THE BACKFLYING BIRD
OR
A BALCAN MADE RAPSODY
*SHORT STORY"
by
Bogomil Kostov AVRAMOV-HEMY
(10 250 WDS)
I.
EVERY TIME, when I have call the capital of my balcan country, I never miss to cross the small pine forest blocked between the skyscrepers, into the center of the hearth of the city. Through the forest, the trams have passed far away singing and wingling with theres green iron made corps. Jammed up to the carman's caps with all of that silently, angry, mistically closed, tuned into thereselfs crowds of unknown each one persons. Which can meet only at the Balcan Peninsula towns, villages and roads. Anywhere in the middle of the tiny forest, near the rusted tram-way line, still now has stay an oddly old greenpainted wood lodge. Strange saved under shadows of the high pine trees. Near the rusted tram-way line. In the middle of the city. In the hearth of the forest. Forgotten for ever from the municipality departments. Never forgotten from me. . .
BEFORE MANY YEARS, the trams from the city had came here heavy and hardly. The lineman, smiled to the bottom of his blue uniform dress, very proudly with his red peak cap, welcomed the comming crowds. The noisy travellers came down from the car. Somehow lazy, somehow carefree. Cheerfully talking. Smartly sparkling with silber and gold. Softly jabbering. Not suspecting what shall wate them through the next fifty years. To transfer themselfs on another more powerful coach. Which with whistling of brakes loudly arised from the daily darknesses of the forest.
The new mashine has stay for a while. Took up the peoples. Transfering all of them, both with theres self-satisfied smilings, over there, to the nearby hill, surounded with a rich necklace of big taverns and small grey cottages. Where again had bursted the life of the world.
Over there on the top . . .
Over there . . .
Over . . .
IT WAS BEEN MY MOST SECRET JORNEY, repeated from time to time through the all of the years of my life. An oddly sadly litany around my early kid's rememberings. When the windows of the lonely canton had ecoed under ours strockes, stones and clibs. When the railman watcher, very tighted and highly furioused, deeply flattered because of the swiftly attention to the dignities of his daughters, swingled empty hands and discharged swearings against us - the unvisible from the darkness district pack of wasters, to the vaults of the heavens of the sky. And my firmly wish to call once time more this sacred for me unforgetable place, has done me an irresistable spiritual pain.
But the wood shutters were been tightly closed. On the door gates was hang a great ancient bronze made padlock. All around haunted loneliness and hopeliness. Only at the end of the day, behind the dropped down shutters, was percolated uncontrolable crimson light. Followed from silently piano songs.
To see and to feel this, I have passed speedly away down to the city, aboard of any new type supertram, through the small pine forest, along the canton station, crossing the bloody capital night, and no one from the small number of the travellers at the middle of the night can suppose, that on the end seat of the last coach, has yearning and has trembling, full of congealed memories, stupid sadnesses and compulsory dissilussions, a small short provincial man, in the middle of the age, at the end of his days. Gripping titghtly in his hands, a small leather valise, well filled with perfectly printed papers from an important, that times, governmental meaning. And such happened ones, that it was necessary to have there, under the cantoon roof, the short from the shortest night in the life of mine.
That is, how it had done. . .
ONE EARLY WINTER, I landed at the capital, attached from the circumstances to one well known in the country and unknown for the science media, research institute. Where, as it has means, has follow any important, governmental backed study. These times, the Balcan Peninsula again was been under the armed supervission from the side of the UNO watchers. It was been clear, that my little, distracted from not less than thousend years balcan country, will appear again on the last page of the imternational newspapers, anywhere between the meteorological messages and the level of the hard currency that day. Before to be forgotten for new thousends earth's days.
If . . .
If no start any new Balcan War, sometimes named Balcan Rapsody.
THE BITTERLY TRUTH on the Balcans is, that the minority nations in this crossing point of the lathitudes and the longitudes of the World, are much more than the birds in the sky. Each one with rich pepper sauced ancient history. Naturally, no one from them willing integrate with anothers.
At that times, about which I have remember here, the condition was may be well ballanced. But such ballanced times are very brittle. To safe them possibly long period of time, here at the Balcans, as in the wide World are in usage freelance expertsq sometimes simmilar me. I am an international recognized expert concerning the Balcan Rapsody End Results.
AT THE BALCANS, the selfestablished political experts are more than the really researching needs. Everyone, from the sukling babies, to the superannuated barbers, are very professionalized advisers. The governmental structures with a pleasure used theres advises, missing to pay for . The home born experts have send theres illiteraced conslussions absolutely free of charge. They not wants much. Only to be the firsts. Forgeting, that the first on the Balcans, every time is and the last.
IN THE CASE OF MINE, the situation was not so different.
As I was been informed from the Chairman of the First Balcan Brain Storm Meeting, the concerned lizenzed experts, were been commissioned far away from the country. To earn some money in addition to theres beggars salaries. Like scientists? It was deeply secreted information. That is why, the final meeting of the First Balcan Brain Storm Meeting, day by day, was been postponed. Independly that the Chairman, an old drincable academician, born in the mountains, educated at Russia and developed onto the Balcans, was came every day just on time, with an amasing accuracy. With a pinze-nez on his cream-collored hay fever nose. Confirming his important presence in the empty large meeting hall, in a fat smeary red book. Followed from his criminally youth secretary. A splendid, white like fresh snow, pretty russian gurl. Every time cariing in hands not only the fat smeary red book register, but also a small collection of not less than a dozen strictly prohibited that times, pornographical video recordings. The main omen, that she is really dissident tailored woman.
Occasionaly, the youth gurl has missing from the Institute. For not less than three months of working at the Institute, I has not understood, where she has missing each God's Day. But the Chairman was happy. He likes the great emptiness of the Institute spaces.
INFACT, between the Institute walls, were been the last solgiers of one previously lost battle. The Chairman, the policeman at the gates, and my poor person. At the end of the first decade of days, it was been to see, that the Chairman and I, will wate with a great interest every next day of the not held meeting. We have done the customized programme for a Balcan Type Brainstorming, call to us through the centuries. Occasionally, it has starts with the national spiritus drink named Rakya,
went through the thus traditionalized Russian Vodka, to finish at the end of some days, with the famous russian Eau-De-Collones Troyka. Which inventor as the russians well knows, is a russian state prize laureate. Not because of the quality of the product like fragrance for gurls, but because its drinkable properties for that heavy metheorogical conditions of Russia, when every road is lost under metters of snow.
