Funeral We buried him, yesterday afternoon, in the freshly dug soil, as if he was a young twig, the poet with his gray beard. His only sin: so much he loved the birds that to punish him they didn’t come to his funeral. Sun went down behind the army barracks with the victims of tomorrow and a lone hawk, the song lover, sat on the oak branch; women lamented for the day’s yellow rapture and after approving everything the hawk flew away, as though to define distance. Wind blew over the lake surface searching for the traitor who had run to the restaurant on the opposite shore where judgement was passed, while the ancient cross remained with no corpse. Everyone felt joyous, wine and finger food had to do with it, the hawk returned with news of the beggar who extended his hand and softly begged, ’two bits, man, God bless your soul, two bits.’ I like all those who live only to die so they can reach the other shore.
‘So there you have it, Michael. A rather sad or maybe a tragic story. I’ve had lovers myself, but nothing serious. And I’ve always insisted on Durex. I was caught once before and I was determined not to get caught again. I thought I was safe with you. I wanted sex with a man without a condom for a change. You don’t mind me saying that, do you?’ She smiled. ‘You let me down, but I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault. I’m actually enjoying being pregnant again.’ She squeezed his hand and reclined again in the armchair. ‘You’ve had a baby then?’ ‘When I was sixteen. Much too young to be a mother. So I gave it up for adoption.’ ‘So no children with Robert.’ ‘No, and none likely. The father of my first baby was an eighteen-year-old boy. He’s a fisherman in Lisnaglass now. Married and has four sons.’ Connie looked at Michael again. ‘Poor Michael. I think you would have liked to have had four sons yourself.’ ‘I’d have been happy with one,’ Michael said, then paused in silent reflection of the fickle trickery of nature. He took his first drink, then, returning Connie’s look, he asked, ‘What will Robert say or do when he finds out you’re pregnant?’ ‘Probably nothing. I am nothing to Robert now. The sad thing is that I love him. I truly love him.’ Her voice faltered, and she let her head fall back on the chair again, her eyes closed. ‘But I think it’s only a matter of time before there’s talk of divorce.’ ‘Did Frank and Kathleen have any children?’ ‘A son. Five years old now. Little Bobbie. Robert is very fond of him. Spoils him really.’ ‘Will you tell Robert that I am the father of your baby?’ The question secretly thrilled Michael. He was going to be a father. He was not a sterile mule after all. He was a whole man. Able to father children. And Nora. The chances were that Nora really was his daughter. Not Padraig’s. Praise be to God, he thought. What a happy, happy day. He drank with a greater feeling of elation than he had ever experienced. He felt like getting drunk, but his glass was empty and he wasn’t bold enough to ask for a refill. ‘No, I won’t tell Robert that you are the father of my baby,’ Connie was saying. ‘No need to. He thinks you’re sterile, remember. There’s a man I see in Belfast. Robert will think the baby is his, and I won’t tell him otherwise. Least said, soonest mended, Michael. Don’t worry. He won’t be challenging…
I stumbled between the lines of stakes, drenched in sweat, weak in the extreme. Tears streamed down my face, for I couldn’t baptize them. Benjamin appeared and gave me his hand to support me. “There is a messenger from the coast, padrecito. The captain sends word,” he said under his breath. “Your brother.” I heard the words but didn’t understand them. I touched each of their foreheads, asked for their forgiveness and counted them. Baruta was not among them. I touched the brows of twenty-two caciques and one Indian who had been captive for a year. His name was Curicurián, and he had impersonated his beloved chief, Chicuramay, and died in his stead. Everything went black.
“A youth called Marcus and his sister Deborah.” “Go and inform Father Jerome, pronto while I’ll call the RCMP,” Sister Gladys said to which the other nun responded by saying no word but by running to the door and stairs that led upstairs to Father Jerome’s room. “What’s going on Sister Gladys?” Anton asked, “I know the youth Marcus and his sister too…” “I’m afraid I have to inform you, although I’d prefer Father Jerome did this, of certain things which took place last nigh,” Sister Gladys said as she finished dialing the local police. Anton stood silent waiting for the nun to continue. His face didn’t present anything other than surprise at the news he heard. “Last night Mr. Jonas a murder took place within the walls of this building,” she said. “A murder?” “Yes Mr. Jonas, a murder; Father Thomas was murdered, there behind that door,” she said pointing at the door Sister Anna had gone through. “Father Thomas, murdered? Who killed him?” “That is a matter of the RCMP now…and these two kids gone this morning…” Sister Gladys added. Before Anton could say anything else, George the Cretan cook came in and seeing Anton with Sister Gladys he joined them. “Good morning to you both, what’s up?” his voice was as cheerful as it could be. “Things aren’t so happy here today, George,” Anton told him. “What happened? Why the long faces?” he asked seeing Sister Gladys’ frowned face and the furrow between Anton’s eyebrows.
