He didn’t touch anything for three long days, not even water. Doctors spoke of general denial. Lying on his bed, white already like dead, with crossed arms, speechless, with clenched teeth. On the fourth day, he got up, like a ghost, with large eyes, fixated on a point, not scared eyes, rather brotherly and impenetrable; he drank a whole glass of water, wiped his lips and talked to us with a very distant voice yet in a manner clearly informative and impersonal. From time to time, he made an imperceptible gesture as if he was straightening a fine fabric on his knee, a woman’s handkerchief. This movement of his had a strange tenderness, totally different from the tone of his voice.
The atmosphere on the airplane was like the aftermath of a party gone wrong—at which the host had done something embarrassing or insulted esteemed guests. He or she is mortified but defiant, and secretly the other guests have enjoyed the spectacle while publicly shaking their heads and frowning. As the victim of a wrong, Professor Chopyk refused to meet Jennifer’s gaze as she and Volodya shuffled down the aisle to their seats, a few rows removed from the others. It was just as well because she could barely contain her sense of relief at the moment. She was as mortified as the embarrassed host for having drawn so many people into this conspiracy, but she couldn’t help feeling jubilant that it had turned out so well. Just Canada Customs left to hurdle—and that would be far easier. Lona arrived next and settled by the window with a magazine on her lap, looking smug and ignoring them. David was grinning from ear to ear, visibly relieved. Ted appeared nervous and uncomfortable. Hank winked. The twins were oblivious as usual. Maria, just one row over in an aisle seat, gave Jennifer and Volodya the thumbs up. No matter, they had done it—left the Soviet Union. Volodya would be free. She pictured him in Canada listening to live gospel music for the first time—an expression of awe and gratitude on his face. In Vancouver, she would take him to the Hot Jazz Club, an after-hours dive off Broadway, or they would dance together on the sprung floor of the Commodore on a Saturday night. Somehow they would find work—she didn’t expect to be given much gainful employment in the Russian Department after this escapade was over. Maybe she would work in a nightclub—or write a novel and forget about Russia.
When the goddess Habit protects you it makes you bless each small lethargic vegetable since it makes your walk possible on a path without a goal without a starting point since to commence on a path you need to have a goal. The goddess Habit creates the dangerous balance over the everyday void and colors the empty sunsets purple as if by an amateur painter; it does everything with automatic movements that make the days easy and without any secret message. The goddess Habit even orders the breath in and out of the lungs when everything seems normal and only joy is missing. I got used to it, I say and I mean I forget in order to survive I forget the body that is wrapped in ideas and dreams. And behold, the dawn comes to crown my face, ravaged by time, with the miracle of life that the poor tongue can’t name with any other word but light. Yes, goddess Habit I believe in you and I serve you. You too, stay loyal to me until I get tired of you.
I stood at attention and smiled at the cloud’s serene passing over the firmament, and I delved in the meaningful depth of the eternal return, while the soul of man settled on the good and benevolent world and in the meaning of existence hidden in each phase of animate and inanimate life I smiled, and I meditated on my purpose on this Earth, and only one word appeared in front of my eyes, a diaphanous word that warmed my viscera and consciousness: arts the meaning of this word, and its transcendence, was the purposes of my life to excel, to overcome the mediocrity of daily affairs on my climb toward my destined Ithaca
Manolis Aligizakis 