a hair on the menu hajszál az étlapon searching for a dyed pink hair I am in a quest like a courtesan in a bed of flowers my gaze slips to your swollen breasts I need you only for a few fleeting hours
you hide yet I can see your smile rare my starry eyes lustfully long for fresh fruit value my greedy heart forced me to the air to order love from the menu my paid embrace diminished by dawn I knew intentions bloom among the leaves’ sway I cannot master the art of beginning anew but I cannot have a kiss any other way in my limbs fireworks of adventure spark for a few brief hours you’re my tenement I’ve ruined it – what can I do without remark my opinion is pennyworth it’s evident the generosity of the crater of your thighs’ compassion ennobles the thirsty emotion as I fund your insatiable passion our bodies collapse into each other frozen I’m walled up in your hairbreadth for I became the ashes of your firing squad in the fiery twilight to the artistic depth my pagan blood was given by the finest god
Especially this morning as he stumbled to the toilet, dropped to his knees, and wretched his guts out. For maybe ten or twenty minutes Joel, continued to engage in the ritual of dry heaves. And every time he thought it was over, because he needed to get to his office, his entire body would be overcome by yet another compelling desire to puke and he would once again gag into the toilet. Once the heaves subsided, Joel was wasted of whatever strength he might have. The coolness of the porcelain toilet bowl on his forehead was a comforting feeling as he rested to regain his strength to rise. Eventually, knowing that he just could not afford to be late again, Joel rose, brushed his teeth, and shaved. Lately, Joel had taken to simply using the razor every other day. But looking at himself in the mirror this morning, Joel realized that it had probably been three and maybe even four days since his face had been visited by the razor. Knowing that with his hands shaking as they were and realizing that he was going to be late again, Joel opted to quickly shave his upper lip and race to the office. A shower would have been nice. No, a shower would have been wonderful, but he couldn’t afford many more reprimands from the office manager, Mr. Lee, for being late. Even if he was the best damn engineer on the waterfront, Joel was pushing his luck. After throwing his old rumpled suit on, Joel rushed down the stairs to the teeming street below where he quickly hailed a cab and twenty minutes later rushed into the offices of Empire Engineering Works. Empire was one of those harbor-based engineering firms that specialized in all kinds of projects on the Hong Kong waterfront. Joel had been with Empire for many years now, including postings at the home office in London and an endless string of assignments around the globe that usually lasted anywhere from twelve to twenty-four months. He had actually spent nearly three years at one posting in Amsterdam, but that was only because of overlapping projects, and once the first project, a new dry dock facility, was completed, he was asked to finish up a project with another team of engineers who were designing a new pier for the ferry fleet.
Mary Goldberg, just twenty-five years old, who had graduated from the McGill University of Toronto, daughter of a very affluent Toronto family with Jewish roots, after a disappointing erotic relationship with a young man of Jewish roots too, and against the wishes of her parents, and against the wishes of her best friend Rosalyn, had decided to travel across the country and after she spent a few months on the road, and after she lived temporarily in a few Canadian cities, she ended up in this Indian Residential School, in Kamloops BC, where she was hired as an administrator assistant; Mary, who stood almost six feet high with long black hair that fell on her back almost to her waist, was a clever eyed young woman with fair attitude; her characteristics were complimented by her hazel eyes and full lips, an aesthetically shaped nose and a very shapely body. This body, hidden under the tight outfits, which Mary liked to wear was easily discerned by the piercing eyes of Father Jerome, who never missed noticing such things especially since he was appointed the head of this facility in Kamloops BC, here, where no one would ever come to check what was going on and how the Indian Residential School was run. He knew of course that he had some guidance from the church and the Federal Canadian Minister on issues pertaining to education and curricula, yet the rest of the details were up to him and him alone, which placed him at the top of a heap he would never ever step down from. And he made sure all members of the teaching personnel as well as everybody else, from the British Columbia Provincial Legislators to the Mayor of Kamloops, to the rest of the citizens knew who he was and what his goals were; therefore no one could ever interfere with his decisions regarding the daily affairs in the running of the school, and the savage kids he was meant to educate, come hell or high water. “I wish you peaceful days and nights, Anton,” Mary said, and her lips showed a faint tremble.
Rachael giggled. “You’re silly,” she said as she hurried to the chair that Tyne indicated. Five minutes later, Rachael ran over to where Bobby sat on the floor plowing an imaginary furrow with his new tractor. “Look, Bobby, look at my new shoes. Aren’t they beautiful?” Bobby glanced up with a puzzled frown. “They’re just shoes.” Tyne laughed as she lifted the boy to his feet. “Come on, you two, we have to pay for all these things.” While the clerk, a young married woman whom Tyne knew only as Doreen, sorted out the purchases and rang the prices into the till, Tyne tried to ride herd on Bobby. But Rachael stood at the counter, gazing at the new shoes, making sure that Doreen didn’t overlook them. From a few feet away Tyne heard the door open, followed by a female voice demanding, “Rachael, what are you doing here?” Tyne swung around to see Ruby Harrison bearing down on the startled child at the cash register. Then Rachael squealed and launched herself at her aunt. “Auntie Ruby.” Ruby bent to give Rachael a brief hug, then straightened her back and looked at Tyne who now held the hand of a recalcitrant Bobby. “Hello, Ruby. How are you?” Ruby ignored her, focusing instead on the clothes and toys that the clerk was placing in brown paper bags on the counter. Her eyebrows raised, she looked at Tyne. “New clothes?” Tyne nodded. “Yes, they both need play clothes and Rachael has to have something decent for school.” “I’m sure my sister had plenty of clothes for them at home, if you’d bothered to look.” She walked to the counter and fingered a pink wool sweater. “These look expensive. Who’s paying for them?” Two immediate responses sprang to Tyne’s mind. It isn’t any of your business, and I defy you to find anything expensive in this store. But she forced herself to say quietly, “Morley and I are buying them for the children.” Ruby lifted her chin. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I spoke to Corky, and he’s going to sign over custody to me and Bill.
