The doors are opening. As soon as it opens, people gather in front of the door, what a rush, he thinks. He pulls out his ticket and smiles; calmly, despite not being able to sleep all night from excitement. The controls are ok, he puts on his headphones, he thinks that this voice rising inside him has no equivalent in the world. Sounds coming from outside mix with the music inside, it's like he doesn't want to hear anyone. He walks down the corridor and smiles at the attendants at the door of the plane and enters the plane. He finds his seat, places his in-cab luggage and takes his place. His journey is about to begin… Wait for me, Berlin, he thinks. He watches his surroundings and people impatiently enter the plane, hectic and anxious, placing their belongings. How hasty we are sometimes, she thinks. Whereas he avoids reaching everywhere, to stop time and move forward calmly inside. He fastens his belt, surrenders himself to the music coming from his headphones, to Rachmaninov. The plane is taking off. He takes out his book from his bag, Nabokov's 'Mashenka'. He opens the page he left off and begins to read. Words… Sentences and story…
Klara enters the apartment, passes through the dark hall and takes the elevator. The elevator door on the second floor opens and a gentleman in his thirties enters. It is as if the elevator lights up with the gentleman. That first look… Klara looks up and says 'Good morning' to the man, and the man says 'Good morning, missy'. Klara is very impressed. While they are going up, Klara wants time not to pass and this journey never ends. “I'm sorry you had to come upstairs with me. Are you on the second floor?” he asks. Shakes his head, sir. Clara is upset. “Everyone knows each other here, my name is Klara,” he says. Klara's heart beats fast when she says "I'm glad, little lady", and she continues to speak quickly so that she can't be heard. They go out twice, but it seems like hours have passed to Klara. But the elevator stops and the door opens, just as he was about to descend, Klara turned to the man; “Can we have a coffee if you have time, and I'll tell you how it works here.” says. The gentleman's response is an approving nod.
His nodding head touches the glass, and then his eyes open as he heads the other way. He's trying to understand what's going on. The book slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. He bends down and takes the book. 'Oh Klara' she sighs when she comes to herself. Curious about Klara, she starts reading again.
Klara opens the door of the apartment and they enter. The man illuminates the house as well as in the elevator. Klara tells the man to sit down, but the man glances inside for a while and walks towards the wall, looking fascinated at the painting on the wall. Clara is surprised. "What's that doing here?" Klara laughs when she asks. “Almost every house in Berlin has this painting.” says. The man cannot understand. “How?” he asks. “It has been attracting a lot of attention for a while, it is sold everywhere and it is very affordable because it is not original, and it fills the walls, so you can see it in every house in Berlin. “Welcome to Berlin,” he says.
The man stops. He cannot help but wonder how such a special picture can be perceived this way. At that moment, Klara warms the water and looks at the man without taking her eyes off him. The man's lips move, but Klara can't hear anything. The man remembers that day in Paris, where he felt the hopeless abandonment and nervous anticipation about the painting. While Klara gives the man the coffee she has prepared, the smell of coffee already fills the whole room.
His eyes widen with the smell of coffee. The stewardess, who started the service, approaches and says, "What would you like?" he asks. The book is on its knees this time, but it itself has gone too far from the book. “A coffee please,” he says. While taking the coffee, Klara comes to mind and takes a sip from the coffee. He goes back to the book, puts on his headphones, listens to Rachmaninov, and starts reading again; It's like Klara didn't even take a sip of her coffee...
The man puts down his coffee and begins to speak;
“I came across this painting in a gallery in Paris… I found myself drifting towards it. It was pulling me in. An island with cypress trees in it, and a boat in the middle of the sea towards that island… I learned this painting by Arnold Böcklin later. Like many other things… It has inspired many painters, directors and musicians. Even Rachmaninov…”
Klara "Rahmaninov?" he repeats.
“Rahmaninov is one of my favourites. I knew him while studying Tchaikovsky. Meeting with Tchaikovsky is a miracle for me. I think it's time of revolution, he goes from Russia to the USA and becomes a citizen of the USA. The painting… When I look at the painting with that eye, I understand some things now. The death in the painting reminds Rachmaninov of Tchaikovsky's death. For this reason, Rahmaninov can't bear that his work 'Aleko' was canceled at that time, that he had to abandon a tour he was on, even that he was robbed on the train and left without money, and that his first symphony was not liked and also knocked down. He is depressed and is receiving treatment. The death of his loved ones haunts him, and when his brother dies in the diphtheria epidemic, he reacts by failing all classes. Maybe because death and being left behind are reactive to something being left unfinished, he continues his work and finishes his works despite his cancer. How strange that it was inspired by a painting, and the strangest thing is that that painting hangs on my wall. I knew that he loved Pushkin and even composed a poem, that he was fed by love, but I never thought of a painting or a painting.” As he speaks, the man interrupts. Art says we don't know where such a mysterious door will open. For example, when writing Pushkin's poem, 'Gypsies', he asks, could he have thought that this poem would one day be composed?
'Gypsies,' says Klara. Continues;
“What will I hurt? If you knew.
If you could visualize something in your eyes
The captivity of the suffocating cities!
There are people piled up behind the walls
How they breathe the coolness of the morning,
Nor the spring scents of the meadows;
Thoughts are expelled, they shy away from love,
They sell their freedom like merchandise,
Bow down before the idols
Money and chains beg all…”
It leaves the pages of the book with the announcement that starts with 'Dear passengers...'. The plane is landing. He is closing his book. It's like he's leaving something he loves behind. The wheels of the plane unfold and land on the ground. He looks at the book in his hand, picks up the phone to look at the picture, and goes online. Now he is also impatient and fussy. Rachmaninov in his ear…
“In another country, in a city… Me, Nabokov and Rachmaninov…” he thinks.
“Klara, painting and Adam in a room in another city.”