Cock in vine

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Modern Tale

Text of Cock in vine

  • This fairy-tale opens in a far away land, where all one could see was the sea, with its salty air, the sandy beach, and the

    horizon melting into the sky. The countless pebbles of the

    beach gradually rolled up into an endless mountain valley,

    where, high above the clouds, wandering gypsies would stop

    to rest for the summer, while below, a little town perched

    cautiously on the mountains edge.

  • In the very center of this town, there was an ordinary square, but it was wrapped like a cocoon with the chaotic silk of side-

    streets, all narrow and winding and bristling with tiny houses.

    A Triumphal Arch marked the edge of the village, and beyond

    it, one could just barely see those phantom mountains where

    the gypsies resided. Along the snake-like mountain paths, the

    flock of gypsy carts would descend into the town, gliding along

    the spiderweb of streets in a blur of brightly-colored fabrics,

    while the raucous crowds gathered to greet the show, echoing

    the excitement of the passing parade.

  • Now within this gypsy camp on the peak of the mountain, there lived a young bayadre, Fortunes forgotten child,

    Maria Maar. Carousing with the gypsies as they drove their

    chariots through the streets, she would delight in the faces

    of the townspeople they passed. Once, among the beads in

    the string of these casual encounters, she caught sight of a

    black cockerel, living in the yard of the local tavern. Everything

    about this bird seemed extraordinary. Peering into the depth

    of his dark eyes, she let loose a smile...the cock nodded

    back, cheerfully waving his crimson crest. Thus began their

    friendship.

  • The summer days stretched on, joyful and even a little tinged with mystery. There was something softly magical

    about this strange couple, though no one could put their finger

    on just what. Having left the gypsy camp behind, the girl would

    show up in town, hurrying towards the tavern yard.

    Through the fence,

    the friends met again.

    Wrapped up in a whirlpool with no thought of time, they

    would stroll day after day through the maze of empty streets,

    doubling back on their own enormous shadows, which were

    always right behind them.

    But soon, summers searing heat begin to fade

  • In the last light of summer, the town braced itself for its Harvest Day festival.

    Bustling about to prepare for the feast, the townsmen

    congregated in the main square, while the gypsies, warmed

    up by the heat of days past, set about to start back up on their

    endless journey.

  • During these fleeting August days, the girl, sensing the eventual separation from her friend, suffered from a deep

    sadness, unlike anything she had felt before.

  • With each duskfall imperceptibly dividing the seasons,

    the hour of the feast at last arrived.

    The loud trills of trumpets accompanied the countless dishes

    as they were taken out from the tavern. Names were called,

    and the guests seated at one long table. With a deafening roar

    of welcome from the cheering crowds, the feast had begun.

  • The gypsies, eyes on the prizes, were there, too. Drunken merriment coated the evening.

    The clamor of the street crowds just wouldnt die down.

    The rickety wagon-tracks were filled with firework sprays.

    Lost in a patchwork apron,

    the cook,

    crowning the tabletops

    with rows of dishes,

    proudly proclaimed:

    The Cock in Vine!

    All of a sudden, Maria saw her friend. A snow white trophy, he

    was lying on the plate.

  • In fearful shock, the girl raced to the empty yard. There, in the darkness was a lifeless lump of plucked feathers.

    The familiar silhouette had disappeared.

    The light around her dimmed.

    The torches burnt out.

    The tragedy had built its triumph.

    The revelry had reached its end.

    The gypsies returned to the road.

  • Night. The lonely town is laced with moonlight.

    Soon, out over the dusty roads, the grind of the barrel starts

    up its monotonous song, announcing the birth of a child, a

    baby boy. Time will pass, and fortune will again bring them

    together. Looking into the depth of his dark eyes, Maria will

    smile again and the morning rays of the rising sun will bring

    them life, love, happiness.