Yossi Faybish - hobbies - prose
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    “A fairy tale, please write me a fairy tale.”

    I almost missed my highway exit.

    “Who are you?” I asked, bringing the car back under control while looking into all mirrors, ascertaining the fact that I was alone in the car.

    “I am a girl. I am twelve year old. And I want you to write me a fairy tale.” The voice seemed to come from somewhere close to my ear.

    “And where are you?” I insisted, suddenly conscientious of my driving and doing almost every mistake in the driver’s unofficial mistakes manual. I did not hit the old lady just crossing the narrow street, she thanked me with her eyes for being so kind. I was probably hallucinating.

    “You are not anything of the kind...” I heard the girlish giggle, “You are not hallucinating. I am a voice in your head and therefore can read your thoughts and can talk to you.”

    “In that case, then this is already a fairy tale in itself. So you are served at once.” She giggled again, a tiny bells-like sound. “And if you can read my thoughts then please read there whatever fairy tale I am supposed to write for you in the future and leave me alone before I hit a lamp post.” I did not mind hearing voices, if Moses heard them on mount Sinai what prevented me from hearing them on the highway to Netherlands? I was trying to be logical but knew I made no sense. “Hey, you know you sound just like ‘The Little Prince’?”

    Le Petit Prince? I know, everybody keeps telling me that and I hate it. I thought you would be different. I thought you would like to write me a fairy tale. You do it for everybody else.” The little voice was pouting, and tears were accumulating in the unseen eyes. She was about to push the off switch to whatever mental medium she was communicating with me through, and for whatever reason it bothered me.

    “Hey wait... La Petite Princesse...” The hand about to push the off switch pulled back hastily and a smile found its way back on that pretty face... hey, how in hell... oops, have to be careful with my language in the presence of teen imaginary ladies, I mean how in blazes did I see these things happening? “Tell me girl, what is your name?”.

    “Purplerose.” Smile.

    “You mean Purple Rose.”

    “No. I mean Purplerose. Like one word. Like Rosebud. Like Sunshine. Like Moonlight. Like Endlesslove.”

    “Hey, endless love is two words.”

    “No. One word.” Again the pouting, but this time there was a cheeky gleam in that eye I was somehow seeing. I knew I shouldn’t pursue this path. She was definitely showing some female-ish characteristics, and logic was not necessarily one of them. Charm was. Damn... oops... darn my chauvinistic mindset I thought, and smiled to myself. “I like it when you smile,” she said. “I am too young to say I like your smile but I can say I like it when you smile. Correct?” I smiled again, this time amused at the maturity of her words, and at the irrationality of the situation. And men must find rationale in everything.

    “You know, Purplerose, I am father to boys. I never had a girl. I always wanted to have a girl as well.” I felt her snuggling close to me, her head on my shoulder, eyes closed. I don’t know how she didn’t get cramped sitting across all those protuberances in the car? Well, guess visions, or voices, or whatever they are called do not suffer from our bodily limitations. “I wanted to tell her stories. Wanted to comb her hair.”

    “I know. That’s why I came to you. So now will you tell me a fairy tale?”

    “You wanted me to write you one.”

    “Semantics. You men are ridiculous. Young or old you are still kids. Petty about everything.” The voice left my shoulder for a moment, kissed my cheek, and returned to the shoulder. “Make it about love. I know nothing about love. But I like love stories. With princesses. You love a princess, don’t you?”

    I slowed down into the garage. I got out of the car and went into my office for the daily routine. That voice and the head it belonged to never leaving my shoulder for a moment. Sleeping? I didn’t know, just content being there, I guess. I finished late, picked up my stuff and got into the car again.

    “What colors are your eyes?” I asked her.


    “Bet they are beautiful.”

    “I like the color beautiful...” sigh... “...will you make me cry?”

    “I don’t know yet, I did not yet write it.”

    “Please tell me, I want to dream.”

    And I am already dreaming, I thought to myself, as I pulled again into the highway on my way home, one pair of eyes watchful, one pair watching the wonders of another world.


    In my hand a golden earring

    I was lying in the clearing
    In my mind a dancing maiden
    Velvet skin with sunrise laden
    Born of dreams akin to flowers
    Dressing hills in rainbow showers
    Soft of voice and warm of laughter
    Rich of promised ever after
    Thin of waist and wise of reason
    Red of lips and fresh of season...

    Suddenly a fleeting shadow

    Crossed the clearing through the meadow
    And a wail of searing sorrows
    Pierced my ears like sunless morrows
    Clearing slumber’s lazy bidding
    To my hand the sword was skidding
    As I kneeled alive to danger
    Be it foe or be it stranger
    Be it... just a tiny sparrow
    Body pierced by glinting arrow?...

    As I watched my pity mounting

    With my fingers red drops counting
    And my anger hardly curbing
    Cut a sudden pain disturbing
    Painting rage across my fury
    In my mind the savage jury
    Vowed to rip the hunter’s glory
    In a battle short and gory
    While my eye in mindless ire
    Droped one tear of scalding fire...

    Soaked the tear inside the feather

    Slid to bed of crimson heather
    Thunder blaze my eyesight pleading
    Turned my face to rivers bleeding
    Deep behind my shield to cower
    As my sight white sparks devour
    In my chest the passion churning
    In my heart the wonder burning
    As to maiden turns the sparrow
    Through her chest the golden arrow...

    “Who are you?...” My whisper hollow...

    “One who tried her heart to follow...
    Purplerose the princess fairy
    From a world all sun and cherry
    Way beyond your senses wonder
    Out of reach to human plunder
    Light of song and proud of flower
    Ripe of fruit and soft of power
    Warm of season white of dove
    Sweet of taste and... bare of love.

    Saw your dream oh scores unending

    In my world of rules unbending
    I had played the dancing maiden
    Velvet skin with sunrise laden
    Born of dreams akin to flowers
    Dressing hills in rainbow showers
    Soft of voice and warm of laughter
    Rich of promised ever after
    Thin of waist and wise of reason
    Red of lips and fresh of season...

    In my world no come no leaving

    As my heart in pain was grieving
    I have chosen no denying
    I have come... and I am dying
    Happiness my heart assailing
    Touching you... my breath is failing...
    Do not grieve my parting sorrow
    Your desire let me borrow
    One more time and I be gone
    And be buried in the sun.”

    Did she hear my howling savage?...

    “You have come my soul to ravage,
    You have brought me miser’s ration
    Of a raging burning passion
    Now in sun you go be buried?
    Not before we two be married
    Not before my wish be granted
    Not before my seed be planted
    Not before I ever can
    Follow you till end of man...”


    Purple mornings, purple eves,
    Purple smiles, and purple riffs,
    Granted wishes fill my heart,
    Never ever will we part,
    Day as sun gets up and dies
    I, Sunflower, kiss your eyes...


    I was half my way home. I didn’t feel her next to me. I didn’t hear her breathing, sighing, crying. I didn’t know if she was there and didn’t ask fearing she was not.

    “I love the tale. I hate the ending.”

    I let out my breath, unaware I was holding it waiting for the sound of that childish voice.

    “You are twelve, you should learn, you should know. Love is beautiful. Love hurts.”

    “Do you hurt?”

    “I do.”

    “Do you love?”

    “I do.” I felt her breath against my prickly cheek, so I guessed that in few seconds I would feel her head on my shoulder. I did, smell of fresh shampoo filling my nostrils and strands of hair touching my neck.

    “Why did you kill her?”

    “She did not die. She became the sun, eternal...”

    “With an arrow in her chest...”

    “She belonged to another world, immortal. In order to love a human she had to become mortal.”

    “You could have moved him to HER world...” ...again that sweet pouting sound.

    “In a world where you are immortal yet barred from loving? Would you have liked to live in such a world?” I could hear her hesitation in the following silence.

    “You made me cry, you know?”

    “Of course, happiness tears.”

    “They didn’t even make love...” ...softly complaining.

    “They did. I couldn’t tell it. You are twelve.”

    “Thank you.”

    “For what?”

    “For telling me they made love.” Sigh. “And for allowing their kiss to last eternally.” I felt like putting a protective hand around her shoulder, comforting her for the realities of waking up to life, even unreal life. She saved me the embarrassment of searching for a shoulder in thin air by giggling again. “You know, it does not mean you will get my points. Maybe I will give you only an honorary mention. Would you mind?”

    “Which points?” for a moment seriously baffled.

    “The contest points. You wrote the fairy tale for the contest, didn’t you?”

    I laughed, for a moment I forgot this was the issue.

    “No, I wrote the tale for you.”

    “Liar...” tinkle, tinkle...

    “No, serious, cross my heart...”

    “Liar, liar!...” ... tinkle tinkle, tinkle. I felt small fingers tickling me and I burst into laughter.

    “Hey, careful girl, or I will finally hit that lamp post and die.”

    “Then I will turn you into a sunflower.”