I have not been any officiall recognized and licenzed expert, and the Brainstorm Meeting was been impossible to do only with ours two persons. But, the drinks were been cheapest than the food, the secretary was missing, the policeman at the gates drowsed in his cabine near the locked steel gates, the problems about the Balcans were been the same from centuries, and we have disscussed over them with the total frankliness of the unknown first time meet alcoholiks.
I WAS BEEN HAPPY SURPRISED FROM my softly inclusion in such important event. One from the most naive and proved stupid ordinary balcan citizen, was been included in a global national activity. Scraped from the Black Sea Shore provincial line. As a proof correction tool, for a wide trumpeted open research experiment. I was been that well proved Laic in every area of the modern life, in my small Whitetown on the board of the sea, which every shore town has got. You may discover me, to tell You a little bit more details, in the same shore pab "The Old Lame Sea Dog" where the boys from the national assembly of the internationalized laics, call me, to be theres honorable member. Namely here, drinking my early morning coffee every day till the night, I have meet the conclussion, that the susspition is only one manner of thinking, and nothing more.
THE OLD ACADEMICIAN, was been the main concepcionist of the projected First Balcan Brainshtorm Meeting. He has supposed , that only any person settled through a wide national contest for boobies, could give the last precise conclussion over the Main Question of the Questions, in the system of one well planed, thinkable programmed, rich funded, well vodka supplied Balcan Brain Storm Meeting. Now, after a decade of years, I may say that he was been right. The old academicians every time are exactly right.
THIS SUCH CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION, I have took after longly honestly conversations, with the ircsome secretary of the Institute. Well salted with cleverly selected parts from her illegal, that time, private video collection. The short movies were been a digital London made production, very clear recordings, soundly english version, and the secretary was been the most clever perfectly translator once meet from me. She was been perfectly correct. Especially in the translation of the details. You know, perhaps better than me, that every high level thing depends from the quality of the details.
I was been so diligently with the both sides of the preparation for my aclimatisation to the city and the meeting restrictions. The old Chairman and his youth secretary, where been highly surprised solely and togheter, how nice practice is the implementation of such honestly wide open contest for freelancer experts. First time, they have done theres nice Political Bingo. Through the person of mine. And for a first of time I have feel myself like a significant personq from a partly governmental meaning.
THUS, the attempt to discover the main problems of the development of my native country, as a part from the Balcan Peninsula, but never like a part from the rest of the World, included and formalized and me. Independly, that the country perhaps is a private property to someone, it is also particularly and to the nation, as a comple of an ancient minorities soup.
AS A WELL FROZENED LAIC, I could not give the right answer. But, I was not been only frozened. I was been totally congested. To the botom of my poor soul of an ordinary balcan made citizen, named Balcandgy. Are You know that the Balcans starts at the high mountains in the middle of Europe and finish at the bottom of the Black Sea? To connect theres ancient anciently route with Caucasus.
It is . . . It is . . .It is . . .
I couldn't give the right answer also, who I am. How to do the right answer to the important ethernally questions discussed in a closed institute ? But the System wants to do. Much more. Only I must do the last conclussions word. Anything was not been as it must be. But to reject such collaboration was been to say good by for everything and for ever. Just over here is the great trick of every totalitarism. To keep its citizens on the boundary of the powetry, on the frontier of the spititual misery, on the line of theres country boarders, without to permit to cross them. For good or for bad. You know, better than me, that the totalitarism has not only two names in the Worlds History. It has got many names, end every God's Day has born any new well tailored titalitarian type. In every kind of measurings.
MY PRESENCE IN THE INSTITUTE, was been one chance more for me. I want to remember again the rasts of my childhood days. I want to touch again and again, the small greenpainted wood lodge, over there, in the center of the last forest of the city, at the middle of the tram-way lenght, more rusted than my poor governmental frozened and compulsory crushed soul. Don't ask me, about my old body. The problems are the same.
WITH A PASSPORT at the policeman at the main steel gates, with an uncountersigned comissionery sheet, free of any cents in the pierced pockets, slowly masticated cheap turkish sheving gum in a mouth withouth any health tooth, watching forbiden that times by the law pornographical movies, from which was impossible to learn anything new, but was easy to forget everything own for ever, in the company of the most representative woman in a strange research institute, I have think sadly about the fate of mine, and the comming new years days. I have think about my fortune of a well known provincial Laic, invited through a possibly wide national political contest for nonformal thinking opportunities, over the perfectly formalized Great Balcan Internatrional Begars.
YOU KNOW, that in the complicated cases everything depends from the chance. Like everything in the life. Every evening, independly from my collaboration with such important Institute, I have stay face to face with the problem about the spending of the night. The governmental provided appartments, were been full to the brim. The ordinary hotels were been lent to arabic tourists. Comming here, to revenge theres many number spouses with permission of the home saint named Hodja. The arabic men where been topical like clusters of insects. They have been the new Peninsula brothers. The money have done everything. After the many Balcan Wars, the brotherhood here depends not from the blood group, but from the high money only.
It is a fact, that the totalitarian regimes strictly controled the money flows of the ordinary population. Forbiden to controll the flows of the partocracy. The world may needs a Freedom. But what is the Freedom if You are free of money in a compulsory totalitarian world, under different shelter names? That is why some of us are resignated with the totalitarism - the size and the quality of the coffins are equal for the total population. From other side, the relatives of mine, firmly rejected to see me before the new years hollidays. I am the black cheep of the family. Unexpectedly, I have meet a youth student from my native Whitetown lands. This boy did me the best.
THE STUDENT CANTEEN, where I like to take my lanch calling the capital, is a nice place for accidental meetings. Many peoples like me, have theres lanch and suppers here. Remembering the taste of the students days, on the most slippery surface of the world.
