Besede

12.01.2009

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Njegovi možgani so bili v pogonu. Kot stroj, ki melje naveličane, zguncane besede. Brez prestanka. Saj bi se ustavil, pa se ne zna. Ne more se. Drugi mu ne pustijo. Ti večni drugi, ki s skrito prisotnostjo pritiskajo nanj kot gumb stroja, ki drobi besede na črke, ki se znova in znova sestavijo v iste besede. Te zdolgočasene besede, ki mu kot s prahom posuta gledališka zavesa zastirajo pogled.

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Ne da se. Ne bo se predal. Dal jim bo vedeti, da obstaja pod tem soncem, kjer se bije boj za nepreživetje. Vlada mrtvilo, toda on piše naprej, zavit v vato velikodušnega razsipanja z besedami. Seveda, te sladke besede. Besede ga pomirjajo. Pomirile naj bi tudi druge, toda druge grabi krčevit smeh. Kot čarovniška meglice se v enakozvočnih krogih vijejo nad njegovo glavo, toda on jih ne zapazi. Ne pogleda gor, saj piše, piše in piše te nesrečne, žalostne besede, ki so obenem njegov odrešenik in ječar. Boji se, da bo izgubil vse, če bo za trenutek zaprl oči in se zagledal vase, kjer se skriva vodnjak resnice, iz katerega noče piti. Ker se boji, da je zastrupljen.

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Na smrt ga je strah, da bo zablodil v blodnjak lastnih zablod in ne bo našel poti ven. Takrat pa bodo drugi izkoristili trenutek nemoči, ko bo razgaljen stal v mrzlem vetru, nemočen, negiben, in ga bodo prestrelili s svojimi pogledi, ranili v bistvo, izpili njegov vodnjak. Pošast, ki golta male fantke, bo naposled prišla do svoje dolgo pričakovane malice. Tega se na smrt boji.

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Zato piše. Piše besede, ki ohranjajo negotov mir. V njem in v drugih.

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Zabava

23.03.2008

 

Bil je že mrak, ko se je odpravil na zabavo. Ulične svetilke so kot zaspani, enonogi Kiklopi zehale k življenju, on pa je sam stopal po ulici. Nikjer nikogar, le njegovi kratki krčeviti koraki, ki so odzvanjali v prazno neskončnost. Ni točno vedel, zakaj se podaja med ljudi. Ni si znal razložiti, kaj je iskal med njimi. Preprosto šel je, ni si znal pomagati, pa čeprav bo s tem spet izgubil samo on. Letos spet.

Nekje v daljavi je nekaj zaslišal. V zamolkih sunkih je do njega prihajal obupan lajež lačnega psa. Slišim te, prijatelj, si je rekel. Tudi jaz sem lačen. Hrepenel je po človeški meri razuma in radovednosti, a je vedno znova ostal praznih rok. Popisani listi svojega notranjega, nemirnega izbruha, ki jih je v dobri veri kazal bolščečim brezobličnim obrazom, so se vsakič spremenili v prah in nepovratno padli na neplodna tla. Zgrudil se je na kolena, da bi postrgal skupaj zoglenele ostanke, ko so ga kot drveči vlak pregazili spomini. In spet se je počutil kot otrok. Slišim te, prijatelj. Tu sem. Vsaj jaz te slišim.

In zdaj se je odpravljal na zabavo. Zabavo, na kateri se bodo zabavali vsi, razen njega. Ljudje mu bodo stiskali roko, mu dajali enega, dva, tri poljube, ga trepljali po rami, mu v kozarec nalivali grenko pijačo, njihove besede se bodo kot sladki sirup vpijale v njegovo presušeno telo, toda nič od tega ga ne bo odžejalo. Ne, počutil se bo še bolj praznega. Kot izdolbena lutka, ki jo v izložbi na hitro ošvrkneš, zanimajo pa te le listki s ceno. Svet se vrti, pa če si ali če te ni. Vem, težko je, če si, je rekel prijatelju psu. Še težje je, če si, pa te ni.