    “Can you?”

    “You turned me into a sun, didn’t you?

    “I am a writer.”

    “I am a fairy.”

    I hesitated, my turn at searching for the right words to say.

    “Thank you,” I said.

    “For what?”

    “For painting my world. For painting the world. Keep on doing it.”

    “I will. You thought me a new unknown color.”

    “Did I? Which?”

    “The color called beautiful.” Pause. “I must go. My world is calling me. Will I meet you again?”

    “Of course, you know were to find me.”

    “And you know where to find me. May I kiss you?”

    “I’ve never been kissed by a fairy before. You may.”

    The link broke. She was gone.

    She didn’t ask about the earring, probably because she knew about it. I heard her sifting through my memories and I let her do, kids like rummaging through junk and come up with treasures in the most unexpected of places. She picked a few for souvenirs, this was one of them. My first ever present to a girl. I was thirteen. She was twelve.


    I drove into the courtyard and ran up the steps. I had to put it on paper before it faded away, irretrievably so. I let the dog bite my hand while I waited impatiently for the series of beeps to end and the screen to open up with its empty, inviting desert awaiting to be seeded with words. I keyed in the first sentence...

    “A fairy tale, please write me a fairy tale...”


The Touch...

    I knocked on the door. Nobody answered. I knew she was in there, where else could she be but there? Her mind insisting obstinately on wasting its fading last hours not in prayers or in blessed medically induced numbness but in wakeful pain loaded wait. Wait for me. God will have me for all eternity she giggled in her mail. You never had me my love. Come. I refuse to part without touching you. I wait.

    It was a whisper, so weak I had to approach my ear to a screen suddenly blurring in front of my eyes to hear it. I did not ask myself how come I heard it at all, how come I heard it now, after so many years of a quiet as absolute as the inter-planetary vacuum, the one that swallowed our lonely private star in one single phone call as magical as the greatest of Houdini’s shows. Magical?... is magic allowed to plant a long thin knife in your heart and irreversibly leave it there? Twenty years ago, she called me and gave me a freedom I didn’t want. I screamed, I pleaded, I cursed, she was her obstinate self, the one I was so madly in love with. And stayed madly in love with for twenty years, four months and twelve days. And five hours, give or take a few minutes. We cannot be the bleeding voice was whispering then as well. I must go back to my world. I love you, I always will. The last words I ever heard her saying, I ever heard her writing. That long thin knife implacably planted in my heart and forgotten there. The final click and the terrible howling in my brain that never ceased for one single second till the day I received the mail. Then I clicked it open. Her slender hand taking hold of the handle and smoothly starting to pull the knife out.

    I entered the house, not caring if I was welcome or not, not even sensing the eyes that followed me all the way up the stairs till I reached the door, knocked on it, and then closed it behind me. The shades were partly pulled, letting in a reddish sunset calmly colouring everything in its deep purple tints. Everything, the curtains, the book shelves, the bed covers... everything but that drilling stare enveloping me in its insistent blue born out of my imagination and painted into her eyes. Or was this blue the one that painted my dreams and created my ever smiling skies?

    She lifted a hand, made an imperative sign with her finger beckoning me close, then watched me approaching, never leaving my regard for a moment. She looked, fascinated, transfixed, a smile spreading on her face as the flowers painted on her pillows started opening their petals and the glimmer growing in her eyes sprayed shimmering stars upon the ceiling’s panels. I stopped a few feet away.

    “Closer...” I saw her lips move rather than heard them talk.

    “Don’t talk...” I dared say as I got within hand’s reach of her face.

    “Why? Do you think it is bad for my health?...” This time I heard her words, and we both exploded in a kind of hysterical laughter that only carried the pain so much deeper that it blinded me for a moment. Always the clown, always the witty, the indomitable soul that frightened even the dark winged angels fluttering around her head and were afraid to land before getting permission to. “I waited for you. You took your time coming here...” she pouted watching me, still the same unblinking stare from the moment I entered the room.

    “I hoped you were lying. I hoped it was a joke. I hoped to go first.”

    “You would not have done it to me, would you?” Her voice frightened, soft, barely audible.

    “No, I would not”, I answered, hating the lump in my throat, my constricted lungs, the whole setup that looked so much like a cheap Hollywood melodrama playing my life before my eyes... our life. A whole life, all of it in these few minutes, all that was ever worth of it crammed in those last heartbeats of it.

    I watched her intently, fiercely, finally my eyes were given the liberty to see and were abusing of it unashamedly. Running along those soft, beautiful lines on her face hardly touched by age, running errands along the sleek body lines visible underneath the thin covers, those that were burning my nights and torturing my life for so many years. She was young, forever young, my mind seeing her through filters imposed by my heart and aching for her the way a teenager ached for his sweetheart the first time they were alone in a cheap, dirty, magical one night motel room. It was time I fulfilled my teenage dream, time I finally stepped out of my teenage years where I had been stuck for the whole of my life, waiting for this first and only touch of my first and only love.

    “Love...” she said, the smile growing on her face.”You did not come all this way for nothing, did you?” She stopped, finally blinking away the humidity she didn’t want to let accumulate in her eyes, then opened her eyes again. “I would offer you my body, but I am afraid the excitement might kill me.” Again that merry, impudent laughter. “I will offer you my next best. Oops... sorry, wrongly phrased, edit that out please.” Pause. “Love... I beg of you to offer me your next best. Love... I wish that our first touch will be that of our lips. Love... kiss me...”

    I bent down, saw her closing her eyes, half opening her mouth and wetting her lips, I closed my eyes... touched... oh, the fire, oh... the damned roaring raging fire suddenly streaking through my veins and ravaging my body. Our lips never parted, she wanted me to suck the last of her breath, the last of her sighs. I felt her fingers taking hold of my left hand and guiding it with no hesitation underneath the cover, to lie upon her left breast, pressing it, holding it tightly there. I felt her heartbeat, getting faster, mad... I felt the last of her heartbeats. Then none. As she finally was allowing the angels to start landing down all over her body she obstinately refused to let go of my hand and of my mouth. Till I soaked the last of her breaths inside my lungs. To preserve. Till one day, not so far away, I will have to give it back to her.

    I felt no tears. I smiled. Finally, I thought, my first touch of love...


    I did not stay for the funeral. Why should I? She wasn’t going anywhere. She was hiding now inside my body, asleep, content. She called me once, I thought to myself. Now I will wait for her to call me again. And this time she will not get away so easily.

    You witch, I smiled to myself, next time it won’t be only the touch of your lips. Next time it will be the whole of you.


The Foot, A Poem...

    I am the mouth. This is my story. Yes, I know the title of this story is Poem and the title of the supposed to be poem is Foot... C’mon, between me and you, would you read something called The Mouth, A Story...? Sorry for the deception, it is all in good cause friends, I assure you. And I didn’t really lie since, you see, the story does include a foot too. But since only mouths can tell stories, I am the one and not the foot, that - in a manner of speaking - kicks ass for once. LOM (Laugh Out Moud... hehe)

    Okay, the story is as follows. I have this master you see, that day in and day in keeps sticking his foot in his me, ie mouth. Yes, right, daily. And if at least he would be washing it first. But he wears these sweaty knitted socks three generations old (inherited from his grandma), on top of which he wears these hermetically closed sweaty pink sneakers (made in China), then for weeks in a row he doesn’t cut his fingernails (a disgusting remote cousin of mine) and then - every time he sits at his computer writing a letter to his woman, he sticks his stinking one of his appendages straight into me. The ox. Sometimes left, sometimes right, sometimes (mosttimes) both. Beurk... I am lucky he remembers to remove the shoes, well, most of the time he does.

    Shall I tell you of some incidents? Well, why not, after all he may read it too and learn something constructive about himself. Okay, let’s see (manner of speaking, lol).

    One time eyes, another disgusting cousin who is wet all day long, saw him write the following: “dearest of all my loves, I understand you fully... sorry for the misunderstanding...”. Holy Big Mouth... I mean, the guy is a moron or what? Even I, and what I have is a tongue but no brains, can see; couldn’t the moron see it was an oxymoron? (hey, I’m a poet, what do you know, must write aunt Mimi...). Bang, left foot in me, almost knocked my front tooth out.

    Want another one? Easy (unfortunately). I have a good relationship with brains, my high nosed cousin (and my other cousin nose hates brains for carrying his nose in vain). I sensed his hesitation to tell me, until I started cursing his grey colors and when I finally started spitting he finally decided to tell me of some strange ideas master started typing on his computer. Something like this: “my dear lover, I love you so much, you are free to love anybody...” Now you tell me. Isn’t he ready for certification inside a nice cosy white soft locked (air-conditioned of course) room? Add idiot to moron and there you have a nice business card for my master. Bang, right foot in, sock and hole in the sock and all... I wish I could have applied for a transplant.