From word to word with the student, and some money in advance, I have received the large bronze like sabre key, from the padlock locked the old tramstation, over there, on the middle of the lenght of the rusted tram-way-line, crossing that's one tiny pine forest in the hearth of the crowded, noisy, preoccuped metropolis.
- The frends of mine, - sad the smiling student, pushing the key into my hands, - have needs some money in addition . . .
- Please, the half . . .
- When You left the home, - sad me the tricky smilling student, - please, put the key under the watertank behind the canton . . . And the second part of the money . . .
- Su - re . . . Su - re . . . Sure . . .
- Only . . .
- Only . . .
- Only, be carefully, please . . . The passing tram-carman must not see, where You shall put the key . . .
- Oh, be sure . . . Be sure . . . Be sure . . .
WAS FELT DOWN A NICE, SOUNDLY WHITE SNOW. . .
The frosened earth whined under my legs.
The crowded peoples have run around the high Cristmass Trees, lightened with different by collor electrical bulbs. Tomorrow will be The New Year of The New Century.
I have stalking and stalking, with a small luggage in hands, directly to the home of my children's dreams and everyday memories. . .
WHEN I REACH THE SNOWBOUNDED FOREST, the birds have start to jump over me. Softly snow dust felt down, and down, and down, covering the soil, the forest, the animals, covering me.
A dog bawled and slept amids my legs.
A tram hissed with crasy speed.
Unnoticeablly, I have call the forgotten tramstation. Before my eyes again, and again, and again, have sparkling the leer eyes, of the luky student from my native land. But, which was been his name ? Is he really was been a student ?
THE ANTIQUE CLASP LOCK HEAVY RINSED. Perhaps, no one use this gate of the lonely canton. No one before me.
I had stay at the doorsill of that same wood lodge, that abandoned greenpainted tramway station, connected to me, with the strongly chain of the children memories. Entered a wide, high, oldfashion hall full of different tipical odours. The kitchen odours, have had coped with the honey scents of a high class alcochol and cigar aromas. How great greedy for life, I sad myself very surprised from the civilissation spots under this roof of the children dreams, how great, great, great greedy for life.
Tripping up and down and around between the spreaded on the floor others belongings, from which nobody more has had a need, I have think about the habit to collect nobody needed goods. At the Balcans, where the wars are customized long ago before the Christ, this means only one - the next war could came every moment. If it came we are ready to run where the eyes may seen. Every fifty years, the local minorities are moved from theres places from south to nord, and from east to west. Only under the rulling of the great satraps, like the turkish sultans and the russian emperors, everyrhing means stable. To the next revollution.
A lonely tram hissing its song. The house trembled like a sacred man, and again slept in a quite. I swistled by mouth. No one reponded me. But I have been more than sure, that the lonely house was been jammed with sleepless people, sank down in the false reconsiling of the poor peoples of the Balcans. Transfered overe here - over there, from the caprices of the history, which every time are only the whishes of the great european governors - the most bloody mockers in the world.
I OPENED THE FIRST DOOR WHICH COULD TOUCH.
Between the wide clean bed and the kindled small, hand made iron furnace, has stay a broaken from too much love hand red collored piano. The next door, and the next, and the next, were been thithly closed. But, who has wispered a prey to the God behind one of them ? Believe me. It was not a prey for a peace. It was a pray for a new revenge.
DEEPLY TIRED, I pocket myself between the blankets. Willing only one for my tired body. Switched out the lights. The hand made stove sent its reflections to my face, warming it like a women palm. I put hands under the tingled from so many black thouths head. Oh, yes, I sad myself going down into the country of the dreams, the city is not only mine, it is to everyone who may call it. Oh, yes, I sad myself, the capital probably is to Anyone, but the city is to no One.
NOW, I HAVE REMEMBER WITH A STRANGE RELISH, that at the middle of the night, before the solemly bell rings to ring out, one pliable, rich fragranced body, has came between the blankets. Ignoring all of mine protests of one to end promised domestic man. Forgotten for ever the splendid taste of the Prohibited Casual Love.
Oh, the Casual Love . The most dangerous thing to everyone .
THE BODY was been of any unknown me woman.
It came me like any fragranced remedy.
Raised uncountable power and melody.
Still now I have think, and a wide spectrum of thickly crimson light.
The woman's body madly mastered me, to a pain. For a middle aged man like me, with a fresh implanted peacemaker over the hearth, with a practically empty stomach from years, this was been strongly forbidden but enough encouragingly.
This unthoughtly invassion was such spontaneously, that I want cry.
- From where You came just now ? - I want scream to the sky.
The woman's body was blustered to the sky.
- Where You have kept Yourself all of these longly, longly years ? - I want cry through tears.
The woman's body blustered crasy both with the mine.
- Go away . . . Go away . . . Go away to don't die in Yours hands . . .
But I sad nothing.
Only in my troat has grounded a short, sadly, quietly groan.
THROUGH ALL OF THAT TIME of sadnesses and madnesses, my old, crashed from the shore line life body, ilderly drunk up nobody known whom provided Love. Collected new lifegiving sources. Forgeting, that it has carry out one small, fresh implanted medical peacemaker. Singing and crayng, my last soundly song of the Love.
A Love, which could be done only one time through each of human Life.
A Love, which could discover only between the yellowed pages of any forgotten old, dusted, ship record log book.
And, I have not listen more the peal of the last midnight trams.
And I have not listen more the screams of the crasy pharmers heatch-cocks.
And I have not listen more the whines of the suburban dogs, crasy from the winter cold, irritated like the sleeping old canton.
Only, the woops of the last drunkards having the forest instead a home, clearnessly resounded in the mind of mine. Remembering, that the Life is not only a dream near a waterfall. Oh, if it was been . . .
The Life only looks like a dream near a waterfall . . .
The Life is a waterfall . . .
