EST

Viiruki veetlev suits keerleb graatsiliselt lae suunas. “India,” ütleb kunstnik. Lõhna lummuses, keha pehme diivani embuses, libiseb pilk aknalauale. Delikaatsed, kumerad klaasvaasid, õhukesed inimnaha kihid, avatud töövihikutes õrnad, vaevu nähtavad kirjed. Kõlab jutustav hääl, ent sõnade kujud ja kajad hajuvad viiruki suitsuga üheks.

Klirin! Kohev kassi saba vilksatab vaaside vahel, ergas kuub valge stuudio taustal lõõmamas. Aknalaualt põrandale hüpates nühib ta mööda lauajalgu ja inimsääri ning seab end siis uksesuunas. Nagu hüpnotiseeritult tunnen end diivanilt tõusmas ning järgnen uudishimulikult. Üle läve rõskesse koridori astudes taban veel kassi saba trepikotta kadumas ja tõstan tempot.

Õues on hakanud hämarduma. Auklikul kõnniteel veelombid ning lompidel tänavavalgustuse hägune peegeldus. Imestan, et ees tõttava kassi karv pimeduses helendab. Aeg-ajalt vaatab ta tagasi, silmad kui jaanimardikad. Asfalt vahetub munakividega, kõnnime tühjadel tagatänavatel. Loojuva päikese looritatud majade fassaadid on tundmatud. Linnast väljudes viib edasi sissetallatud põllutee. Märja muda ja rohu lõhn, hein sääri kriipimas. Videvik.

Tihnik tiheneb ning peagi tuleb end puutüvede najal kätega edasi abistada. Juuksed takerduvad harali puuokstes. Libastun sammaldunud kividel, higi otsaesisele kogunemas. Äkitselt mets avaneb ning ees laiutab mürkroheline soojärv. Imetlusega vaatan kassi, kes samuti taamal seisma on jäänud. Kerguses seisab ta justkui veepinnal, silmad tulukestena minu poole suunatud. Tõesti, ta seisab ju vette vajumata järvel!

Maapind pehmeneb. Alla vaadates näen õõvastusega, et olen vaagnani laukas. Siis välgatavad sõnad, mis ennist viiruki-unes tähelepanuta jäid: “(...) virvatulede varjus vaid vuhvel merevaik.”

ENG

The alluring smoke of burning incense swirls gracefully toward the ceiling. “India,” discloses the artist. Entranced by the fragrance, body ensconced in the soft couch, my gaze slides onto the windowsill. Delicate, curved glass vases, thin layers of human skin, faint, barely visible entries on the pages of open notebooks. I hear a voice speaking but the shapes and sounds of the words diffuse as they merge with the smoke.

Clink! The fluffy tale of a cat flashes between the vases, her bright coat blazing with the white studio as its backdrop. She jumps off the windowsill, brushes against the legs of the table, rubs the shins of those seated on the floor, and makes her way toward the door to exit. As if hypnotized, I feel myself rise and follow, curiously. Stepping over the threshold into the cold and damp corridor, I catch a glimpse of the cat’s tail before it disappears into the stairwell. I pick up my pace.

Outside, the night is falling. Puddles on riddled sidewalks, blurry reflections of streetlights on their surface. In wonderment, I watch the cat’s fur glow in the dark as she leads ahead of me. From time to time she turns to look back, her eyes like fireflies. The tarmac road turns into cobblestones, we are passing through deserted back streets. The facades of the houses, haloed by the setting sun, seem unfamiliar. Coming to the edge of the city a well-trodden path takes us across the field. The smell of mud and grass, stalks raking legs. Twilight.

As the woodland thickens, I have to use my hands to push past the tree trunks. Hair entangled with the branches. I slip on mossy stones, sweat beading on my forehead. All of a sudden, a clearing in the forest and a poison-green lake ahead. In awe, I look at the cat who has also come to a halt at a distance. She appears to be standing on the surface of the water, eyes like tiny lights turned toward me. Truly, it seems she is held by the lake without sinking!

The ground beneath my feet softens. To my horror, I notice I am up to my hips in the bog. Then, words which previously had gone unnoticed due to the incense haze, reappear: „…obscured by will-o’-the-wisp, solely fake amber.”