Morning

Transparent, bluish morning light; it’s barely dawn. I shake off the sleep: The early morning seeps into my room, through the only window. I get up and go to push open the front door to the house. The cool of the morning mountains immediately fills the house. The freshness is so dense and palpable that for a moment I don’t want to interrupt it with the smell of coffee. But once I think of coffee, I can’t stop. Unscrewing the tin can, I mindlessly sprinkle some of the grains on the table. A usual morning rush. But to… where? And what for?

I sit down on the green veranda sipping my coffee. It’s only been a day since I arrived, but I’m already finding a routine. A cup of coffee from the spring water here tastes… real. I look at the alycha: It’s the only thing nearby to look at. Well, there are also the mountain peaks around me. They’re starting to glisten in the morning sun. Suddenly I recall my fears during the night. That they… who might they be? Who can come here, to my cool solitude? Who in this world could even know that such loneliness exists at all?

Sea

I’m really not in a rush to get anywhere (but still have to be reminded of that). This morning I will thoroughly prepare myself for the hike to the sea (mindfully, the urban thought pattern suggests). I pack my backpack: some sandwiches from the fridge, the ones I have brought from the city. A few peaches. Cold beer, a couple of cans, wrapped in several layers of propaganda bulletins still left from the election campaign. There are stacks of them around the house. Klaus took what was left of the electoral campaign here, to his dacha: They are great for firing charcoal in the grill oven.

Going down the already familiar slope, I breathe the fragrance of the pinewood forest, welcoming the same greeting sung by the cicadas. The Crimean sun is already burning my shoulders, but I am not afraid of a sunburn. Soon I will plunge into the sea.

I have always been impressed by the Black Sea color here in the Crimea. Not a dense aquamarine, like in the Mediterranean for example. Here, it’s yellowish green, like liquid sunlight flowing down from the granite of the mountains, pouring into this cup on earth.

I settle on a big flat rock. What about a sip of beer, before taking a dip in the cool morning sea? Spotting some little crabs, I toss sandwich crumbs into the water. They cautiously hold back for a while, gathering for a treat. I’m curious to see what would interest them: crumbs of bread? Little bits of salami? The purple shreds of a peach peel?

Day and night

It’s the second night here; I have just closed my eyes when I remember my previous sleepwalk yesterday. I get up again. I saw a toolbox this afternoon, right by the front door. Yes, here it is: And near the toolbox there is an axe. So… to have it next to my bed? Just in case? No, that’s too much. Let it sit right here, near the closed door. They won’t get in, no way. The moon is still shining through the window. But now I’m not at all troubled by it. I calm myself and fall asleep. No one will come to harm me. I am safe here: It is just me, myself and the world around me.

Klaus

A couple of days later, Klaus comes, as promised. Instantly, I feel awkward about the axe, still there at the door. But he hardly pays any attention to it. Probably thought I was barbecuing, chopping wood and forgot it on the doorstep. We make a fire together, and cook traditional shish kebabs with meats he has brought, drinking some wine and talking at leisure. When he readies to leave, I am jarred by feelings of remorse. I feel somewhat desperate about his returning home. Should I ask him to take me along? Tell him I’ve had enough of the solitude and now want to… be back among the living?

Vibes

In fact, it’s not at all peopleless here. I knew, of course, that this is where the Crimean nudist beaches are. Hiding from the midday heat in the shade of pines, I see chains of sweaty breathless hikers pass me single-file. Once a group leader asks, on the go: how far is it to the inzhyr (the fig)? I am astonished: the fig? How on earth might a fig be found here, among these pines? He scans me with a dissatisfied look: Sure enough, he’s wasted a few breaths on me, so precious in this heat! When the hikers have passed, and only then, do I realize: How dumb can you be?!? Not an inzhyr – the Inzhyr! That is what they call one of the most popular nudist beaches on the South Shore.

Those hippish inhabitants of the tents I spotted among the pines the very first day swim naked, too. And I’m trying to stay farther away from them. Those lower vibes are the last thing I need now that my working anxieties and night fears seem to have left me. I glance in the direction of their camp. Yes, the tents can be seen through the pines: one, two… I say to myself. It seems that after just a few days here I have already developed the habit of talking to myself: Interesting that they’ve managed to camp on this territory – it’s still a nature resort, right? They probably settled the matter with the rangers, paying them some small bribe. Oh, this ubiquitous Ukrainian corruption! And, hmm, where do they get water among those rocks?

Session

The next day I find myself at a photo session. Not mine, of course. Two girls are snapping shots in the shallow water, near the place I usually stop. One is on a rock near me, posing in her glamourous bathing suit. The other, waist-deep in the water, takes pictures, commenting in the process. I already see those photos appearing on social media. Hello from the South Coast of Crimea! Somehow this scene makes me laugh. Don’t know why but in an instant, it reminds me of the proverbial Ten Bulls of the Buddhist folktale. A kind of medieval Buddhist comic about a man taming his consciousness, that is compared to an unruly bull. And then they both go through the different stages of taming the bull / teaching the man: anxiety… fear… lust turned to tranquility and peace, with himself and others – and the last stage, which is called, if I remember it correctly, returning to the world with a bare chest. Join the masses – this final stage seems to be the real purpose of the whole mind-bending process.

