5
As Mary
Mary’s heart melted in front of her Roma man in whose eyes she had not yet
materialized. Mitzy her pet Chiuauaha, gifted with Sight beyond the scope of
her owner, watched as indeed thousands of thin tendrils emerged from the two beings, each fibre seeking for its opposite strand.; a curious
lightshow, noiseless ground lightening
in slow motion. Unseen by those waiting in the Mittel Europa Waiting Room, one
of the glass doors flew open as by a forceful gust of wind and in walked a pale translucent replica of the
Roma man, asthough late for an appointment; he merged
into his doppelganger. Behind him a ghostly procession of folk of all
ages and periods in history.
Behind Mary
Mary a blond man in a patterned white and blue Norwegian-style pullover, who
entering through the glass door, greeted his opposite number entering behind
the Roma man; a woman of similar hair-colouring. A hollow distant basso-profundo groan heard
at the end of a long tunnel released the voices, scenes of lives past.
Snow, a
frozen canal, a patio, everywhere white. Their faces, one above the other etched
repeatedly in the marble memorial in Dam Square; the swollen
warmth of friendships recognized. There, beyond and below, the bridges of Amsterdam in winter.
“Liefde,
liefde mejn liefde”.
“Rob! Ik hou
van jouw”. Seemed to come from the direction of the woman.
Behind them
dressed in striped ragged pyjamas, dirty yellow stars, dirtier pink triangles,
thin young men approached the glass doors, timidly. Mitzy heard the distant wind of voices
A
dormitory, work outside; labor camp.
Gaunt, stick
thin lain-out life broken dolls, parallel, facing, a dormitory, Work going on
outside, labor camp. Exhaustion; one slipping away. “Je veux un Rabin...”. I
need a Rabbi..
‘Je suis trop faible’. Pensait
faiblement l’autre, enver son ami meurant.
“Too weak to
say it, I am sorry, too weak my friend, dear friend.”.
Mitzy then
heard a song, or rather a chant, melancholy yet tinged with optimism, a chant
coming first from the one phantom apparition then the other.
“Shama Israel
Adonai Eloyhainu
Adonai Echad
“Shama Israel
Adonai Eloyhainu
Adonaie
Echad”.
The two men
appeared to fill out physically and grow younger healthier. There in
a Place
Publique a French town square or city plaza wearing vintage leather jackets, (brand-new then, in the nineteen-twenties). One of them was seated on a monstrous
motorbike turning to say something to the other before speeding off in a roar
of bird-song and engine-sound.
“Shama Israel
Adonai
Eloyhainu
Adonai Echad”.
Behind them
both came more individuals in varying costume. Upon an altar in a vast hall, a cathedral.
A wedding. Regal. Rows of maidens
dressed in white, brides maids, by the hundreds, faerie queens from time out of
mind.
“Mr King!”.
“Mrs Queen”
“My love”
“’I’ve missed
you”.
“Ha, Mr Shakespeare”,
said a beautiful black woman to a balding man opposite with a pearl and lace
high neck-collar and a long pinched nose.
“My dusky
love..” said the man
“I see you
are still receiving credit for my work”. Said the woman
“You left
enough clues” his voice echoed.
“The times...”
Replied the ghost-writer. “You’d have thought they’d
invented writing”.
“Words, words, words. Plus ҫa
change, plus c’est la meme chose.” Replied
the ghost.
“Like my love
for you, Will”, said the black woman blowing the man a kiss. “The more it
changes, the more it’s the same.”
Even had
these apparitions appeared as stark three dimensional figures they would have
remained invisible to those in the Waiting Room who themselves looked like
ghosts in the rooms air-conditioned penumbra; their faces dimly lit by objects
they stared down at and fidgeted with but which had no smell.
As the
luminous filaments met, the complimentary rows of lives stretching back in
an arc beyond time, suddenly concertinaed
into both Mary Mary and the Roma standing before her. The glass doors suddenly
slammed shut as though once again blown by a powerful gust.
Mary Mary
took a small step back as, perceiving him through a glow which spread from the
region of her sternum; she knew she had become visible to the man opposite.
From Mitzy’s point of view, they were crying into each other’s souls.
The company
now found themselves outside in the corridors of Eyes’ labyrinth, the Waiting Room
having dissolved. Swen Gnillor and Swen Gnikaerb’s shrieks still pursued them
from no particular direction, but their howls were being challenged by a new infinitely
steelier yet blood-curdling scream doubled by an accompanying layer, at least three
scales lower in the diatonic; the higher pitch; a glacial dehumanising stare,
the deeper and lower pitch; a steady immanent powering up of weapons.
They lived in
paradise, they lived in paradise!
Where? Where?
With wives and children! With wives and children!
Who? Who?
In the middle of every living room! In the middle of every living room!
What? What?
An open
sewer! An open sewer!
How,? How?
They are
sleeping! They are sleeping!
Why? Why?
Aissur Yadot!
Aissur Yadot!
When? When?
“Run!"
Chased by
Aissur Yadot, the perfidious discreditor of Swen Gnillor and Swen Gnikaerb, Mary
Mary, Mitzy and the Roma disappeared around another corner of the maze and out
into the open tundra.
From the
outside and at a distance the words’ Russia Today’ were cutting their way, scythe-like through the
walls of Eyes’ labyrinth with the dexterity of glass-cutters in the hands of
international thieves.
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