    Do you think this is the end of the story? Forget it, I have news for you. The last one was the peak, culmination, summum, crest, pinnacle (oh, pineapples... gets me drooly...) of all. It was reported to me by heart (right, yet another cousin, red haired without hair turning my nights white with his incessant banging...) and this is what he felt one day through his (miles long) pipevine: “dearest of angels, I wrote a beautiful ten thousand words story and I dedicate symbolically a full twenty words paragraph to you in which you heroically and acclaimically and glorious(ica)ly die in your lover’s (my) arms...” Now, in the name of a horse’s laughing mouth, isn’t he in addition to the already well documented moron and idiot also...

    “Naïve?...” Hey, what was that?... who’s that?... who talks to me?... who’s there? ... ghosts?... heeelp!!!... you know I can’t hear without my cousin ear... where?... what the?... “What about - in love? in pain? lost? missing me?...”

    “Ammm... ooommm... rppp... xxxzzz... who... what... where...what the hell are you and how the hell do you talk to me? And what do you mean by missing me? Missing who me you? I mean who are you me? I mean...” I felt an invisible finger pressing against my lips and my words choked inside throat (yeah, you know by now, cousin too...).

    “Telepathy, did you hear about telepathy?” the voice inside head (cousins, etc) asked further. I couldn’t nod so I didn’t. I let myself hang, I mean I am a mouth and that’s what mouths do - hang, but it does not mean I hang and die, it means I hang out but not with the guys, meaning... merde (I speak foreign languages too) look what this voice had done to me, got me all mixed up and salivating over the collar (this is NOT a cousin and I refuse racial integration, collarbone is, collar is definitely NOT). The voice continued. “This is not telepathy.” Thank God, I could clam up again, I was getting dry. “Lovers talk through their senses. I sense your master. So you sense me.” Giggle or a simulation of it. I opened my me.

    “Listen, lover, if all lovers are as stupid as you then no wonder the world is full of romantics gawking at stars and counting heartbeats...” I blurted vindictively, following it by a despiseful burp.

    “Hey, mouth, oh, no... I was going to ask you to wash your self, yet suddenly the real you pops out, hey, you are a real romantic yourself...” beamed the voice.

    My lips blushed the deepest red. All my frustration suddenly babbled bubbling out... the long nights when brain was fathering his squirming love words, when hand was painting his colorful love words, when eye was reading her love words, when heart was flooding over with their love words... And I was left alone, my childhood a mess, my teeth constantly brushed and bleeding, my upper lip constantly flooded by disgusting nose refuse, foot always in me... I envied my cousins with a passion, I felt like bawling and my upper lip started shivering but I was not going to give satisfaction to eye, so instead I started howling, this at least was my own personal expression.

    “My master is a moron...” I insisted with vehemence “...my master is an idiot, my master is...”

    “...the man I love...” the voice smiled.

    Hey, I wasn’t going to give up my fundamentals so easily I thought furiously.

    “My master is a nincompoop,” (where the hell did I take this word from?), “my master is a saphead, scatterbrain, muddlehead, numskull,” (I was cheating, I remembered once when he read out all those words from a synonyms dictionary), “my master gave you one paragraph of death in...”

    I froze. Which was the wrong thing to say regarding what happened next. Shall I use the term I melted? Or I died? Or I neared the sun and was busy licking its surface? Suddenly I felt the touch of a foreign body against my lips, definitely remote cousins though of another DNA structure, and I felt myself falling innocent pray to the kind of mangling and torture that only foreign lips can, are able, and do deliver. I screamed, I wailed... for more. But they suddenly distanced themselves out of reach and were (I assumed so) watching me mockingly as I pouted my lips out as far as I could... I certainly looked like asshole (the kind of cousin the family doesn’t like talking about) but couldn’t care less, I wanted more, more... The voice spoke again, softly this time.

    “So, your master is...”

    “A moron?...” hopefully...

    “Wrong answer.”

    “An idiot?...” distressed.

    “Wrong again. Try harder.”

    I was going to smart-answer that one with words to the effect that I was not AVIS, but thought the better of it. It was not the moment for jokes or wise cracks or any kind of other kinds of cracks. This was somehow the time for truths, life and death, and my future... somehow my own future depended on my own answers. I decided against my own better judgment to choose my words carefully this time.

    “Naïve?...” a sharp intake of breath from the other mouth told me I was going (ha, going...) the right direction. “...in love?...” I continued “...in pain?... lost?... missing you?...” and each statement was punctuated by a blistering touch of the other lips. I dared my ultimate guess, my ace, my ultimate bet - winner takes it all... “... the man you love?...”

    I was dying... where the hell was hell to die in a thousand times, where the hell was heaven to burn in a thousand times (pardon the incongruence - who the hell invented this word? - of expression)... those other lips merged with mine, my escaping breath pouring back into me scores times wilder, our tongues fighting for devastating supremacy in the other’s territory stupidly forgetting their own home... as I said, I was dying.

    Brain is fathering the words, hand is painting them, eye is seeing them, heart is flooded with them...” I whined, “and I, what do I get?...” I forgot all pride, all shame, all my arrogant haughtiness fading away like mist in the sun and only frustration finally visible in my long endless sobbing sound. She waited for me to quiet down, then guided me to what I sensed was the neck. And as she was talking I felt she was guiding me to those exotic places I dared only dream of in those moments of painful desire that always ended in painful salivating gulps down an indifferent throat.

    “You, dear mouth, you get my neck...” ...I kissed the neck and felt a strange throbbing there... “my shoulder...” ...I kissed the shoulder, oh, the smoothness of that skin... “my breast...” ...my God, so soft... “my nipple...” ...I was dying once again... “my belly button...” ...I hardly could concentrate, hardly could breathe, I knew what was coming next... “my...” ...I blushed so hard, all the blood came rushing straight into my lips and I fainted. When I woke up she was still there, waiting patiently for me, happy, a tune escaping those foreign lips which in such short time taught me so much. I had to make my point, risking immediate annihilation.

    “You know, you are intelligent. You know he is a moron, and an idiot, and a shithead, and I could easily dig out a few tens of additional adjectives to describe my master. And yet you still love him. Why?”

    A twinkle, I swear I could hear a twinkle.

    “Mouth, let me kiss you once again so you will know what you are going to lose if you don’t come up with the right answer yourself. And then you will have to solve this little riddle all alone. Or this is the last time I visit you. Deal?”

    I started shivering, who stuck foot into me this time if not myself?... my teeth rattling against each other, my palate suddenly dry. I had no choice, I knew it, I had to play for time.

    “Do I have a choice?” I managed to ask.

    “No,” she answered, “I wait.”

    She waited. Impassioned, frightened, quiet. The wheels started rolling through the limited territories defined in the brain as my colonies (I should have conquered more I thought for a second then returned to the main task), I analysed all I ever learned, all I ever ate and tasted, all I assimilated in this one long and fateful day. It was the day of make it or break it, the day when I could justify my existence to my master or he would feed me shit for the rest of my life. There were few choices. I had to choose one. The good one. I dared.

    “Because he loves you?... more than brain’s words can say?...” That was it, I said it. To be or not to be as Bill would have said, and the rest - my future, my food - was in the hands of muses and fate and destiny. Now it was my turn to wait. And I waited. I waited eternity. I felt eternity. Then I felt the breath, before I smelled the fragrance, before I felt the touch. She kissed me.

    “And more than hand can write, and more than eye can see, and more than heart can ever cope with,” she whispered. I heard the smile. I heard the joy. I heard her readying to part. I had to ask MY question now. Me and my big... well... ME.

    “And you, do you really love him?”

    I expected some hesitation. I was wrong. The smile, turning into laughter, turning into poem, turning into song, turning into whisper. This time she approached ear and whispered into him so that I could barely hear.

    “Tell mouth that I love him... more than I love his art.”

    She was gone.

    Poor master, I thought to myself, he will never, never really know how much she loves him. And I gloated in my knowledge. My lips are sealed, master. This one, my big cousin, you will have to find out all by yourself.


Short Love Story...

    I watched you, if watching was the right word for the mind’s eye. You were a garden dwarf, middle of the three foot high snow ocean and six foot long ice sabers hanging from roofs about to cave in under the white threat. There were no trees, just lumps of irregular fluff reaching for a sky the pale blue of... your eyes?

    I shivered continuously, my three layers of colored underwear (hoping to receive extra protection from the dye layers), three layers of colored overwear (to help others find me in case I lost my way in the white desert), three layers of colored hatwear (just superstition, in case lightning struck), and all the other layers like three of sockswear (one metallic) and three of footwear (fact - I managed it) and three of gloveswear (after I tied my shoes, he he) and so on threewear.

    Oh, forgot to mention the one hundred foot long electric cable dragging behind me, back to the house, feeding the toaster turned on underneath my triplicate layers to help alleviate some of the cold. And still shivering.

