Toward the End The night guard said he didn’t know. Cars were lined along the shore with their headlights on. The river, lit in some places, flowed fast. The soldier was holding the woman by her hair; the woman was naked. The frogs sang in the night perforated by yellow dots. One by one, we hid behind the trees. We had our watches and waited for our end while we kept a piece of cotton between our teeth. Then, the handsome trumpeter appeared high up in the lit window of the tower next to the escapee with the big flag. Then, nothing was left but a general, iconic friendship, the wiping of the knife on the coat, the planting of the lemon tree in the garden.
Balance Capture of a blue piece from the vastness of the sky to compliment the miracle of a man, or a woman, your task and the word failure doesn’t exist. This balance between the ethereal images, and the grossness of the flesh becomes the link which embarks from the top of your spirit to the tip of your brush, and is displayed on your adoring canvas. The link which ties the depths of your soul to the zenith of your marvels this equilibrium, and your Cretan sun always there, gifting with his rays passion in movement the song of the nightingales endlessness of your glance to the far side of the galaxy. Here the ephemeral becomes infinite. Here the end becomes a starting point. Here the gross turns into abstract. Here the stop point becomes perpetual. Here the ever small becomes Gigantic. Here man becomes Titan. Here your passion becomes medium. Here your flesh turns into spirit. Here your spirit melts into the Godly.
New House He wanted, he said, to build a house far away from the city hustle and the bustle of modern life, a house to uphold stature, forbearance, patience of the contractor, the last house he’d built before his time came when he’d move to his permanent residence, but this house, he wanted it to be airy and sunny, comfortable, and kind like its owner and after he finished building it he called his pals, walked the grounds, inspected all the details outside and inside the house too when the owner revealed he only regretted that he never thought to include in the plans a cistern into which he’d collect the rainwater for his flowers which he didn’t like to leave thirsty when the time came for his last farewell and you said, he too followed the steps of incidentals who come and pass and leave nothing behind while they hope for a reward in the lustrous luxury of the afterlife
When the two arrived at the airport in the taxi, later than expected and breathless, Hank rushed up to Jennifer with the words that made her blood freeze. “Jen, Chopyk knows and he’s furious.” Hank noted the look of horror and the way Volodya grabbed her hand. “How did he find out?” She didn’t have to ask again; she could see the answer in Hank’s eyes. “What was I supposed to do? He cornered me. He thought I’d done something to Paul.” “But I told him that Paul was going with me to Tula.” Her exasperation was turning into a bubble of fear that she could physically feel in her gut. “Well, geez, you could have told me that…I didn’t know what to answer so I told him the truth—that Paul was staying in the Soviet Union.” He backed away from Jennifer’s anger. “He was going to find out today anyway. How were you going to hide his disappearance on the plane?” “The same way we did before! It worked—remember, you idiot?” Her voice rose above a shout but then she realized they were still standing in the airport doorway, and she forced herself to stop. But Hank continued, talking over her. “Listen, I think you should talk to him right now, get on the offensive because I didn’t tell him everything and I can’t figure out how much he knows.” This rapid fire exchange in English left Volodya behind, but he was picking it up quickly. “Let’s go meet your Professor Chopyk,” he said to Jennifer. “We tell him everything and get his blessing.”
Manolis Aligizakis 