In the game / in life:
the Witness - the pseudonym of a boy
from the age of 13 until shortly after death
Their voices
were heard as if they were underwater. We imagined them locked up in bubbles
made somehow out of soap, or like those that represent dreams in drawings, and
I smiled.
Our smiles
disappeared just like bubbles as well, but they were hard to be noticed by
someone. For years, not one of them had the curiosity, nor did they try or
struggle to translate our smiles. They believed them to be as last bubbles,
from the category of those who leave the dying before they even gave up the
ghost, or with the exit of their souls, as if the soul was just air enclosed in
bubbles and couldn’t mix with water.
When the
twilight melted into the night, and by courtesy of the deep blue just like
stings, the stars gathered above us, we had the impression that all the bubbles
of the day had been just some kind of translucent eggs. They rose to the thin
layer where the waters met with the skies, with the closeness of the stars to
the waters, and burst gently, as if in a deafness. The stars were turning into
snowflakes or crystal flowers.
Everything resembled somehow the fertilization, but not so much that of the flowers, but more of the fish that danced around us.
On winter
nights, the stars were replaced by snowflakes, but the fertilization did not
change.
This was also
the last wonder we expressed in words, before they came one by one and invited
us outside, or to what they called inside, or even within life.
When Her and
I… learned to understand each other through bubbles, the number of those who
looked for us decreased.
Even
grandparents, parents, friends and enemies will tire one day or lose hope. We
only prayed for them not to mourn us like the drowned are wept.
Maybe, two
months before we left, we should have fought badly with everyone, disappointed
them as bitterly as possible, done unforgivable things to them, opened up
wounds that only those dear to us can leave…
…To know
that only God is God, He told me.
But we
couldn’t succeed. We didn’t know if we were in debt with money to anyone - and
that day, when men and women of various ages, a little after even the most
bearable relative left, came one by one and counted our debts, left us without
any bubbles.
The poems
sounded a little like this:
A cigarette
without filter / a coffee without sugar / a teeea /
An apple /
two dates / a maths page /
Ten old Lekë
/ five new Lekë / one doll-aar /
Three thin
books / two thick books / doesn't matter the author now /
A nib / a
ink / a pen / a candy /
A badge /
twenty pieces of stamps / the white dog / the orange canary /
The
binocular with one eye, the monocle with two lenses, blue feather, a boat ride
/
Two nibs /
the green shirt / a brush / a drawing notebook
The silver
ring / two chains / three pairs of earrings / the tie with stars /
Four gold
rings / two precious stone rings / one with an eagle head /
One with a
snake head / a sandwich / sandwich / two olives / one cup / eight plates /
The land on
top of the hill / two hens / the black cow / two roosters /
And so on.
Only God
never questioned us, either because he is Longing himself and sees everything,
either because he is Pain himself and endures everything, or either because He
never ends.
With the
passing of years, the last verse began to thicken, worsen and take the form of
some state debts.
Very rarely,
as to chase away the evil eye, or some kind of black magic, it turns out we
were indebted with a kiss, an erotic smile, a touch in the twilight, a rush of
breath that made sleep and dreams dizzy, as well as a few ruined sleeps, a few
insomnias, a few movie tickets.
We couldn’t
answer them because - ironically! - they could believe we were crazy or
drowned. That’s why we were forced to act like two drowned.
But who was
able to reap so much love, care, devotion, because of the drowning, especially
from people who, even without missing, gave us everything for free, even envy,
hatred, ill admiration, unbelief, utopias?!
If the years
hadn’t gone by so quickly, maybe the fact that they wrongly understood us or
took us for someone we were not, would have hurt. Maybe we would have tried to
enlighten, to convince them that it was about something completely else.
But time
flows differently in the world of bubbles, of waters and of boundless skies.
For them to
reach our consciousness, one at a time or even in small choirs, grafting
underwater sounds and words, they started a poem that twitches as if to erase
from memory even Homer[,] or the most productive bard in the Alps.
Sometimes
She…
… asked me
from glances if, while we were translating those verses, we provoked, or helped
the time flow faster. Or time moved the same even if you were silent, and even
if you didn’t number people and beings after an order that invariably
transformed over time?!
Come, son,
daughter, such-and-such, for your grandfather is waiting for you, your
grandmother is waiting for you, your mommy is waiting for you, your daddy is
waiting for you, your sister is waiting for you, your brother is waiting for
you,
your friends
are waiting for you, your girlfriends are waiting for you, your kindergarten
teacher is waiting for you, your teacher is waiting for you, your head-teacher
is waiting for you, your guardian is waiting for you. Come, daughter, son, for
grandmother has left us, grandfather has left us, mommy has left us, daddy has
left us,
the Berlin
Wall has fallen down.
Come, son,
daughter, the borders have opened, you can speak freely, you can say what you
want, you can write how much you want and what you want. Come,
son
(sometimes sounded as alive), daughter (sometimes sounded as fright), come, for
we made up even with America, and Russia, and China, and Israel, and with most
of the former Yugoslavia and not only.
Come and see
how the buildings soar, skyscrapers, coffee shops, business centers, places as
big as slums.
