On the edge of the town, Powa saw more than the grandiose landscape she was moving through, in the front row seat of the car, she captured a series of monochrome snapshots.
One snapshot after another snapshot, Powa followed the sequence of the black and white scenes unfolding in slow motion. Two characters in a landscape stood facing each other. The young man, who was dressed in a black suit, feet firmly grounded, was talking to a black-haired young woman, who was wearing a Victorian corset dress adorned with white pearls. The man was changing hats on the many snapshots, whereas a gloved hand was ripping apart the white plumage of the young woman’s unique hat, which at some point danced in the air and landed on the young man’s feet.
Powa was a casual spectator, but she could easily fill the blanks, in a futile attempt to seduce the flow of time, the young man was luring the young lady in the sensation of change, a rose was delicately held between his fingers, despite one clear hand gesture for him to move forward. In the last snapshot, the young lady blew up a goodbye kiss, reinforcing her departure.
Already in town, completely immersed in the landscape, Atson was actively staring at the settings through the car open window. He was spotting the good-looking detached-one floor houses lined up along the street, well-kept yards in the front doors, garages on the left side, where old bikes were patiently waiting for a wild bumpy ride.
The smell of freshly cut grass mingling with fresh fruits aroma released brand-new fragrances, teleporting Atson to a distinct sphere. His senses stirred up to the plenty of creation, multiplicity and diversity, arising in the air in a symbiotic dance, delighting his being. Completely absorbed, his eyes caught a vivid red rose, close to a barking dog trying to catch a swirling butterfly dancing around an apple tree. A yellow leaf fell from a branch, embracing the solid ground.
On September 24, at three o’clock in the afternoon, they parked the car close to a building corresponding to the address that was on the letter. It was situated close to the bank and the school in the main street.
On the one side of the car, Powa smiled at the sound of the school bell ranging, a clue of how much her passion for life spilled into her daily job. She had a superpower that she didn’t fully understand. Near her, students’ capacity to imagine, create and innovate, grew beyond human standards, somehow children were able to explore their abilities and talents in incredible ways, such that parents would be amazed at their wonderful handicrafts exhibited in the annual school fair. Students and parents bestowed great appreciation upon Powa for being that special teacher. As she was smiling, she found herself questioning the reason why she was being in that unfamiliar town.
On the other side of the car, Atson sighted the bank, his love for numbers and geometry was unmatched in the mind of men. When interested in a subject, he could process and relate data in uncommon ways, and by doing so, get to exceptional results. Since day one, Powa could not resist that sexy brain, which was facing a totally new challenge at the time.
Hand in hand, the couple faced a house that had no ringing bell but extremely atypical windows with red decorative wood carving frame. They knocked at the door and waited in silence. A man with a thick gray moustache, a bald head surrounded with a gray hair crown, who was wearing a well-tailored three-piece suit with a pocket watch, opened the door and greeted them gently with a firm handshake. Courteously, he introduced himself, Mr. Gilberg.
They entered a space in which a magnificent collection of artefacts was displayed in shelves. In the midst of a complete diverse range of objects, Atson took a step back and raised his eyebrows, widely opened his eyes to contemplate a jar with multicolored exotic bird paintings and a bust of Athena sculpture, not to mention the jewelry, ceramic plates and oil paintings of natural treasures hanging on the walls. He didn’t notice Powa waving at him before entering Mr. Gilberg’s office.
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Sumptuously furnished with pieces from the Victorian era, the glorious mirror above a sumptuous couch, in which an old lady and old man were sitting, was reflecting the red embroidered silk fully lined eyelet curtains.
Graciously, Mr. Gilberg pointed at them and introduced the Witnesses of “Lita Tales’ Last Will and Testament”, namely Mr. Rolan Armit and Miss Loma Relet.
Both stood up and nodded their heads with self-reliant approval. Miss Loma was a slight short woman, whose perfume smelled like lilacs, and Mr. Rolan a handsome old man. When they sat on the sofa, Mr. Rolan touched Miss Loma’s hand discreetly, they smiled but did not look at each other.
Mr. Gilberg invited Powa to sit on a balloon-back chair in front of a mahogany twin pedestal desk. He sat comfortably on a tufted parlor chair in red velvet, checked the official documents, and then methodically unsealed the Last Will and Testament, before reading its content with a diplomatic tone.
Powa only heard few words ―Powa Gelan is the heiress to …
Powa was sitting there uncredulous, she was rubbing her eyes and shaking her head. At some point, she glimpsed one of the curtain velvets twitched, revealing a pair of shining wings, which added to her mental confusion.
Mr. Gilberg called her attention back to the matter at hand, ― Do you have any questions, Mrs. Gelan? ― he asked.
A jigsaw puzzle was forming in her head with a now familiar feeling of being out of place. Focused eye contact, Mr. Gilberg declared, ― You have legally inherited the “Tales Mansion”, which is situated on top of a hill on the edge of the town, and one million from your aunt Lita Tales.
Powa was not making sense of the disclosure, ― Are you sure there is no mistake? ― she questioned looking down and away. ― I don’t know any aunt Lita Tales in my family! ― she alleged, handwringing.
Arms clasped behind his back, Mr. Gilberg affirmed, ― It is yours for the taking!
Suddenly, an insightful thought grasped Powa all at once, aunt Lita sat on that same balloon-back chair a long time ago. Immediately, Miss Loma’s whole face lightened up, either she read Powa’s mind or she planted the idea, whatever happened, a sense of worthiness filled Powa from within with an irrefutable promise, find out the source of that inheritance.
The lawyer announced charmed and with a strong sense of relief ― Let me clarify something! You weren’t born when the Last Will and Testament was written, but Lita gave specific instructions. ― When the old town clock will start tolling again, send a letter to Powa Gelan.
He proudly added, ― Since then, I’d lived to fulfilled Lita’s last request.
Powa heard the pauses between the words, nonetheless, among other mysteries she did not understand the story related to the old town clock tolling, but did not dare to ask anything about it.
Mr. Gilberg was already holding his hands out with an offering, the keys, the legal documents of the property and of the bank account, obviously, all the arrangements having been made early. Then, smoothly, he brought Powa’s right hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss upon it. The strange creature that was spying on them, retrieved the information it was looking for, stretched its pair of shining wings and flew away, unseen.
When Powa came out of the room, she was mumbling unintelligible words, skimming and scanning her mind for echoes of her past family history or childhood that could have led to that heritage.
Once more, nothing was visible in a nebulous midst that had no previous records, except the memory of being held in her mother’s arms, then her mother’s funeral. A blackout could be imminent, but she was merely processing the new information in a distrusting manner. Near, Atson’s eyes were still glaring at the myriads of the collection, completely absorbed by its rare beauty. When they left, he was incessantly looking back and stumbling into things, utterly deaf to Powa’s worries.
On their way to the car, they met a little girl with big round eyes who was coming from the school playground. She handed a drawing signed with the name Anoa and whispered, ― I drew it especially for you. Take it, please!
Powa received it with delight. She was amazed not only at Anoa’s bright innocent eyes but also at the vibrancy of the flower. Somehow, it was as if she could smell its flagrance and feel its aliveness. She kept Spetla close to her heart, and waved at that adorable little girl who was already on her way back to school.