Il Pagliaccio With his pink face, his tardy pants, his perennially smiling lips, the pagliaccio runs to the stage drawing an imaginary circle in front of kids who laugh especially when he pulls a kerchief out of his pocket, a green kerchief with no end and after he pulls three meters of endless fabric and focusing on the faces of the children the pagliaccio gets ready for his next act: he takes off his hat and turning it upside down he puts his hand in it and after three abracadabra he raises a snow-white rabbit in the air to the yelling and laughing kids as the pagliaccio, as happy as ever with his performance, disappears behind the big red curtain not forgetting his duty to the man, he once was, one who could reach the stars, who could transcend the flesh and touch the eternal, which, alas, he never did.
I was lucky in my life to meet many good and always correct people perhaps they were more austere than normal perhaps, how can I say it, even a little tough but isn’t this the right of those who know and know how to judge everything? The difficulty arises when no one of the just people accept the other just what am I saying they never appreciated each other
‘Yes, Nora. Yes, I honestly do.’ ‘I wish I could share your optimism.’ ‘You’re becoming cynical in your old age, Nora. You need cheering up.’ Nora looked behind her towards the door. ‘I don’t know what’s keeping Janet.’ ‘I wouldn’t even like to hazard a guess,’ Clifford said with a smile. ‘Would you like me to order drinks for you now? What were you and Janet … ? Ah, here she comes.’ He stood up as Janet rushed in. ‘Sorry I was so long, Nora,’ Janet said, ‘but I kept meeting people. Robert Purdy’s here with his fiancée. And the whole Morgan family from Clondarragh.’ ‘Janet, you know Dr Hamilton, don’t you?’ ‘But of course I do. How are you, Dr Hamilton? We haven’t seen you down in our part of the world for ages.’ ‘I’m fine, thank you, Janet. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I hope your mother and father are well.’ ‘Hale and hearty, Dr Hamilton. I’ll tell them you were asking after them.’ ‘Yes, please do,’ said Clifford. ‘I actually came to invite you and Nora to join us at our table. My wife, my son, his girlfriend, and some friends of ours are there.’ ‘That would be very nice,’ said Janet. ‘We usually have more company with us, but they all had other things to do this evening.’ Clifford led the way to his own table and made the necessary introductions. Nora and Janet sat down on two extra chairs that John had already added to the group. Nora sat between John and Ian, Janet between Ian and Clifford. ‘Now, what is everyone drinking?’ Clifford asked. Fiona and Susan had had enough, they said. Janet and Catriona asked for lemonade. Julian a Macallan single-malt Scotch—‘If they have any.’ Nora ordered gin and orange. ‘Mother’s ruin, Nora,’ said John. ‘Make mine a John Powers, Clifford.’ ‘Julian’s choice of Scotch for me too,’ said Ian. ‘Do you ever drink anything else, Ian?’ ‘Only Drambuie, but not now.’ Clifford smiled. ‘You’ll have Coca Cola in your whiskey, I suppose.’ ‘Get away with you, man,’ Ian scolded. ‘Even though I know you’re joking, you should still be horse-whipped for a crack like that. In Scotland we don’t joke about our Scotch.’
“No, strangely enough, Sarah, she’s quite a good woman in her way. Oh, she has her faults, and she thinks she’s a cut above the ordinary Joe as we used to say in the Old Country. But then, lass, which of us doesn’t have any faults?” Mrs. Thompson expertly positioned a round slab of pastry onto the sliced apples in the shell and began to press down the edges with a fork. Without waiting for Sarah to answer her rhetorical question, she said, “It’s Will I feel sorry for. He’s never been the same since it happened. Used to be such a jolly man, always ready with a joke. The girl was a lot like him in that way. Although in looks she was fair like her mother. They hadn’t been here long when … when it happened. Maybe a couple of years because I know the girl finished up her high school in Nimkus.” “What did happen, Mrs. Thompson?” “I can’t really say, lass.” Mrs. Thompson suddenly looked embarrassed and flustered. “And, my goodness, I’ve talked enough. The time’s going on, and Ben’ll be in for his supper.” She gathered the unbaked pies onto a tin tray and hurried into the kitchen. Sarah stared after her. She wanted to ask more questions, but she knew that no more information would be forthcoming from Mrs. Thompson. Obviously, the English lady had already disclosed more than she had intended. But Sarah knew that something disturbing had happened in Nimkus, and she was sure now that Ben had been a part of it.
