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Sometimes I wonder

where you may be

 

withdrawn in despair

 

despite your charms

 

or laughing carelessly

 

in someone else arms

 

distraught scens

 

flood my brain,

 

haunt my conscience

 

daylight nightmares.

 

 

Tags: Reflections Daylight Nightmare

 

The warm sun rays thawed the morning frost for two hours already, but Joab Katz was well tucked in his blanket yet – and in apathy and helplessness just as well.

The flowing life outside, the usual morning sounds woke him up. Opening a pair of eye slits in his broad and wrinkled face he kept on lying without the slightest stir, watching absent minded the fleeting sun rays that sneaked through the bedroom’s shutters, dancing on the opposite wall.

Turning on his side and moving his heavy frame, he sent forth a groping hand towards the other end of the wide double bed. All alone was he in his four-room apartment, and alone did he lie each night in his bed since his wife’s tragic death.

It happened about a year ago, in one of those hot summer evenings, as she returned home after paying a visit to one of her many female friends.

While getting off the bus her ankle was suddenly trapped as the bus rear door closed up. She hit the asphalt road with her forehead, must have lost her consciousness right away; and was trailing alongside the moving bus for several yards with her head bouncing on the road, till the shrieks of the terror stricken passers-by stopped the bus.

Although she was still alive when an ambulance crew picked her up, she did not regain consciousness, and died on the way to the nearest hospital.

 

A widower that’s what I’m…’ He reminded himself amazed still, as if it took place just yesterday. Yet every morning as soon as he got up, he was groping in vain for her warm and soft body.

Was it a tragic fate, a terrible disaster that befell him, or was it a stroke of unexpected good luck…? He simply could not decide yet, the truth was he did not dare to – loneliness was so bitter and harsh to bear.

Although he was rather famous at his time, a well-known artist, a real celebrity as a matter of fact; he did not loaf within the bohemian circles, and gaudy love affairs he did not have.

A thoughtful smile that turned slowly into a grimace, distorted his old wrinkled face.

‘A famous artist…’ He muttered aloud with scorn.

Was not he the highest above all? The high priest of the fine arts in his time, whose words were their only law!?!  Was not he the pioneer who led them all, as if they were blindfolded! He was the torchbearer, the living symbol of the Avant-garde! Alive, in his prime still he was cast away, doomed to oblivion…   

I’m as good as dead, that’s what I’m! “Al d’ataft atafuch”… (for having slain you have been slain yourself). He kept on muttering.

 

But did he ever “slay” with his tongue or with his pen any of his many colleagues, pupils, adherents, while he ruled that untamed herd, when his words were sacred!?!

How easily did they topple him down, those ungrateful scoundrels! The public followed them suit, erasing his memory from their conscious; as if he never existed. Didn’t they hang from his fingers like puppets on strings, while he made them carry out all he wanted and wished for? Incredible, simply incredible!

These thoughts, which he has almost forgotten with the passing years, returned to haunt again on his wife’s open grave; when he met a few of his old colleagues, and several ex pupils of his, who came to give his wife her last honor and pay their condolences. Some of them were spiteful enough to visit him in his apartment, during the seven days of mourning.

Shocked as he was after he had to identify his late wife’s battered corpse before her burial. To avoid them he clinged to his relatives, and except a few mute hand shakes he managed to ignore them. So embittered was he. 

His only consolation were his grandchildren, who came to visit him with their proud parents every weekend. His eldest daughter had two young boys and his son had a small daughter.

Thus, every Saturday his apartment was filled up with life and cheerfulness. Although he was almost exhausted at the end of each of their visits, while playing with the little ones; yet he yearned for their visits six days a week.

Their parents, his children as a matter of fact, they too preferred to ignore his artistic achievements, particularly after his downfall.

His late wife on the other hand, criticized his creative work and her criticism was the real reason behind his fruitful creativity during his reigning era. After his downfall she changed her views and did her best to encourage him, to his surprise – it brought them closer to one another, but it did not stir his inspiration.

He was already too frustrated, and now when she was not there anymore, he hardly did anything at all.

‘But what am I doing in bed still!’ He exclaimed scolding himself. ‘It’s Thursday, isn’t it? It’s the day of the appointed interview!’ He kept muttering aloud, sat up at the edge of his bed quite energetically, and threw his legs towards the floor.

‘Oh my back, my back!’ He groaned raising his voice with much self-pity, clutching his waist with both his hands.

In a few seconds he braced up gradually, sneaked his feet into his slippers and rose up, somewhat crouched; but he managed to straighten up slowly in a few more seconds, put on his gown and left the bedroom. Strolling in his flat between the bathroom and the kitchen, he stretched up his old bones a bit.

 

Some correspondent of a local paper, phoned him at the beginning of the week. Which paper was it he could not remember, and the name of that young female escaped him and he could not recall it, while she was still at the other end of the line.

He did not bother to know who she was, so excited and furious at the same time was he. He almost hung up right away. His blood was rushing to his head.