Ta misel ga je za hip ustavila in zagledal je klopco. Ko je sedel nanjo, je čutil olajšanje. Nekaj je v njem popustilo. Ne gre na zabavo. Ponovil si je, ne grem na zabavo. Zasmejal se je kot otrok in prvič je v resnici zaslišal svoj glas. Zdel se mu je toliko življenjski kot klic na pomoč psa, ki ga je od daleč pozdravljal. Še sam ni vedel, kaj ga je zadelo, toda prišlo je s tako silo, kot tisti vlak, ki se je vedno znova vračal iz otroštva. Dolgo je blodil po hodnikih življenja, kjer ni iskal zasilnih izhodov, le vrata, ki bi se mu zaloputnila v nos, da bi začutil bolečino, ki se mu je nabirala. In bi ga povlekla iz tega vrtinca nesmiselnih enostranskih odnosov, ki tako zaznamujejo dušo. Še enkrat se je zasmejal, da bi slišal svoj glas. Vsi hočemo biti piloti, prijatelj moj pravi. Toda nihče ne bi rad pilotiral lastnega letala.

Ne, ne bo se odpravil na zabavo. Letos bo minila brez njega. Saj, ko je dobro pomislil, je minila brez njega vsako leto. Iztekla se je brez njega in njih, le da se ostali tako trmasto trudijo, da bi bili. Padla je noč, luči so žarele, vse je bilo pripravljeno na novo rojstvo hahljajočih se hord, ki se bodo objemale, hihitale, veselile, si točile omamo in pile pozabo. On pa je vstal in se počasi vrnil domov. Ko je prvič zares vdihnil, si je rekel, čisto vseeno je, če si ali če te ni.

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Vzporedna vesolja

7.03.2008

 

V vzporednih vesoljih je vse lepo. Včasih, na trenutke, ko se dotakneta, pride do eksplozije, do ognjemeta veličastnih oblik. Ampak samo včasih.

Drugače sta vesolji narazen, privezani na vrvici, nihata sem in tja. Po prostoru, ki je prazen. Poln zvezd, ki ne pomenijo veliko. So le svetleč, droben prah, ki kaže pot do zgodb o tistih malih palčkih, ki ne govorijo, ne slišijo, ne pojejo, samo gledajo se z modro svetlobo, ki je pravzaprav rjava, če pogledaš daleč iz drugega vesolja, ki plava v popolnih gibih.

Praviš, da te je našel, a vseeno padaš kot pero proti tlom, ki spominjajo na puhasto listje, ki ti ga je postlal v najlepši nameri po vesoljni toplini.

Če nameravaš ga poljubiti, si je mislil, ko je gledal v nebo, to stori, da bo čutil tisti zvezdni prah, s katerim se je vredno posuti, ne da bi pri tem padel v črno luknjo brezvladja, po katerem je tako neumno hrepenel!

Vzporedna vesolja so čudna reč. Obstajajo, ko ne obstajajo za druge, ko drugi sprevidijo, ne obstajajo zate. Zato vzporedna vesolja nihajo na vrvici. Nihajo sem in tja po praznem prostoru. Dokler se ne dotaknejo. Takrat morda se usuje kakšen prah, pade skozenj kakšna zvezdica, ki zmedeno pristane na tistem puhastem listju, ki ti ga je postlal v najlepši nameri po vesoljni toplini.

V vzporednih vesoljih je vse lepo, praviš. Včasih, na trenutke, ko se dotakneta, pride do izmenjave misli, palčki se gledajo z modro svetlobo, ki je v drugem vesolju rjava, toda ko se dotakneta, je to eno in isto, le pot postane prava.

Ja, je rekel. V vzporednih vesoljih je lepo. Toda še lepše je, ko se dotakneta.

 

 

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Moj dom

28.02.2008

“Zakaj ne spoštuješ moje tišine?” Pogledala ga je kot sestradana volkulja, toda pogled se je zamrznil nekje na pol poti.

 
On je zrl predse, videl pa je le obrise besed, ki so se očitajoče risali proti stropu. Zlogi so zanihali v pajkovi mreži, ki je bila razpredena po lestencu. Vibracije, ki so topo udarjale ob stene, so se vračale kot jutranji glavobol. Močne, v upanju na boljši jutri, ki se brezpogojno utaplja daleč na sivem horizontu.

 
“Ker me boli.” Vedel je, da bi moral reči še kaj, da bi razpihal hlad, ki je vel iz njenih ust, toda besede niso in niso hotele priti. Praznina bivanja ob izgubi mu je dala vedeti, da počasi trohni njegova bit. Z vsakim težkim vdihom je vedel, da je bližje koncu. Verjetno bi ga v tem trenutku sprejel z odprtimi rokami, če nasproti njega ne bi sedela ona. V mrtvaški črnini, ki je kot vrba žalujka objemala njeno presušeno postavo. Ona, ki je nekoč srkala osvežilni sok mati narave, se je zdaj zadovoljila z drobtinicami življenja, ki so ji počasi polzeli skozi prste. Kot peščena ura, na kateri je počilo steklo. 

