This Glade

 This glade, the man takes but a step, and he is there. The sun shines, rays sliding down from the heaven, finding holes between leaves and branches and ultimately resting upon the iridescent flowers, but in such a way that there is no spot in the glade where shadow is to be found. The flowers – figures still and slender – form tableau more breath-taking than anything a man or woman has ever crafted.  The man strides into the glade and the flowers shift their disproportionate heads, making place for his heavy steps, and then return to their initial positions. He chooses a place amid a batch of lilacs and lays there, resting with the radiant rays of the sun. He closes his eyes and his face melts into a smile. The line between reality and dream gradually disappears.

***

The man’s fingers shake as he lifts the matchstick, flame dangerously feeble, to the rolled cigarette that slopes from his mouth. He has covered the match with his hand but the wind still manages to get through and the flame is gone, before its purpose is complete. The shoulders of the man sag and he sighs. Faint steam, almost identical to smoke, leaves his mouth.

The man reaches into the matchbox and pulls another match. He lights it, but the wind extinguishes it once again. There is only one match left in the box. The man takes it out, holding it tightly. The touches it to the side of the box, but then he stops, closes his eyes and mutters indistinguishable words under his breath. The words mingle and interweave in his shaggy beard. From there they are picked up by the wind, for only it has the right to hear them, it is their addressee. Words and wind mix together and for a moment the air is still, awaiting the response of the wind. Then the blowing resumes.

The man goes with the wind. Two tramps with a similar purpose. The cigarette shines and trembles happily in his mouth. A moment was all he needed.

A Scent of Bitter Almonds

A Scent of Bitter Almonds

“Say a letter, Vlad!”

“R.”

“Wrong again! Come on, Vlad! Concentrate! This game has tactics to make it easier, you know. Use them.”

“I’m sorry, Josh. It’s just that I’m always a little absent-minded during the first few days of fasting.”

“Why do you fast then?”

“Because it is written in the canons of the Orthodox Church that I must.”

“Well, I don’t believe that anyone in your church would be happy if you die while doing your job, because of absent-mindedness.”

 “You know what, let’s just continue with the game. F.”

“Wrong again. You have one mistake left, Vlad.”

“T.”

“Nope. Game over.”

“Damn! So, what was the word?”

“Why should I tell you? You didn’t even guess a single letter! I think, I’m going to leave this word for some other game in the future.”

“Oh, come on, Josh! You know I hate it when my questions remain unanswered.”

“It’s interesting that you brought this up, because isn’t the essence of religion that you remain ignorant of the existence of God?”

“It’s not like this. The Bible gives you all the answers that you need about God. All you have to do is believe.”

“But what if these answers are wrong?”

“They are divine truths, Josh! They cannot be wrong! Ask any believer and he will tell you the same thing.”

“Because they’re all stuffed with the same religious bollocks. They never question anything, they don’t dare to think on their own. They’re just hollow people, yearning for something to cling to!”

“Are you calling me hollow, Josh?”

“No...”

He was interrupted by the police radio:

“Car 47. We had a photograph by a pedestrian of a man dragging a dead dog behind his car. We traced the car’s number and it belongs to a citizen called Don Bickle, living at 19 St. Bernard Street. We want you to go there and see what he has to do with this event. Over.”

I ignited the engine and Josh confirmed that we were on our way.

“I’m sorry, Vlad.” Josh said after several silent minutes. “I didn’t mean to call you hollow. It’s just that I find religion distasteful. I tend to associate it with my father. He committed many bad deeds and always tried to justify them by quoting passages from the Bible and twisting the words in his favour.”

“Don’t worry, Josh! I’m not mad at you. Anyway, what was your word?”

“Cyanide.”

We arrived at the address. It was a bleak house with crumbling parget and a broken chimney. Dim light came out of one of the stained windows.

As I stepped out of the car, the contact with the morning air made me shiver. I followed Josh to the front door and stopped a step behind him as he knocked on it. No one answered. He knocked again. We heard the key spin in the keyhole and the hinges grinding reluctantly against each other with a sound that never fails to make me cringe. The door creaked back and revealed a slim man, dressed only in his stained underwear. He held a plastic bottle in his hand and when he spoke his breath reeked of alcohol:

“What?”

 “Mr Bickle, I am Officer Josh Patterson and my partner is Officer Vladimir Pustoy. Do you mind if we come in for a minute? We have to ask you some questions.”

“Go fuck yourself!”

He bashed the door. Josh looked at me, shrugged and kicked it near the lock. Two minutes later the drunkard was subdued and lying face down upon the cracked floor, his hands shackled tightly behind his back. Josh stayed with him while I searched the house for evidence. I went straight for the cellar, because that’s where you have the largest possibility of finding something. I opened its door and a feeble howl reached my ears. I descended the stairs in a hurry and found the light switch. The light revealed to me a disgusting sight.

I ran up the stairs and back to Josh as fast as I could.

“He has dogs in his cellar. They are locked in cages and on the verge of death.”

“Shit, really?” then he turned at the killer. “You’re coming with us. You have some explaining to do.”

We spent the trip to the police station in silence and it was only after we turned the degenerate over to our colleagues there that I felt ready to speak about this situation.

“Oh, God, Josh! This man... he... he killed a dog and almost did the same to another five and because this is his first crime, he will probably get away with only a fine. He is a psycho, there is no telling what he will do after he is released.”

“Forget it, Vlad! There’s nothing that we, as policemen, can do about it. Anyway, our shift is over, I’m going home. I can give you a lift, if you want.”

