Dan93

The sun gives way to the moon in the narrow streets of the small Italian town of Corregio.

From a tiny window, the scent of warm pastries spreads through the cool evening air.

You step closer, for something is piercing your nose. A disturbing smell penetrates the sweet aroma that had drawn you in so magically.

Metallic, almost soapy. As if one were baking cookies in a hospital laundry.

You find a crack and climb onto the small stone ledge to take a look inside.

Here, both scents come together - it seems you are in the right place.

In the small room, illuminated by candlelight, there was little to see at first glance.

But then you catch sight of her and, in shock, fall backwards onto the cold floor in slow motion.

Time seems frozen, like the blood in your veins. Motionless, you lie there, gazing up at the dark night sky.

As soon as your thoughts have sorted themselves and you regain your composure, you jump up and run off into the night…

A few days later - you thought it was some sort of dream, the images still fresh in your mind. You open the newspaper and read about the horrifyingly disturbing deeds of Leonarda.

Word for word, invisible hands pull you down into the darkness! You feel a stabbing pain in your stomach, yet your legs are numb. Powerless, you topple from the chair and hit your head on the tiled floor.

It grows dark, but one thing remains - the memory of that cold-metallic sweetness in the air of the night of Corregio.

“男に二言はない“ is what they say in the Yakuza. “A man has no two words.”

A fragrance like a movie scene. Bloody banknotes in the air and plenty of gunpowder circulating in the room. A neon-soaked nightclub in Tokyo's outskirts.

Motorcycles rumble through the narrow streets, with black-clad Yakuza warriors sitting on them.

They storm into the packed nightclub of the rival Kumi and shoot wildly around. Suitcases full of money, soaked in Yuzu cocktails and a bloodbath.

One grabs a suitcase whose exterior has been riddled with bullets.

In a nearby onsen, the Oyabun opens the suitcase and this very scent wafts towards him.

Gentle waves softly accompany the water to the shore of the small green island.

Boats lie in the distance on the water as the sun slowly rises on the
horizon.

The night had not been cold. Rather, it was a cool breeze that now swept through the treetops on the slope.

Here at the shore of a small island in Halong Bay, we spent the night.

Our little wooden boat rocks with the waves.

The tranquility of this place connects us, like an invisible bond. The scent of night-blooming flowers and the freshness from the sea give the place a familiar smell.

I take a deep breath. Rose petals swirl through the air. A colorful spectacle - they dance through the wind, meet each other, and gently lay on my skin.

A second breath follows. Balsamic, embracing agarwood. Golden beeswax flows thickly over its trunk. The scene envelops itself in dense, peppery incense fog.

Two unequal worlds, united for a moment between inhaling and exhaling. A symbiosis that could hardly be more fitting.

A pair from different worlds, united in the moment.

1918, on the island of Baratang at the edge of the Andaman chain.

The day began early. The small village of Yadita lies between limestone caves and mangrove streams in the northwestern part of the island. John Carter, a gray-bearded herpetologist from the Universidad de St. Lucia, is on a research mission with his team, which consists partly of students and partly of locals.

He had to negotiate with the university's board for a long time. The journey to the island in the Indian Ocean was deemed too dangerous. The climate, the inhabitants, the deep mangrove forests, and not least the danger posed by the very target of their expedition itself.

The students jumped as the old Honda engine finally roared to life with a bang and a lot of black smoke. The smell of diesel mixed with the humid mist of the surrounding forests.

Carter knows this scenario. He has traveled to the Andaman Islands many times before. The last time was a few years ago. Until the incident with his wife Michelle. She was a doctoral student at his university and was researching antidotes for South Indian venomous snakes.

The climate that day resembled today’s, and the chances were good that they would reach their destination today.

The sun cast long rays of light through the dense treetops. The boat navigated the narrow waterways of the island. The boats were accompanied by small monkeys. But they would not be the only companions of the expedition group for long.

A loud scream startled the forest. A student had spotted them first.

With a loaded bow, a Jarawa hunter aimed at the group. When Carter saw him, it didn’t take long for both to have joyful smiles on their lips.

John had understood early on that the Jarawa tribe is peaceful, and over the years, he had built a friendship with the locals alongside Michelle.

They were Baratang, they lived in the forests of the island, and they appreciated the nature around them.

The boats docked, and John performed an extensive greeting ritual with Baj Nem, the leader of the tribe's hunters. He waved to the others, and soon a nearly hour-long march through the dense underbrush away from the mangroves began. The air under the trees was damp and clammy. The ground seemed to steam. The hot temperatures mixed with the moisture of the groundwater, creating a soft mud that only adapted flora could grow in. At times, one could barely see their feet, as there were small sections where one had to wade through warm water.

The forest was loud. Animal cries, the chatter of monkeys, and insects created pulsating sounds. A sonus that lay somewhere between meditative and psychedelic.

The group reached a clearing where the Jarawa village lay. Small huts, mostly made of wood and leaves, were scattered across the area. The students quickly noticed that the huts were not built on the ground but elevated 1-2 meters high.

Carter sensed that the question would spread quickly and clarified: "The Jarawa protect themselves with this construction method from the deadly dangers lurking on the ground!" With this statement, he did not exactly create calm within the group.

The sun seemed to be diminishing minute by minute, and the villagers began to illuminate the village with torches. John had experienced all of this many times before; he knew it would soon be time. The goal was near - or was it more his goal? A reconciliation. A connection to the beyond?

The group around Carter and the Jarawa came together. The campfire illuminated the darkness. Strangers sat across from each other, and the flickering light of the flames cast eerie shadows on the unknown faces.

The Jarawa held whistle-like objects in their hands and stuffed herbs into their openings. The smoke rising from the Jarawa pipes was pungent, herbal, almost animalistic.

As the pipes were passed around and the first student looked at Carter questioningly, he tried to ease his fear.

Cautiously, the student's lips wrapped around the opening of the pipe. The dense fog pulled deep into his lungs, and he felt almost immediately the effects of the indigenous mixture. He had to cough and succumbed a few times afterward.

His gaze became hazy, and the flames appeared like a liquid stream into the night sky. Suddenly, he recognized Carter leaning over him, explaining: "Native herbs similar to cannabis, camphor, pepper, and hay, that have been sprinkled with the venom of the Ophiophagus hannah... it will be fine, enjoy the journey!"

The other students looked shocked at the reaction of the young man.

Suddenly, the Jarawa began to sing loudly in their language. The singing thickened the atmosphere even more.

An old man with gray hair brought a woven basket to the ceremony and placed it in front of the young student. He opened the lid.

For a moment, it seemed as if the entire forest held its breath. The singing fell silent, and the animals and insects were no longer perceived. Even the crackling of the fire paused for a moment.

There it was - Carter's eyes widened. The head of an unnaturally large king cobra rose from the basket. Its eyes focused on the student, who was still blinded by the hallucinations.

Carter approached the basket to get a better look at the situation.

As quickly as the effect of the drug had set in, it also faded just as fast. When the young man saw the cobra's head between his legs, a scream filled with fear escaped him.

The cobra reacted with a lightning-fast strike at the student's neck.

But before it could bite, Carter grabbed it firmly by the head, thus thwarting the fatal bite.

The bite that had taken Michelle out of his life back then.