So this is what the bare-chested one’s return to the world looks like – at least, in the twenty-first century. I smile to myself: naive DIY glamour generously offered to the world through publicity-hungry social networking.

Void

But what’s in it for me, I say to myself. And who’s that me, actually? The one troubled, scared, wishful? What is left of him, is now lying in the morning warmth, face down on the rock, looking into the water, watching my new friends, the little crabs, gather nearby. Spotting me, they slowly make their way toward my rock, confident about the treat. As they try to snatch a piece of tomato from each other, I think I deserve a treat, too. I pull a newspaper-wrapped beer can out of my backpack and take a cold sip, in the blistering heat. A strong urge to read the local newspaper overcomes me: What is life like… here?

Back home

“Hi!” I hear – a young voice resonates behind me (my first thought: I hope you haven’t forgot to put on your swimsuit?) I turn to the voice: yes, a black bathing suit, almost indistinguishable on the dark bronze tan.

“I know you – you’ve been coming here for days! But keep away from us people, lonely! Though I understand you. You always have a book. A real treasure here. Shall we exchange them? We’ve read everything we brought!”

She puts her palm to her forehead, trying to see me against the sun.

“Yes, I have a couple of books,” I reply, “and I’ve already finished them, actually started a second round. For the reason you mentioned.”

She smiles understandingly:

“Then do have ours! We have a few Pelevins if you don’t mind reading him. And I would gladly exchange them for yours.”

I smile back understandingly:

“I have another offer, no less great than a book. I mean, a canister of water. After all, you do need water there in your camp, right?”

“So you have water there… where you go back to in the evenings? Yes, please! We buy it from rangers, and it’s not cheap!”

I listen to the sound of her melodious voice, savoring her words that enter me like air, and listening to my cacophony.

“My name is Emma. Then, come, join us for some terrific port wine as well – we have a whole canister! Locals sell it this way, in plastic bottles and even canisters. Probably stolen from the winery nearby. But… tasty it is! And do you play the guitar? We would love to have someone with a new repertoire in our group!”

“I used to,” I nod, though not sure of myself. “There was really a time when… but that time was long ago. When we played at school dances with my friends. Not sure anyone listens to those songs now. But I will try to amaze you happy shiny people with my talent.”

Home

I trudge uphill to my house of yellow limestone. When is Klaus supposed to come back for me? I seem to have lost count of the days. How long have I been here? Probably a week, maybe some more. Nine days? Do I still need another one, that very tenth day, to complete the full cycle…

…for my true homecoming to happen.

Transadaptation Volume 4 – Material Dissent

January: A Blinding Light and Then, All Darkness – Jonay Quintero Hernández (Spain)

February: The Opportunist – Lauren Voaden (United Kingdom)

March: A Stranger in my City – Alejandra Baccino (Uruguay)

April: A South African Soundtrack – Sarah-Leah Pimentel (South Africa)

May: Full Circle – Ina Maria Vogel (Germany)

June: La Lluvia en Bogotá – Adriana Uribe (Columbia)

July: Freedom – Krisztina Janosi (Hungary)

August: A Bus Ride – Svetlana Molchanova (Russia)

September: Transcendence – Armine Asryan (Nane Sevunts) (Armenia)

October: Motherhood – Marilin Guerrero Casas (Cuba)

November: Nine Days – Gennady Bondarenko (Ukraine)

December: Open – Seyit Ali Dastan (Turkey)

Background – Context

Transadaptation Volume 3: Evanescent – Young Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2022)

Transadaptation Volume 2: Conceived – Childhood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2021)

Transadaptation Volume 1: In the Middle – Prelude to a Contemporary Transadaptation, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2020)

Peripatetic Alterity: A Philosophical Treatise on the Spectrum of Being – Romantics and Pragmatists by Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)

La Syncrétion of Polarization and Extremes Transposée, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)

The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2018)

L’anthologie of Global Instability Transpuesta, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2017)

From Wahnsinnig to the Loony Bin: German and Russian Stories Transposed to Modern-day America, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2013)

Emblems and stories on the international community

Perception by country – Transposing emblems, articles, short stories and reports from around the world

Credits

1. Crimea – Buildings and caves in Crimean Mountains – Victoria Balobanova (Shutterstock) (top left), 2. Crimea – Fortress Moutain – Victoria Balobanova (Shutterstock) (top right), 3. Crimea – Crimean Mountains – Anastasia Clark (Unsplash) (top and middle), 4. Crimea – Crimean Mountains – Feniks (Shutterstock), 5. Crimea – Crimean Mountains – NeekZin (Shutterstock), 6. Crimea – Crimean Mountains Plateau – Victoria Balobanova (Shutterstock)
Source: The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed