Love Story

 

Shylan/Love Story

Love Story

By Alina Shylan

Alex and Agatha walk through the night city where the ancient Gothic towers lend the

scene a magical fairy-tale presence. Agatha wears a long, white, translucent dress. All night long,

they enjoy the fabulous city Wroclaw, that feels similar to Prague a little bit!

On one street, they see women in bright, colorful dresses. Red, yellow, dark blue and

orange fabric swirles around them. Men with torches move through the women, protectively.

Musicians play loud folk music on violins as the festival passed by. Everything moves with

different night flashes, like movie slides.

Alex tries not to let go of Agatha's hand. She is moving quickly through the crowd that

fills the old town of Wroclaw. This is his first time in Wroclaw. He follows his "nymph,” afraid

of losing his Polish treasure. His eye is caught by an unusual sight—half-naked women on the

catwalk who dance with their hips. His eyes run from blonde Agatha to the dancing women and

vice versa.

“This is an ancient city,” Agatha said, talking about Wroclaw with pleasure. “Tourists

from all over the world come to Wroclaw. Sculptors, architects, and artists from all over Europe

built Wroclaw. I’m so pround that I was born in Wroclaw, because it has a history of more than

ten centuries.”

Alex is fascinated by the amazing reality of the medieval city. Agatha captivates him

with her friendliness and gentle voice. Her huge blue eyes looked sincerely at him, and at the

road that lay before them. Although he is a withdrawn and shy chemistry student from Warsaw,

he starts composing a poem abvout her in his mind. His hobbies are writing poetry and drawing,

which he often did in the evenings when loneliness attacked him. He loves to dream, immersed

in the world of fantasy.

Someone pushes our poet, and he almost knocks Agatha down. Inadvertently, his face

touches her lips, and he kisses her young, hot lips. She reciprocates. He slowly stops hearing the

sounds of the music around them. Agatha's sweet lips are burning. As if for the first time, the

kiss warms our hero, like hot wine in winter.

Alex is filled with passionate desire. He wants the beauty, with all his being, right here,

on the square, in front of everyone. Barely restraining himself, he hugs her by the shoulders and

holds her close.

“Let's go somewhere to warm up.” Alex whispers in her ear. “It's cold here, noisy and

uncomfortable. What do you think?”

“There is Starbucks around the corner.” Agatha smiled mysteriously.

They hug each other's waists and slowly walk to the cafe. Fireworks explode in the air

above them. Many young people shout phrases loudly but the words are difficult to understand.

Alex is happy, feeling as if he has won the lottery for a million dollars. He is terribly hungry, but

he has enough energy to unload wagons on the railway station.

Agatha's tenderness hypnotizes him. Alex’s heart is burning. She charms his soul, and

penetrates into his very heart like a healing elixir. The joy of this experience pleases him so

much that he has only a hunger and thirst for love. They fell in love at first sight, surfing all the

evening in the Old Town of Wroclaw, wandering the streets aimlessly. This is how people walk,

overflowing with the passionate freshness of mutual feelings.

“What is Ukraine like, tell me?” Agatha tries to start the conversation again. “How is it

different from Poland?”

“Agatha! Ukraine is simple, romantic, naïve, and as defenseless as a woman, you know,

in a good way. Ukraine and Poland have a lot in common: the melodical language, hospitality

and delicious cuisine, the beauty of the women. Just now we have war because Ukrainians so

much want to be a part of the European Union, like Poland. In Poland, I feel freedom to the

fullest. I breathe it, as if I have been released from prison. Being part of the European Union

gives the Polish people an opportunity to travel the whole world. In Europe, I feel freedom and

respect for people. I love seeing the smiling faces of free people on the streets.”

At that moment, a boy passing them in the street sticks a flyer into Alex's hand—an

invitation to the book launch for the Ukrainian novelist Taras Prokhasko.

"The presentation will be right now in the Starbucks Coffee shop across the street," says

the boy.

“Let's go to this Ukrainian writer’s launch. You’ll have an opportunity to learn more

about Ukraine.”

“Agreed!” Agatha shivers. “I’m cold now, too.”

They hurry to the Starbucks bookstore. People gather in the bookstore, and the Ukrainian

language can be heard everywhere. The Ukrainian writer stands at the speaker's table, and in a

few minutes a lively discussion begins. He is about 50 years old, with thinning dark blond hair,

wearing khaki jeans and a comfortable brown sweater.

Someone's voice rings out. “Mr. Prokhasko, tell me, please, what do you think poetry is?”

“Poetry is the realization of the unsaid. It’s space between words. What other people

don't see. What only the poet and the reader can see at the moment. What is between the solid,

between two figures. These are feelings that are between words, lines. Poetry as music can be

pragmatic, functional, incomprehensible to anyone, or correspond to the rhythm of life.”