    How did you turn garden dwarf, and female at that? I knew, the mind’s eye possessed its own distorting lens, adapting the image to whatever insanities the rest of the body was being confronted with at any moment. This was not my main point of concern. I watched little you, there (well, garden midgets are... little, you know), beautiful like a freshly painted Madonna, your naked breasts rosy like cherry blossom in May, your... and I kept asking myself how the hell wasn’t there a one foot layer of ice to your skin, and a three foot icicle dropping from your nose, and with that pool teeming golden swimming fishes around your feet...?

    “Do you ask me?” I heard the question, though your mouth didn’t move (hell, garden midgets can’t talk, can they?) yet your eyes moved my way winking (hell, can they wink?).

    I took a hammer to break the ice that formed around my lips and pulled the toaster up to my face... it smelled of bread and cheese but at least I could untangle the tongue inside my mouth.

    “Yes,” I said, returning the toaster inside the clothes and pulling the scarfwear (three) around my mouth. There was a glint there from the garden midget, I didn’t know exactly where or what - from its (your) eyes or its (your) smile or its (your) tongue... luckily I wore three pairs of sunglasseswear.

    “Love”, it (you) said.

    Hell, they can. You (it) blew a kiss my way and suddenly I did not need any layers, even one - around me. Was it fire? Hell it was. And just one part of me refused to unfreeze. Well, me and my innocence-corrupting fairytales...


Dragon Slayer...

    I decided to become a dragon slayer. Yes, because they don’t exist. Because I will stay jobless for the rest of my life. Because there is no school for it. Because I am... lazy.

    I rolled in my bed and kept snoring, even though I was already largely awake. It provided me with the comfort of making me think I was still asleep and the excuse to stay in bed a bit longer. Like a few hours longer. Finally I had to give in to an overflowing bladder and a hurting... ahmm... phallus the rigidity of a dog’s plastic bone, and dragged my itching ass to the bathroom for a thoroughly cleansing session.

    I was in no hurry. No one responded my newspaper add for three years in a row now, and I hoped no one ever would. I kept renewing it just for the sake of the unemployment money it helped me get. The fat, beautiful, married lady at the unemployment office was in love with me, and she kept alive the mythos that I was looking for a job; she called it in the government forms “reptile hunter” which was fine with me. Once she proposed to me to catch some reptiles together, winking at me with a pound heavy eyelash, but shudderingly accepted a rain check when I told her that we would have to use a live mouse as bait. Yeah, sneaky me. Not that I would have minded, she was beautiful like a Madonna, but her hubby was into karate. And I was into flabby.

    I graduated with honors the morning’s bathroom session, put on a pair of boxers printed with red apples and went to check on my ant. Yes, ant not aunt. I may have been theoretically a dragon slayer but I couldn’t hurt an ant, literarily so. Luckily, there were not many ants in the city, or I would have needed wings to move around. This one happened in my apartment out of wherever, and before I could have paid attention my foot almost crushed it. I saw it trying to run away, dragging one foot behind, so I collected it on a sheet of paper, put it inside a box with lumps of sugar around it, and started callings vets. Not many of them agreed to talk to me, some rudely so, some (too) gently so... I decided finally to take matters in my own hands. I bought a watchmaker’s eye-glass, some thin silk thread, a few slim tweezers and some other stuff, and did the operation myself.

    The poor thing was probably screaming its head off, even though I got it drowsy with chloroform vapors; luckily, I couldn’t hear anything. I succeeded to fix the damaged leg tying it to a thin piece of aluminum wire and after it woke up completely, it happily limped around the clumps of sugar. Now it was several days after I had removed the tiny splint, and my “patient” showed every sign of a healthy recovery, shuttling between the sugar clumps, fat and content. I lowered slowly the jar, thus allowing the ant to get out. It seemed undecided at first, then finally picked in its fangs a tiny crystal and rushed away. I hoped it was not going to bring its entire clan over for a thanks visit to my apartment.

    I was just about to turn on my computer, when the phone rang. No, it couldn’t have been the ant’s mother calling me, it was too early for a thanks speech - and I laughed heartily at my own joke. Then I picked up the phone, expecting either an advertising for a trip to the Bahamas for a symbolic one grand per night, flight excluded, or a giggle from Maria, the unemployment lady, with one or another outrageous proposition. These were the only two types of phone calls I received in the last one year. I did not expect the crystalline voice of a child, a female child, in my ear.

    “Hello, is it the dragon slayer?” I could not answer, not with a mouth hanging open all the way from my upper maxilla down to the unwashed floor. “Hello, is it the dragon slayer home place?” the voiced peeped again, and my lower maxilla was still dragging its legs (manner of speaking) on the floor, trying hard to reach to its official place anew. The phone clicked shut.

    “Hello, hello...” I finally translated my intentions into sounds, but the line was already dead.


    After I finished cursing my entire genealogical line from those unborn and unknown yet to those dead long ago and which I didn’t know either, I went over to Maria to cry my sorrow on her shoulder. There was a lot of shoulder there to comfort me, and I needed both her ear (a lot of it too) and her never ending insinuations. This, in order to calm my suddenly rattled nerves. True, I was lazy, but in three years of laziness even this started wearing thin, and I had to admit to myself, shamefully, that a bit of action would have suited me quite well. If only to laugh my head off at the idiot calling for my services, or to lose some of my flabby layers, or... no, I was lying to myself. There was something haunting in that voice that tickled my nerve ends from eternal mush to sudden intense steel. Hey, I didn’t even know I possessed such levels of intensity in my mind.

    Maria was, of course, delighted.

    “Jonny...” (that was me) “Carl...” (that was the mountain who was her husband) “...is gone for the week with his class. They are set to chop a young forest with their bare hands...” giggle, “and I feel so lonely...” with the o of the so sounding like it included the entire number of o-letters ever used in English literature, translations included. She finally settled for lunch, proposing that she pays for it. She knew that a three months’ worth of unemployment income, my side, would not have sufficed for what she called one lunch. I munched absent mindedly my pizza slice while she kept ordering and ordering... I told her about the strange phone call, and she asked me to keep repeating it, munching all the time yet never reducing her attention for one moment. God, she was beautiful. God, she was fat. And God, she was so attentive... She made me try to mimic the voice on several octaves (some other customers looked at me strangely), wrote the message text in its two variations on a napkin and tried to tear the words, then the letters and create anagrams from them, she was actually taking it more seriously than I was. She even forgot about her so loneliness. “It’s real,” she concluded, watching me as intensely as she was munching.

    “You think so?” I needed convincing, even though I reached the same conclusion myself. Actually I couldn’t use the word conclusion since there was nothing to conclude. I knew it.

    “I know so.” Yes, so did I. “And the same person, woman, child or eunuch, will call tomorrow again, same time.” Hey, that bit surprised me.

    “What makes you think so?”

    “My brains. It’s not all fat inside there, you know.”

    We parted, not without a hug and a kiss, and she made me swear on the same earlier mentioned genealogy that next day, after “it” calls, I would immediately phone her and tell her all about it, this time making sure that my mouth was in working order. I watched her depart, the asphalt quaking slightly in her wake, and for a few minutes hating Carl - hell, if not for him I would have fallen in love with this woman. Then I returned home, let The Rolling Stones roll my mind into knots of deafening pleasure, and fell asleep with the noise of neighbors pounding on my wall with heavy rubber hammers blissfully lulling me to sleep.

    I woke with a start, 7am, something that didn’t happen to me for three years in a row now. I looked frightened at the clock, afraid I might have lost that telephone call I was waiting for. Not that the “Get Out of my Cloud” my phone ring was set to, would have left any window unbroken in the street. I crawled to the device, changed the ring tone to something more sedate in tune and decibels, and finished my wake-up ceremony once again. Only this time it took me a split of the time it usually did. Then I dressed, stepped carefully over the long throng of ants carrying my sugar away from the kitchen, pulled a chair in front of the phone, and sat down glaring at it. If Maria was right, I had a bit longer than a three hours wait. So I just sat down and waited. At the same minute it did the day before, it rang. I snatched the receiver from the cradle and crammed it against my ear.

    “Hello,” I said, my voice almost crystalline thin as well.

    “Hello, is it the dragon slayer?’ the girlish voice asked again, its crystal thousands of times clearer than mine.

    “Yes, I am,” I answered. Quiet. There was no sound hitting my ear for the whole of a minute.

    “Meet me, please?”


    Two hours later I was seated on a bench in the park, close to the children playing area. A few mothers eyed me strangely, doubtlessly taking me for the ordinary pervert breed to be stoned to death at sight, with no intervening trial. I couldn’t blame them, and I guessed they were about to get in the act of wish-to-action when a ten year (give or take a few seconds) old girl saved me. She sat next to me and took my hand, watching straight ahead, her feet dangling from the bench. Her hand was soft, so soft that when I pressed it slightly I could feel almost no bones.

