Sunday Whatever – The Shoes Made of Soil by Georgia Xanthopoulou

This was one of those pieces that we knew we should publish but it crossed a couple of genres. Fiction, essay and translation. So where better than a special Sunday spot. Ladies and Gents – we give you :-

The Shoes Made of Soil by Georgia Xanthopoulou

For the last few months, every morning, a pain woke up with her. It was strange, elusive. It shifted in intensity and form, spreading through her whole body. Mostly indistinct but always present. A lingering symptom of a worn-out body paired with her wounded pride.

I’ve been old for many years, she once confessed to me. Do you know when I realized it? When I took refuge in the past because I couldn’t bear the present. Never the future. That’s when damaged little things became precious. She even composed a poem she whispered whenever she caressed a souvenir or a memory. It went something like this:

Little worn things, chaotically scattered

in ruins, remains, lie themselves battered.

With a breath of the wind, they awaken from the heap,

filling the void with spotted tints.

Like demons, they burst into a frenzied dance,

and I, observing them, search for my stance.

That day was different. She woke up, but the pain did not. She decided to go out for a walk. Wearing her favorite dress, she opened the door quietly. For a moment, she thought that if anyone in her family saw her, they would try to prevent her. She would not respond to the sound of their voice. Any dialogue with them had irrevocably ceased. She smiled softly and closed the door with purpose.

She walked, and walked, and walked. The more she walked, the more alive she felt. The more alive she felt, the more she walked. Her frail body began to tone up. With each step, her legs grew stronger and faster. When she began her life, she had relied on those legs to walk through a world she thought she owned. Over time, the confidence morphed into doubt. She had searched for a place that truly belonged to her. In the final act of her life, she realized that everything was subject to stillness. The omnipotent divested herself of her power, became a passerby. The passerby lost her privileges and ended up someone departing.

She glanced at her palm seeing the earth transformed into a crystal ball. Its core blazed with fire, but its surface remained frozen. She gazed at it in wonder, marveling at its beauty. There, she saw her present unfolding and glimpsed her future.

For a moment everything appeared clear. The ultimate force that drives life is, at its core, a collision of many forces. They endlessly clash – some weaking, some gaining power, some emerging, and some others vanishing. The weaker ones exert pressure and absorb part of the stronger. Human life, no matter how harmonious it may seem, evolves on a cosmogonically conflicting basis. Until all forces gradually diminish, reaching a final balance.

The road before her was a thin strip widening slowly. Dense clusters of trees lined either side forming imaginary walls. Ahead, a patch of blue sky opened up. I don’t know where I’m going, she thought. A reckless desire, an unnamed force, urged her to walk.

A young woman appeared before her. She was naked and barefoot.

Your dress is beautiful, the woman said cheerfully.

I give it to you, she replied without second thoughts.

Your shoes are beautiful, the young woman added.

I’ll give them to you. But look, they are stuck to my feet. They’re made of soil, she realized with surprise.

Come, let’s dance, said the young woman, reaching her hand.

I don’t remember how to dance, she whispered.

I’ll show you, the young woman replied, her voice steady.

Do you live, or are you a figment of my mind, she asked hesitantly.

I am your truth, the young woman said firmly. I have been waiting for you. Give me your hand.

 She did not know who the young woman was, but she felt an irresistible desire to stay with her. That was the only place she wanted to be, basking in the beauty, strength, and boldness that radiated from her.

She looked at the mysterious figure and felt a numbness caused by pleasant anticipation. It surged into a yearning to unite with her. But she could not move. Her longing paralyzed her. Yet this stillness was not the outcome of passivity – it came from an overwhelming vitality.

Soon, she realized that she no longer had control of her body.

It was a beautiful night. The moon formed a gentle smile on the celestial dome, casting its dense and guiding light upon them. The two bodies, locked in a tight embrace, let themselves drift. The beating of her heart set an allegro rhythm, while the rustling leaves added their soft melody. Against a backdrop of deep blue, they began to swirl and rise. The dress ignited. Its comforting flames generously spread light and zest. Sparks scattered, illuminating the space in fleeting reflections. The wind, with its breath, carried them away. Until all subtly faded, until all subtly fell silent.

Two shoes made of soil remained at the point of their union to confess that someone had danced into them until the wind started to scatter their soil. Soil that someone shook off his clothes, soil that housed a seed, soil that invades my thoughts, soil that will always travel.

Georgia Xanthopoulou