Dear readers,
The following is the chapters 1-3 of a short novel I am writing. Inspired by the beautiful environment of the Song Köl alpine lake, I invite you to follow along this adventure of self-discovery and ephemeral summer love. Here is the cover if you wish to picture better this story's setting.
As always, you are more than welcome to leave a comment, suggestions or criticisms.
Layli ♥
The Valley of Love
Chapter 1: The Wind
I was looking through the window, focusing on the road unravelling under us. The ground constantly renewed, creating the impression of a looping abstract work of art in ocher, grey, and green tones. The fear that had taken up residence in my chest clung to the steep cliffs that lined the road as if it was trying to make me believe that this danger was the one I was worried about.
While the fear of death certainly bothered me, it was also somewhat reassuring. There is an immediacy in death that offers comfort in the face of the unknown I was about to face, the unknown which already surrounded me with its dark veils and unintelligible sounds. My hands were shaking, first because of the growing vibration from the road, and then because the fear in my stomach was creeping into my extremities as if my whole body was struggling between staying put or running away.
How did I end up in a marshrutka, a sort of minibus with dubious mechanics, in a country whose language and customs I do not understand? It all started because I wanted to live. Live with a capital L. Now I'm not so sure, but 2 months ago, it was the idea. Live, yes, but why here in this strange place? That’s a more difficult question.
Increasingly dense smoke was coming from the engine. The driver stopped on the side of the road, which temporarily distracted me from my thoughts. The passengers went out to stretch their legs for a few moments while the engine rested. I was having trouble breathing, I do not know if I owed it to the altitude or if it was just another symptom of my crippling anxiety.
“How ironic would it be to die in this remote place, with these people I barely know”, I thought to myself. They were strangers above all else, but nonetheless a family. I looked towards the mountain. The scenery was breathtaking, but since my breathing was already difficult, I had a hard time enjoying the view. The colours were sumptuous; with the vibrant blue of the sky, the orange-purple hues of the mountain, and the brilliant snow-capped peaks that grew closer as we approached them.
The Angel of Death did not come to seek us that day, as we arrived safe and hungry, more than eight hours after we departed from the city, at the top of the pass which would lead us to my new home. The pass overhung a valley of pastures surrounding a deep blue lake and served as a rather dramatic gate to the village of Song Köl.
It was my cousin, a student at the polytechnic university, who accompanied me from the city to the lake. He must have been in his early twenties, but he looked at least double. He had given up on talking to me after the first hour in my company. Not that I was particularly rude, but his knowledge of English ¬– which I was otherwise assured of its quality – proved insufficient to discuss anything past trivialities. He turned to me and indicated that we were to get off the bus soon, as our stop was a little bit away from the main cluster.
I had never even known love, but I suddenly felt like I had lived everything there was. The weight of the road, of this unstoppable wind, of this creeping feeling to be at the end of the world… It was all too much. I would have given everything to go back to the familiar landscape of my childhood: the towers, the glass, the concrete. I would have given everything for the reassuring comfort of my mom and our Boston apartment.
I must have been crying, but the wind – in its merciless war against me – was stealing my tears before they could reach my cheeks. In doing so, it was also saving me from shame as I got closer to my hosts.
Chapter 2: Waiting
Every morning I walked to the bus stop in the centre of the village. It was a rectangular cement slab. It must have been covered once, but the elements had decided otherwise. The bus stop was the focal point of a very strange phenomenon: on a clear day, the mobile network was accessible there. I performed my ritual as usual. I opened my phone, dialled my mother's number, we spoke for a few minutes, then I turned off my phone and put it away, hoping the battery would hold up for a few more days.
Ten days. Ten days had already passed since my arrival in Song Köl. Ten days in which absolutely nothing had changed except the charge on my iPhone which inexorably dwindled after each call. I was slowly getting used to life at the camp. For my aunt and my cousins though, everyday life was not easy. There was no electricity save for a small generator that we used to turn on a few lights in the evening, and everything had to be done manually. They were eagerly preparing for the tourist season, which involved repairing mattresses, blankets and yurts, which, for women, were added to the chores of cooking, laundry and general maintenance of the camp. The men took care of the animals, the outdoor toilet and the heating of the main yurt. I didn't take care of anything. Sometimes I would hold my cousin Nuria's child, a baby barely 6 months old, hoping to give her a few moments of respite, but she would come and pick him up as soon as she noticed the situation. Needless to say, I felt pretty useless.
Was I welcome here? I doubt it. I quickly realized that my mother was a somewhat challenging character within her family. She had left fairly young for the United States, never to return. My mother achieved what all young people dreamed of here: a life abroad, a brilliant career, travels, maybe lovers too. While this did not fail to stir up my grandfather's pride, her defection to America left a bitter taste to her siblings.
My lack of knowledge of the local languages was further proof of my mother’s betrayal. How could she not only abandon her family but abandon her culture and her language by refusing to pass them on to her offspring? This was the question I saw on my aunt's face whenever we couldn't understand each other.