 
Ni zdržal več, zato je pogledal stran. Proti vratom. Za njimi so se slišali pridušeni zvoki vrveža, ki so spominjali na razpenjeno valovanje. Ljudje. Veseli, zgovorni, siti hrane, lačni zgodb. Zanje so se konci šele začeli. Te ljudi je poznal, bili so njegovi in njeni prijatelji. Toda zdaj je pozabil njihova imena. Bili so le zvoki kitar brez strun.

 
Počasi je vstala in si prižgala cigareto. On jo je pogledal in se ustrašil. Hitro je izdavil besede: “Povej, sem mar jaz kriv, da ni več med nama?” Poglej je zopet usmerila vanj. Tokrat je čutil mešanico ostuda in gneva, ki se je kot vroč kamen sesedla v njegov želodec. Počutil se je, kot bi bil zavezan za jambor, v katerega udarjajo morske iglice. Rad bi zatulil, pa ni bilo dovolj zraka. Ko se je bližala vratom, je vedel, da je njegov konec tu. Na nek način ga je to pomirjalo. Mogoče bo nekoč spet z njim. Tam, nekje. Kjer je mesto razparanim dušam.

 
Prišla je do vrat, prijela za kljuko in za trenutek obstala. Potegnila je iz napol pokajene cigarete, puhnila dim v njegovo smer in rekla: “Ja, si.” Trenutek za tem je ni bilo več. Pridružila se je valom. On pa je ostal v sobi. Pod nogami je začutil, da poka. Razpoka. Iz nje pa rdeča svetloba, ki ga je oslepila. Naposled si je le rekel: Doma sem.

 

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He walked to the front door and knocked three times. He heard the approaching footsteps and then the unlocking of the door. It opened just a crack to allow one frightened eye to look at Charlie.

‘Charles?’

‘It’s me, honey. Open up.’

‘You alone?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Come on, let me in. Don’t be silly.’

He heard her walking away from the door, so he pushed it open. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. She was by the bar, pouring herself a drink. Her arms were shaking and when she drank, her teeth rattled against the glass.

‘It’s been a while.’ He said.

‘I know.’ She set the empty glass down, and blew her nose. She sighed deeply. She turned to face him and he saw her mascara smeared to the point it looked like dark tears of a dark angel. She had shorter hair now, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for Charlie. She was still Susan, after all.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said weakly. ‘But I’ve got no one else to –’ She started to cry.

‘Shhh, honey. Shhh. You’re alright now. Come here.’

‘I’m so afraid.’

‘I know, honey. I know.’ She sniffed and put her arms firmly around him. He could feel her firm body, and the sensation brought back sweet memories of her hard nipples on the day he first saw her coming down the library steps. He was starting to get hard again. Promising, he thought.

‘He’s out there.’ He voice came out muffled, because her lips were pressed against his shirt.

‘Who?’

‘The man who’s stalking me, that’s who.’

‘Oh, him.’ He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t worry much, honey. There’s nobody outside. I looked.’

She looked up at him. ‘Yes, he is! I saw him! He’s there! He’s… He’s hiding or something!’ In his mind, he rolled his eyes.

‘Just calm down. You’re safe now, dear. Charles is here.’

‘No! You have to go out and look again!’

‘Oh, come on! Stop this bullshit! There’s nobody out there and you goddamn know it!’

‘Stop yelling at me!’ She pushed away from him and went to the bar for another drink.

‘Me? You’re the one who’s all hysterical about a guy who doesn’t even exist!’

‘Yes, he does! He does, too!’ Her chest began to heave jerkily, as the crying came out of her in jagged whispers. He saw there was no other way but to give in. Ok, I’ll humor you for a while. I hope you’ll humor me later. He sighed.

‘Fine. I’ll go. Just to show you what a great guy I am.’

‘Thank you. I’m sorry, I just –’

‘Just fix me a drink, will you. I’ll be with you in a jiffy, as the Brits say.’

He blew her a kiss and went out. She quickly went to the door, locked it, and then hastily walked across the room and sat on a sofa. She put her legs up, so that the knees were almost touching her face. She was nervously biting the nails on her right hand. She looked as if she might jump out of her skin any minute. Seconds passed. Then minutes. She glanced at the clock on the wall above the bar. A few minutes after 6 PM. A few more minutes clicked away.

