Once upon there... For it is not a time past , but another realm. One I co-share with my real reality. The time of the story already forgotten, there was no beginning and no end is in sight.
Contingently time could be round or almost round. Like the castle of my childhood. The castle has a watch tower, rose garden, a dusted attic for the pigeons’ nests and a dark underground of mystery. There are gates to lock out the world with a rusty chain from the gatekeeper’s cottage. The courtyard’s inwardness is dominated by the magnificence of an oak tree in his manhood. Under my windows grows a fig tree - sacred is the fruit bearing tree.
A wizard had planted the fig tree. A wizard that can make any violin reverberate and a fig tree bear fruits. His wife is my nanny. As any other nanny she can tailor clothes and stories you couldn’t find in books. She also knows the words for breaking down the spells:
Fugi deochi/Dintre ochi /Sa ramana curata/Luminata/Ca soarele...
The wizard has two sisters who were studying the teachings. So I had to be their student.
One kept mostly to herself, but she took me places. Museums, galleries, theaters… And though she was rich in knowledge, she became poor with words when hers burned during the war. Since she fears that wasting her words will make them reach an end line and she will be forever mute.
One was a chatterer. She thought me that cream fondue is in fact une crème fondue. She also told me that no matter how steep the road is one is allowed to stop and cry but never to turn back.
The fairies are many a kind. Some lived in the castle –the wizard’s neighbours. They bring comics and French magazines. Some just visit us - books and Swiss chocolate. My fairy godmother brings gift each time she is materializing at our door –after all this is what fairy godmothers are supposed to do.
Most gifts are received from the fairy that’s the best off all. For she taught me how to ride a bike and she knows how to sweeten the tea. But mostly because she is my own.