    “I have no bones. I am made of what you would call liquid glass. I am a living creature, though. Can you save us?” The voice unmistakably the voice on the phone, the handhold unmistakably demanding attention, my instincts calling upon me to burst into laughter, with Maria’s seriousness hanging heavily on my mind. The girl turned her head to look at me. I looked at her - thin, blonde, nicely dressed, her eyes a light blue... hell and damnation, I suddenly called upon my entire genealogy once again as her irises split open for a moment and tiny flames seemed to play behind them before they closed again. “I am real,” she said. “We are real.” Yes she was, I had no doubt she was, or they were, whoever they were. “Will you come with me? My name is Kelly.”

    I put my spare helmet on her head, she looked like a monster with an overgrown head, I made her mount on the back seat and just to make sure she wouldn’t fly off, I removed my trousers’ belt and used it to tie her to me. You should have seen those mothers’ eyes when I took off the belt... My motorbike started after a few dry coughs, leaving a bluish trail of stink behind me. At least they will be able to trace my rests once the monsters finished eating me, I consoled myself, following the whispered directions of the undersized monster girl behind me. It wasn’t really clear to me why I decided, just like that, to follow this supposed to be call for help. After all I had no professional training, no professional history, no professional pride... this was no profession at all. Maybe it would have been safer to have called it Moonbeam Slayer? I wondered if I followed the suicidal approach because of Maria’s gut feeling. Oh, Maria, will I see your gigantic bosom ever again? Oops, I never actually ever saw it before.

    “We are getting near,” whispered the one called Kelly, keeping me turning in a geometrical nightmare of big roads, then small roads, then smaller roads, then no roads as we approached an area in desperate wait for demolition with no takers for many years already. Even homeless junkies did not venture that far in the city, not for being afraid but for being so far from the “action”.

    “How did you get to my place?” I shouted backwards against the wind. For whatever reason, she could whisper and I had to shout.

    “Crt took me in his belly.” Sure, that explained everything. A guy with no vowels in his name took a girl with no bones in her body inside his belly and dumped her in the garden, with all those hawk mothers around not reaching for their howitzers. Sure... I started slowing down as per Kelly’s instructions, and finally stopped in front of one of those buildings... well, one of those buildings the same like all the other buildings in the area. “Please, take you bike inside.”

    I followed her inside a dark opening, then turned several corners until she told me that I could leave the bike behind and started down a dilapidated staircase. I followed on foot, thinking about the will I never wrote and never will. Maria will kill me if I don’t return, I thought as Kelly finally stopped her descent and pushed open a door. I followed close behind her, waited for the door to click shut and only then dared look around me.

    Kelly went to join them, they were all aligned by height, and if it was also by age then there probably was no interruption in the procreation process that their mother must have gone through. There were ten of them.

    “I am Kelly,” said Kelly, as if this was the official time for her to present herself. “I am “Kitty,” said the next one. “Kammy,” said the following. For whatever reason, each time they said their name, their irises would open shortly, uncovering those tiny flames I saw earlier in Kelly’s eyes. “Karry...” “Kimmy...” “Konny...” “Kuppy...” “Krokodilly...” “...the rebel in the family, it is really Killy,” Kelly interrupted the flow, “Kassy...” “Kukky.” That was that, the presentations were done. They all eyed me intensely, as if waiting for something to happen.

    “Jonny,” I finally said, and this seemed to have broken the ice as they all advanced together towards me and hugged me as if I was the one that scored the winning goal in the Mundial. No, not like that, more like... like... like I was their mother? “And Crt?” I dared ask, hoping I made the correct sound, so that they could understand me.

    You can call me Killy,” said the one who presented herself as Krokodilly, disentangling herself from the group and moving towards the corner of the room. It gave me some time to look around, though I could not see any difference between this room and any living room on Earth... ahmm... I mean... elsewhere on Earth. She picked up a big basket from the floor and brought it towards me, laying it in my hands. Then she joined in the hugging once more. I held the basket tightly, looking everywhere except inside it and then, finally, lowered my gaze, looking at “it” looking up at me.

    It. I tried to define it, with no hysterics. Being an absolute animal lover, I had no problem with the hysteria. I had, though, problems with the definition. It looked like a chameleon, except that it had three heads, two big on the sides and one smaller in the middle, a tail curled into a tiny spiral, eight legs that I could identify, though maybe there were more, low and rounded dorsal fins and a huge mouth that seemed to run all the way back to the middle of its body. And only after I had the time to accustom my sight to the view, it rolled on its side and I almost screamed. Between the claws, and tight against its belly it held a shape, a tiny shape which seemed to be suckling from a protrusion on the chameleon’s belly, a shape that was nothing else than a tiny, egg size, miniature, accurate version of the rest of the girls. It was a girl.

    “I am Crt,” said the chameleon thing, and for unclear reasons I found his name stranger than the fact that he was talking to me. “And this is Katty,” he continued. “Katty is dying. Save us?”


    The girls swarmed all over me and all around me, offering me crisps, flowers, fruits. They kept touching me and kissing me, making me feel for the first time in my life a pop idol. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, though the thousand questions in my mind were blurring the pleasure.

    “We originate from Venus,” said Kelly, feeling it was time to put some order in the equation. Yes, why not, boneless kids, talking chameleons... why not Venus? “We are a non-organic, silicon based life form, close to what you call glass. Our internal temperature is very high and we are basically amorphous. We can, however, shape ourselves quite quickly and quite easily into whatever takes our fancy or need, inclusive colors. Kind of what you would call a chameleon. What you see, even the clothes, is actually part of us. We adapted to the needs of living here.”

    “And your parents?” I asked, following my Terranean line of thought.

    Kelly looked at me, suddenly smiling. She clearly understood my inherent limitations, trying to validate a form of life that was most probably completely alien to me.

    “In your terms - I am Kitty’s mother. Kitty is Kammy’s mother, Kammy is Karry’s mother and so on.”

    “And father?” I hoped she was not going to name Crt as the paternal partner in all this hocus pocus.

    “We do not have that, which you would call copulation.” She did not blush but I did. “We multiply by splitting, in our amorphous form. Each of us can do it once, and once only. We, here, are a family unit. Our family units have to grow to about twenty individuals, before the last comer can start a line of its own.”

    “And what are you doing on Earth?” I asked, accepting it all as if it was common knowledge and didn’t need any additional explanations.

    “We are spread all over the solar system, there are several thousands family units on Earth, and hundreds of thousands spread over the solar system, almost the same number as back on Venus. Our main nutrient is silica based and there is just not enough of it back home. So we traveled to those places where there is a sufficient supply of it, until we grow into sufficient units; then many return to our planet. Each of us, let’s call it travelers, adapted to the local planet’s conditions. We adapted to Earth. I am here now more than one hundred years.”

    If I was a scientist, I would have probably drooled myself to death and then orgasmed myself back to life with all this information, provided that I believed it. I saw no reason not to believe, yet - I was no big brain, really. All I wanted in life was to lie in bed all day long and dream about Maria underneath me. Strange, I never dreamt of her above me... was it my subconscious trying to protect me from certain death?...

    “You smile,” I heard Kelly saying. “Do you believe me?” I snapped from my daydream and back into the middle of the fairies’ congregation.

    “I do,” I said, meaning it. “I should probably ask a million questions but I am not intelligent enough to understand the answers, so I will not. I would like, though, to ask three. The first is Crt. The second is Katty. The third is Jonny.” Wow, I was impressed with myself being so succinct and articulate in my short elocution.

    “I will answer them,” Kelly smiled back, “but first we must feed ourselves. This will also, maybe, be part of the answer. You can finish all the crisps meanwhile, we cannot touch them, they are here just for you.”

    They all left me and aligned more or less in a straight line in front of me. Kelly was the first to start transforming, her outer lines softening, losing their definitions as she started diminishing in size until she lost any kind of defining features and ended in a bead sized blob there, where a beautiful girl was standing earlier on. The next one to follow the same process was Kitty, ending in a blob slightly larger with the first blob immersing itself into the second. The following one was Kammy...

    I watched, fascinated, forgetting even the crisps which I started attacking hungrily moments earlier. When the last one, Kukky, finished absorbing all the others, Crt approached the single blob and let it immerse itself in the blob that was Katty and which was still hanging to what I defined as Crt’s chest. And then silence and nothing else, for two interminable hours.

    I was woken-up by the noise that my ears started picking through my following Maria dream, this one sweeter that the previous but not for sharing with any readers. The local scene had reached already the stage of Karry getting almost to her previous size and shape, and I waited for everybody to turn pseudo-human again before daring to swallow my saliva. In a humanly uncontrollable human impulse I got up and kissed each of them on their cheek, Katty included. The heat in those cheeks was certainly not human, though the blush was human indeed.