Come, for
roads that unite hearts are getting longer,
for the
wires of the phones have been removed, and now phones are as matchboxes, full
of pictures, songs, names, first names, inter-names and numbers as much as you
want, and games you couldn’t have dreamt of when
you left
leeeef(h)t.
Come and see
what wedding dress I made for you…
… what count
costume you will wear at your wedding, what shoes made out of snakeskin, what
tie, what bow tie, what rings I got for you,
Come,
daddy,
mommy, come, where did your thoughts fly?! Come and drink coffee in Paaaris, in
Barceeeeelona, in Roooome, in New Yoooork,
In Abu
Dhabi, wherever you-u-u-u(h) w-
ant. Come,
for the food has gotten cold
Come, for
the rent has to be paid. Come, for they cut our light. Come, for they cut our
water. Come, for they swore and cursed you, Come, for I fainted. Come, for they
have silenced you in your absence. Come, for the president is talking. Come,
… for all
the parties have reconciled in power. Come, for a thorn has gotten stuck in my
foot. Come, for you’ve become a grandfather, come, for you’ve become a
grandmother, come, for you’ve retired, come, for your memo-o-o-riies have
resurfaced, come, for they have smeared you with mud, come, for they have
glorified you, come, for you have been given the first, the second, the third
prize, the third bis, the encouragement prize, come, for you have won the
lottery, come, for they have shared your land, come, for they have taken your
home, come, for on your grave they have written another name, come, for…
Song II of
the poem starts and continues with “Really”, “No”s, hypotheses, suspicions and
clarifications, accompanied by sighs, sad weaves of lips and palms, with heads
moving in mourning and bitterness, as follows:
Do you hear
me, see me, feel me really?!
Have you
seen my beloved daughter, my beloved son, my beloved niece, my beloved nephew,
my brother, my mother, my grandfather, my gran-gran… for he has left on a ship,
on a boat, on a raft, on foot… and gave no signs…
Do we live
in another country, where the news doesn't come any more?!
For ten
years and three months have passed…
For twenty
two years have gone by. And…
He/she
doesn’t hear me, my soul, his/her voice doesn’t come through, my voice is not
coming out, my soul is melting my star is eaten by fish carnivore plants who
knows what animals are eating him/her who knows where are his/her bones and who
knows when he/she was eaten and I look for him and I look for her and cry and
melt far worse than him and than her, and than everyone.
Among long
verses, sometimes there was a line with:
“How so, why so, well, well…”.
Names became
first names,
first names
became verbs,
people
slipped and multiplied,
verb tenses
have gone mad,
have
shattered,
have wilted.
There have
been sometimes swears, slander, curses, dark laughter,
for we
didn’t know what we had lost with that silence in inflexibility and that
thirst
for each
other.
For I was
deeply wrong with that silence. We need to open our throats, mouths, even if
thus we would drink more water than a man can bear and drown.
For those
who remain silent when they should talk, one day they become murderers just as
murderers.
We should
not say we did not see the ones that were escaping through the lake.
Or the poor
people that were riddled by the bullets of the border guards.
Or those
that were searching for hidden treasures in antiquity or in the time of
Byzantium…
We should
open our mouths and confess, that love came and went.
For who knew
how many years had passed by, how many invitations, how many shouts, how many
wailings, how many people, how many movies, how many losses of hope, and our
inability to tire of each other could be explained scientifically even:
Either
disdain, unexplainable hatred, and revenge against them,
Or an
understudied disease, and implicitly, without a cure, or worse: incurable,
Or mad love
for ourselves,
Or death,
Or something
else that doesn’t have an answer.
We
remembered once more, without taking our eyes off each other, for we didn’t
know where our bodies were or if we still had them somewhere; we remembered
with an unknown yearning, and with a tenderness beyond age, of the beginnings
of that story, and of the most sensitive verses of that poem.
We only knew
that the last ones that uttered verses above waters, or under skies, were grey
and bent people who called us Daddy, Mommy, and that they threw us each a
flower, and this did not resemble stars, eyes or snowflakes.
Noooo, we
yelled with bubbles, full of joy and bitterness - without knowing if, in a
similar case, we would have acted towards them just as they behaved towards us
-
nooo,
flowers are thrown for the dead, we don’t throw flowers at you, because you did
not die.
We just left
the cinema one night, just that, so remember well: that’s all, we thought about
swimming in the lake at night, we undressed, we left our clothes in the window
of a bunker so that they wouldn’t get wet in case the rain started, and we
dived under so we could look each other in the eyes underwater.
That’s all.
That’s all?!
How much?
Then
we don’t
know how much we stayed separated, we got closer in order to see each other
more clearly, for the waters have something of a glass without borders and
without words, we said to each other something that closed itself
in a single
bubble.
But maybe it
was just a pure, childish smile because they began to look for us, to shout for
us, to walk through waters with boats and binoculars and divers.
Some have
also fired their guns, in the air and in the waters.
But who
could promise it was better on the other side of the water, on the other side
of the sky, or on the other side in general?! And if somebody swore that, what
value could it have after all those years?!
Silence fell
over that knew we had no fish memory, neither stone hearts, just souls of
children in love.
Silence fell
over that knew we had no fish memory, neither stone hearts, just souls of
children in love.
Translated
from Romanian by Monica Vișovan