A Tempting Note

It looks almost the same now

The lovely Hayange proper is hemmed in by the low ridges around. The only mega structures here are the old steel plant next by the railway tracks that run through one side of the town, the high flyover bridge connecting the chasm between the two higher ridges on one side as to lessen the traffic flow below, the proper town, by creating this project as the direct fast track for vehicles heading for other major towns like Luxembourg or German parts. The seemingly antique church in the middle of the town bears a façade of serenity as of its dark stone walls and the overlooking tower and the belfry: its deep reverberating tolls can be heard sometimes here off the town below and behind the ridge. Yes, the one that draws my cast towards it once or twice at times from below is the standing Jesus Christ sculpture, almost of 15 to 20 feet height, on the top of the ridge on one side, which must be higher than the opposite one with the flyover. Of a whitish marble or any it stands with the hands outstretched and the loose gown forming like wings. The SOS letters in red paint before the sculpture: does it mean the supplication for his blessings and protection of this sleepy calm town? Whatever, for me, it stands as a sign of peace and common goodness.

I remember those vast fields on either side of the tracks when coming to this part from Paris by TGV train and the accidental privilege of having a seat by the window. I found them rising and falling and the sights beyond like show-hide: the tracks cut through the higher parts and letting them hide our views.

Yes, here at where I stay in this five-stories block with the well-lighted single corridor in the middle on each floor, my temporary quarter, I have had this privilege of hearing the Hindi music coming from the next door one across the corridor. I have been hearing the same over and over again for weeks now and it has been familiarized somehow to me. He tirelessly plays it every day like a part of his daily chore or rite. Its mild blare to stronger as he opens the door has now become a part of my entertainment or a moment of brooding as much as it’s for him. But how he can know about it. We have just exchanged short greetings in French only. As of my own sort of being rather self-secluded it’s hard to get acquainted that soon.

The music has the typical quality of letting one go into a trance like longing for one’s love or lamenting for a missed one… The beautiful higher vocal notes are more seductive as the low ones are tempting to be imitated. The singer must be a great artist with such voice and singing skills. But the song sounds more, as I can’t get the lyrics, like a dirge tempting me into a doleful mood out of nothing. Yes, it has an affect or influence after all. Yes, he must be the one who is familiar with Hindi music: can be from Pakistan but not Indian. But he has it like the only staple means of survival, a cushion against a blow that I can’t figure out yet. And I have happened to share it rather anonymously. And this writing is for this piece of music that I can’t figure out but has prompted me to react in my own way.

A Complement

Now my time here at Hayange, the lovely village, is drawing near to the end that says what we are, to move on… And the advantage is to learn on as well. It’s a complement post as to straighten up something as the correction to what I wrote in the above post about what I saw only from the below, that standing sculpture like of Jesus. But I found it not as I had time to take a long walk around the villages and through the cool refreshing semi-rain forests with someone who knew about here well. At the end of the forest, the top of the ridge, the vast opening stretched before with the knee-high greenery that I was going to find a type of barley in their mature stage of bearing clusters of fresh green grain-buds. The aisle as the footpath led through the field to the whitish standing sculpture overlooking the whole of Hayange and the far surroundings. As we walked along the aisle to cross over to the other side, we found a car parked near or behind the standing sculpture. As we came closer, tramping on the soft grasses and brushing our feet against the longer grasses on either side of the narrow aisle like a single rut, we found there were four of them: two young native girls and two boys. They were by the car and leaning against its bonnet parts and idling their time here or on a sort of private time.

The standing sculpture with its thick round pedestal almost 12 feet high of concrete and stone-paneled stands at the edge of the slope over the field on the dugout and leveled ground spacious enough with the space to walk around and more before it. It is of Virgin Mary almost more than 25 feet off the ground. The hands aren’t wide-stretched as I found so from below but stretched downwards showing both palms like representing love and care as her gentle beautiful face gives the same impression. The snakes swirling around or below her feet that I don’t have any idea what it represents. There is dark-painted electric lamp with square head on pipe-stand on either frontal side as to light the sculpture at night. It’s interesting to study the crescent trestle tablet of white tile-paneled at the far edge before the sculpture: the colorful picture of Hayange and the names of those places around below the picture and their unique banners. The scenes below and surrounding are magnificent from this vantage point, the selected spot. The major road over the bridge leads to the tunnel ahead that can’t be seen from below.  A breathtaking scene after all.

Football can be said as the staple sport from those well maintained grounds and such one even in a small village. As we walked back by another road around, we found a match going on between two teams. We stood on the roadside by the green hedge to observe the match for 10 minutes. This time I had time to have a glimpse of those villages around or hemmed in by those wooded hills. But the price of not knowing the language, my second foreign language, is too costly sometimes letting reprimand myself for nothing as I am only 7 months old here and new yet. The steel plant with tarnished façade like skeletons along the reserved tracks that don’t seem to be in use now can be the most vivid souvenir later on.

As we walked back, I found those boys and girls had got in the car and were having their private time inside.