FOR EVERYONE FROM US, all of thats small short smartly looking provincial dreaming laics, included independly from theres own wishes, in the serial secret social experiment funded from the governmental backed agencies, suspecting that all of this is nothing more than an ordinary play with the trustfulness of the poor peoples, in the great competition for the control over the natural ressources, the commimng New Years Hollidays is more than any ordinary event. Possibly at that moment, I have discovered why the leading experts from the Institute are sent far away over the oceans, to collect new research experience, but infact to peddle threselfs. Why the old professor works alone only with me. Why every time we have got enough dry drinks without soda-water. After the examination of all of the records of the dignity of the youth secretary. At last, after many years of speculations with the measurings of the endurance of the Balcan National Souls, the Institute, or anyone over it, decide to do one experiment more in addition with one random solely person. For a first of time from many years, not with all of the nation. From so many experiments, the nation was been very, very tired, and that is why aboslutelly apathetical.
But, how to escape ?
But, how to left ?
How to escape from myself, when I am such suxessfully overprogrammed to be only one from the many intellectual slaves?
I was been honestly worn out from this God's felt Love. About which I still now have think, that it was been the only successful part from the programme of the deeply secreted pshylogical experiment. Sowed like an open national contest, funded from unknown international sources. The Balcan Peninsuls every time had had been the most important experimental bridge of the World.
I HAD SLOWLY AWAKEN from the dissonantly song of the unknown woman.
The woman was renowed all of the sheerly curtains.
She has stood nacked against the head wind of the early winter frosty day. The most beautifull New Year's Day from my small, mildly, innocently, subordinated to the rules of the total hypocracy, laconical simple life. Cracked down from the partocracy prescriptions, rules, madnesses and miserable suspicions, poor than the poorests stupid shoreline provincial dreamer. Knowing enough think globally. Practically purposed for nothing. Educated to die like a high educated balcan slave. Tricky invited to give the final determination of the uncountable group of the Political Pab Laics. In the system of a Balcan Made Brain Storm Meeting. Over the ethernally problems of the Balcan Life Human Enigma. Which the politicians from the rich side of the world, only imagine that knows. A modern brainstorming test, which must renovate someone's not enough clear vissions about the creation and utilizing of the Life, of all of these verdantly places of the Ancient Balcan Peninsula Lands. Soundly verdantly places, missed to be announced like sacred. Not because of a lack of prophets. But because every time, every peace of the time, here are moving a great number of well known at these spots local natives named Committagy. Living from the both sides of every state boarder here, where the state boarders are much more than enough. Born from theres mini nations to die without to understood why, but well known where. Very youth and very grieved Boys and Gurls. Yours white bones are scattered from the East to the West, and from the Nord to the South through these crasy Balcans. What has means any well programmed and perfectly supplied with vodka and wisky dry research brainstorm module against yours selflessness to resolve all of the local problems using hand-made guns.
You are not Shouvinists.
You are not Communists.
You are not Fashists.
You are imply Balcanists. Even discharged far away from yours childhood villages and towns, to the another side of the World, You should be the same - Balcanists.
Oh, yes . . .
The most heavy arm to conquere any country is the replacing of the peoples, even nations, even villages and towns, from one place to another. At the End of the Ends, of the Time of the Times, the Peace of the Peaces is only a Forbidden Crasy Dream of the Dreams for a Never Never World.
THE WOMAN was play and was sang absolutely naked.
A fine, transparently formidable, not for her size teared in many long pieces night-gown, was play and fly around, following the rithm of any nameless melody. From this, the woman has looks like a free flying fantastic bird. But a bird, flying baclward with its train.
She sang her own silently song, and she has dance her own lingering dance. And this slowly Song of the Songs, and this phlegmatic Dance of the Dances, become my Own Song and my Own Dance for the rest part of mine Life. Which no one nowhere could repeat not for her, not for me, not for anyone from all of us, the Last Balcan Made Dreammers of the Dreammers of the World. Forgeting to prepare tourselfs for the dangerously poison of the . . . of the . . . International Policism, under the title of any internationalized Pacifizm. Which no one may forecast when and how will be discharged again and again, over the Hearth of the Old Europe, from that internationalized bodies of the different unknown deeply secreted spiritual clans. Which spirit is only one - the Gold. The hearth through which before centuries had had opened the present difference between the worlds. One hearth over which only we, the Old Balcanists named Balkandjy, have had put ours ears to listen closely. Because the roots of the contemporary Europe are here, down under the soil of Orpheus. And because the naivism of the ancient Orpheus is still alive into the souls of every of us. But instead of the Orpheus's flute song we have hear only the jangling tracks.
We have listen attentively the hearth of the old Europe.
We have deeply understand it, what it has wants.
I have sad - the roots of the Old Europe are down into the hearth of the Balcans.
And no one may drawn out them .
No one, believe me . . .
THE WOMAN was play, under the sparkling winter sunny frost, dangling a longly crimson scarf. Clattering rithmically with her small fine honey scent legs, rapping with her small bronze foots. Knocking the piano keys with longly sharply fingers. Obtaining, out of any sense, the heavy songs of the pented in the chambers of the todays civilized tirany, ours such well refined women. Tortured from a penury. Prepared for everything. But not for everyone.
THE WOMAN was not been in her early funny years.
The middle of the Life has appears not only over her emacinated body, but previously over her exhausted tiny face. At the nearly past wonderfull, naive, untouched. At the early past ignoramus, easily, airly body. Awkwardly and crying from the common pain of the Need. Now, forgotten to cry against that rotten type of Life, against thus named civilized manner of Life. Which no one out of the Balcans, can never imagine, what it is infact. One so strange manner of a Life, till now between the past rivers of the Blood, and the future emptines of the Space.
THIS TIRED BIRD, was not been in her early, crasy years, but about the women no one may sure. Truly connected to the end of her days to any unknown man, from whom she has had a baby. Submissed to the world mania about the ownerless Woman's Liberty. Every time backed from the endlesses modern woman depressions. Perfectly converting every from us, in any up-to-date intellectual slaves. To whom, the changing of the Sex, not the sexuality, is a problem not more different than a short surgical painlessness intervention wiyh a strongly lightened sparkling knife. Where the knife determinated the form, not the content.