"A peculiar view of poetry,” thinks Alex. “Never thought of it that way, but there is

something in it.” He has recently been working on his poetry, in which, in his opinion, he has not

quite succeeded yet.

“Do you create the scenario first, and then write, or does it all start with some situation,

and then the scenario itself is built throughout the book?” The question echoes in the hall.

“Life is unpredictable, so I don't create scenario in advance. Actually, as you say, I start

with a situation, or even a topic. Then the heroes begin to act. For that, I as the writer need to

know the characters well—what they want, what they love, and what they forbid themselves.”

“And what are you forbidding yourself, Alex,” Agatha whispers in his ear.

It's better for you not to know, Alex thinks, but remains silent. I don't even want to look

there myself, into the depths of my dark soul. Probably, intimacy is my taboo. It is both

beckoning and frightening at the same time.

“And what topics for creative writing are interesting to you, Mr. Prokhasko,” the active

man from the front row continues to ask.

“An idea as a scenario. It has its own life story. Some ideas are momentary, minute, for

one or two days. Some ideas live for decades. The life cycle of an idea is a kind of reality of

something intangible. A journey of ideas. On the example of genetics, where materialism and

idealism are well combined: DNA is a kind of magical medium on which something is written.

That is, the chromosomes already have the text, what will be the moisture of the skin in a person,

what factors will irritate a person. This text of the chromosome is basic and decisive for the rest

of human life. Everything is written there.

“Or another example of a virus! It is like a code that does not exist in nature. It's like a

seal. It makes a stamp of itself, somewhere in the material of a person's cells, records itself. And

since the material part of the virus does not exist, there is only its informational part. Then this

virus decides, for example, ‘It's time to go on a campaign.’ And it begins to transport material

from our cells to build viral cells. And so the virus begins to live in the human body. That is,

everything starts with an idea, a text as such, information, a kind of code. I am interested in this

whole alloy, the point of intersection of physical and material. An idea, a thought, an image is an

integral part of each other. A person's well-being depends on what we think, see, feel.”

Agatha looks confused by these words, although there’s an interpreter. She must not

influenced by the subtle philosophy of the Ukrainian novelist, Alex thinks. She seems more

interested in Alex.

But Alex likes everything here—both the language and the ideas of the Ukrainian writer.

It’s as if he has entered into his native world. As a creative guy, Alex often switches to different

topics, as he did to literature. But he is very happy that she is there, and that she can enjoy this

with him.

“Where shall we go, my sweet girl? How will we end this fabulous evening?”

“Now in Wroclaw, we have the all-night Advertising Film Festival Short Movies. Do you

want to spend the whole night in the cinema?”

“Hmm… never did that before,” Alex replies. “As an experiment, come on, why not?”

He doesn’t care where he goes with Agatha, because he has fallen in love with her already.

The Advertising Film Festival Short Movies of the Ad-Monster becomes the "new point

of the night quest!”

They are terribly exhausted, because it takes them half an hour by bus to arrive at the

cinema, located on the outskirts of the city. It is a huge, new, three-storey shopping center. On

the way to the cinema, they buy humburgers with orange juice from McDonald's to take with

them. They greedily eat dinner before the start of the Film Festival.

Alex thinks about what Prokhasko, the Ukrainian writer, said in the bookstore, the

combination of the material and the ideological in life, how it intertwines, how to manage it,

where is the limit of an idea that turns it into a material embodiment.

“Agatha, what do you think is the first priority: sensation-feeling or thought-

comprehension? Do feelings generate thoughts, or thoughts generate feelings?”

“Good question, Alex! My hobby is narrative psychology. There is a concept of

constructing new realities. I will tell you a joke on this topic. Three referees are sitting drinking

beer. One says there are balls and strikes and I call them what they are. Another says there are

balls and there are strikes and I call them as I see them. And the third says that there are balls and

there are shots, and they are nothing until I call them. That is, a joke about the fact that realities

are created through language.”

“What is this about, Agatha?”

“For example, I am writing an autobiography with an emphasis on failure in relationships

with boys, or on the phobia of public speaking. As I rewrite the autobiography, through

rethinking, what is the source of escape from close relationships with boys? Fear of speaking in

public will change my self-perception. In the end, the autobiography will also change. I will

write a new life story that will help me construct a new reality of self-perception. In this way,

stories and writing can change lives. Do you understand, Alex?”

“Interesting! Is it possible to write a book that will unfold the reality that I would

experience in the future? The fiction of personal life.”

Just then, a boy in a MacDonald’s uniform comes by with a washcloth in his hand.

“Sorry, but we’re closing now,” he said. Alex stands up and takes Agatha’s hand, and they walk

together towards the cinema.