A local paper… Rage, scorn and humiliation fogged his troubled mind.  Articles about his works, photographed and illustrated; his opinions, his theories, every hiccup, every belch of his appeared in the country’s leading papers long before she was born; and if he exaggerates and she is not that young, well then, she must have been wrapped in her nappies at least at that time.

Anyhow, near the end of that phone parley he changed his mind, and though half of what she said he did not grasp – he accepted her offer. He invited her to his apartment. Was it his comeback, his hour of salvation?

Well, of course not! That is what Katz thought; he was not the type that would deceive himself. But yet, against his own will the few words over the phone, did spark off some old almost forgotten hopes – and on that same night he hardly slept.

He was testing lately some new ideas on a PC with a graphic program. A gift his son bought him just recently. The incredibly immense range of possibilities overwhelmed him, to reach some mode of using it right away, or even in the near future was simply impossible as far as Joab Katz was concerned. After the first wave of enthusiasm, he got tired of the “magic box” and kept away from the room that served him as his studio. A cleaner, some middle-aged woman or a man, were sent to his apartment once a week, to clean it. A manpower agency sent them, and changed them time and again, simply because he annoyed them with his suspicions and bad treatment.  But most of his time was passed in loafing to and fro in his apartment, pursuing shadows of the past; having long and arduous discussions, aloud, with the old and famous masters; praising the very few which he was ready to accept as his equals, and arguing bitterly with the rest, finding faults in their master pieces, and pouring scorn on those he loathed.

But this morning after having a bite of toast and coffee for breakfast, he decided to go out, expose his face to the rare autumn sun, stroll in the neighborhood in search of ideas and inspiration. The excitement that phone call and the coming interview caused him, brought along with it a wave of sudden energy; but as energy resources at that late age dwindle rather fast, he returned home after a very short journey. He needed a rest badly and in fact, dozed off as soon as he stretched himself on the living room’s sofa, covered in a light blanket.        

 

When his door’s bell rang, he woke up with a start, wondering who could it be. Night was falling outside while he was stretched on his sofa fully dressed, covered up to his chin with a light blanket – scared to death. When the bell rang again he jumped to his feet, as if he was some thirty years younger.

‘Just a moment, I’m coming!’ He cried out in a shaky voice, and switched on the living room’s lights. He was suddenly terribly cold and tired still. Putting on his coat in haste he braced himself and made his way to his front door. A few paces way he slowed down hesitantly and proceeded on cautiously, sneaking on as noiseless as he could, till he reached the door. Leaning on it with both his hands, he brought his right eye as nearly as possible to the spyhole, in a futile effort to identify his guest. He was short sighted ever since his childhood, and his old age enhanced his difficulties; thus, the dark silhouette that stood on the other side under the harsh blinding light looked to him as a long thin dark line, that kept changing its shape, each time he brought his eye closer or drew back from the spyhole.

‘Who is it?’ He called out in despair almost, surrendering in his shaky cry doubts and suspicions. The continuous encounter with his own limits in his daily life frustrated him deeply and enhanced his old age anxieties, which were forced upon him by the tragic death of his wife.

‘It’s me Bracha don’t you remember, the “Town’s Talk” reporter. Come-on open up!’

Her pleasant and confident voice calmed him down, switching on the lights that flooded the entrance with yellowish glare; he opened up and let her in.

‘Good evening Mr. Katz!’ She beamed at him exposing two rows of white even teeth. ‘I’ve come to interview you, don’t you remember?’ She added with a benign reproof, which suits usually a naughty kid or some good for nothing, whose memory stopped functioning properly long ago.

‘Of course, of course I haven’t forgotten it at all. Please do come in.’ He declared vehemently, lowering his eyes. But as soon as she crossed his threshold he looked her up, measuring eagerly her looks and slim figure. Then, as waking out of a dream he shut the door and hastened to her side, to lead her to his living room.

There were times when he used to slap their rumps and hug them in public, to strengthen his image – to blow up the myth. He had though an affair once, a platonic one. A short episode it was, which he managed to hide from his jealous wife. He used to kiss his female students from time to time, but that was the lot of it. The myth on the other hand, kept expanding at those times. The stories that were told about him… The evil gossip, the countless love affairs that he presumably had…

Well, who knows? That myth might still exist, to this very day! He chuckled to himself with infantile delight. If that’s the case, I might be in need of some provocative act of some sort, during this very meeting; to remind this newborn babe who I am and what I do represent.

Turning to the kitchen after having settled his guest in one of the armchairs, he suddenly recalled:

‘Haven’t you brought a cameraman along?’ He asked with some note of disappointment.

‘Oh the cameraman!’ She called back surprised. She didn’t expect him to remember, or to dare and raise the subject. ‘They’ve changed their mind about it. There was a second session on that certain matter last night – you know them. Well, there’s no need to worry, there’re plenty of your prints in the archives.’

Sulking he went on to the kitchen and came back with a loaded tray, the refreshment he had prepared beforehand.

‘What will you have?’ He asked her bending his old frame before her, bowing to her young and lovely face.

