IV on her bed the girl faces the wall she plays with the worn out stucco she draws sometimes a person’s face sometimes a ship that foretells the future a fairy with the seven fingers dances the serpent, the old nail tie the tale together. Turned to the wall she befriends an unknown person she cries for a death, always a sudden death, mine, my mother’s and flowers, a lot of flowers in the remote chapel by the rock solemn promise to Alexander the Great and to the other saints… the dream, but a yellow wall as the drawings talk to children and frighten the adults.
Fire and Ice For several days, the ship lay on a becalmed sea. While Finten and Ailan sat discussing their worst fears – their slavery, the long cold winters, and uncertainties of the future – bubbles began bursting on the water surface, becoming more and more intense as the ship drifted slowly landward. When several fish popped up to float dead on the water, one of the men reached over the side to retrieve a floating cod. He remarked that the sea felt amazingly warm. Two other crew members reached into the water and pulled out a small halibut. Everyone gathered around in amazement. As more Norsemen plucked up floating fish, the meat fell apart in their hands and onto the deck. When the first man remarked the fish he’d pulled up smelled fresh-cooked, he pushed back the scaly skin and took a tiny nibble then another and announced that it tasted good. Another sniffed then took a nibble while others watched. Those who had dared to taste ate on and other Norsemen reached over the sides for fish and laughed as they ate. The Brothers joined the crew at the ship’s rail but by then hissing hot air burst close to the prow and pulsating plumes of sediment, the colour of egg yoke, rose to the surface and surged all around the ship. Clouds of yellow steam filled the air with the smell of sulphur, making breathing difficult. Then a slow-moving cloud of white smoke enveloped the ship and droplets of rain burned exposed skin, causing blisters. The men dropped their fish and ran to the prow in a panic. Finten’s worst fears had been realized. He knew they had finally travelled too far and were now on the edge of hell. Soon pagans and Christians alike would be plunged into the fiery depth. Once more he prayed aloud the psalm of death and his Brothers joined in: “Out of the depth I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my prayer.” Captain Hjálmar shouted for calm. “And shut that infernal babbling. You papish thralls are worse than a bunch of old women. How can I think with all that commotion?” After about an hour of increasing turmoil in the water, the ship lurched, as a firebreathing monster rumbled, spurting hot ash into the air. A wave formed, seemingly out of nowhere, and pushed the Nordic knarr from the seething mountain, which now burst and heaved its way above the boiling water. Freki ran to his captain. “I knew it. I knew it. Now we’re all going to die in fire and water.” Everyone on board cried out to different gods in fear and trembling. Only Captain Hjálmar appeared to maintain his calm until he bellowed, “Quiet! Pay attention.” Still Freki jumped up and down pulling at the captain’s cloak and shrieking. Hjálmar pushed Freki aside and shouted above the din, calling for buckets of seawater to douse the hot coals smouldering among the panicked sheep. The sky filled with black clouds. A staccato of thunder and lightning sounded like Thor’s hammer to the terrified Norsemen, while a monstrous wind roared out of nowhere to send
City Smog I inhale the city smog that covers my thoughts with its velvety garment, a golden thread stitched on my sigh as I lament your loss among the asphodels — You need to buy gas for the mower, the can is almost empty My desire to talk back to her hangs from my lips, and the voice of the rose in the flowerpot commands me to shut my mouth and open the bashful curtains to let the sun rays in —Don’t wear that tight shirt, we aren’t in the seventies anymore, you know! A sick man with his life still existing in drips and breathing machines stays motionless as if he’s ordered not to disturb the nurse’s round, and he stays mute as the dust particles that hover midair, and the sunlight reveal the secret of an upcoming death — Help me, please, tell me what distance to leave between these two pictures. Bell tolls for the last time when the ancient Fury unfolds the bed sheets of the sick man who’s ready to make his final peace with his wounded heart; another gracious moment for the last hurrah of life, and I think of you, my beloved, and my heart aches —I have no more patience with you; come put the coffee pot on, it’s your day, you know!
Manolis Aligizakis 