Then, a knock on the door. She flinched. She slowly got up and went to the door. She unlocked it and opened it just wide enough to see him standing there.

‘I was getting nervous,’ she said. She let him in and he went straight into the bathroom as if she wasn’t even there. He came out a while later with a towel in his hands and stopped by the bar. He placed the towel beside a bottle of vodka and poured himself a shot. He drank it and poured himself another. This time he didn’t drink it. He was perfectly still for a moment, then took a bloody knife out of his jacket and carefully wiped it with the towel.

‘One down,’ he said. He turned around and faced her. He raised his hands, palms up.

‘Well, come on. Go to the next one on the list. I haven’t got all night.’

She went to the phone. She took out a piece of paper with something written on it and dialed a number. She waited. One ring, two rings…

‘Hello?’

‘Mike?’ She sniffed.

‘Yes, this is Michael speaking. Who’s this?’

‘It’s me, Mike. Susan. I’m sorry, but I’ve got no one else to turn to. I… I need you, Mike.’

anubis

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Susan * Part 2

10.02.2008

Outside, another May day was drawing to a close. The street and rooftops were awash with golden light, the shadows long and tired by the day’s journey. A paperboy was making his evening rounds and a car sped by as if chasing an unfulfilled dream. Charlie took a moment to savor the scene, then went to the car and unlocked it. He went inside, started the engine and backed the car out of the driveway. He honked twice to scare the passing dog off the street and joyfully drove away.

At this hour, the traffic would be light, so the drive would be pleasant and smooth. Realizing that, he eased back in the seat, rolled down the window and let the rich air play with his hair. He allowed himself a trip down the memory lane.

Susan…

In an instant, everything came back to him. It hit him hard, waves of shivers working their way down to his crotch. Oh, man, he thought. His hands felt damp against the steering wheel, so he wiped them on his jeans. He was getting hard.

Susan.

He had been sitting on the grass under a massive oak tree. His right leg was stretched out as far as it would go; his left pulled back almost all the way to his chest. His head rested on the tree trunk, his fingers playing a silent concerto on the ground. He was dozing on and off, sluggishly observing the student life that was playing out in front of him. And then, oh my, then he saw her. She was walking down the campus library steps, her long black hair waving in the air. Even from a distance, he saw her nipples hard and prominent against her light blue shirt. She had the most amazing figure he had ever seen, and he had seen a fair share of girls in his bed, from cheerleaders to the brainy ones. He was fully awake now, his eyes wide in disbelief. Oh… My… God. Who’s that? And why haven’t I seen her before? She has to be mine. She just has to. He bolted upright and ran after her. A week later, she was indeed his. Not only that, she was also your regular sex beast. She was so horny, she wanted to do it wherever and whenever possible. At the bus-stop, in the back alleys, in the lab after class, on the college roof, in the bushes by the main entrance to the campus, in the library aisles, even in the dean’s office when he was out to lunch. Everywhere. She was so insatiable he could hardly keep up. But he liked being her puppet. He was, after all, the kind of guy who always preferred the girl being on top.

He was smiling behind the wheel of his mother’s Honda, when nervous honking behind him broke the spell of his daydreaming. He looked through the windshield and saw it was green light. He honked back, raised his right arm as a sign of apology and drove off.

Susan.

Another flash of memories raced before his eyes. He frowned now, black mist seeping into his thoughts. He shook his head, unable to stop the overwhelming feeling of disgust. After two months of mind-numbing sex, Susan suddenly changed. He found her one night sitting on the dorm steps, looking blankly in no particular direction. When he asked her what the matter was, she just blinked one tear away and said nothing. He took her to his room that night, and had sex with her. This time, he took charge and went on top of her, but she just lay there like a cold statue which had seen a lot of wars come and go. He came, but to him it was like shooting blanks. He fired, but he knew it was not real. Next day, she came to her senses a little bit, but he knew something was out of place inside her. He asked her again if something was wrong, but she just said no. He didn’t press the matter further.

However, after three weeks of patiently waiting for her to snap out of whatever spell she was under and not getting any feedback, he had enough. He just walked to her room one day and said it was over. He was in his best years, and he was not going to waste them for some nun whose vocabulary consisted of two words. Yes and No. And then it happened. It was like a magic trick. I say it’s over and you get an attack of hysteria. She fell to her knees and grabbed his leg as if it were a branch, saving a desperate man from being sucked into the quicksand. She cried and begged and spit rage at him, but he was worlds away. She said she needed him, she had no one else, please, oh please, she would change, but he stood firm and determined. He pushed her away with his other leg and she sagged on the floor like a half-full bag of potatoes. She felt silent. If she said anything else, he didn’t hear, because he was already out the door, the sound of slamming it still ringing in his ears. And that was it. He thought he got rid of her for ever, and now this. Her call. She said she needed him again, she got no one else. He guessed she still couldn’t forget him. And he was right.