SHE WAS SWAM, in the sparkling like a sea New Year's sunny winter day. This felt me to jump up from the bed. To take up her strange, peeressly never seen dance. In the odly early frosty winter morning. Against the surprised cheerfully glances of the rare passengers, from the running nearly the windows, one by one empty trams. Passangers, which have send theres wide opened superciliously glances just to us. Down away from the tram-way windows, to the tramstation of the past. Where no one carriage never wants stop. But from where many carriages from the nearly past have run to the top of the Hill. I have understood, that this unknown Quin of the Midnight Prohibited Casualty Love, wants again to burst, again to arise in a more crasy than ever possible madly song and dance. With the invicible wish to conquer me again, and again, and again, till the certain man dead. How to say You the tragical fact, that every francly Love every time has finish with any unmotivated dead. It is such well known.
BUT, the spite last science world medical peacemaker device, implanted into my old, collapsed, yeat flesh . . .
But, my such secrecy delegation to the brainstorm meeting in the Institute of the Institutes . . . May be important - may be not . . .
But the age of mine . . .
But my family and the kids . . .
But the old Chairman, and his wide spectrum of fine alcohol dry drinks .. .
But the youth secretary, thus youth, thus white, thus tightly loaded with the filmed collaps of the contemporary World . . .
But, that small cafe, over there on the shore line in my native Whitetown named "The Old Lame Sea Dog". . .
But that same provincial city and its embarkment covered with walking and walking crouds from the best gurls of the Balcan World . . .
Oh, it was impossible to enumerate all of that small ordinary human things, which have tied my poor soul and crashed flesh, to all of these Bloody Balcans. Where the last century has stay till now, well implanted into all of us from the International Political Mafia consisted from any kind of renegates. And I had concluded into myself:
BETTER NO ONES BE,
TO THE END OF THE DAYS OF MINE,
BUT HERE - ON THE BALCANS ONLY.
I don't know ,may I named myself a dissident.
I don't know, may I named myself as an expert.
But, I very well know, that I can not give my soul to everyone to stub out it. It is impossible. It is impossible. It is really impossible . . .
Being one from the participiants at the Only Hand Made Balcan Brainstorm Meeting, collaborating with the Power for a palm of penies, I am the same old wild tribal local balcandjy, which roots are down, down, down into the soil of the Orpheus Land, who every time has looks back to discover his poor Evridika, independly that from this I may die on the spot.
HE FLYING, like a bird woman had felt, had understand that I am still awaken.
She trown over my eyes her scarf with a passion. Teared in pieces the rests of the crimson night-gown. Speedly steped back to the opened door. Crossed the darkly cramed with lost luggage hall. Behind the wispered door of pray, one latch heavy knoked. Then has blow out a radiculously wail of any unvisible boy.
THE HEARTH of mine instantly went to slack.
It was not been a Nap.
It was not been the Death.
It was not been any Momentum Love.
It was been something different. Probably born from all of that human great enigmas, about which is written such wide literature, but about which is known absolutely nothing. Caused from the crack brained fateful measurings of ours darkly days of balcan troubles and woes. Never till now accurate brightly showed. Never like in ours days perfectly recorded, researched, studied and measured, closely analized and categorized for a following classification, every time under a perfectly governmental monitoring. Successfully forecasted. Perfectly limited. Easily prohibited. And despite this, highly anxieted and miserable to the bottom. Tangible understood only from ours poor wives. Leaved from us, in a search for the needed piece of the Bitterly Balcan Black Bread. Which, as the history has shown, no one brain stormimg, independly from its organizing level, can assure to the populations here. This european compact masse of the rests of the ancient Plebs.
BUT THE BOY from the next locked door, had cry, had cry, and follow to cry.
I fevereshly dressed myself. Crossed the hall. Put an ear to the high old fashion wood door. And concluded, that with the boy, has whining, has scramming and moaning, the unknown midnight Quin of the Midnight Prohibited Casualty Love.
- Please, play ! - beged the woman through tears. - Please, play . . .
The shilly shiny songs of a not well tuned violine dispersed arounds. This simple, softly song till now appears and ecoes into the lonely soul of mine. Whithout to have any answer. Why the peoples some times are more open to the problems of the others than the thereselfs ? Why they want give, when must take ? Why they are felt in Love, when they know that the Love dissapears along with the winds ?
The Peoples never have answers for everything.
SLOWLY, painfully slowly, I collected my short belongings up.
In my mouth has felt the night bitterness of the cuban cigars tobacco.
In my mind has stay the midnight bitterness of the sweet collored alcohol dry.
Slowly, slowly steping back, I have left the house of my youth dreams and late age curiosities. Sadled the bronze padlock in its bronze loops. Locked on the door. Looking into the hands of mine, to the sabre like key from the padlock, I have the feeling that it is born from a hot gold.
Oh, the dreams about the far away passed childhood, every time are born from any kind of preciously metal.
I HAVE NOT put the sabre type key on the settled from the student from my own town. Put it on the place, only the doubled money. And placed the key over the surface of the tram railroad. Believing, that the comming mashine will go over it. To break it for ever. Because over there, under the shelter of the green painted tram-canton, I had locked under key, my last adventure of my easy halved, rotened, out of any future, poor beggar's Life of a provincial pariah. Invited against a palm of stivers, to give the definitive conclussion in an international quarell dispute. Which more than thousend years has not any credible answer to use. And never should have to the end of the World.
I WENT directly to the city.
To meet the head of the Central Governmental Institute for Ancient Political Dreams in New Performances. To kiss his hands. I have not more time to lost. Only hundred miles from the capital, instantly has burst out a new Balcan War named from someone The Balcan Rapsody. Through the New Year's Night, its detonations feverished my bed in the old tramway station in the centre of the capital. We had supposed, that it was an customary illumination. But it was not. Simply, it was a New Balcan War, and no one poetical slogan could change its bloody Fatum.
I was been obligate return to my small Whitetown, end enter the army. To save myself under the banners which have change theres collors every time, when any new world power conquered these damned from the Gods, but filled with Orpheus's sons lands. Under the standarts first of all are collected the provincial otherwise thinkers. I don't want to remember the Folklands, Vietnam or Afganistan. Because at the times when this work can touch anyone, the hot spots will be much more.
If You are not, I am shure. . .