    Kelly came to sit on my lap, she didn’t weigh more than a sack of dry leaves. Kitty came to sit on Kelly’s lap, Kammy on Kitty’s lap... well, you know the drill by now. Only Crt stayed all by himself, clutching at Katty as if his life depended on her. Maybe it did.

    “Crt is our symbiont. He is Venerian as well, however he is an organic life form, one of the very few that succeed living in the harsh conditions on the surface of Venus. He turns the basic ingredients needed by us into nourishment accepted by us. We provide him with the necessary protection from the Venutian atmosphere. You watch here millions of years of evolution, and we don’t have more accurate answers even for ourselves. It is due to him that we can travel through space. You see - Crt can dematerialize himself and anything else in his close proximity and rematerialize elsewhere as needed.”

    Another of those “but of course” - if Earthian chameleons could change their skin color at wish, why shouldn’t their Venerian cousins be able to de slash re-materialize at will. Elementary, dear Watson. Beam me up, Scotty. I started laughing loudly, knowing that I was living here an adventure anyone else except for me would have given the rest of his or her life to have lived. And yet it fell into my lap. I still hoped to hear the answer to the “why?” ramming the walls in my brain.

    “Could he de, and then re-materialize me in on Venus?” I dared ask, smiling.

    “Only small parts of you,” she laughed, you are too big for him,” and she tapped lightly the soft protuberance of my belly. She made the insult worthwhile by following with a light kiss on my lips. “Katty,” her voice took a somber tone and she started trembling slightly, “was contaminated with a sugar derivative, several months ago when we were located in another site. Luckily for us, she filtered it all before it reached us, however she is doomed, she is wholly covered by the stuff and we cannot remove it. If she dies - we all die.” She started crying, and if it was a simulation of a little girl crying or it was her real amorphous self using her human disguise to show its own emotions, it broke my heart.

    “And Jonny?” I asked, hoping that whatever she was going to say would be doable and within reach of my limitations. Why the hell didn’t they approach an Arab Sheikh, or Bill Gates, or?...

    “Kroko here...” and Killy smiled, delighted, “heard children talking about someone who put an advertisement in the newspapers, offering a Dragon’s Lair. We decided that only a person ready to take in a Dragon, would be ready to take in also some helpless aliens and help them out of their predicament. Without the danger of being exposed to the rest of the world, and ensuing certain death at hands of scientists and military.” Oh, goodness, the misinterpretation... “I found the ad. I saw the real text,” she said. Her eyes were a mix of pleading, of respect, of expectation. “We almost asked Crt to materialize us in the heart of the sun. Then Kroko, who for whatever reason took a liking to you and was shuttling around you...” hell, I never even paid attention... “...heard you talking to your girlfriend, Maria, telling her about the way that you saved an ant.” She stopped, her eyes brimming, mine too and I was not going to tell her that Maria was not my girlfriend but rather my secret fantasy. “We decided that a human that was going to such pains to save an ant, will go to the same pains, or even more, to save an alien intelligence. You are our hope, the first and the last. Help us?”

    Her tears were flowing freely now, falling on the back of my hand and turning it a forest of blisters. In her distress she probably forgot to control that specific temperature there.

    “Did you try to immerse her in water? Sugar is heavily hygroscopic, and it melts easily.”

    “We tried, but we are no scientists. This matter is a sugar derivative, not sugar, it does not melt in water.” Eleven pairs of eyes were looking up or down at human me, Katty excluded, Crt included, all with the same level of distress, fear, hope... one more pair and I would have felt like Jesus surrounded by his adoring apostles, expecting nothing less than a miraculous therapy, panacea, a miraculous... miracle. And all I was, was a lazy Dragon Slayer who did not believe in dragons. I started crying myself.

    “Okay,” I said finally, thankful for the hanky handed me by Killy, “you roll yourself into your ball sizes and into Crt’s belly and let him materialize with all of you at my place. I will join you on my bike. Don’t answer the phone, don’t turn on the TV, don’t answer the door bell, just wait for me, okay?”

    Kelly insisted riding with me, probably on purpose pressing her small, perfectly formed breasts, against my back. I wished that bike would have been any faster.


    When I reached home it was already dark. I locked my bike against the lamp pole, took Kelly by the hand and mounted the stairs to the entrance, then rode the elevator in silence to my floor.

    She was there, sitting on the floor next to the door, her hair a mess, her make-up a disaster, her mouth a lesson in agony, getting even worse so when she saw me coming out of the elevator holding Kelly’s hand. She made several failing attempts to get on her feet, and finally with the joint efforts of all three of us she succeeded to stand up. Her face tried all possible grimaces, moving from indignation to pain to fury to pain again, undecided what to say and mumbling a series of erratic sentences...

    “...the elevator wouldn’t carry me up... Carl cheats on me... my back hurts...” and suddenly, letting only and pure fury take over, she slapped me with a hand that could have made a nick in that lamp pole downstairs. Luckily I succeeded to get out of the way, with just her fingernails catching my cheek and leaving there a triple trace deep enough to reach my cheek bone. I felt blood starting to flow almost immediately. “You child rapist,” she screamed, yet before she had a chance to get a neighbor wondering which TV program it was, I slapped her back with a palm that did make impact. Then I crushed her mouth with mine biting savagely into the fleshy lips, my right hand groping her groin like a crab’s clam and squeezing hard. I didn’t know what she cursed or yelled or cried, but once we were finished with that desperate kiss, we separated, panting, and remembered that there was a child... well, kind of, looking at us.

    “Kelly,” I panted my way into words, “this is Maria, my... girlfriend. Maria, this is Kelly. Kelly is my... my...”

    “...daughter,” Kelly helped me out, with a smile the size of one of Maria’s rings, and she hugged my waist. “Jonny, the one to give me life, Jonny, my dad. Isn’t it, daddy?” and she kissed my bleeding lips as well.

    “Oh, God, you have a daughter...” Maria was about to faint, and I had to prevent it, there was no way I could have lifted her if she did.

    “Actually... I have ten more. And a chameleon,” I added, hastily opening the door. If Maria was to faint, then at least inside. The door clicked shut behind us and everyone behind it just rushed towards me in a sea of smiles, screams and embraces. Maria watched Crt climbing atop my head, made a weak sobbing sound, and slid to the floor. Mercifully, she finally allowed herself the bliss of faint.


    I told her the story of the day three times in a row. She had a blue stain half the size of Antarctica on her left full-Antarctica sized buttock, and she let my loving hands touch it and smear it with a variety of creams. I could hardly keep her from pulling her knickers down, as she kept insisting that I should compare the two halves for correct damage assessment. The girls around us kept snickering and sending remarks unfit for their looks, though perfectly fitting their chronological age. For creatures with no sex life, they seemed to be quite versed and interested in the ways of humans.

    Finally, middle of my third telling she interrupted me, laying a hand - surprisingly light, on my thigh.

    “Carl has a lover. The bastard kept sneaking behind my back, claiming he was going to cut down forests with his bare hands while actually all he was doing all the time was ride the fu...” she looked again around, “ are you sure they are not as old as they look?” she asked for the tenth time. She did not wait for my answer, picking up at the point she interrupted herself earlier on. “...cking bitch. For a whole year now. No wonder he had nothing to share with me in bed.” She was crying for real, and my heart was breaking at a misery sized for the body - huge. Damn, I was really in love with her, and if only... “I left him. I asked for a divorce.”

    “What?” The tremolo in my voice was accurately synchronized with the one in my heart. “And he accepted?”

    “He had no choice. I threatened that if he does not accept I will get up middle of the night and sit on his head.”

    “Maria, that would be murder.”

    “I know. I meant it. He knew it and accepted it. Though he kept trying to persuade me to stay. I wonder why. I think the only one in the whole world who loves me is you.” I swallowed hard. I did not expect her to be aware of my sentiments, especially with me rejecting all her advances and insinuations. I did not mention that she wasn’t any better than her husband, at least in her mind’s intentions with my regard. “Jonny, please, make love to me.”

    She was never before so direct, so in need, so resolute. We were in the middle of an alien crisis and all Maria could think of was my body. Truth being said - so was I. I looked around, embarrassed, my mouth immobilized in discomfort.

    “Go, we still have time,” said Kelly, smiling knowingly. I wondered what was it she knew, actually. “We’ll still be here. Who knows, maybe a moment of exploding passion will bring with it a feeling of relaxation and a resulting moment of lucidity. I am serious, go. Lock the door behind you...” and she winked, pushing us into the bedroom one after the other, Maria getting in sideways. Maria hesitated a moment on the threshold, then bent hurriedly towards Kelly kissing her on the cheek, and immediately slammed the door shut.