I would surely have a nice and pleasant evening with her. He thought enjoying the glow of her beauty and youth.

‘Thanks grandpa, later on; do me a favor sit down and stop hopping around – at your age…’

Those few words were said with such benevolence, and at the same time with such youthful superiority; as if she was present there just to use him for her own ends; and that indeed was just what she thought, whether he grasped the idea or not it did not make any difference.

He did grasp it of course, he was on his way down the slope and she was on her way up – ascending with zest. That was what she was so eager to emphasize, unconsciously no doubt.

That young generation, how eager and quick they are to push aside, to annul anyone who crosses their way… Disillusioned already, he settled himself heavily opposite his young guest.

‘Well then,’ she opened up. ‘We won’t bother ourselves with biographies and the like, the public knows very well your life story, your past, deeds and so on. I’ve prepared therefore several questions, which I’d like you to answer; we’d rather stick and concentrate on these questions alone. Now, I don’t want you to believe that my interest is limited to your contemporary epoch alone, not at all! The complementary material has been already gathered, and when I’ll finish that job, editing and all, plus the prints, you’ll be quite satisfied with it.

As these were not the words that Katz wished to hear, or rather dreamed of hearing, he hardly listened to her – but he kept watching her face, her moving lips, devouring her good looks with his eyes, adoring her youth.

‘Let’s not waste our time!’ She went on, cutting in straight into his confused thoughts, scattering his dreams. ‘First of all I’d like to know whether you’re still active?’ Holding her writing pad and ready pen in her hands, she watched him with an expectant gaze.            &nb sp;                   

‘Of course I’m still active, very much active I’d say!’ He assured her as if he just rose from behind his easel. Using both his hands to support his claim, he broadened her mind in his ultimate deeds, with vigor. ‘I’ve done some experiments in a complicated and sophisticated field; right now, I’m conducting a research with the aim of reaching a definite and the most accurate way to express the incredible progress of our era – a way that would represent my unique approach and my own artistic concepts. But the options are still too many to choose from, I must admit; although I’m just at the beginning of my important findings, I assure you that in a matter of a few months, I’ll come out with an exhibition on that important and astounding issue.’

‘Is that so?’ She wondered smiling. ‘Shouldn’t we continue our meeting in your studio then?’

‘Absolutely not!’ Hastened Katz to reject her reasonable suggestion. ‘The time isn’t ripe yet to reveal my experiments, neither to you nor to my closest associates.’

‘I see,’ she said lowering her eyes to her pad. ‘How would define your “unique concepts” in comparison with any other trends in art; or with other artists whether they’re contemporary ones or with the great masters of the past for instance?’

‘I’ve never bothered myself with comparisons, or where do I stand in the contemporary art’s hierarchy. The right answer to that question you can find in the endless art criticism articles, dealing with my work and my achievements alone!’

‘Sorry, but I can’t except it, that’s avoiding my question.’ She scolded him. ‘Just like any other artist, you must have been influenced in some way or another by other trends, by other artists; whether they’re still alive or whether they died centuries ago. There’re surely some who did impress you at the early stages of your career, it isn’t a debasement to admit such a thing.’

She’s decided to have it her own way and that’s it…Concluded to himself Katz glumily. As he was about to have his say in the matter she asked on bluntly:

‘What’s your opinion on Kandinsky for instance?’

‘About Kandinsky, and who is he? Do you mean some member of the “New Horizons”?’ (the first Israeli artists association, that existed during the twenties). 

His young guest burst out in an uncontrollable loud laughter. Katz, who was fascinated by its sweet sounds, ignored the open insult, which was openly expressed in it.

The young reporter’s laughter grew louder and louder, turning gradually into subdued moans, as she was trying her best to stop it. Calming down with much effort she drew a handkerchief from her handbag and wiped her tears that were still flowing down her cheeks.

‘Vasili Kandinsky, the founder of the abstract painting.’ She said in mid fits of renewed laughter. ‘Was this show of ignorance feigned to convince me in its credibility?’

‘Never in my life did I busy myself with the history of art.’ Remarked Katz dryly but deeply embarrassed, ‘…and the reference to that certain Kandinsky isn’t clear to me at all.’

‘All right let’s clear it right away! Kandinsky was a Russian figurative painter who migrated to Germany at the beginning of the century, was among the founder of the “Bauhaus” trend; and as I already said, the founder of the abstract painting. He developed a new theory and had even written a book about it, titled: “line-point-line”. He might have been influenced by Morse for all I care!’ She added sarcastically. ‘What’s interests me in his theory, is the fact that it is almost identical with your unique concepts, which the public was informed of at the sixties; and as he died long before you were born, or if I’m wrong surely before you started to paint – it would be rather hard to prove that he was influenced by your concepts, wouldn’t it?’

An oppressive silence fell upon the cozy living room, quite suddenly.

‘We’d better have a short coffee break right now, and I would be much obliged if you’ll consider carrying on the meeting on a constructive basis; or we had better part in friendly terms as if nothing happened.’Suggested Katz forcing a quick retreat, in a desperate effort to protect his beaten ego.