STEPPING far away from one rail sleeper to another, swinging my red leather case in hands, I have not wish to do anything different than to return to the wood lodge. And to stay for ever. When the next tram appears, I hiden myself between the pine trees.
Scratched brackes. The carman opened the door. Steped down to the rails. Took up the left key to his eyes. A smugly smile tensed his face. The carman send a glance around. Send a second one, to the closed shutters of the silently canton. Rubed the bronze key to his cheeks. Dropped it in the pocket of the uniform dress. Returned back to his seat. And whizzed down town with a prohibited speed. Rushing away near me, I have seen his face. Over it was been written out such crasy wide happines, that it made me to envy.
II.
YOU GUESS, that the planned Brainstorm collapsed.
No one from the included personell was been surprised. Every nice beginning at the Balcans has got same fate, at the end of the ends.
First of all, the top experts were been far away from the country. They had got an unauthorized attempt to destroy with theres empty for tools and money hands, one totally electronized city wall. They are absolutely surprised from theres succesess. The Wall easily crashed itself from the morning breeze.
The second one was been the situation, that nobody has a need from the Last Balcan Made Brainstorm. The war starts only hundrets miles from here. When anywhere starts any war, the Brainstormings are for nothing.
At last, thus named Nation. For a few of hours, it was been done more whimly than ever. Asking not propaganda made brain storm meetings, but more Pure Natural Air for the Kids, more Pure Drinking Water for the Pregnated Women, enough Cheap Village Made Balcan Black Bread for All of Us. Forgeting ask about the Yogurt. If You have pure and cheap milk, to do Yogurt is easy. I may say how. The Bacillus Bulgaricus is cultivated centuries here, at the Balcans. Before the Flood.
The New Balcan War, was been one from that completely ordinary things, which the governments of the Balcans, every time easy replaced with east or west imported experience. Every time very well polluted. Following the prescriptions erected on the Brain Storm Meeting of the Meetings, of the Tirant of the Tyrants of the World.
THE CHAIRMAN of the meeting, was been for a third time supperanuated, as an ex-committagy in the mountains. Independly that it was been only an revolutionary illussion, as was been illussion his science contributions. But who will search the truth about one such high recognized person. As an parliamentarian environmental expert about the line connection between the artifical ears and seminatural eyes. And at last, because of his age.
AFTER the such suxessfully destroying of that electronized wall through the hearth of Europe, the commissioned experts speedly returned back to the Institute. Returning home, they have start immediatelly to build same wall, with an impossible love, especially projected for theres own nation. After the building to be again destroyed. To have open work line for all of the many political institutions in the country. But it was not nessessary. One great stone wall had been done through the souls of the all of the balcan peoples. Deviding them to two different type of peoples. The experts efforts to modernize it were been commical. Independly, that from the balcan type of life, the peoples were been lefts theres exeptional sense for humour. But now nobody may stop theres laugh. Independly from the war activity, they have laughing with full of power of theres weakly from starvation troats. And nobody may shut up them closely.
The old ex-Brainstorm Chairman, sadly watched the end of the top-experts efforts. He was know very well that the old stones are more cheap than the new bricks for the governments. They are very practicable, and no needs of foreign loans from the International Monetary Fund both with two dozens financial club helpers. But, who wants to take advice from any supperanuated person ?
AFTER HIS PENSIONING, the professor starts write his memories, as it is customized all over the world. He had wants open the eyes of the wide readers audithory about all of these small unvisible things, which have done the regional, national and international policy on the Balcan Independent Lands. Thinking that someone could read about his own political mistakes showed like a national successes. He starts, as is a tradition in such memories:
"It was the first day of the Second World War. I had had walk between my Whitevillage and the nearby city of Whitetown. Suddenly one airplan crossed over my head. I have take my mashine gun, and took a possition in the ditch near the road. Shot it. The plane felt down in flames..."
At the end of the commence of the foreword of this important original work, the clouds over the Balcans again had been concentrated. The last halved bottle Ryssian Vodka Dry between the barefoots of the writing professor was been empty, but the clouds were been such wide, such great and such densed, that the bottle throttle rendered narrow to intake all of them.
THE POOR CHAIRMAN for a first time understood, that between the pure science and the durty everyday life, have had a so great difference. Shoked from this, he discharged the bottle through the window. After which go down and was surprised . The bottle was been whole, but again full with vodka dry. The russian bottles are very simple and very hardly, sad himself the old man. Remember it. He was forgottent his spectacles over the written new book and lost the chance to mark off the smiling moustached man triky looking to him from the nearly corner of the street. He was with a solgier peak cap on the head with a red star on the forehead, with a pipe in the mouth.
WHEN THE RUSSIAN VODKA DRY, in that original russian bottles finland production has finish, and the ink into the ancient silber inkpot confiscated at the revolutionary times from any bank ticoon's desk go to the end, sunking all of the flues in the studio under the sparkling red stars from the propaganda posters, the ex-professor understood that the ecologists at every level, every time are right. He was received an official bulleten, which informed him, that the international protected Balcan Red Eagles are only half of couple. His secretary was been out of his duties, and was been impossible to send her to catch out some eagle feathers to use them in lieu of pens. He has knows very well from another side, that the nongovernmental organizations, every time are on its watching possitions. Around the tables of the midnights coctail-parties, they are monitoring all over and about the Balcan Peaks easily. The Red Book is a Red Book. The European Environmental Agency is, the Agency. The Hummanity Approuch to the Problems, is a Hummanitarian Misconception.
EVERY evening before supper time, the old ex-chairman started think, as it was been his old habit, not about the missing of the customized bread, salt and savory with goat's cheese, but about more global problems. After the softly revollutions on the Balcans, the social security funds were so strange dissapeared, independly that they were been under, Oh - Bless God !, a strictly governmental management. Analizing the case he discovered, that the Social Seculity Fund Lords, are dislocated into a small island on The Chanell of The Chanells, where to have a sabre gold key for the Lords Citadel is not enough. You must know in addition, that short password, which everytime going down into the tomb with the sin soul of the Tirants.
