Dreamscape of a Stage

The ticket was for free and he was happy about it. Although he has never gone to a place like that before, he was excited to see the artist. They were calling him Camillo the Giant. Yet, he wasn't really a giant. He was a normal looking person. When Rogatus stood at the edge of stairs that goes to the stage, he thought "Why wouldn't I be there?". His foot slowly fell through every step like a descendance into a monsters tummy. The spotlight was on the stage but not blindingly. His eyes found a silhouette, an old man with some uncut beard, a messy hair. His clothes weren't dirty but anyone could say that they weren't washed for some long time.

Rogatus walked to the edge of the stage, he observed the old man. He could say that, this person was at least in his thirties. His face and hands weren't wrinkled, they were smooth and seemed as if they had done nothing. Yet his lips, they were dry.

"Are you the Giant? Camillo?"

"Giant? No. Camillo? Yes. Why?"

The old man was holding a pencil and paper. As if he was drawing for long time.

"I came for the show."

"What show?"

"Camillo the Giant."

"I told you that I am not a giant."

"So?"

"That's it."

"So, there is no show?"

"Yeah."

"May I come to the stage?"

"Sure."

There, Rogatus climbed the stairs of the stage. He was under the spotlight. From that point, the audience was invisible. None could truly see who came or who went away.

"How long it has been since you came here?"

"I don't know. Maybe few days?"

"Few days."

"Few days."

"Have you done anything besides sitting and playing with the paper in those five days?"

"I've eaten some food and went to the toilet. Why?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Rogatus walked to the back. He was expecting to see some food or some kind of restroom. Yet, there wasn't any. He got off from the stage and checked around the stairs to see if there was a door that leads to a restroom or not.

There was not.

He went back to the stage. Camillo was still playing with the pen and paper.

"There is no restroom."

"There is."

"Show me."

Camillo slowly got up from where he was sitting. His knees cracked and his back was slightly bent. He turned his back to the audience. Slowly walked straight. Tried to catch a doorknob which Rogatus wasn't able to see. He walked around as if there was a wall and rooms that he can see. There, he found a place to sit.

"You can't see that?"

"No I can't."

"You must be crazy."

"You are crazy! What are you talking about?"

Camillo shrugged off.

"Are you mocking me right now? There is no doorknob, there is no toilet and there are no walls."

Rogatus was offended by the actions of the old man.

"Where did you came from, young man?"

"I."

Young fellow couldn't remember where he came from.

He was confused.

"I came from..."

"Where?"

"I came from-"

"You see-"

"That is not your business."

"Really? What is my business then?"

"To act and keep your mouth shut. You have responsibilities, if you didn't want to be responsible about it. You shouldn't have brought me here."

The old man looked at the ground. Wooden floor was silent.

"I loved you, did the best I can in every second of my life. Is this how you thank me?"

"Thanking you? I must spit on your face."

That second, there was a quiet. Just before the thunder.

The bold and strong thunder, which brings the rain.

The old man swung his hand right into the young fellows cheek, it turned red.

Rogatus couldn't talk. He felt ashamed, failed, ruined and depressed. Camillo left the stage without any further action. The spotlight was over Rogatus.

He was shining like a sweat of regret.

So he left the stage, went to the red chair that is in front of the stage. Not to relax but to think. His feelings boiled as he sat. Then, like a gourmet soup, it slowly weighted heavier altogether with his eyelids. Made him sleep, decompose.

Yazar

Mustafa Umut Horoz