‘Dear Mr. Katz, you can’t afford such luxury anymore. The establishment ignores your existence, not a single line on you or your works would appear in any paper or magazine. As for the rest of the media, you’re as good as dead, for some time now. Thus, the only option left to you is to evoke some commotion, a controversy issue on our pages. As far as I’ve found up, your skin is hard enough to face the outcome. Many trends and currents in modern art have popped up using such ways and means after all, and if I’m not mistaken, you and your associates used such measures yourselves rather successfully. But let’s get back to the point; there’s no doubt at all that the complete interview with you, would evoke the right echoes in your favor. Thus, you would be able to restore your rightful fame. As for your experiments, I’ll mention it and I’m ready to quote you word for word on that important issue. Well, what do you say?’

‘Alright, I’ll agree on one condition…’ He muttered clearing his throat. ‘I want the Kandinsky issue off record!’

‘Oh, sure, that’s not an issue that would attract the public interest. It was just a curious assumption of mine, which I wanted to check and verify.’ She assured him with her sweet and amiable smile.

Tags: Thursday Interview Art Exhibition Reporter Paper Loclal Friends Fma

 

I wish I’d a heart of stone,

 

~he thought gloomily

 

watching her pretty face.

 

~I wish I could get up,

 

leave, shut the door,

 

let her, make the next move.

 

Captain Jack Sinclair stepped out onto the broad cement square in front of his office, and surveyed the military camp’s surroundings, with a bored look on his face. He served there some nine months already. There was nothing much to do out there, except breath some fresh air whenever he could. The time was four twenty eight pm, about half an hour before the daily briefing session with the local officers under his command. It was the third advanced infantry training course under his instruction, or for accuracy’s sake the first course under his solitary instruction; since the sudden death of major Donald Harvey his late superior and commanding officer, and that tragic event took place a short time after the end of the second course.

While he was watching the camp’s surroundings, the local army regulars that lived there with their families, the goats, the fowls that belonged to those regulars; which kept picking the ground and filling the air with their noisy clucking – a group of three senior officers popped up suddenly before his amazed eyes, a full colonel and two lieutenant colonels on both his sides. They were not locals  but representatives of his own army. As soon as they stepped upon the cement square, Sinclair froze into a salute, a feat he performed perfectly welcoming warmly his compatriots – while a small crowd of locals, watched with owe the ceremony.

After a short exchange of handshakes, greetings and a few words about their visit aim, the excited Sinclair invited his guests to his office, showed them to their seats; while he himself with a certain feeling of embarrassment and amusement at the same time, sat at the head of the table.

His guests did not seem to mind the somewhat strange situation, and the senior among them had no intention to waste their time. ‘We’ve come to have a look at the positive work that is being done here, and to investigate the circumstances of major’s Harvey death – your commanding officer.’

‘I see sir, Sinclair replied clearing his throat and coughing slightly. ‘I’ll do my best to assist you sir.’ Sinclair added obediently, trying to overcome his slight uneasiness.

‘Right now we’ll do with a short review of what’s being done here.’ The colonel went on. ‘You’ve a briefing session in half an hour I understand.’

‘In about twenty five minutes…’ Sinclair smiled to him relieved, and turned his eyes to his two escorts with a quick curious look.

The atmosphere turned gradually into a  pleasant one. They tried their best to weigh him up no doubt, and watched his reactions – but their impression as much as Sinclair could perceive was positive. The tragic incident in which his commanding officer died, had no influence what’s so ever on the training’s continuous; and that essential fact the three of them must have learned from the delegation’s head in the capital much earlier, before they reached that forlorn camp.

After a short and concise review that dealt with the major issues without any unnecessary deviations, Sinclair ended up his short monologue and waited for his guests’ comments.

‘Fine, that will do for the time being.’ The colonel remarked, summing up the professional issue. ‘Well then, you’ll have to assist us with your testimony rather soon. We stay at the Continental…’ He added with a wry smile, which he could not refrain from. The other two expressed their feelings concerning that certain hotel, with a short laugh. ‘Okay, we’ll meet you tomorrow at ten am at the hotel’s lobby.’

Sinclair accompanied them to the square outside his office, and repeated the formal salute ceremony, in front of a little mixed audience of locals, including their wives and children.

The daily briefing with the local officers, dealt almost entirely with the surprising visit, Sinclair had with his three senior colleagues. Some two hours later, after having toured the company’s three platoons at their night training; incognito almost, without adding a word or intervening as he was instructed and supposed to; Sinclair returned on foot to the base, entered his car and crossed the forty miles back to Aagadam, to his apartment and his waiting wife. While driving through the mountainous road with its many windings, which took the life of his commander – thoughts about the coming meeting with his three senior comrades busied his mind. Neither his own spouse nor his late commander’s widow had any idea what happened that day, except the tragic message that was summed up in a few words – the fact he could not know how things will turn up, worried him of course.