…moment to gaze at the peaceful faces. Susie’s light brown hair lay entangled, partly over the pillow and partly over her freckled nose. Just like when she’s awake, a little wild even in sleep. Katie lay face up, her lips parted slightly as though a pleasant dream had made her smile. Darker hair than her sister’s framed the doll-like features in smooth waves that would probably be just as unruffled when she awakened in the morning. Tyne shook her head in wonder at this serene child of hers and, as she turned to leave, marvelled anew at the difference in these children who had been formed together in her body. At Bobby’s door she hesitated a moment, not wanting to intrude without knocking in case he was still awake. But when she heard his gentle snore, she looked in. He lay, as he always did, with arms over his head. From the light coming in from the hallway, she satisfied herself that he was covered and sound asleep, no doubt to remain that way until his alarm clock told him another school day had arrived. Down the hall, Tyne heard a radio playing softly – if the songs the Beatles belted out could be described that way. Now, now, Tyne, don’t be old fashioned. Old fashioned or not, she thought, as she quietly pushed open the door to Rachael’s room, I still prefer Sinatra and Como and Pat Boone, and oh yes, Elvis is pretty good, too. Tyne quietly crossed to the bed and looked down on her sleeping daughter. Rachael lay face up, her arms akimbo, her smooth cheeks smeared with traces of tears. Tyne sighed, her throat filling as she recalled another night almost ten years ago when Rachael lay just like this with tears drying on her face. The day that she and Morley had to tell Rachael and Bobby their mother would not be coming home from hospital had seared itself into Tyne’s memory forever. But what could be distressing the girl so much at this time in her life that she had cried herself to sleep? What had happened on Saturday night that had made Rachael so troubled and morose as she had been since then?
Georg Trakl, as if in the famous Salzburg of the Austrian Tyrol, where he saw the light for the first time, he never found joy anywhere, never he spent his childhood in boredom as he anticipated the time of knowledge which arrived, it’d be better if it didn’t, when he lost his mind yes: he never agreed with them, the proud man never accepted the fate and habits people have as soon as he realized, painfully enough, what means to be alive he had no other longing but to escape, to go away that longing, his grief you could say, never left him nothing could console him nothing entertained him, nothing made him forget for a while not Vienna with its wide avenues the beautiful cafes the gardens the lakes with ducks not even the legendary innumerable beauties the hidden and truly unforgettable treasures…
Trickery She’s gone except for silence that always stays for last and you walk barefoot to muffle the sound of your footsteps on the tile floor with your fingers you tap on the table to hear noises from the forest this silent afternoon when all sounds dwell in absence only the sun walks in through the open blinds mimicking your noiseless steps
Coincidences So when evening came I thought that finally the end was here, I mean to say that since so many things occurred inside me, I didn’t need to choose until the hallway was filled with undefined misery and only the old servant woman passed mistrustfully like the blind who collect all the sounds or like the importance the sick child suddenly gives to dusk so that since that moment he won’t ever forget; then the harmonica stopped playing on the above floor mother got too old poor kneeling people found the door to another life but they remained outside like simple talk that has no wings to break our hearts or if they didn’t notice the blood as I was playing with my hat; it was only a simple coincidence like music in the beyond that seeks what poetry silences on earth.
ÜBERMENSCH’S HOPE With gifts from Mars, the Übermensch’s hope lights fires in our hearts till longing becomes flesh and the oak bends down before the mushroom and you, symbol of bravery, unerring shield of freedom, are degraded by the weak and crafty merchants like the worms that eat the fallen lion’s carcass. Gone is the beast with its proud talons that frightened earth and sky, gone are the walls painted by gunpowder and blood, but if these verses could survive and live as you have lived, they’d sing for you and shatter those who ravaged you.
On Saturday morning he talked to the pair about a trinket he’d admired. Would they pick it up while he wrote some postcards? Johnny retrieving the car, Ace stuffed the last of his money into the girl’s hand. It totalled a few thousand U.S. dollars. – Buy yourself something nice, girl. Midnight lifted her dress and inserted the roll into a place it was unlikely to be discovered. – I get you a special present, she said. Something to remember me. But Ace would never receive the gift — or so he believed as he stood on the balcony and watched the rental speed away. He hurriedly filled a suitcase and flagged the airport shuttle. The following year was a prosperous one for Courier North. Commodity prices had spiked and the mines were reopening. Neal broke his vow and married a Filipina half his age. He’d met Conchita at Sally’s and decided to keep her. Ace began feeling poorly just before freeze-up. Tests confirmed the doctor’s suspicions. Neal bought him out and hired a young pilot to handle the longer flights. Ace retired to his cabin on the banks of the river, passing the time feeding the deer and listening to the wolves howl. Sometimes his old friend would fly low, skimming the treetops, an aerial how-do. Nights he couldn’t sleep, Ace would sometimes upend the box of photos and spread them out on the table. It was while rummaging through his memories that Midnight’s last words came back to him: I get you a present to remember me. What could it have been? he wondered. But then the light began to fade, and it didn’t matter anymore.
Manolis Aligizakis 