Pluto

My grandfather led me to this mere for the first time, he had named it Pluto. He brought me here at least once a year, no one but him was able to find the path in the labyrinth-like forest. Sometimes he picked the leaves from the mirror, other times he was just looking at it while tears ran down his cheeks. Once, I tried visiting Pluto alone, I was looking for the mossy side of the trees to find the true north, however, every tree was clean of it, healthy. The sky was dark, the Sun hid behind black of the clouds. I was scared. I was sitting beside a trunk when I heard the crackle of fire. My grandfather had been searching for me with a torch in hand. We went back to the shore of Pluto, I put my head in his lap and cried.

I never thought that a human so generous, sweet and caring could do anything wrong. Still, when they knocked on our door, the air froze in my lungs. I was merely eight years old, what had I known about sin? But I understood that I could never regard my grandfather the same as I once had. I was merely nine years old, what had I known about law? But I understood that my grandfather would not come home with us, ever again. I was merely ten years old, what had I known about war? But I understood that my grandfather would never lead me to Pluto again. So, I decided that I would learn the path, I would clean my dear friend.

At eleven years old, I feared the entrance of the forest. At twelve years old, I brought along a lamp to help me find the way. At thirteen years old, a leaf fell on my head, it was as yellow as the joy I had once felt, gone. At fourteen years old, I forgot about him. At fifteen years old, I had too much work. At sixteen years old, I did not have time. At seventeen years old, I started preparing for university. At eighteen years old, I felt how Pluto’s water shivered when I came across my grandfather’s photo. I ventured back.

The trees were all dry with no leaves whatsoever, and the mourning of the sky painted the horizon a full, all too powerful black. With a torch in my hand, I had been looking for a much longer time than with him, nevertheless, I found him. Poor Pluto was as dark as a black hole, whatever got too close could never escape. The place had no resemblance to its former form, the one that had been carved into my mind by a carefree child. I swore to myself that I would reanimate the forest and tidy up my dear friend.

I led my daughter to this mere for the first time, its name is Pluto. As I am looking at its marvelous, calm water, tears ran down my cheeks. He is keeping the woods alive. Sometimes I notice a flower which fought its way through the rough soil, breaking the monotonous brown with its vital colours.

Fülöp Csenge-Anna   XI. H