 

About five minutes to ten am on Saturday morning, Sinclair was sitting in the pitiful lobby of the only hotel in town, waiting to his senior comrades; who were supposed to clarify formally that mysterious affair. There were a few more joints in that dreary town, but these joints were off limits, and served the locals, or bizarre adventure seekers.

The lobby was deserted of course as his comrades were the hotel’s only guests, and besides, it was rather early. A few moments passed and the hotel’s VIP guests came down to meet him.

Sinclair rose to his feet, shook their hands, without a formal salute exchange. They joined his table, and the four of them sat round it – far from the reception counter 

‘What can one have here?’ The colonel asked.

‘Bourbon, whiskey, whatever booze one could ask for…’

‘At that early hour?’ The colonel wondered aloud, while the two others knitted their brows, watching Sinclair with quizzical eyes.

‘Well yes, or beer,’ Sinclair answered amused. ‘Here one drinks whenever he wants to.’ Despite the short update of the locals’ drinking habits, there were no comments, and Sinclair raised his arm and summoned the lonely local behind the reception  counter, to come and take their order.

The beer was brought and poured and they drank together in silence, for a few moments. Having quenched their thirst, the colonel turned to Sinclair without any preliminaries: ‘What kind of working relationship you had with Harvey? Do it in a few words, just the main things.’

I was part of another crew in the northern town of Maduru; and about nine months ago I was assigned to replace Harvey’s second in command. You know his name I assume and the problems he had with Harvey.’ Sinclair made a short pause and caughed slightly. ‘Harvey wasn’t an easy type to work with…That’s what I can say in spite of my limited experience.’ Sinclair added with some apprehension, watching their faces intently, trying to perceive how his few words on this sensitive matter are accepted.

‘You didn’t have any professional disputes as it happened with your predecessor?’

‘I didn’t like him that’s true. He was a detestful person and had a genuine talent to get on one nerves; but I’ve never disobeyed him, neither his orders nor his opinions, even if it had nothing to do with our mutual work here.’

Once again a short pause fell, but at this stage Sinclair was quite relaxed, having overcome the slight excitement that ruled him up to these few moments. He could think now and conclude with reason, that his three interrogators knew even before they have  met him, that he was chosen to replace Harvey second in command due to his exceptional forbearance.

‘Tell us about the chain of events of that day.’ The colonel asked him, putting a sudden end to the silence that started to oppress the four of them. One of the lieutenant colonels was writing every word uttered down in a pad, the other one was scrutinizing Sinclair’s features all along he session.

He must be the headshrinker of that special inquest crew… Sinclair thought with a feeling of some unpleasantness. ‘It was at the end of a prelininary discussion before the opening of the third advanced infantry training course. We were about to leave and the locals demanded their share of fuel coupons, which he received every month from the division headquarters. So he said to me: “you may move”, I’ll settle it with them. After hardly a mile he overtook me with his land-rover. That’s by the way was a habitual custom of his. He used to send me off in order to overtake me after a few moments.’ At that point like a torrent of words, or a dam that collapsed under the water pressure, Sinclair went on to explain: ‘To me it looked completely childish, I was driving an old jeep with an engine that needed an overhaul badly; and even if I had a better car, I would have let him get past me. Anyhow it was just like the end of any other day of work, I saw him up to the first series of windings and then he disappeared...’

‘You mean he always disappeared after he overtook you, that’s exactly what you want to say, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right, I reached home after some forty five minutes, when his wife called and asked what had happened, telling us he didn’t get home yet. Well, I didn’t know what to tell her.’

‘How come you passed the place where his car rolled down into the gorge, and you haven’t seen it? There was enough daylight yet on that day. You should have seen him at the bottom of the gorge.’

‘I was close to the rock face, and even if someone would have sat beside me, he wouldn’t have been able to see him.’ Sinclair remarked and waited a second or two for more questions, but his three senior comrades sat watching him without a word. ‘After some inquiries with the local police and some searches in town, his wife called the division and they turned to me – and I was asked to set out with a small group of locals to find him, the next morning. We traveled on the opposite side of the road, and thus we were able to see the car, it took us some time to find his body.’ 

‘I see,’ the colonel muttered after another short pause. ‘This tragic affair is closed, we’re leaving. Thank you and keep on the good job you’re doing here.’

 

 

‘You look exhausted,’ exclaimed Sinclair’s wife, ‘was it that hard?’

‘I’ve got rid of that scum and from the whole matter as well!’

‘You what? Shut up for god’s sake! Are you out of your mind!’ His wife scolded him angrily. ‘Are you telling me that…’ She added astonished and stopped, afraid to utter the words that were on the tip of her tongue.