    My dream come true. I fitted a few bricks under the bed frame (ha, ha, sneaky me kept them at hand for a full year now, just in case...) and at that particular moment in time I shamelessly didn’t give a damn about, Carl, aliens, dragons, ants... ants?... as Maria practically ripped the clothes off my body, ripped them off her body as well, and as I was ecstatically losing my way in between her monster breasts she practically lifted me off my feet and dropped on the bed with me on top of her. There was a terrible cracking sound... oh, no... oh, yes... the bricks did their designated job as I did mine, seven times during that one night. She might have been insatiable, I was unstoppable, and morning found us waking up face to face, her side of the bed three inches lower than mine, her nakedness the beauty of that fat Madonna posing for that talented Da Vinci. We went for it one more time, just for the sake of it, and I was just pulling my shorts up when I heard a loud banging on the apartment’s door. It could not have been the postman and I was not a milk drinker. Maybe the neighbor underneath?

    I checked carefully the blue stain on Maria’s buttock, enjoying her moans rather than the view (it was getting black), and as the banging did not seem to go away I decided to check also on who was worrying about my well being. I stepped in the living room, all the girls were gathered on the sofa looking at the door with apprehension. I winked at them and approached the door, Kelly getting up and stepping next to me. I opened the door widely, wishing a second later that I didn’t.

    A wild looking Carl pushed his way inside, pointing his finger at me, then catching sight of the many pairs of eyes in the room checked his advance, coming to a sudden stop.

    “What is that?” he asked, not really comprehending.

    “My daughters,” I said defiantly, and it was at this very unfortunate moment that Maria decided to come out of the bedroom, enveloped like a Roman senator in a creased bed sheet, eyes puffed with sleep and hair befitting a scarecrow. Carl’s eyes were about to pop out of his head.

    “And I am their mother,” she decided to add to the poor man’s confusion, which she should not have had done. Confused he might have been, but karate conditioned he was as well.

    “You Bluebeard communist,” he hissed. I didn’t quite get what the red had to do with the blue, and neither was given the opportunity to point out the incongruence since his fist shot from his shoulder towards my nose, clearly intended to redesign me altogether.

    Something moved in between the two points of contact, Kelly’s head, and the crunch of broken bones was not hers, if to judge by the following low note bellow. There was still some fight left in Carl as his right foot moved in a sweeping arc towards my neck, meeting the same head with the same consequences. He limped all the way back to the elevator, cursing my genealogy in both German and Italian, and for once they were safe since they understood only Polish. I obliged with pushing the elevator button for him, and waited until the doors closed, before screaming back into my apartment. It was nagging at the back of my mind all the night, all through the numerous orgasms, I even missed one because of this nagging cloud, and suddenly it all came back to me. Carl was forgotten already.

    “Ants,” I screamed, “ants, ants, ants...” and everybody , Crt included, gathered behind the immensity of Maria’s back, looking for the safety of immeasurable flesh in face of the danger of immeasurable madness.

    It took me some time, not too long to persuade them, and finally persuading even a most reluctant Crt to part with his most precious treasure and entrust Katty in my trembling hands. The ants’ parade in my kitchen was at the same level as last I’ve seen them. I put a thick towel alongside the never stopping never tiring flow, then slowly placed Katty on the towel, waiting for the miracle to happen. A few ants wandered randomly, ant way, above the towel, touching the quiet form on it, then returned to the main stream, seemingly disinterested. Then, suddenly, like a river that finds a preferable bed for its waters and throws itself mud and stones and soul into it - the black swarm was all over the minuscule girl.

    We waited patiently for two whole days, taking turns at the watch, not really sleeping, not really talking. At the end of the second day the flood turned trickle and inside a few more hours it died altogether. The baby was hungry, everybody was. Crt advanced and let the baby cling to his belly and “nipple”, the other girls never letting their eyes wander away from him even for seconds. Finally, there were tears in his eyes. Do chameleons really cry?

    “She is clean,” he said, sending a three foot long tongue and touching my cheek. I guess it was a kiss. The girls, Maria included, started screaming and jumping, and I had to persuade Maria that she should stop, since my insurance did not covered sinking floors. We watched together the “ceremony” of feeding that the girls went through, and in the intimate time slot it provided us with, we went for some more of that same healthy sex we were both famished for.


    Maria’s divorce came through six months later. We married the following month. I almost fainted when, two months after the ceremony, she asked me to take her to the hospital. She calmed my worries, telling me that she was ok, it was a usual female “thing”. When they called me in a few hours later to a huge bundle which was Maria and a tiny bundle that was supposed to be my natural daughter - you couldn’t blame me for fainting right away. I didn’t even know that she was pregnant.

    Inside a year we adopted the eleven girls, through the officious channels that Maria was so very versed in, and I added one line to my add in the newspaper: “references available upon request.” Crt took to the habit of sleeping between us, all the time fighting for the place with the human baby. From time to time he disappeared on his “food collecting errands”, keeping us tense every time from disappearance to re-appearance. After all - he was providing for eighty percent of the family.

    Kelly just told us that our family was about to become one member larger. And just when we thought that we couldn’t have been any happier. We added one more add in the newspaper, this one looking for a larger apartment. There was this fierce, constructive competition in the family - who would come first, the new Venerian or Maria’s second.


Genealogy Tree...

    No, NOT gynecology to those fuzzier minded amongst you, dear readers - genealogy, spelled g-e-n-e-a-l-o-g-y. Okay, having clarified this bit of controversy to our mutual satisfaction (no, not geology! gyne... oops... genealogy, one n one a no w... okay?) Okay, hopefully I can focus now on the story at hand.

    I wanted to surprise her. I heard about this exquisite and extremely successful institute that can find the roots of a cat five generations back and the roots of a human to Christ’s times, and even before, and decided to make it my birthday present to her. Actually I wanted first to make it my proposal present to her, and an original one, you know - “instead of a ring I bring you a tree, more ecological...” But then I had second thoughts about it, the proposal I mean, so moved it to the next best occasion which was a birthday present. I wasn’t a well-off guy, so until that time all my presents were either in real plastic (like necklaces sold by pensioners and similar) or in real paper (like Pizza Hut coupons and similar). This time I decided - what the hell, I love her like hell so let’s break the piggy bank and make it real virtual for her. Somehow I knew that this would bring a difference to our relationship, and I don’t mean the sex. I didn’t want any change in this aspect.

    I pushed the door to the establishment with a feeling of awe. It was like stepping on the (carpeted) sacred grounds of a church, or synagogue or mosque if you prefer. Fine, or a Buddhist temple, fine. I had the appointment made three months in advance, talked to a lady calling herself Rubyana and she promised me, with a most pleasing voice, a personal treatment of the most pleasing kind. That voice left me dreaming and aching for the meeting for all of the three months separating the phone call from that promised treatment of the most pleasing kind. A man is entitled to his dreams, no, and last time (previous night actually) I got additional proof that I was a man. That’s what she said. No, not Rubyana, Ekaterina - my Russian-origin fiancée.

    The receptionist asked to my business and guided me to a cubicle surrounded by a transparent wall, asking me to wait for my host. There were several other cubicles of the same kind in the room, all busy with customers. It was a bit strange, though I guessed it was part of their marketing strategy, that wherever the customer was of one sex, the rep serving him was of the opposite sex. All carefully groomed and slick in appearance... I tapped slightly my bulging pockets. I had broken all three piggy’s at home and brought with me all I had, inclusive the cents. Hoping it would be sufficient. I intended to glue back the piggy’s once back home, God knew I would need them later on in life.

    Rubyana floated in. She could not have walked, that’s for certain - she floated, swam, glided on invisible air cushions and landed with a soft swish in the chair opposite me, crossing two stocking'd legs starting in some invisible heaven underneath the table and ending in an almost visible heaven at the end of her thighs. “Hi, I’m Rubyana,” she sang, offering me a hand and I felt like stealing it and running away with it. “Hi, I am Rubyana,” she repeated patiently, waiting for me to recover from the whiffs of after-shave emanating from her legs (maybe also from her armpits? was the question in my dream) and descend to the carpet once more. “Hi, I am Rubyana,” and this time it penetrated. “So you would like us to re-create the genealogy...” she did not do any spelling mistakes... “...tree for your fiancée, Ekaterina, is it correct?”

    I was still having breathing problems, and she smiled indulgently re-crossing her legs, thus ensuring the almost permanent paralysis of my vocal cords before opening the catalogue in front of me. Interesting sales strategy, I thought, whatever she offers I will not be able to refuse.

    “We have three strategies,” she sang further, not waiting for me to recover. I couldn’t even have called her bitch, not even in my mind. “The first strategy is called the Rothschild strategy...” involuntarily I shivered, “...and it is based on the level of penetration...” I shivered again... “we succeeded with one of our clients, a member of the Rothschild family. We traced his genealogy to one of the Jewish slaves taken by the Romans from Jerusalem to Rome, following the rebellion and the Second Temple’s destruction. That’s 5371 generations back. With a few holes, that’s the furthest back we ever went, and stopped at his explicit request. He didn’t like the slave bit.” She stopped, smiled and winked at me. I would have winked back but was afraid my eyelid would stay stuck in the closed position, paralysis starting to set on my face too. “We offer 5000 generations back for a symbolic price of 25K dollars. We either succeed or you get whatever we reach and you pay nothing. We never yet failed.” Smile. Pause. I was hypnotized.