When he parked in front of her house, it was already getting dark. The trip took him only fifteen minutes, and he was pleased with himself. He killed the engine and got out. He paused on the sidewalk and looked up and down the street. Not a soul. No hooded man with bad intentions was lurking in the shadows. He chuckled. As far as he was concerned, there was no stalking man at all. He was just a fabrication of guilty conscience. A ruse that would bring him to her arms once more. She clearly did not forget him in the three years they were apart, and he was more than glad he took three condoms with him. He faced the house. The curtains were drawn and he saw a shadow pacing left and right.

Susan.

We’re almost there…

anubis

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Susan * Part 1

10.02.2008

‘Whoz diz Soo-zee, Charlee,’ his mother asked when he stepped in the house with a bag of groceries in his hands, spitting a cloud of cheap bourbon fumes at his face. She swayed on her feet, barely holding a whisky glass in her hand. She was no more than ten inches away from him.

‘Go to bed Rachel. You’re drunk.’ He had always called his mother by her first name.

‘Dahell is Sue-zen?!’ She demanded. She leaned on the wall so as not to lose her balance, her eyes red and half open. Dry spit stuck to her chin and her hair was like an oak tree frozen in a storm. His eyes strayed below her neck. Even though it was quarter of six in the afternoon, she had her morning gown on, not tied and hanging loosely on her body. Under it, nothing at all. He was not exactly shocked, but it was not a pleasant sight either.

‘Just sleep it off, Rach. You’re rambling again.’ He went to the kitchen and placed the bag on the counter. He heard a thumping sound, turned around and saw his mother already collapsed on the ragged couch in the living room, seemingly unconscious. Spilled glass lay on the floor. To him, she looked like a fallen cross, with one hand touching the rug and the other sticking in the air like a periscope from the ocean. He shook his head and sighed deeply. Here we go again, was his first thought. This’ll never end, was his second.

He thought she would be in a coma by now, but she muttered something. She tried to sit up, every single effort in vain. “What?’ He asked more out of habit than curiosity. She said something again, this time louder. He took a glass from the cupboard above the sink and poured some water in it. He then slowly went into the living room and sat on a sofa opposite his mother. He placed the glass on the table and turned on the TV. The second quarter of a basketball game was just about to start and he relaxed a bit.

‘Suze…’

He looked at her mother. ‘Come again?’

‘Sue-zen just called.’ This time, she managed to pull herself to a sitting position, her elbows shakily on her knees, her head bobbing to and fro like a buoy on a calm sea.

‘Susan who?’ He waited a moment. ‘Susan who, Rachel?’

‘Don’t… Know… The numbah…’

‘What? She leave a number?’

‘By the phone…’ Saying that, she collapsed on the couch again and conked out, her drunken stupor without a doubt carrying her into a rambling dream.

He turned around and looked at the phone on the kitchen wall. He frowned and bit his lower lip.

Susan?

He stood up and walked to the phone. There was a yellow post-it to the left of it and he snatched it off the wall. On it, a non-familiar number and a word URGENT below it. Followed by three exclamation marks. He frowned again.

Susan?

As far as he knew, there had been only two Susans in his life. One was his father’s sister who died of leukemia last year and the other was this girl from college he was seeing at the time. After some thought he ruled out both options. While he believed in ghosts, he very much doubted his aunt would be contacting him via the phone. And as far as this girl from school was concerned he was pretty much convinced he would not hear from her again. Ever.

Susan?

He picked up the receiver and dialed the number. The call was answered after just one ring.

‘Hello?’ He thought he heard sniffing.

‘Uh, Susan?’

‘Yeah…’ She blew her nose.

‘Is that really you, Susan?’

‘It’s me, Charles. It’s me.’ Charles. She was the only one who didn’t call him Charlie back in the days when he was still living on campus.

‘Wow.’

‘Listen, Charles, I… I –’ More sniffing and blowing of the nose. It had been three years since he saw her last but hearing her right now, on the phone, got his heart racing all over again.

‘What is it, honey?’