They sneered like rival dogs and bared their teeth. She could not catch their mumbled conversation. Abruptly the current was broken. Volodya leaned back in his chair, innocent, fresh-faced. The newcomer looked over his shoulder repeatedly as if someone might see him in this den of decadence. “Dance with him,” Volodya ordered her. Surprised, she stared. The stranger’s fingers were already on her wrist. He opened his mouth in a grin, revealing several black teeth and a large gap in his smile. His breath smelled like sour milk. Dance. Just a two step. One-two, one-two, and back again. Twirl. He pulled her around the dance floor, breathing heavily, then closer, tighter, until his belt buckle pressed uncomfortably in her abdomen. She pretended not to understand his language when he spoke to her. “Krasavitsa, beautiful woman,” he said. Just smile and twirl, she thought. When the music ended, he returned her to the table. Volodya’s eyes were on her. Thank you, they told her. The man sat with them, uninvited. There was more vodka, toasts to Soviet-Canadian friendship—this from Black-Teeth. A toast to Jennifer, the beautiful, amazing woman from Canada! This wish was from Volodya and a slobbering drunk from the next table who smiled an elastic grin. More dancing. This time with Volodya. Black-Teeth left without saying goodbye. Then someone was suggesting a toast to the cosmonauts, another was toasting his mother, another cheered a black-eyed seductress called Masha, who was not present to hear her toast. Someone passed a bottle of vodka up to the band. The musicians handed it around, took swigs, became more animated. The ugly bass player took four steps to the front of the stage, four steps back and the piano player flashed spasmodic smiles in between frowns of concentration. The band broke loose on a popular modern song; the crowd roared approval. Only the waiters were unsmiling, weary. In a brief, lucid moment between drinks, Jennifer looked around her in surprise. She had been in the Soviet Union what?—eight, nine days? “It’s all part of the Russian experience,” she murmured. Then there were more stomach-turning toasts, the pungent sweat of bodies that shared bathrooms, the rigid motions of the jazz band. Volodya and Jennifer laughed, danced. By the time they left, bursting into the street, it was empty of people. His arm rested lightly on the back of her waist. She knew they would make love that night.
Emily Roberts is still in bed this Monday morning, although it’s late for her. Usually, she’s up at dawn but not today. Her mind is busily trying to organize Matthew’s birthday party for Saturday. She has invited about thirty people: friends, some of his co-workers, even the boss, Bevan Longhorn. She has taken a chance and invited him, but isn’t sure whether he’ll show up. They have lived in a beautiful house in the northern part of Los Angeles for about eight years, and she finds it very difficult to think of living anywhere else. She wonders what is going to happen when Matthew retires, because he has mentioned before that he doesn’t want to stay in the same house afterward especially once Jennifer is gone. Emily feels lonely this morning. She doesn’t want to get up. She misses Matthew. Her mind takes her back to their early days as teenagers and to all the beautiful things they used to do together. Her thoughts mesmerize her and cause her to feel excited; she tosses and turns in bed. Emily is a gorgeous forty-seven-year-old blonde who knows she looks as baeutiful as most girls in the fashion magazines. She feels proud when looking at herself in the mirror. There have been times when she wished she had the courage to go out and be with someone, anyone, just for the sexual satisfaction she misses so much. Matthew has been away from her almost all the time because of devotion to his career. Sometimes, she misses even the weekend quickies, although those sessions only serve his satisfaction. Emily hardly ever comes to the point of climax with his two- or three-minute efforts. But this morning is different; she needs to be satisfied. She resorts to her small bottle of oil; she leans over to the nightstand and takes the lubricant from the drawer. Two, maybe three, drops are usually enough. She applies the oil and feels the smoothness that always excites her. After a slow, methodical rubbing, her body relaxes. Two or three more minutes, and her orgasm is dynamic as always. The nextminute she jumps out of bed and runs to the shower,where thewarm water flows over her and relaxes her as her mind turns to all that she has to do today. She needs to do so many things—to arrange for the food with the caterers and to order the flowers. She needs to find a gift for Matt and she needs to organize the house cleaners. The list of things to do seems endless. She completes her shower and is rushing out when she hears the phone ring. “Hi, Mom, what’s up?” “Nothing, honey, how is your day going so far?” “Okay, Mom. Listen, do you want to go out for lunch with me? It will give us a chance to go over your list of things for Saturday.” She would have preferred to be on her own today to meet with her good friend Cathy, however, she agrees to meet Jennifer at Mario’s at one o’clock. She puts the phone down and her mind flies free like a bird in the morning, and her sexual hunger re-emerges from the depth of her being, as if something special will happen today, but what? She tries to put the feeling out of her mind.
Questions The beggar always stood at the corner as if to oversee two streets double pain single delusion the woman was already undressed as she waited for her first john though the traffic was an issue that night and God, the Overseer, down in the wine cellar, lost among the barrels, had forgotten her. Autumn leaves blown over fences and I waited for the server to produce the bill for our dinner. Where is an exit from this travesty where is the elusive answer?
Manolis Aligizakis 