THE GREAT BALCAN TIRANTS, before all were been communist type tailored. A nice protochristian idea at the commence, with most bloody results to the end. With the truly help of one International Linotipist, the dictators writing works were been published free of charge (!!!) on many european languages. But the Linotypist was been a nice informed boy. He take it the National Social Security Funds of the ex-communist balcan nations onboard of his floating paradize named "Freelanse's Breeze". In portable cash-boxes with great capacities. Only to do theres multiplications. After short of time, he will return all of these national funds to theres native nations. In the best frienship manner. You know better than me, the fate of this important ship. It has sank just opposide the owners village on the well strongened island in the Chanell of the Channells, immediatelly when call the Chanell of the Chanells. Both with the selected codes of theres bank accounts. The old ex-chairman has thinks and now, that namely this wreck was been the start of the colapce of the Communism on the Balcans. Perhaps all over the World. But he is only a very susspiciously man.
That is why, with a compass in hands, and a new computerized expert system produced far away at tibetian caves, every night at midnight, the old academician send his honestly grace just to the direction of that group of islands. He was pray about all of the penssioned peoples of his country on the Balcans, and after that thriugh the World, and especially about the villagers from his neighbourhood village on the shore of the sea. He forgot that every God may satisfy only one solely perssonal pray. The Gods like it the Group Prays only in very heavy cases.
Possibly, the God catch the obsecration pray of ours man. The Old Man, received a big packet with some pieces of foods. Like a present from any international foundation, discovered his name in an international dictionary about the last communist tailored nature protected birds. He immediately back returned the heavy parcel. Into the parcel with the perfectly foods has not the bottle russian vodka dry bottled in Finland. He was an old, very old, honestly person.
Oh, the International Nongovernmental Structures every time has missing the Main. . .
DEEPLY DISSAPOINTED from such great international omission, the Old take the train and came to the shore of Whitetown. He want be and really was, the first who has meet the international military powers. Just disembarking onto the pictoresque shore line. Only to help the balcan minorities, to have one mosque in addition more, because the ortodoxal churches are enough, but the mormons have missing generally. And nothing about the great petrol fields under the soil of one place named Rosebird Fields.
From the shore to these fields, the road was been about 350 miles, but near it have lives more than a dozen small nationalities. Every one from which with its own cultural traditions, own top-executives, own tamagouchies and an own unvissible historical stratum. Every one from which with different own religion. Every one from which with different own smell of the kitchen. Perfectly leveled from the different kind of conquerrors, with a compulsory through the centuries national missery.
THE OLD , the ex-chairman of the only professional made Balkan Brainstorm Meeting which never seen the light, droped in the water his fishing hook at the end of the Whitetown wavebreaker. With the intimate thought, that he will be the first in the tail when the Uncle Sam's supply vessels berted. He was known very well that onboard the US Navy vessels every time are carry out not only gallons wisky, but also many littres of pure russian vodka. Being in penssion, he has got an access more to the information boards, based in the district pabs. But the ships were been sent to another direction. The misery in the world is not only at the Balcans. It is everywhere. Is it go before or after the US millitary corps, is a nice theme for a postgraduate study. The old politician professor was been very old to start any new study.
THE OLD MAN had stay some days and nights, at the end of the kee. With his fishing rod. With his fishing net. With his fishing hook with a piece of balcan cheese on the end like a bait. He has got enough time to wate. He has enough rusks in his bag. Into the dustbins of the Whitetown you may discover some bread, but never rusks - never.
BUT THE LAST OLD FROM THE OLDESTS , have call his happiness.
I am sure, You know like me, how nice things are the international human volunteers. They are every time on his volunteers possitions. They are full of duty like youth officers onboard of a white passenger ship, before to sink. One of these funny boys, flying onboard of a navy helicopter, cheking the shore about russian volunteers, whose divissions was possible starts to run, spoted by his HT equipment the deeply swamped man. The equipment was been projected especially to discover the discharged from theres wifes ex-politicians. After which, the system with the traditional american mersilessness could send one silber bullet just into the head of the poor naive person. But the volunteer didn't want to do this. The volunter done its GPS directly to Washington, DC, USA, where Uncle Sam has smokings his cuban cigars in the presens of the most activated female probationers from the side of UNO. The cigars are the great fault of all of the Uncle Sams representatives. Made in Cuba, flavoured at Mexico, they have came from Russia, only for a while stoped for an additional flavorissation on the Balcans. The Father of the Fathers of the World, also has a father ex-politician , ex- chairman of the Brainstorm of the Brainstorms of the World. Also well jammed with nice rememberings from the Second World War to the hat. Also at the board of any lake more salty than Black Sea. Also with a net rod in hands. With many gold fishes into the fishing basket. He bended shoulders. But whom father don't gives his head to the son's jokes ? The old politician, calling some words to one from his small golden fishes, sent it back into the lake waters. The Old Balkandjy Professor saved his head. How nice thing is the democracy yea - a - a . . .
ONE GREAT SPONSOR FROM PNOM-PEN, backed from Japans and funded from China, donated to the old balcan ex-politician, a comfortable electricy driven dissability carriage, which can take the distances between the capital and any country town for few minutes. The carriage was been equiped exept with the ordinary provided mashine gun, also with a CD-Stereo Player and FM/AM Radiostations. The state TV-Set was been stolen from the Pol-Pot revolutionary troops, to watch top-recordings with a great educational power:
- how Comrade Mao embarased the Late Tibetian Emperor before to send a dozen monks like astronauts in the Space with an american shuttle russian production;
- how the Tibetiam Emperor embarased all of the Comrade's Mao solgiers before to welcomed the multipliucated astrionauts returning from the Space after only
10 000 years jorney to the future without backward;
- how to settle the strupid provincialists from Cambodja jungles before to start any High Tech Massacre in the name of the wide national development under the strictly UNO supervission, and for a fraternity between the working classes all around the world, etc . . .
The poor ex-politician professor, was been such happy, that it is impossible to present his admiration through all of these scorned lines of pity words. From so many internationalized brainstormings onto his traditionally empty stomach, filled every time with well boiled white beans saturated with the best balcan flavourings, named Chorba, he never had got enough time to by himself any second hand car. When the second part from the donated carriage was been received, he was been encouraged a little bit more, that at last he will survive himself.
