Shrug
He sleeved his cold hands
shrugged his shoulders didn’t
see the prism bent by
leaden clouds
cursed for his bad luck pointed
to dark glass of his room
resembling empty sockets of
his skull
two different fates hover
one for him the one for others
staggering on flagstones
considering
café garbage bin
pile behind the pub
excerpt
“Well, don’t make it. There’s no need. Ariana is a woman I enjoy
being with, and that’s that.”
“I can’t believe you’ve gotten yourself involved with someone and
are even bringing her to the house and…” She left the sentence unfinished.
Eteo felt hot and flushed at hearing these words.
“You might have thought of that before you left.”
There was silence for several seconds. Eteo listened to her rapid
breathing, expecting the other shoe to fall at any moment. Finally he
said, “I’ve got to go, Roula. I’m very busy.”
“Don’t go, wait,” she pleaded. “You are not serious about this
woman, are you? In any case, you shouldn’t have her around my
sons.”
“As I said, Roula, where I have her is none of your business. You
have no right to tell me who I can bring to the house.”
“Oh God, have you forgotten all the years we lived together? How
could you?”
“You’re the one who left. Now leave me alone,” Eteo said and put
the phone down.
Now he really needed to relax, but his mind wouldn’t let him. He
turned toward the eastern horizon again, feeling as gloomy as the
cloudy sky. His reflection in the glass looked as sullen as the darkening
horizon.
His bitter thoughts were interrupted by Helena buzzing to let
him know Bernard was there to see him.
“Hello, Bernard. What brings you here?” Eteo asked as the
shaggy-haired man strode into the office
“Your associate,” Bernard barked without any preamble. “I see a
dead market, and I wonder what kind of hole I’ve gotten myself into
with your help.”
“What do you mean? You made a deal with him and he looked
after you. Why are you complaining to me?”
“I placed those shares because he gave me his word that he’s got
the well. I only hope he hasn’t double-crossed me. If he lied to me,
he can kiss his market goodbye for a long time.”
“I can’t say one way or the other, Bernard. He told me the hole is…
excerpt
But David, there’s another thing and it’s a real mystery.” She described the telegram that had been sent from Kazan. “That was a dreadful day trying to avoid Chopyk’s sheep herding efforts, trying to see the Gorky Museum and not think about Paul, all at the same time. Did you…?” But David was shaking his head.
Jennifer felt a wave of fear again. “You were one of the few who broke away from the group so I thought it must have been you trying to surprise me. Please tell me it’s not someone else trying to pull a fast one. ”
“I didn’t send any telegram. If you think about it, it would have to be someone who knew Volodya’s address—and knew the code words.”
“No, it didn’t have the code words in it. He thought I’d forgotten them and came anyway.”
“Natasha? She would have quick access to telegrams…she knew his address from the telegram he sent you…”
“Natasha—it has to be her.” Jennifer was stunned. “But why? I don’t get it. You know I suspected her back when the other telegram came in. She’s from Leningrad, you know, and they might have known one another while he worked for Intourist.”
“I’ve thought there’s more to her than what we’re seeing. That’s gotta be it, but you won’t get a chance to ask her because we’re trying to avoid her like the plague right now.” David began to sort through the closet for the jacket and shoes. “Do you know if she caught up to us here at the hotel?”
“Oh, for sure, but I don’t think she knows what rooms we’re in. If you hadn’t told me your room number, I’m sure I couldn’t have got it from the desk clerk. They seemed terminally uninterested.”
“Listen, why don’t you ask Volodya if he knows Natasha? Let’s sleep on this matter,” he yawned politely, “and get you-know-who fixed up with clothes in the morning.”
But when she returned to her room, Volodya had fallen into a deep sleep sprawled across the utilitarian single bed. His pack was open, contents spilled onto the floor, with his clothes hanging neatly on the racks. Coaching would have to wait.
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excerpt
…didn’t address me. We ate in silence, and I contented myself with
what he offered me. I knew it was pointless to discuss Tamanoa, to
protest.