    “The second strategy is called the Onassis strategy.” I was beyond shivering. “It is based on a research we did for one of the Onassis family members, that got us back 2044 generations. That one was a dead end. We offer 2000 generations at 15K dollars. We never failed on this one either.” She paused again, waiting to see if I would rise up to this bait. As I was obviously still in my sphynx-morphic state, she went on to the third, and obviously cheapest strategy, “...the Capone strategy.”

    “Let me guess,” I chirped thinly in, having recovered the higher octaves of my voice. A nephew of the Capone family, 1000 generations back, 10K dollars.” I smiled. She did not, and for a moment I was afraid I proved myself the biggest ass in the history of genealogical endeavors.

    “A niece. Owner of the Magnum Corporation. Computed gangsters, quoted on the NYSE. 7711 generations back, 5K dollars.” As I was staring at her like a newly born calf, she turned her right wrist upwards and moved it close to my face. There was a thin, blue line there. Then she pulled her wrist back, the big sun returning to her face. “We all carry the same. It was an offer we could not refuse. The Capone strategy is quoted at 1000 generations, 10K dollars. You were correct though, insofar as our sales brochure. So what will it be, Jon?”

    I patted my padded pockets again, sweating slightly before making up my mind. I stood up and emptied both pockets on the table, bills, coins, chewing gum - everything. The clinking noise made some heads turn towards us from the other tables. I couldn’t care less, Ekaterina will have her present. I sorted out the chewing gum from the rest and left just the money.

    “One thousand one hundred forty three dollars and thirty five cents. How many generations does this buy me?”

    Surprisingly, she did not laugh. She did not even smile. She waded through the pile of paper and coins, flattening the crumpled paper bills and sorting the coins according to value.

    “It is thirty six cents,” she said. Damn, I must have had a forgotten, additional cent in the pocket, somewhere. She leaned back, and I guess that if it wouldn’t have been for the smoking-forbidden sign on the wall she would have lit a long cigarette at the end of a long cigarette-holder, before fixing me with those incredible doe-eyes. “There is another proposition, not mentioned anywhere but open to negotiation,” she said, waiting. I waited as well, what could I have had to say. “Fifteen thousand generations back, at 100K dollars. It was never tried before. We have great chances to fail, such a long way back there is hardly any written evidence to anything like family composition. Yet, we also never failed before and this is one hell of a challenge for us. You have an almost certain chance to get it for free.” She watched me closely. Was there a serpent or an angel watching me from those eyes?

    “How come that no one went for this option until now, I mean people who could afford this 100K dollars easily? Like the Rothschild guy.”

    “Exactly the reason,” she smiled. “Afraid the skeleton in the closet might destroy the image. Like the Rothschild guy.”

    “And if you succeed?” I did not ask how would I know if whatever they find would be proven to be correct, how would I ensure they were not cheating me out of the money I did not have and the means I did not possess to prove they were cheating. “You know I will not be able to pay.”

    She did not answer. She picked a single paper from inside the pile and slid it on the smooth table surface towards me.

    “Please sign at the bottom.” I did not even read it. I signed.


    I got this fixation in my head. I didn’t even slide into my slippers before I sat down at my computer and did it. It irked me beyond sanity control. Of course, I was sane enough to make sure the IP was in Libya.


    I didn’t tell Ekaterina. I wanted her to believe I forgot everything about her birthday, and even put up with her sex strike once the date had passed by and I still did not offer anything. She kept hinting, passing several times in front of the Pizza Hut, and I kept misunderstanding preferring the KFC. No coupons at KFC, ha-ha. The institute provided me with a dead-line for their effort, which was about to end, ten days after the birthday date, and I was ready to absorb whatever flak my fiancée gave me. I was counting heavily on reaping everything with interest after, provided I didn’t end in jail or - worse - inside a concrete block at the bottom of a new building. After all I did not have 100K$, I did not know who owned the enterprise, and if they were as good as they advertised - they would get to that damn fifteen thousand generations number, even if they had to rip apart the Library of Congress, the Vatican and whatever else proved to be necessary. My goodness, even the government was not that efficient.

    On the date promised I got my email. It was not an automatic email, as I expected, but rather a personal one addressed to me by Rubyana, and asking to meet both me and Ekaterina in a park, address attached. There was a smiley at the end of the message, which could have meant anything - life or death. My heart was beating like a Rottweiler’s excited stump, I took Ekaterina by the hand, explaining nothing and making some vague excuses about cosmic radiation and drove to the park. We were slightly late and Rubyana was waiting there in all her inhuman splendor - tall, shapely, elegant, beautiful. As we approached her I sensed Ekaterina getting tense at my side and starting to tremble. She tore her hand away from mine and stopped a few feet away, turning a furious face towards me.

    “What is that, you take me here to meet your lover, or what?”

    Rubyana saw us halting, picked the big, nicely wrapped tube lying on the bench and approached us, smiling. I guess I was even tenser than Ekaterina seeing her approach, a terrible urge to turn about and run away starting to creep in my feet. I didn’t, I couldn’t - once again I was mesmerized by that extraordinary presence that paralyzed any sense of control over my own body. Dammit, the woman was a witch or something.

    She approached Ekaterina, hugged her, kissed her on both cheeks and handed her the tube.

    “Your birthday present,” she said, and seeing the sudden tears blossoming in Ekaterina’s eyes, she laughed and offered her a laced hanky. Seemed like Ekaterina did not mind the after shave smell, as she dabbed thankfully at her eyes and hugged the big tube as if it was the lost sacred scrolls of the Maya. I was still keeping to my petrified position, waiting for the sentence to fall and to finally know if I would have to maybe sell my soul to the devil or not. After all, I saw no other way to pay the 100K dollars, and spending my life in state jail was not an option in my eyes, no way. I just hoped there was some kind of devil around agreeing to buy my cheap soul for the relevant sum. Rubyana moved my way and opened her purse. That’s it, the verdict. She handed me an envelope, and did not even smile. “Fourteen thousand, nine hundred and seventy four. We failed. Your lucky day.” Then she turned around and walked away. “Thank you,” was the last thing I heard her saying. Thank you for what?

    I screamed. I jumped over the bench and twisted both my ankles. I limped to the nearest tree and climbed to the treetop scratching every square inch of skin, stole a squirrel’s nuts and got bitten by its partner, fell down before climbing down and twisted my shoulder, rolled in the dust, then in the mud, then in the grass, rolled until I reached Ekaterina’s feet and lifted myself on my knees my head under her skirt and my mouth burying itself in her panties. “I love you,” I screamed, grabbing her buttocks and squeezing my face against the lace until it started disintegrating. Thank God no after shave fragrance there but woman, woman, woman...

    They took me home by ambulance, Ekaterina sitting next to my head, the roll opened in her hands and crying, crying, crying... I’ve never seen her so happy. I was never happier in my life. I kept screaming until I fell asleep.


    “What are you doing?” she asked me for the sixth time.

    “Counting,” I answered her for the sixth time. The first time I counted fifteen thousand one hundred and seventy two. The other four times I counted fifteen thousand one hundred and seventy one. The sixth time the same - fifteen thousand one hundred and seventy one. Ekaterina tried everything, by the book and beyond it - touching, rubbing, licking, undressing, dressing, the pink channel, the blue channel, the rough channel, Playboy, Playgirl, that buzzing thing - nothing helped. I was impotent. I wanted to be impotent. I wanted to penetrate the mystery and I started my seventh count. She gave up.

    She sat on the floor in front of me, nothing to her body but a flimsy nightie, pouting but happily so as she tore open the envelope given to me by Rubyana. Well, she could open all she wanted, I guessed there was my contract there, now null and void. “I see a contract here, a big red NULL stamped across it... are you crazy? one hundred grand?” she screamed. Well, she could scream all she wanted, this was not one of my worries right then. “And what is this?” she asked, having finally calmed in face of my impenetrability and pulling out a newspaper cut.

    “What is what?” I lifted my head slightly, having just reached three hundred seventy two in my count.

    She was not paying attention, and started reading aloud.

    “Magnum Corporation had to write off intellectual property valued at about three billion dollars, following a vicious virus attack on its servers system. The FBI is investigating for possible links between Magnum and the Libyan leader...” I stopped listening. I stopped counting. Suddenly I smiled.

    I got up, pulled Ekaterina to her feet, pulled the nightie over her head and made love to her there and then, standing up, impatient even to reach the bed. She didn’t quite understand what was happening, didn’t even ask. Just accepted the bliss of pouring fire and bit my lip. I proposed to her immediately after, life was too short to waste on waiting for anything better. If there was anything better.






















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