‘I… I need you, Charles.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘I’m sorry, but… I have no one else to turn to. I’m sorry.’ She started crying now. ‘Please…’

‘It’s okay, honey, calm down, now. I’m sure there’s nothing we can’t handle, just –’

‘Somebody’s stalking me.’ There was a moment of silence. He gripped the receiver more firmly and pressed his forehead to the wall.

‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s a guy on the street looking through my window.’

‘What? Like right now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Jesus. You call the police?’

‘I did, yes… Said…’ She blew her nose right into the receiver. He squeezed shut his eyes and gritted his teeth in pain. It was like somebody took a rusting knife and slowly ripped open his ear-drum. He was tempted to slam the receiver down, but decided not to. ‘They said they can’t do anything unless something happens. Said to give ‘em a call if it does. Please, I’m so sorry… I didn’t have anybody –’

‘Listen. You sure it isn’t some angry old boyfriend who –’

‘No! No, dammit!’

‘Okay, okay, just calm down.’

‘I haven’t had a boyfriend since…’

Me, he thought, but said: ‘Right. Just lock the door and draw the curtains. I’m coming over. What’s the address?’

‘It’s 246 Pinewood Oak Road. You know it?’

‘Yeah, I think so. It crosses with Loneview, right?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Just stay put. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,’ he said, and hung up. He went to the fish bowl that sat on the kitchen counter. It contained various odds and ends, including the keys to his mother’s Honda. He took the keys out and stuffed them in the pocket of his pants. He tapped on the counter cheerfully and went for the front door. His mother was dreaming a thousand dreams and would probably not wake up till World War 3. At least he hoped so.

On the way out he paused for a moment, and turned around. He went straight to the fridge and opened it. He took a can of beer out and gulped it down. There, he thought. That hit the spot. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and threw the empty can in the sink. Something occurred to him just then and he went to the fish bowl again. He peered inside curiously, all the while humming and whistling. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘There you are, little fellas.’ And took two condoms out. On second thought… He took one more. You never know what the night may bring. Once again he glanced at his mother and went out the door.

To be continued…

anubis

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Mož pod lupo

10.02.2008

V bistvu je bil Dorian Podluppo čisto običajen človek. Če bi ga bolje poznali, bi nemara celo rekli, da je bil več kot običajen. Poleg lepe žene in dveh ubogljivih otrok je bil blagoslovljen z njemu naklonjeno taščo. Če se je njegova služba neobičajno zavlekla v pozno popoldne, ga je na mizi vedno čakala njena doma pripravljena specialiteta, skrbno zavita v folijo. Žena ni kuhala, je pa imela vedno skrbno negovane nohte.

Otroka sta v dnevni sobi kuhala mulo. Sedela sta vsak na svojem koncu kavča in nemo zrla v ploski televizor. Na mizi ni bili pokovke, kot bi se spodobilo, je pa bila napol odprta DVD škatla, iz katere je zevala črna praznina. Završalo je. Na ekranu se je Jamie Lee Curtis v omari z obešalniki branila pred zamaskiranim zlom, ki ji je bilo z zbadajočimi zamahi pripravljeno predreti dušo. Kraljica krikov, si je poželjivo rekel Dorian. Ne ravno primeren film za otroke, ampak danes ni drezal. Niti se mu ni dalo. Poleg tega je bil mir v hiši.

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Preskočil je taščino lazanjo, ki je samevala na kuhinjski mizi, in preskočil vsako drugo stopnico, da bi čim prej prišel gor v spalnico. Skočil je pod tuš. Kaplje, ki so s krčevitim neslišnim jokom bruhale na svobodo, so trkale po njegovi glavi, da bi v njem prebudile stavke, ki so ves dan brbotali v njem. Telo je bilo po celem dnevu spopadanja z drugimi utrujeno. Zdravila so nehala delovati. Lupina, v kateri je bil ujet, je bila z vsakim dnem debelejša. Začaran krog vsakodnevnih predstav, s katerimi se je kazal pred ljudmi, ga je držal pri življenju. Nad vodo. Še več, z leti se je naučil pritiskati na prave gumbe, da je bila osvetlitev v gledališču vedno prava. Celo prijetna za oči. Glasba blagozvočna za ušesa. Postal je glavni akter v življenjski monodrami.