At Both Edges At both edges of the emotion. I love you as much as I hate you. My beloved, hated love! We don’t meet anymore. We walk on parallel paths going opposite directions. For long time we have passed the point where we met for the first time. We can only go around the globe once more, since life is round like the earth. Until then, each of us alone…
So many things to share and we always select a few; we always want someone in our ownership forever shortening his body dissecting his voice. How long shall I live in the faces that contain me how long shall I still carry in me faces that steadily shrink?
Principles You coached leaves of the olive tree to shred sunlight and you begged finches to whistle summer but you left my lips not kissed except while foreign lands rejoiced in your principles, behind you this yellow wall’s firm blocks of the abandoned building overgrown with brier where cicadas compose adagios gardenias sweating aromas but you exiled my lips while only seagulls kept you company and my sobs hushed the night
“Those who left you on this shore caused you the pain you have had to suffer. I am sorry. The raiders were Pequat. By their law and our own law, we had to leave and let them take you or they could have destroyed our village and taken our children as well. A Pequat mother lost a daughter just as Brown Bear lost his Namid.” Bjorn stood up in anger, “How? Where?” Ari also rose, painfully. “Who did this murder?“ White Eagle raised his hand for silence. “Word has spread from further toward the warm lands that the serpent ship brought death among our neighbours. The Pequat travelled far to where they camped last night. They lost warriors and have the right to take the bravest from among you to replace lost sons and daughters. Your brave singing saved your lives. Now our people have bought you back so you belong to us.” Ari looked around to his companions, then he replied for all, “Thank you for our lives. We will be your people. Your people will be our people.” “Now,” said White Eagle, “you must eat and rest. You have done well.” He turned to Rordan and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have honoured us with your bravery and with your music. We gave many gifts to have you back. The Pequat warriors have named you Hototo Nikamu, Warrior Spirit Who Sings. Now you are our Mountain Thrush, Hototo Nikamu, and you are free to fly as you will.” When White Eagle left to go to his lodge, Brother Keallach spoke to Rordan, “If we are to stay here forever, shouldn’t we talk to Father Finten, first?” “Not on your bloody life.” Ula was angry. “He wasn’t ransomed. Shit! He wasn’t even with us. He can go when he bloody well wishes. This is our decision. Rordan has spoken for all and his word stands.” Brother Ailan used his right hand to get to his feet. His left hand was heavily wrapped in moss and balsam fir sap. Brother Rordan had learned of the healing properties of balsam from Corn Mother and, having paused to gather sap and cones on the return journey, had already applied resin to everyone’s burns and to Ailan’s finger stump. Now Ailan stood to address his Brothers. “No matter what happens, do not forget we are tied to Father Finten by our vow of obedience.” “Maybe you are, if you choose to be. At least three of us are free to make our own decisions.” Ula stomped out of the lodge and Bjorn and Ari followed after her. Rordan looked at both Keallach and Ailan. “What do we do about Finten? Has anyone seen him?” For days, Finten roamed the headland, looking out to sea, afraid of what might appear on that vast expanse, afraid and ashamed of what White Eagle and the First Light People would think of him now. Why, when he knew he could be so brave, did his knees buckle whenever he was faced with danger? He regretted that he had not died with his Brothers. He was certain none of the companions had survived. He’d heard the bloodcurdling shrieks as he cowered in the lodge. He’d seen blood splattered on the ground outside the lodge. He’d seen the trails of blood where the savages had dragged bodies into the woods, probably to be eaten at a gruesome victory feast. When the villagers returned and he saw that none had been wounded, much less killed, he knew immediately he had been betrayed. The attack was not against the village but only to capture and kill him and his Brothers and the other three.
Two glasses on the table a stool at the corner the shadow of a hand cutting flowers shadow divided between bed and ceiling I don’t remember, didn’t see it on time only the shadow of the closed window on the white wall and the hand that didn’t cut flowers the hand that was cut at the first moon-second falling in the muddy waters middle of the road next to the broken wheel of the post office truck. A mandolin, an angry angel a glass of water, the cigarette the sound which takes both of us out of loneliness so we separate again without saying goodnight. Then, the eyes that open two holes in the wall. I planted a tree. I’ll make sure it grows. I won’t come back, no matter what.
