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Notes09/07/2021
TristanKalus
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TristanKalus
4
The mask
Even though he had long since hung up his profession, from time to time his fingers tingled so that he had to visit his old study in the west wing. Often he no longer entered the slightly dusty room overlooking the garden. Too painful were the longing memories of distant lands, which threatened to overwhelm him every time he entered the room. But today was the day again. After spending the morning in the library studying works on the history of African expeditions, the thought of the great, hot continent never left his mind until afternoon tea. Impatiently emptying his cup, he made his way to the west wing and pushed open the doors to the study. The large room was peppered with the quaintest things, which had accumulated over the course of the expeditions. In the center stood a rectangular map table of heavy wood filled with seemingly endless manuscripts, maps and documents. While he knew what he was looking for, it took a few moments for his tired eyes to spot it. Hanging in the corner and in the shadow of a bookshelf. He crossed the room and took the dark wooden mask from the wall. Carefully feeling the grain of the deep dark wood, he ran his fingers along the carvings and sucked in the smell of the mask through his flared nostrils. Instantly he felt transported back to a time when he had been blessed with youth and health and had made several expeditions into the heart of Africa.
How long they had been marching through the sea of dunes he could no longer say. As they put one foot in front of the other on the hot sand, the sun scorched mercilessly on their heads from above. Time, distance traveled, and distance yet to come seemed to merge completely with each other. Even the sand seemed to develop a smell under the sheer heat, at least it seemed as if he could literally smell the dryness of the sand. Now that they had been marching towards their destination for the entire morning, he kept catching himself as his gaze drifted off his guide's back and into the vastness of the desert. This time was no different. However, something was different this time. His gaze caught on a dark patch not fifty feet away from him. He managed a step or two before finally stopping completely, pausing for a second, only to leave the caravan and walk towards the dark spot. It wasn't until he was directly in front of the dark something that he realized it was a deep dark piece of wood. Curious, he picked it up and felt the dry but not at all brittle surface. It gave off an intense woody smell, which definitely had tendencies of dried resins, adding a distinctly balsamic scent. In some places, small, gray clumps of some sort of substance shimmered from the surface of the wood. It almost seemed as if they had been embedded into the wood. Upon closer inspection, he detected a soft, gentle scent emanating from the lumps, which blended harmoniously with the scents of the rest of the wood and the heated sand. He had never smelled a more beautiful scent in his life. How the piece of wood came to be in this part of the desert, of all places, was a mystery to him, one he pondered long after his time in Africa was over. He was so absorbed in the smell and appearance of the wood that he literally cringed when his guide put his hand on his shoulder from behind. With his treasure in his hands, he turned to the native and held it out to him questioningly. After a few moments of scrutiny, the guide informed him that he had no idea what he had in his hands, but that it would certainly make a nice ornamental mask. And so the piece of wood disappeared into his backpack, one thing led to another, years and decades passed, and so now he stood in his study with the mask he had made, dreaming of his adventures in Africa.
Fin.
How long they had been marching through the sea of dunes he could no longer say. As they put one foot in front of the other on the hot sand, the sun scorched mercilessly on their heads from above. Time, distance traveled, and distance yet to come seemed to merge completely with each other. Even the sand seemed to develop a smell under the sheer heat, at least it seemed as if he could literally smell the dryness of the sand. Now that they had been marching towards their destination for the entire morning, he kept catching himself as his gaze drifted off his guide's back and into the vastness of the desert. This time was no different. However, something was different this time. His gaze caught on a dark patch not fifty feet away from him. He managed a step or two before finally stopping completely, pausing for a second, only to leave the caravan and walk towards the dark spot. It wasn't until he was directly in front of the dark something that he realized it was a deep dark piece of wood. Curious, he picked it up and felt the dry but not at all brittle surface. It gave off an intense woody smell, which definitely had tendencies of dried resins, adding a distinctly balsamic scent. In some places, small, gray clumps of some sort of substance shimmered from the surface of the wood. It almost seemed as if they had been embedded into the wood. Upon closer inspection, he detected a soft, gentle scent emanating from the lumps, which blended harmoniously with the scents of the rest of the wood and the heated sand. He had never smelled a more beautiful scent in his life. How the piece of wood came to be in this part of the desert, of all places, was a mystery to him, one he pondered long after his time in Africa was over. He was so absorbed in the smell and appearance of the wood that he literally cringed when his guide put his hand on his shoulder from behind. With his treasure in his hands, he turned to the native and held it out to him questioningly. After a few moments of scrutiny, the guide informed him that he had no idea what he had in his hands, but that it would certainly make a nice ornamental mask. And so the piece of wood disappeared into his backpack, one thing led to another, years and decades passed, and so now he stood in his study with the mask he had made, dreaming of his adventures in Africa.
Fin.
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