THE FLYING CYPRIAN PART 1
Working towards a meeting point...
THE FLYING CYPRIAN (Ancient Slav Legend) retold by Mariana Cengel Solcanska
A boy with a face of an angel,
who wished to fly
and reach the stars
was born
under the 'Red Monastery'
ancient walls.
Wrapped in a bright blue scarf,
the unwanted baby
left there
for wolves
or monks to come.
Monks taught him everything
what was there to know,
they named him Cyprian,
an orphan, with no means,
no one to love
and no one to love him back.
He prayed to God
five times per day
next to his mother's grave
behind the wall
for his unknown father
he prayed even more.
A man with a face of an angel,
and eyes full of murderous deeds,
Cyprian was his name,
travelled through light and dark
in a search of dream...
running from the justice,
fighting for his life
he ended up
not far
from the place
his abandoned son was found...
According to an ancient legend
in a deep forest valley
glued to a sharp stony wall
crumbling old 'Red Monastery'
appeared in a mist
long time ago.
In the beginning
of the 18th century
there lived monks
who forgot about outside world
occupying their days
by prays and hymns
by collecting herbs
and mixing natural medicines
and something else
that was forbidden
by the pope in Rome...
and yet
they felt
the time had come
for latin religious texts
to be understood
by everyone.
Bible was translated
in secrecy
into Slav native language
and suddenly
for the first time
in the history
poor pheasants and commoners
of Austria-Hungarian Empire
who were not allowed
to even own a piece of land
learnt to read and write.
In Anno Domini 1713
it happened this year
that in Terchova village
they hanged a young man
hanged him on his rib,
a feared outlaw
and common people's hero.
Everyone was there
mourning his slow and painful death
seeing him bleeding
from his torn abdomen.
The three brothers came
from a dark place
in a forest
where they lived
after their parents died.
Scavengers,
always fighting to survive,
a pack of human wolves
hunting in the darkest hour
of the night.
Today they killed a boar,
slicing his neck from side to side,
cutting off the meat,
loading on the rough sledge
they made
and selling it off
to the nearest pub.
The greedy publican
laughed into their faces:
“ You hunt in king's forest,
sooner or later,
you will hang for it.”
The publican's daughter
fell in love
with the brother
in the middle
with a long curly hair
and a face of an angel.
“ You should be a monk
and not an outlaw.”
She whispered into his ear,
when they made love.
She never found out
how fulfilled
her prophecy had become.
The eldest of the brothers
was the best hunter
and
loved to drink.
The middle one
knew the names of herbs
that could heal
and
lived for his love.
Her father,
angry
at his daughter's choice,
shouted to her ear:
“How can you love someone,
who is more dead
than alive?”
And he was right.
They will die soon,
all of them,
except one.
The youngest of the brothers
was barely fourteen
wanting nothing more
but to kill his own deer,
to show off
his skills.
And he paid for it,
by loosing both of his arms,
bleeding to death from his torso...
and screaming for his brothers
to come.
And they did,
killing everyone
on their path
in a rage.
Lost in a grief
over his youngest brother's death,
he killed the traitor
by using his hunting axe.
The publican's daughter's
had no power
over her lover
she wiped the blood
pouring from her Father's skull
with the bright blue scarf,
a gift of love turned to nightmare.
'The Witch hunt' was about to start,
two brothers had no chance,
even the wrong religion
meant death sentence
in those times
and they were protestants.
Wandering around
the Europe
up and down
never paid attention
to anyone
who noticed them,
and everyone
in return
turned the blind eye.
They disappeared
into the ever changing
crowd of travellers
for Holy Land.
Lost in narrow streets
of old towns
they killed from time to time
an innocent passerby.
They travelled the roads untravelled,
living in the abandoned caves,
in the died out villages
wiped out of people
by the 'black death'.
They stopped near the sea
icy cold
and turned back to find
their way home
but they found HIM....
In Anno Domini 1718
a Husita
an elite soldier
of the royal regiment
and the head
of the hunting party
killing everything and everyone
on their path
gypsies, protestants
and those
who didn't recognise God
as their only saviour....
He stopped by
in the rundown protestan pub
raping the pregnant woman there
wearing a bright blue scarf
and burning the place down
while holding a parchment
written by the king himself
allowing him to do this
and more...
in the name of Catholic religion.
Two brothers stood there
under the blackened wall,
the only one left
from their well known pub.
Snowflakes falling slowly
on their fair long hair,
dying amber
glistening on their sharp knives.
The Husita stopped in front of them
tall and threatening
on his dark strong horse
showing the king's order
of their hangings.
He laughed loudly
while his hunting party
tied them down.
The younger brother,
thinking of the girl with the bright blue scarf
fought back
and managed to run away.
The older brother
gave up.
They put him in a dungeon
and hanged the next day.
He was there,
on the city's square,
hidden in a cheering crowd,
watching the Husita
skinning his brother
while still alive.
He was alone,
hiding in the tall pines
of his homeland
never following the same road...
He slept little
dreaming about dead ones.
After one year
he forgot
how his brothers looked like,
they stopped chasing him
in his dreams,
he also lost
the ability to feel,
to laugh or to cry,
his stone face
and wild appearance
scared an old wandering Jew,
he met in a forest
and robbed
of everything...
money, food, clothes
even the book he found in his sack...
leaving him desperate
crying out:
“ Kill me, but don't take me that,
it is a treasure, unworthy of someone,
who can not read.”
In the autumn
they started to hunt
him down,
again.
He climbed up the high mountains
following the treacherous paths
to their snowy peaks
hiding in dark caves
where no light ever reached...
On one miserable cold day
at the end of December
in the darkness of the night
hungry and lost
he woke up
from the nightmare
and felt
he is the only one
left
in the whole world.
He left the mountains
ready to be caught.
And they nearly did,
he was shot
and fell into the cold waters
of the rapidly moving creek.
The huge storm raved outside
no one saw him there
collapsing on the steps
with barely enough energy
to rattle the gates
of the Red Monastery.
The oldest monk found him
and gently washed his body
covering it with a paste
from healing herbs
while a little boy named Cyprian
just like him
combed his muddled hair.
When the deep bronze voice
of the Monastery bells
called everyone to pray,
he opened his eyes
for the first time
thinking of Turks
invading his homeland
of a 'black death'
claiming his parents,
of a big fire,
of fear that only enemy can bring...
their voices echoed in his memory
and he felt trapped
again...
Too weak to move
he stared at them
with open suspicion
and hate
scarring off the boy
who hid under the bed,
there he found a sack
and a book in it...