‘Relax, you aren’t speaking to a murderer.’ Sinclair hastened to calm his spouse, she was on the brink of a hysterical weeping outburst. ‘Before I received that jeep we used to ride in his land-rover to the camp and back,’ he started to explain while putting a hand on her shoulder and guiding her gently to the nearest armchair. ‘You’ve never seen that road, you’re not allowed to. There’re three sets of sharp windings in that mountainous road, and in every straight stretch he used to accelerate to some seventy five miles, and turn to me a quizzical look, as if he was saying: “what do you know seventy five miles…” Whenever we got close to one of the windings he slowed down and drove through it in hardly twenty miles…’

‘So it was an accident and you aren’t…’

‘Just listen and you’ll understand it right away. After I’ve received the jeep and if it wasn’t in such a bad state, I guess I wouldn’t have received it; well, in the few times that Harvey bothered to visit the camp, he used to send me off at the end of day, just to overtake me with his land-rover right afterwards. I’ve told it to you, remember?’

‘But you didn’t mind his childish behavior, so what’s the point?’

‘Cause I was furious on that day. He arrived at the camp for the preparatory session of the third course, after he hasn’t shown his face there for almost a fortnight. He opened up with a few sentences and asked me to carry on, while he kept barging in with a show-off, of sheer ignorance into my words. He of course summed the session up, and then came up a completely new matter. The locals demanded their share of fuel coupons in my presence, which he received from the division each month for them and for the two of us – and I didn’t know a thing about it up to that moment! I didn’t mind my share of fuel, but it was such a shame to see the locals angry faces…It was too much… I was so furious I could have killed him. He offered me two hundred liters and  I took it and kept my mouth shut; things were ugly enough and I’d no intention to start a heated argument in front of the locals.’ At that point Sinclair stopped and watched his wife, as if he was pondering whether he should tell her the rest of it. ‘He didn’t waste time of course and told me as usual: “you may move I’ll settle it up with them.” I was terribly upset and buried in my thoughts, when a moment or two passed and he overtook me with his landrover. I was so mad at him, I decided to teach that coward a lesson. A jeep can reach fifty five miles per hour, but the one I have can’t do it. Well after I’d warmed up its engine I reached about fifty miles on the straight stretches and took the windings at about forty five; after the first set of windings I saw him not far off, and after the second set I was on his tail, and was about to overtake him…’ Sinclair couldn’t refrain from laughing, seeing in mind’s eye the frightened face of his late commander. ‘Do you realize what it meant to him, to that pompous ass – me with that screwed up jeep of mine overtaking him! He blocked me and as he reached the last straight stretch of road he accelerated wildly, and almost bumped off a cow that crossed the road; cause he watched me in the mirror all that time, to see where I’m… He was moving swiftly from one side of the road to the other, and if it wasn’t a land-rover he would have turned over in the ditch beside the road. I was driving right behind him and I couldn’t stop laughing, he was simply panicked.’ Sinclair noted with a short laugh.

‘So that was it, and you didn’t…  She didn’t dare to add another word, as if she didn’t wish to hear anymore of it.

‘I’d enough I was setisfied, I taught him  the lesson I wanted so badly to teach him, so I slowed down. But he must have been so afraid that      I’ll try again to overtake him     though he was quite far off. He stopped his car got off, and made me a sign to stop and join him. I joined him and he didn’t say a word about the fright I’d given him, but asked my advice about an event, which we were supposed to organize for the locals in two weeks time. I guess that if he wasn’t afraid that I’ll try on to overtake him, he would have kept these details from me up to the last moment; and then as if to settle his account with me, he told me that he had assigned one of locals to conduct it – the most reliable among them. He couldn’t grasp the fool, that this was the very proof of our work’s success in this country!  He hardly did anything for truth sake, except taking care of his own egotistical ends, and that was it. He went to his car, I returned to my jeep and we drove home.’

‘But how for god’s sake did it happen?’

‘It happened two days later, after the last session before the course opening, which we’d with the locals. He decided to leave before me and he must have tried to drive faster then twenty miles per hour, while driving through the windings… Well, getting rid of him as far as I’m concerned, was a piece of cake.’

‘You shouldn’t speak that way, the man died!’ His wife scolded him vehemently.

‘Well you didn’t work with him my darling, and I had no intentions to kill him.’

‘But you said yourself you were so mad you could have killed him, didn’t you?’

‘Don’t we all say such horrid things when we’re very angry?’ He asked her smiling and bending down to her he kissed her lips.            &nb sp;

Tags: Cake Camp Army Training Windings

It's up to you~

to rise like a pheonix,

from the sand~

~or stay there

in utter seclusion...~

Soar for God's sake!

To the heights~

that just you can reach!

Tags: Pheonix Sand Rise Soar

 

It feels~

 

like hitting the canvas.

 

~But it’s just

 

a fleeting feeling

 

~and I’m well

 

with a brush in my hand

 

~painting a canvas

 

with too dark paints.

Tags: Art Museum Painting Drawing Knockout Feelings Canvas

Facing a problem

 

In one of my recent articles I’ve mentioned the use of flashbacks as a useful tool, which I used in turning a short story into a novel. I haven’t got much experience myself, and I’m not the ripe author or a tutor; I wish simply to share the solution of a certain problem that I was faced with, which can be food for thought for solving  entirely different problems that any writer might encounter.