Ko je legel v posteljo, ko sta se čez oči zagrnili leva in desna zavesa, ko se je telo umirjalo, so začele njegove misli švigati kot anarhistični atomi. Konji spominov so jezno topotali po rdeči preprogi, izpod katere se je kadil prah preteklosti in ga omamil. Izseki iz njegovega zakulisja so kot koščki razbitega stekla rezali v sivino njegovih misli in mu odžirali spanec. Danes, včeraj, jutri. Po eni strani ga je to pomirjalo in mu dajalo občutek varnosti, po drugi strani pa je vedno globlje tonil v vrtinec fantazij, ki so se kot slabo zmontiran film bliskale pred njegovimi očmi. Silno breme nehotnih spominov ga je kot ogromen palec pritiskalo k tlom. Počutil se je majhnega.

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Zato je predeloval in mlel neskončni trak misli. Tišine ni poznal. Začel je gol, poln surovih in ponižujočih spominov iz otroštva, potem pa jih je počasi začel prekrivati z zidaki samopomembnosti, s katerimi si je v zadnjih letih zgradil streho nad glavo. V bitki za preživetje je izstopil kot zmagovalec. Bil je vladar, ki je s silo prišel na prestol. Zato je z vse večjo vnemo in iz strahu pred pozabo predeloval in mlel neskončni trak misli, ki ga je slej ko prej pripeljal do iluzij, ki so ga božale, pomirjale, bodrile, veselile. In tako je Dorian vsak večer pred spanjem pogoltnil ravno pravšnji odmerek miselnih tablet, ki ga je držal pokonci. Do naslednjega večera. Recept je bil preprost. Priprave, priprave, priprave. Vedno je pazil, da je dobro prevladovalo nad slabim. Da je pozitivno pregnalo negativno. Da je razpihal meglo, ki mu je kot mrzla roka stiskala vrat.

In tako je lahko zjutraj, ko je žena še spala, ko sta otroka še spala, z veseljem spil požirek kave, prelistal časopis, in se z nasmeškom odpravil v svet, na katerega je bil pripravljen.

 

anubis, 2008

 

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La Ment

26.12.2007

Tisti trenutek, ko je vstal od mrtvih, se je s komolci zvlekel na stol. Les že dolgo ni več škripal, so pa zaškripali njegovi zobje. Nevidna, neotipljiva, neznosna bolečina, ki je v teh dveh letih s svojimi kremplji trgala njegovo srž, je postala meso. Nekje je morala izbruhniti. Kot speča kraljica noči, ki se v cvetu na pomlad zbudi. Rima mu tokrat ni koristila, a se je vsemu navkljub nasmehnil, in si z drhtečo roko prižgal cigareto. Potegnil je. Ni ga pomirila, je pa za trenutek razkadila kopreno-moreno, ki se je zgrinjala nad njegovo spraskano dušo.

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Po sobi je strah sejala sivina, ki je predstavljala hudo skušnjavo. Vabila ga je k sebi, v svoje varno zavetje. Stisnil bi se k njej, čutil bi njen utrip, bil bi pomirjen. Vedno znova se je skušal priviti k njej, a mu ni in ni uspelo. Nikoli ne bom več z njimi, si je rekel, in se histerično zasmejal. Prijel je pepelnik in ga zabrisal v steno tik ob edino okno, ki je kot rana zevala v zunanji svet. Svet, ki je bučal. Svet, ki je bil raznobarven. Svet, ki je v zadnjih vzdihljajih leta utripal kot kalejdoskop kričečih kancerogenih kanibalov.

V njem se je nabiral krik obupa, ki se je razblinil, preden je uspel naznaniti svojo nebeško nemoč. Zatisnil je oči, toda solze niso prišle. Potiho si je rekel, da mora spiti več tekočine, čeprav je vedel, da je njegova veja človečnosti izsušena. Vodnjak njegove volje je kot vata vpil vsakršno željo po rešitvi, po bilki, ki si utre pot med dvema vlažnima kamnoma v medsvetu svetlobe in teme.

Pogled je uprl na zid za sabo. Tam, sredi ničesar, je bila luknja. Prevelika za žebelj, a premajhna za zgodovinske učbenike. Bila je nepomembna luknja, zadnje zavetišče kovinskega neznanca, ki mu je skušal vzeti življenje. Zdaj je obtičal tam, še eno osamljeno bitje brez srca. Brez srca, da bi vzelo srce. Srce, ki je nekoč bílo za štiri. Danes bije le še za udarce. Za večnost vsega tega, medtem ko svet izginja. Pod to luknjo, pod to nepomembno luknjo za človeštvo, nedaleč stran nad kredenco, so se na tem istem zidu slepega sožitja in sprave risali črno-umazani pravokotni obrisi, ki so spominjali na nekoč, na sladko-otroške krike, na žensko-strastne gibe, na idilo, na štiri stene, ki niso bili zgolj zidovi… Vse to je imel neznansko rad. Toda tam ni bilo več fotografij, bile pa so pekoče vžganine.

