In any case I was the only servant in this mourning house and I had met the other house master under the stairway though the waking up was totally different, I had to take care of the old sick women who, when young, swore to die young and the trees had listened to so many love words that during the night they walked in a strange way in the garden; they all said that that night I placed the mask on the table, among the foreigners, as if to live once more; they, motionless, looked at me going down since I had no other way out except the carpet which I folded slowly and in such a way that I covered the worst. And while they all demanded an answer I left them in their delusion which was the only music.
He didn’t seem to have much family left except his grandmother in California and Jennifer felt as if she had been cast out of her own. They sat in the campus centre’s uncomfortable chairs, too hard for sleeping, just soft enough for flopping, smoked cigarettes—even though neither were smokers—and talked far into the night. At first she thought she wanted to sleep with him and made a few subtle overtures. Jennifer had lost her virginity during the first year of college to a fraternity man who pressed his attentions on her in the back row of the movie theatre. From there, a succession of eager males had dated her but only a few had captured her interest. She didn’t believe in saving it for her husband, but she wanted respect from her partner. She wanted to find the right one—someone to love when lovemaking would be a passionate, full experience. Paul was good-looking, tall, grey-eyed, with pronounced cheekbones, and as they wandered the campus together, she found herself wondering how he would look naked, whether he would be a good lover. But when she invited him back to her shared apartment for a nightcap, he told her about his girlfriend in Vancouver, a chemistry major who sounded as exciting as two planks of wood. Jennifer backed off. In his polite, contained style, he offered her nothing but a companionship that she would soon learn to treasure. At the end of the summer they kissed on the lips, promised to write to one another and he suggested that she apply for graduate work at his university where they could be colleagues. This parting tenderness made her feel warmer than the parting kiss of her many dates. Paul was special, no doubt about it. But he wasn’t the one. The summer had scarcely faded into autumn before she met Michael. She had noticed him in the line-up at the cafeteria; he always ate at about the same time each day, moved his tray through the line efficiently, then always sat in the same spot, a table by the door. One day when the cafeteria was full, she thought what the hell and asked if the seat opposite him was taken. Politely, he gathered up his sprawling papers and books and indicated the seat. Then he returned to reading. She studied him. His most obvious feature was bushy black eyebrows. His thick full hair dropped to his shoulders in the current style. He was wearing a white cotton shirt with embroidery and she could see his well-proportioned body through the material.
Possessions Joseph, the Vietnam veteran pushes his supermarket cart filled with his possessions: dirty cloths, a can opener pair of spare runners smiling hole in the left sole plastic bag full of things he doesn’t stir anymore Joseph searches the back lane of the street for something he lost long ago vibrant sunny morning very early in his task in Atlanta Georgia, he searches for something as invisible as his dividends on the defense contractors’ annual earnings report
Manolis Aligizakis 