THE NEW FREE MARKET ACQUISITIONS, opened new possibilities before the professor's activity. He padled his own library just at the center of the capital, parking his repainted Pnom-Pen Foundation Car opposite at the yellow Parlamentarian Building. In the past totally destroyed from the Alliens through the years of the Second World War, without permission of the Russians - never. Now repainted in a strange blu collor into and an orange collor over the face, without the permission of the European Union - never. Holding a great number of deputats. Enough to guide the total Europe, but satisfy to rulling only my small nation.
He opened his transfered into a movable bookstore car just against the gates of the Parliament. From time to time, any fresh parlamentarian lion with habits of a protected from the environmentalists Balcan Rabbit, sprang out from the back gates of the kitchens, of the most honestly Parlamentarian House on the Balcans. To take a short consultation time from the eminent researcher. Now free market bookseller and experienced consultant under the most open sky of the world. Every time, the parlamentarian lions have carry out with themself any bottle of original russian vodka drink, as a matter of the high intellectual interchange. But the ex-schollar was not more wodka drinks. He asked only hard currency before to do any important for the Balcan Fatum advise. Between all of the conversations and advisings, he has watching old records from Cambodja on one second hand portable japan made battery supply video recorder.
THE YOUTH WHITE PROFESSOR'S SECRETARY, that same pretty blond russian gurl, refered like the most well dissident tailored gurl on the Balcans, because of her collection with many dozens of pornographical movies, was been immediatelly discharged from the Institute of the Balcan Institutes. After that crash of the Paneuropean Electonized Wall, immediatelly changed with uncountable international agreements between the Shining West and the Durty East, one after one, the russian secretary gurls through the Balcans, were been changed with more fresh secretariat provided from the different by name, but equally purposed humanitarian peacemakers corpses.
The nice youth gurl, hardly rejected the official invitation to work at not so long distanted Constantinopoliss City, like an ecologist expert against the illegally trade with frozened elephant trunks. At last time, the Elephant Trunks have done under strictly UNO controll. The practice showed, that the Elephant Trunks, if they are well frozened an saved, may use for speedly transfering of Damp Money from one Mainstream to Another when the firemen pipes are busy.
She strongly rejected also the speculations with her perfectly name like an international recognized internet registered dissident. And opened the most elegant well supplied Porno-Shop in the Capital of the Capitals of the Balcan Region. Intended only to aged businessmen free of illusions, but full of money, with well prepared business plans in theres laptops. Never for schoolers exept in the days of the Slavonic Alphabet Hollidays. Never for schoolboys exept with theres moms and pops. For teachers - free of charge booklets. For the schools - a wide sponsorships.
THE PORNO-SHOP, was been truly licensed from the Ministry of the Popculture and High Poptechnology, and was been put under the personally shelter of the Minister of the High Illiteracy and the Exported Technocracy. The nice Gurl received congratulations from many institutions and administrations, and especially from the Unborned Child's Counsil. The International Black Cross and Black Creshchent Associations, also send theres congratulations, independly that were been very busy with the distribution of prohibited medical wastes all over the world. That is why, the ancient bronze lantern hangs over the entering gates of the shop, sparkling every night with the low vissible black crimson light over a red crimson . No, no, no, it is not pinched from the gates of the old green painted tramstation of the childhood of mine.
AS A WEEL PROFESSIONALIZED LAIC, I was need to no one.
I was written my book about the national and international laicism, but no one till now wants publish it. It was been too great by size, so important by meaning, and very heavy to read.
I was want to licenze my Own Naive Laicism, but the governmental offices were been jammed with such applications. In the middle of the age, the men must not wate for anything.
That time the Uncle Sam's Troops were been drawn very speedly from Whitetown, to send them to the hearth of Africa, where one old King, was lost his gold telescope on the bottom of the Lake Tira-Tara. Only the american navy divers may take it from the bottom of this infact closed inner continental sea. The telescope had been american construction 1826th, purposed to see all around in russian crimson and californian gold. The GPS research showed the perfectly place, but when the Uncle Sam's batiscaffe call the bottom, only empty russian vodka bottles could be seen.
THE POLITICAL INSTITUTE OF THE INSTITUTES, in the capital of mine balcan country, after the returning back of the political experts and scientists, was been successfully closed. Going beggars, they have returned back looking kings. The well educated beggars, they sad me, everywhere in the world are rich like kings.
Eweryone from them has take its bureau, chair and PC from the Institute. Returning home, the experts opened its own political Institutes in the garrage cells under theres appartments. Some times, from theres new offices, has came a fantastic mixed aroma of switzerland made ness-caffe and cuban cigars. The international science connections no one may kill never.
THROUGH THE BLOODY COMMUNISTS TIMES, I was been very seldom unemployed. Now, through the postcommunists times, everyone were been unemployed. The stabilisation on the Balcans has went through the frozening of the countries economy. A new Balcan War has starts and its name was been The Balcan Atlantic War. My home was been far away from the center of Whitetown. Independly from this, one authumn night, any mistaken rocket destroyed only my roof. Next day everyone wants help, but no one give money. The home till now is without roof. But no problems. The summer came soon. The warming of the troposphere is a science fact. Only the winter breese from the russian east coast of the Black Sea is very, very, very cold, but with one more Chernobil dissaster everything will be again O.K. Wating the next one. The striking accuracy of the Balcan-Atlantic War showed, that the rockets never touch the Top Political Leaders, whose muddled up the things. May be because the rockets are more thinkable mashines than the Professionalized Laics. May be because the stupid naive idiots like me, sleeping emanates that crasy radiation, which help ever blind rocket to spot just theres roofs. That is why I have done a movable sleeping possition from one shore pab to another, till the war near my country will finish. Prefering "The Old Lame Sea Dog", where the boys from the Uncle Sam's Corps of Peace, like it to show theres drinkable stabling. Every man must have one shelter more in addition. In such war cases, when the war never have had finish through the centuries. (C ) 1999 - Bogomil Kostoff AVRAMOV - HEMY
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