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Darko je na mizi segel po orumenelem kosu papirja, ki je v krčeviti legi ležal poleg zasmrajenega kosa zmagovitega orožja. Po vratu mu je v valovih počasi začel polzeti vroč, rdeč vosek življenja. Vsi spomini, ki so se mu pretakali po žilah, so počasi začeli bežati na okužen zrak. Hitro, si je rekel. Zapisane besede so mu vidno plesale pred očmi. Spominjale so ga na ples v maskah, ki ga je imel rad celo življenje. Maske. Zanje niso vedeli ne žena ne otroka. A bile so tam. Benetke brezmadežnih brezupov. Toda zdaj je bil čas razgaljanja. Ko je njegov sirup surove biti začel prihajati na dan, je še zadnjič prebral:

Zdaj. Ubil bom svojo nežnost. Zadušil ljubezen do naravnega. Pojdi zdaj. Odrini to stran. Ne pusti, da ostane. To nisi ti. Bori se — do mrtvega.

Bil je živ. Toda to je bila le beseda.

anubis, 2007

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Vrh

26.09.2007

Bil je hrib. Na samem in samo njegov. Tega si je priboril samo zase. Toliko mu je bilo jasno. Ni pa povsem vedel, koliko časa že vleče svojo prtljago navzgor. Tri dni, tri leta? Ozrl se je, toda doline ni bilo na spregled. Po okolici se je kot siva sladkorna pena razlegala megla. Obrnil se je, njegove ozke oči pa so se utrujeno zazrle v vrh. Veke so postale kot masivne rolete, ki bodo vsak čas popustile pritisku.

Darko Modrijan je krčevito klecal pod tiransko težo, ki se mu je zgrinjala na hrbet. Noge so se mu šibile, ko je grizel v hrib. Pisani prodniki, ki so škripali pod njegovimi razcefranimi čevlji, so kot kapitulirane klapavice bežali na vse strani. Njegovo telo je slano jokalo, debele srage pa so se pekoče zažirale v njegove črne obrvi. Žile na vratu temno utripale. Črna modna srajca se mu je kot sluzast polivinil lepila na kožo, ki se je z vsakim korakom spreminjala v vročično platno. Toda Darko je hodil. Proti vrhu.

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Počasi ga je začelo dušiti. Z vsakim vdihom je začutil nevidne, zelene, debele in mastne roke, ki so dišale po zmočenih bankovcih, kako ga grabežljivo stiskajo za vrat. Toda njegova nekoč tako vitka postava je kot betonski balvan blodila naprej. Tja gor, proti vrhu. Cilju, končni postaji, kjer si bo končno lahko oddahnil. Na vrhu je stala tista sveta stojnica, o kateri so mu vsi govorili. Napisa sicer ni mogel razbrati, toda vedel je, da mu bo uspelo. Samo še malo. In vrh bo njegov.

Ob takih mislih je pozabil na napor. Na vsakih deset, dvajset korakov je tako s stisnjenimi zobmi sprejel dodatni tovor, ki so ga nanj zmetali ljudje. Hitro in obtožujoče so prihajali z leve in desne, mu žugali s prstom. Nekaj najbolj drznih je z njega mrzlično trgalo kose hlač, da bi se z njimi hvalili pred drugimi. V njem je buhtelo, vrelo, kričalo, škripalo, piskalo, hroplo. A nič zato. Vrh je bil pred njegovimi očmi. Tam je bil. Čakal je, vabil ga je k sebi. Tako magnetno mamljiv. Njegove sanje so bile samo še korak stran. Samo še…

Spodrsnilo mu je. Z nosom se je zaril v zemljo, noge ga niso več ubogale. Padel je po teatralno, v počasnem posnetku. V tistem trenutku se je oranžno sonce kot jajce razlilo v belo valovito morje, ki je zagorelo. Dišeča trava hriba se je spremenila v prah, ki se mu je zaril v nosnice. Bobnenje, ki je spremljalo potres, se je kot kuga razširilo po njegovih mislih. Še zadnji hip je pogledal proti vrhu, da je videl, kako se je stojnica sesula sama vase. Bil je vrh. In vrha ni bilo več.

Darko je iztegnil roko in zakričal. Toda slišati ga ni hotel nihče.

anubis, 2007

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