The idea isn’t complicated at all. We get stuck facing a problem that seems to us as a very hard one, or even impossible to solve at first thought. But with some mental effort and stubbornness, we may reach the solution that would give our creation a unique and significant value, and not just some acceptable kind of version.

As I’ve already mentioned I’ve written a short story, which was to my humble opinion my best one. I was recommended to turn it into a book. But a short story is a summary of the whole plot, and thus I had a problem how to continue it.

In my example the plot describes a meeting, in which a young man is forced to carry out a mission. Whether he’ll carry it out or not we don’t know yet, but all the details are told already, most of the details are insinuated, but the main idea is quite clear. At the end of the story the young man shocked and hesitant outside, on his own - decides  to carry it out.

All I wanted to highlight in that short story was a brainwash technique, in which an unexperienced young man is persuaded by a pro to commit a crime. The meeting atmosphere, the pro’s changes of attitude, the scorn and demands, the accusations, the hidden threats and the successful result – are the story’s heart, there was no need to add the details of the mission itself.

But if it’s going to be a book and that short story is its  first chapter, should I change the first chapter, or at least part of it?

I didn’t want to change anything, I liked it as it is. I decided to find another solution.

As his mission had to be carried out on the next day, the second chapter described his inner struggle on his way home, the dear price, whether he would succeed or fail, how would it influence his mom, his relatives and friends. Who might be arrested and interrogated, while he will be free in some other country.

The solution was reached in the third chapter on his way to carry out his mission. In flashbacks in which he recalls what he was told to do and how, step by step (the flashback, his thoughts, written in italics), and dispersed along his itinerary. From the moment he wakes up remembering he’d forgotten to adjust his alarm clock. He lies to his mom his next hurdle, for he she’ll never see him again. He reaches the central bus station and recalls how he has to behave, where to get off, where to ambush his prey and how to commit the crime – the flashbacks are intertwined along his advancement toward the site of the crime.

After I’ve reached that satisfactory solution, I didn’t have any problem to carry out my mission – to finish the book.

Tags: Problem Short Story Book Manuscript Solution

A breath of air

'The remote control job' - and excerpt

On the third day of his renewed seclusion, about noon, she was back in his cell, in “their room”. Sitting on his bed he heard the approaching footsteps; then the key was inserted and turned noisily in the door's lock. The door opened up with the usual screeching noise of the hinges and there she was Nicole, in full blossom, in front of his incredulous open eyes.

‘Oh hello there comrade.’ She called out cheerfully, smiling ever so sweetly at him, right as the door slammed behind her back. ‘Well you do look much nicer now I dare say, with your hair and beard trimmed at last, much nicer indeed!’ She laughed again, and crossed the short space between them. Reaching him she stopped right in front of his stupefied eyes, while he was still sitting; and laughing on teasingly she sent her right hand and stroked lightly his hair. ‘Haven't you missed me you poor thing?’ She asked amused with that sweet and melodious voice of hers.

Although lightly shocked by her patronizing airs, he surged out for her with both his arms, clutching her lithe body to his own, pushing his face against her soft and warm belly.

‘Cut it off comrade! Come on, enough with it you heard me!’ she ordered him dryly pushing away his hands. ‘Show me the work you'd to prepare during my absence, the analysis. Well, let's have it then!’ She added as she struggled herself free of his hold, and went over to the desk, sat down

next to the wall where she always used to sit while being in his cell.

Reluctantly, unable to understand her motives, he rose to his feet and joined her at the desk; sitting at the opposite side, facing her. The guards were on their way upstairs, or even much farther. Thus nobody was there, to watch them through the spy-hole. He thought frustrated, with a heaving chest, his blood throbbing in his temples. But he managed to get over it somehow, it took him several seconds though. ‘There it is right at your left elbow, comrade Nicole.’ He pointed it out to her, and rising to his feet went over to her side to help her find the few sheets of paper, which were in fact right under her nose.

‘Is that all?’ She asked feigning disappointment, weighing the few sheets of paper in her delicate hands. ‘Well, don't stand at my side like a beaten dog, sit down comrade!’ She ordered him coldly.

Clearing his throat loudly he went back to his chair, and sat opposite her again with a red-flushed face. Watching his own outstretched hands on the desk before him.

‘What's wrong, don't you feel well?’ She asked as if she were slightly surprised. Is he still that sensitive? She wondered. A few more blows aimed at his masculine ego, and he is done for. She still doubted Nick's capabilities, the mental aspect in particular, although the optimistic assumption of the head commissar. She had her own experience to rely on. If the American is prone for a nervous breakdown, it'd rather happen right now before he would be assigned to some future hazardous mission.

‘I'm okay, there's nothing the matter with me.’ He managed to answer, bracing himself right in time.

‘Fine, just fine.’ She said putting the papers aside. It’s a bit late it seems, midday meal would be served any moment now. We'll have I hope, clearer heads after having had our lunch, don't you think? Tell you what...’ She added skipping his answer. ‘We'll take the analysis with us, out to the yard and there we'll discuss it in detail.’