If until then I had nothing to do, that was bound to change very soon. Indeed, I was to spend the summer in the yurt camp, and we had agreed that I would take care of the tourists. I was the most apt at conversing with them, I supposed, as I could speak English and French fluently, and my experience in Western countries would hopefully make them feel more at home. I looked forward to their arrival. The very possibility of having a conversation excited me like never before. That says a lot from a shy person like me.
After spending the day making sure everything was perfect for their arrival, the first group finally arrived at the camp. I had no idea what the future might hold for me, but I had a hunch that this summer might not be so bad after all.
Chapter 3: The Awakening
When the minibus stopped in front of the camp, I almost ran towards it, hoping to find some nice people there. To come to this end of the world requires a lot of courage, which foreshadowed adventurers with fascinating tales I could not wait to hear. I was surprised when a lively looking old man got off, his long grey and white hair reaching his shoulders. He reminded me of Seiji Ozawa, the famous Japanese conductor whose recordings were displayed on my father's antique roundtable.
A young man came out after him, who I assumed must have been his son, as well as a couple of travellers from Europe. I took the tourists to their respective yurts so that they could drop off their luggage. Then I invited them to join us for the dinner in the larger tent, hoping to get to know our guests better over the evening.
The young man and his father came from Korea. Min-jun, that was the son's name, seemed unwaveringly calm. He exuded a confidence and elegant simplicity that I envied, whereas I couldn't help but move or babble to hide my anxiety. After his wife died, Min-jun's father decided he wanted to see the world before it was too late. Not wanting to travel alone, he took his son on his journey all across Asia.
As for the couple, they were from Spain and had set out around Eurasia to celebrate their graduation. They were both beaming with sweet happiness, the product of tender love and hopeful lives.
After dinner, the sun had set and we stepped out of the kitchen tent to look at the stars. The travellers were charmed by this densely starred canopy, the type of view that is only accessible in the most remote places. It is impossible to understand how the stillness of billions of bright spots can make such a grand spectacle, but it is certainly one of the most beautiful things my eyes have ever seen.
Min-jun approached me and pointed to the different constellations he could identify. I was barely listening to him. His voice and his breath became the soundtrack of my thoughts. My mind diverted to his body, too obscured by his baggy clothes… his lips moving with such precision… the sweetness of his scent.
Suddenly I recovered from this trance, remembering where I was. Laughing a little to myself, I came to the conclusion that too much time had passed since I had last succumbed to the pleasures of intimate touch. My living situation at the camp did not make this easy, since there was almost no privacy. I thought back to Min-jun, telling myself that he really wasn't my type anyway. After all, he was boring me with all of his constellations.
The wind was getting colder, so everyone headed to their yurt for the night. Tired from this long day, I fell asleep immediately, not without regretting the impossibility of giving myself a little pleasure. Having discovered this weapon against boredom early enough, I quickly made it a habit, a bad one, some would say, but a habit nonetheless. Deprived of my cellphone, the internet, electricity, "normal" food and now my private proclivities ... Phew, summer was shaping up to be long! I was still thinking about this while listening to the sound of the fire still crackling outside and the muffled conversations coming from the neighbouring yurt when I slowly drifted off to sleep.
I woke up soon after, disturbed by some noise. I heard sounds coming from the nearby yurt. I quickly understood that our Spanish tourists had undertaken to celebrate their love with their own amorous congress. I think it was the first time I was hearing a couple make love. I'm not talking about the simulated sounds of porn here, but about an intimate and passionate communication between two beings in love with each other. It felt wrong, almost perverted, but I couldn't help listening to them and imagine this scene unfolding a mere few meters away from me.
My body was shivering as the heat increased in my lower abdomen. I turned over, searching for a cooler spot to temper my nascent desires. Every movement sent a shock wave through my body, every movement and friction of the fabric against my skin took me to another world. Reaching a point of no return, a point when I knew I could not escape my own desires, I quietly took off my pyjamas.
My hands gripped my whole body, my legs, my breasts, my stomach… as if they refused to do their job. The couple continued to have fun. Listening to their moans again, my hand finally rested on my crotch. I continued to caress myself, each movement causing a new wave of pleasure stronger, more intense, than the previous one. Feeling that my ability to continue pleasing myself quietly was diminishing quickly, I rolled over onto my stomach, buried my face in the pillow and began to press my hand around my love button. I applied more and more pressure on the pillow as my hand was exploring my inside. My whole body was shaking, the blanket covering me had slipped a bit, the cold air now mingling with my movements. I heard the woman breathe with a long, contented sigh. I continued grinding over my hand and agitated fingers, and I rapidly found myself flooded with pleasure, my muscles contracting in little uncontrollable spasms, the kind of shiver that brings life and illuminates each of my cells.
At the precise moment when I finally came, just before falling back on my mattress, intoxicated with the pleasure I had just given myself, an image crossed my mind: Min-jun pointing at the stars. This is how I fell back to sleep, clinging to my pillow, thinking of Min-jun as if he was the cause of my satisfaction.
Thank you for reading! Don't forget to upvote and leave a comment if you enjoyed the story! I will update the heading when the next parts will be published. ♥
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