progress. It's really something.

It was a special and rare autumnal stillness with a special clarity of the air of the woodland in bright colours of dying, too early this year, but it happened like this, and the fine weather made forget of this phenological small deviation. In a quarter of our walk, the breakthrough slipped into a road, hilly and among some fields. Meandering, the road seemed endless, with the only solace: here and there, it was open for our eyes, nearly up to the skyline. The dark meadows strewn with red whortleberry, a strip of rusty shrubbery at a glade, slight flaxen shreds of wilting moss, the deflorate heather, the rusty dry stripes of stubble-fields -- the happy confluence of weather and scenery lent a soft, melancholic and purely English look to this uneven terrain. My spirit rebounded and I nearly chortled with delight – but our task was to reach our destination being faster than our fellow travellers who went by autocar, that's why we chewed cheese and hard bisquits, on the move. The cool air was one of our refreshments; our raincoats undone and scarves loosened, when we saw the road empty no longer, at a distance of several turns.

A human figure. Lonely and motionless, the figure on the road, nearby a pine forest. Either male or female, we could not make out. "Are we expected?" Scarcely. We dived between hillocks, passing them one by one, and every time when on top we saw the human figure motionless, striking the same attitude: arms lifted behind the head and the head up, looking skywards as though searching heaven with empty eyes. Motionless. Strangely motionless. By day, the distant object looked neither sinister nor menacing; unexpected, at most; therefore, I didn't take my spyglass out of my bag; we simply hastened to approach the motionless object on the road.

It took us some time. Now, we on the approach... One hillock more and there, after going uphill, we got nearly face to face with the motionless object, a human figure indeed, but Clem's exclamation of surprise was heard from behind my left shoulder.

I looked at him: he was all right, merely staring at the figure, for really, it was worth seeing and exclamations.

The figure was female, without clothing, but it was not a human. We saw a life-sized sculpture of a naked woman, made of wood. "Nice," I said, looking the object of art up and down.

Clem said, "Nice, but…"

"…But who has the idea of placing a sculpture here?" I said.

"No," Clem said, "I was about to say…"

"We are expected though?" I looked round.

"No," Clem said, "I don't know. I was about to say… Do you know whose very image is the figure?"

"Do you want to say that you know?"

"Oh how I do! I know who postured for the portrait…" Seeing Clem's exited face, I guessed of the name, before he said, "It's Mlle Delamarche. Striking resemblance."

"Really?" I said, "Is she so tall?.. Nice."

We placed our travel bags on the ground to look close at the work of art, thinking whose disordered mind placed it here on the road.

The yellowish woodwork was well-polished; if the weather were sunny, the wood would be shining gold. It took me some time to remember the kind of wood. The stuff looked like the things which I happened to see and which were made of a birch-tree burl. The burl, the "gold of roots." But a life-sized piece of a burl hardly could be found in this part of the world. The figure seemed to be made of a solid piece; in case if it was burl, a big piece like this could be brought from Australia. Unbelievable -- I thought once again. But Clem fell on his knees at the statue's feet.

This gesture seemed to cause some obscure change in the wooden figure, since it moved. Clem's gester and the motion of the air together could make the tall antropomorphic figure sawy, but no, it stepped on the spot, with the head and arms motionless.

"Clem!.. au nom de pipe! -- voyez, voyez donc!"

In a fantastic state, Clem embraced the wooden legs and began kissing them. Then the figure's head inclined, arms lowered, and it pushed the young man away. The wooden face motionless, the figure turned away and walked to the pine forest without swaying her hips. Moving away a bough low on its way, the stately figure disappeared in the forest. Clem jumped to his feet and dashed after the figure, looking faster than his bad leg permitted.

Strangely, I was taken aback, but not too much and not frightened. I looked round in search of a stump. Seeing a log looking dry, I took our both travel bags in hands and walked to it. Subsiding on the log, I took off my Kromer cap to get my head cooled.

All was quiet around, but a long silvery sound, sad and clear, was heard over the fields, and this cry of an animal returned the proper earthly look to the wilderness. Two crows took wing off a pine-tree, croaking. Long-tailed and busy, a magpie flew towards the fields, the thicket seemed animated, and an increasing noise rolled over trees.

Along with the rustle of the wind in the trees, a buck with two curved antlers came trotting out of the forest. In one long leap, the beautiful animal rushed on the glade, pressed his horns on his back and ran away. My native forests. No reason to fear; and I didn't, but I took into consideration other encounters, something more extraordinary, and I opened my travel bag to take out my revolver.

Keeping in sight the direction, where Clem disappeared, I checked up the revolver and put it in my raincoat pocket, just in case. Like my young partner, I was in my native forests and was not about to fire in all directions, even if the animated statue returned, with her all supernatural beauty and glory. Silence. A couple of moments more, and a rustle behind my back.

Jumping to my feet and fumbling for my revolver, it all at once, I saw Clem sitting on the ground by a bush and removing cobwebs, pine needles and dead leaves off his raincoat and trousers.

"Clem, my boy!.."

Clem looked skywards, and said, "I tumbled. When I stood up, she was nowhere about. Then I returned."

"Appearing at my rear," I said, "Anyway, glad to see you again…" I wanted to add "...and alive", but I said, "We must go on, and it looks like we should leave this place as soon as possible. Discretion is the better part of valour."

"All right. Just a moment." He stood up, pulling some needles out of the palm of his hand.

The small wounds began bleeding, and we had to apply his handkerchief, not fresh yet rather clean. "Le grand mal!"

"I don't know what it was with me…" Clem said.

"You were shocked," I said, "Cela s'est vu, mon cousin. Anyway… it's all right, now. We are all right and on the way home." Much older than my three cousins, I felt compelled to take care about each of them, especially Clem, my partner in pleasure, trip and quest for truth about his mother's disappearance and something more, something that was in the wind, though I felt in a fog about what it was and what we were to do or expect, not having a right thing to say in reply to him.

"If you ask me," he said, "all I know is that it was Mlle Delamarche's image."

"Are you sure?"

"I am. For I know her... Happened to see her. Do you remember?"

"All right. I don't know what it was with you, but I'm glad seeing you keep your pecker up…"

"It's the way I am," the youngster said with a smirk.

For me, it was clear that we were in for some quaint encounters more, that day. This land was familiar, and the day's events reminded that everyone's mistaken saying that it's common.

But another sudden noise of branches was heard and another unknown human figure appeared in sight.