“No. I’m going to stay here for a while. I want to ask this Bickle guy some questions.”

“You and your questions, Vlad. Give it up, there’s no meaning in troubling yourself any further. Just let it go, come with me.”

“I can’t, Josh! I have to hear his side of the story. I have to do something about him, if not as a policeman, then at least as a man.”

“See you later then.”

He traipsed away from me, his head arched towards the ground.

Don Bickle was released two hours later. He frowned when he saw me approaching him, but he did not try to run. He looked sober and now that I could take a better look at him he did not strike me as psychotic dog killer. Sadness was written all over his face and his shoulders were hunched in a display of weakness.

“Mr Bickle, would you mind if I walk you home? I have to ask you some questions.”

“You can come with me if you want, I can’t stop you, but I won’t answer your questions.”

He turned his back to me and set out towards his home.

“Why did you kill this dog, Mr Bickle? What were you planning to do with the others? Why? What have they done to you?”

He did not pay attention to me at first, but I insisted and after a while he stopped and turned around. He had tears in his eyes and when he spoke his voice trembled with contempt:

“So you want to know why I killed this dog, heh, officer? All right then, since you asked so persistently, I will treat you to my wondrous story. I bet it will give you lots of material for gossip,” he fell silent, his eyes fixed at something distant. When he continued, his voice was quiet and measured. “I lost my daughter six months ago. She was killed by the same dogs that you found in my cellar. I know that because three days ago, while I was strolling around, drunk, I found the polka dot dress that she wore on the day she went missing, thorn and bloody in the lair of these dogs. That’s why I caught them. I wanted to kill them, avenge the death of my daughter and the consecutive separation with my wife. I was doing the world a favour, but I see now that the world doesn’t appreciate such favours. Soon everybody will look at me and see only a degenerate criminal.”

By the time he finished his story we had reached his home. I grabbed his shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

“I see your point, Mr Bickle, but murder isn’t an answer. You have done a bad thing, but it’s not beyond redemption. I cannot change the way people look at you, but I can at least help you save your soul. I will come by your house tomorrow, we’ll go to church, you will feel better after that.”

The next day I woke up at five A.M., as usual, finished my morning routine and headed for Don Bickle’s house. The morning air was exceptionally chilly and I had to wrap my hands around me to keep warm. The sun was hidden behind thick clouds that hung low above the uniform houses. I spent most of my journey in silence, occasionally interrupted by the rumbling engines of hurried cars, emitting poisonous fumes in the already polluted air.

 The door to Don’s house was open. I entered and found him lying on the table, an open bottle next to him. At first I thought he was asleep, but then I noticed his cherry red skin colour. I went closer and sensed a scent of bitter almond, the unmistakable smell of cyanide. He had poisoned himself. In front of him I found a letter. I picked it up with trembling fingers and read it.

‘There are things in this life that are beyond redemption. No, I’m not talking about the recent events, I’m talking about the death of my daughter, Sarah.

I remember the day she died. My wife was working the night shift then and I had to go pick up Sarah from school. I met a friend. He convinced me to go out for a drink. No, I let myself be convinced, I got drunk, I passed out, I forgot about her, I abandoned her, I killed my little girl. It was not the dogs, it was not my friend, it was not the world, it was me. Killing that dog, it made me realise that I am able to take lives. And that is good, because I still have one more life to take before my punishment is complete.

Sarah, this last part is for you. I know I shall not see you. Where you are right now, that is not a place for me, I am heading exactly in the opposite direction, but if you can somehow read this letter, if it can somehow get to you, then I want you to know:

I love you!

I should not have

I’m sorry!

You’

I left the letter back on the table and lifted my hands to cover my face as tears started running down my cheeks.

The police came, then the press, then the neighbours. I heard them talking about him, they called him a monster, they said that he deserved it. Soon the whole town was talking about him – The Cruel Dog Killer. When I tried to tell them his side of the story, they all refused to hear me. They preferred a simple lie to the much more complicated truth that I was offering them. This troubled me severely and that’s why I decided to go to church.

The gates made from solid oak slid open before me and I entered the tabernacle. Pleasant smelling fumes of burned incense were drifting around me. The light from the coloured windows intertwined with the warm light of the candles and produced a new kind of light that made the whole place feel arcane and serene. I passed a boy and a girl, leaning together in front of an icon of Saint Virgin Mary, their heads bent down in a silent supplication. I stopped before the icon of Jesus and whispered:

“Father, who are in Heaven. Blessed be thy name, hallowed be thy Kingdom. I have come to you in great distress. I have glimpsed the naivety, the hollowness in the people. What is worse, I have seen myself in them. I am losing my faith, Father. Am I going mad? Is this a challenge, Father? Help me, answer me!”

In front of me, Jesus stood still in his icon, his hand raised in a gesture that showed both a blessing and a reprimand. There was no answer, no epiphany, only silence. And the quiet prayers of the believers.

Line of Life

Line of Life

A bellow, thunder after a thunder,

Storms rushing inward

Into the caverns,

Into the body.

Expansion.

***

Soft weather, warm,

In it the smells are palpable even more,

But it is cosy, so you like it.

***

Then follow the years of combustion,

Them you do not recall.

***

After that there’s stillness, order,

You find the cherry,

You see the white,

The seeds then grow

While you are stuck in circles –

Of raising, of dropping, of stopping.

You are fulfilled, you’re still, like at the start.

But I’m still burning.

With fever that’s ice cold.