Composed by Lo Maria Snöfall

: O-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13

13 April 2009


She reached the small cluster of houses.

She noticed, as she always did, the house that looked especially old and deserted.

In front of the house the grass was covered with fallen apples.

The mist and the unexpected warmth made everything somewhat friendly and unreal.

This might have been the cause that gave her courage to take the few steps across the gravel path to the nearest window.

The interior could hardly be fathomed.

Everything seemed disordered.

Probably it was a kitchen, but with all sorts of displaced objects.

She focused on a corner of a paper sheet on the window sill.

It was the beginning of a letter: 

My dear

Nothing more was visible.

She felt certain that it was a letter from a mother to her son.

Intrigued, she continued towards the backyard.

  She encountered the most beautiful opalescent silver blue Jaguar E-type, covered by dust.

She started writing Je t'aime on a side window.

It’s such a beautiful car, isn’t it?

She turned around and saw a man approaching her with an outstretched hand.

Taking gently his slightly moist hand she found nothing to say.

Can I offer you some coffee?

Without hesitation and not knowing why she answered:

Yes, please.

She followed him through the entrance which led directly to the main room.

Books, papers and objects of many kinds crowded the small room.

This was furnished by an enormous table with a few chairs in the centre and shelves along the walls.

Two old electric heaters, one under each window, showed red glowing grids and made the room comfortably warm.

He made room for her by gathering books and papers from a chair and the table.

  He stacked them on the already crowded floor.

She asked for the bathroom and he showed her the door next to the kitchen on the left side of the room.

Inside the bathroom she opened her worn and perfect handbag and took out a flask of russian vodka.

She drank some, hesitated, and drank some more.

Looking around her, she saw a bathtub and a hand-basin but no toilet.

She glanced at countless pieces of magazine clippings, photographs and postcards taped on most of the wall space.

She realized a faint smell of mould.

Back in the room, she sat down with her hands resting on the table.

Next to her right elbow was a dangerously high stack of magazines.

On top of it lay a written paper attached to a photograph with a strange brass clip.

She reached for them and studied the image and the words.

A damaged golden figurehead
is now considered lost and dead.
If you find her in the jean-blue sea
will she come alive at your plea?

She read the words twice before the man came in and served the coffee.

 He said:

The engine is broken.

My sister has tried to fix it.

She's been gone for a long time.

I come here now and then.

She felt relaxed and her hands were now steady enough to lift the cup. 

She said:
The bathroom is very nice with the copper panelling and the window with the wonderful view.

I guess the toilet is in the outhouse.

He said:

That’s right.

I had an argument with my sister before she left.

I wanted her to clear away much of her things.

There’s almost no room left to move.

I’m here now because I’d like to know what and how she’s doing.

She’s probably in the city, but I’ve no idea where.

She said:

Can I help? 

He answered:

Yes, please.

I’ve been sleeping most of the time for four months.

Today I felt wide awake and wanted to come here to see if there are any clues to her whereabouts.

Maybe you would like to help me with that? 

She answered:

I’d like that.

I already found this text attached to this photograph.

I pass by here often.

If I see a lamp burning I’ll know you’re here.

When I feel like it I’ll come in and help with the search.

He said:


I'm very tired.

Let's leave it for now.

Departing, she saw a picture of a glove with a heart woven into its palm.

A text was written with a lead pencil directly on the wall underneath.

Hand and heart

shall never part
When this you see
remember me

She continued her walk.

The man opened a gate to an extremely overgrown park and followed a narrow path leading to his home.

Although he wore gloves he cut his wrists bloody on the large rose bushes growing everywhere.

Coming home he told his wife that he now wanted to act on her thought to try open the park.

There had been paths connecting all the neighbouring houses.

His wife had some ideas on how to proceed and she offered to find the tools needed in the city the next day.

The girl will be called Mary, the man Henry, his sister Leve and his wife Alice.