“Do you know why I have decided you will not die like your
servant?” he finally asked, breaking the silence, scowling at the fish
he was eating.
“I think God must have told you to let me live.”
He snorted.
“I am not to tell you why. It is for a reason for someone else to say.
But I know it took courage for you to come to us. And now I see the
way you have mourned your servant. Pariamanaco has told me. I
had never believed it possible that a white man could cry over an
Indian, as you call us, half-breed or not.”
“Tamanoa was my friend,” I said, feeling sadness and anger
welling within me. I dropped the bite of plantain I had pinched
between myfingers onto the plantain leaf. “Why did you kill him?”
“Half-breeds, they are traitors. They are not white, not one of us.
They learn our ways and betray us.”
“Tamanoa was good,” I said a bit more sharply than I had
intended.
He gave me a derogatory grimace.
“Why did you save her?” he asked, referring to his wife.
“I didn’t, God did.”
He glared at me briefly, but then turned his attention back to the
fish and cassava.
“I want what is good for you,” I continued. “I want you and your
people to see the Creator when you die.”
He gave me a fearsome scowl.
“I’ll see Mareoka. I am shaman, don’t need you for that.”
“Only born-again people can see him,” I paraphrased, for
understandably they did not have a word for baptism. “That is the
message I bring.”
“Born again? How can you be born again? That is crazy.”
“You are born again when I pour water over your head in the
name of the Father, the Son and the . . .”—suddenly it struck me …
Deer Park at the Whirl Hill
Our young self
is given back now
by the fallow-deers at Whirl Hill,
though they are not
the red-deer princes
of the Hungarian forests,
their crown is not arboreous,
they are just mild, spotted-backed
members of the huge deer-family.
But even so,
in all of their flutters
the Psalm of Psalms
is buzzing, the number 42,
and our „ancient”,
now 45 years old thirst.
Though we are not
a pair of young dears any more,
we are humming together
the very song of our
thirsty beginnings.
Not Another
No more, not that disputed shape, a big
body undivided on the metal bed with
its other side turned to the wall. I, he said,
on a persistent exercise of silence, on a
persistent exercise of the one-digit numbers
and the counting, as calm as possible, yet
hearable, three, six, nine, with the simple
shape of the lips like when you give the most
distanced kiss to the hand of the dead man.
when it finds me
naked
walking around
it dresses me,
the rain,
with unbelievably shining
outfits
as I walk,
and places around me
mythical riches
sets
and decorations”
he now saunters to the “end”
among the crowds, music and popular joy
and mixes
becomes one with
the crowd
and feels
sometimes
like a king among his subjects
and other times
perhaps the same moment
like
an exiled ruler
among
strangers
and unfamiliar
people
Prophet
His prophetic pneuma, his sense of eternal freedom, the endlessly creative mind of the giant who stood before a catastrophe and saw decaying humanity. He sensed that a future benevolence appeared before his eyes, before his prophetic vision, while he had his eyes closed. He saw the new race of men and women who stood opposite the morality of humbleness and against the well-fed bellies of priests and deacons, and he saw the creators of immortal boys and girls. This was his epiphany and his fate: life played like a drama, like a historical stage show of the pneuma with its delirium and tragedy, with a catharsis from the first moment, he realized that it was his freedom to think and to create his immortal Übermensch
Altar
Our blood fiery red.
When the newborns climb up the golden hills and
autumn bestows its gifts
unto the naked rain knees
cactuses listen to
the unsuspecting footsteps of Abel.
Dawn readies its slaughter and
the evening sacrifice
sprinkles the door-posts of the west.
Suspicious Encounters
Perhaps he was an imaginary person, and for this reason, more
dangerous; I usually met him in the hallway or behind the hospital.
The first time he pretended he didn’t know me, John,” I said to him,
“Weren’t we hanged together?”— since then, I am of a different
than my true age
like what will shutter us is a detail that has gone unnoticed
and time will come when we’ll remember it.
Manolis Aligizakis 