Their lunch was brought in, a few moments after she finished her last sentence, precisely as she had predicted it.

‘Yes, it’s a good idea.’ She muttered as if she mentioned it to herself alone, as if Nick was not there at all, sitting with her at the same table. The guard who carried their tray, stepped in between them, and laid their tray load of food on the table. Their meal passed in silence, she seemed to ignore him on purpose, taking particular interest in each bowl on the tray. He himself did not feel like eating at all, he needed her attention but with the short experience he already had; he did not venture to strike any sort of conversation, before she'll give him the right opportunity. Thus he sat watching her in wonder, confused and quite undecided.

Well, in a second thought I shouldn’t expect her to fall all over me. She told me last time in the yard, that she had to play it cool, did not she? But she did it with such ease... What's more, she seemed to enjoy it so much, that’s what doesn’t fit in at all. She is scolding me over and over again, as if I’m some good for nothing punk. He concluded to himslef gloomily while he kept on eating.

With the meal over and the guards back in his cell, she rose to her feet swiftly, and started out. Collecting his papers, Nick hurriedly followed her out to the yard. But crossing the yard from wall to wall, strange as it seemed, she did not mention his work, and did not discuss it with him at all. He wished to god she'll give him some sign, some kind of a lead he could count on. But she kept walking beside him looking straight forward, as if she saw nothing at all.

‘You don't know how lucky you are...’ She said suddenly in an angry and irritated voice. Walking on, re-crossing the empty yard. ‘…How safe you're where you're being kept... That beloved country of yours, the bastion of freedom... Has threatened to escalate the war, by sending heavy bombers to bomb our Capital. It wasn't declared openly yet, but it did leak out and that's what I have been told. That's what we've got to expect very soon, yes, in just a few days from now.’

Is she blaming me? He did not know what to think of it, nor what to say. How should he react? Should he be happy with such news, or should he at least pretend to be sad. He felt puzzled and embarrassed at the same time. It did stir quite an amount of excitement in him, which he did succeed to overcome and hide somehow, for he could not ignore the feelings he had for Nicole – and for her people too, that’s how he really felt already.

Good god! He panicked all of a sudden. It might spoil our plans, put an end to all my hopes! He wished to God that nothing, no threat should force a breach between them, and should not end up their shaky and fragile relationship, which they have already managed to share.

‘Who knows how many among us...’ She went on talking stoically. ‘…should die or suffer bad injuries, with these coming air-raids! How many among us should lose their beloved relatives, their homes... While you're quite safe and quite protected. Your room after all is a very safe shelter!’ She added mockingly. ‘While we have to pray for miracles...’

‘I thought it was our room!’ Nick protested heatedly, rushing to defend their unique relationship, their love affair.

‘Oh, our room!’ She repeated him laughing her tinkling and sweet laugh, the sun rays glittering on her parted red lips, on her white shinning teeth. ‘What a pity! I seem to be so busy lately. But things are going to improve real fast, I can promise you that. By the way, do you still remember that letter of yours? I have almost forgotten it; I mean the letter you were so anxious to send to your parents, do you still remember it? Well that letter is on its way! It was forwarded through the Swedish consulate, ten days ago.’ This rather vital piece of information she added off hand, while watching his puzzled face with an amused smile.

The letter was for Nick the last straw, that almost broke his back. How could he forget it? He was simply shocked. She did not exaggerate, he did follow her in the yard like a beaten dog with its tail between its legs. ‘Thank you comrade Nicole, I'm much obliged.’ He mumbled bewildered, unable to forgive himself as he kept walking by her side.

As they were approaching the far wall, she stopped abruptly and facing Nick, she looked at him with the same amused smile of hers. He coughed and lowered his eyes to the ground, confused and undecided. ‘You said there were some possibilities, last time...’ He stammered, not able to end the sentence, not able to understand why he felt compelled to remind it to her. Was it her mocking smile? Or is it that extreme change of attitude towards me that challenged me to do it. Or is it the fear that she might have changed her mind! As simple as all that.

‘I'm still looking for an opening comrade. Although it isn't quite the right time for it; and I don't have to tell you how delicate such a matter must be, and how complicated the whole situation is!’ Glancing at her watch she added: ‘Now then, about that piece of work of yours. Well the... What was it? Oh yes, the analysis. I want you to pass it over once more, it needs some amendments I'm afraid; and that's what I expect you to do, to correct it. So you're free to go now. Well go on! Don't stand ogling me with that dumb look of yours!’

‘Aren’t you coming with me?’ He asked surprised, with such a demonstration of helplessness, such an incredible and almost childish fright, that although she pitied him at that moment – she burst out laughing wildly in his face, almost against her own will.

‘Don't go yet! When shall I see you again?’ He pleaded with despair.

‘In a day or two... off you go now!’ She ordered raising her index finger, pointing to the entrance.

Tags: Cell Jail Captivity War Love Freedom'

 

The remote control job – and excerpt