I asked her:
“So, what do I do now? What comes after we reveal the people who are to blame for our defects, and the list of complaints against our parents and everyone else who did us wrong? Is there anything after that? Or are we left only with our awareness of the devastating revelation, banished from the world of those who know how to love?”
“You have the capacity to make up for this. You can call it your inner nurturing parent or, simply, a gradual awakening of love towards yourself.”
I was sad and tired, and I didn’t believe this could be corrected, ever. I asked her:
“Do you really believe it is possible?”
“Yes, I do. It’s a process. It takes time. In some cases, it’s a never-ending process, a job that is never completely done, but it can bring results. This is something we need to work on from now on.”
There’s nothing riskier than drawing a big conclusion - both in novels and psychotherapy. This is why I didn’t say anything significant to her at the end of that session. Nor did she. We made an appointment for the following Wednesday, at 6:00 p.m., which will probably be another beautiful September day, just like this one. Somehow, autumn always fits in better with my idea of beauty than spring. Maybe it’s because my mother preferred orange and brown tones, or simply because I think I look better in a raincoat than a tight top.
It was raining in Baltimore, of course. The morning was grey and foggy, the air was sticky from the humidity and everyone was in a big rush to get somewhere, with their heads down, carefully carrying their umbrellas. In a few minutes, Edgar would show up at the bus stop, where I was standing, waiting for him.
A woman was adjusting her hood as she walked by.
Another woman was about to step in a puddle of water, but when she suddenly swerved to avoid it, she ran into a curly-haired man who was walking his dog, and got tangled up in the leash. They smiled at each other and continued on their way.
A man wearing a grey raincoat inserted a coin into a vending box, raised the lid, and took out the morning paper.
Two streetlights were still on, even though it was already daylight.
Everything looked familiar and ordinary from this side, as if I’d already stood at this bus stop, with a pretzel in my hand, numerous times.
I’m going to tell Edgar that, ultimately, loneliness is a matter of choice.
I’ll admit to Edgar that I had to pay for everything I’m now bringing to him.
I’ll submit to Edgar this little report on me.
I’ll share my pretzel with him.
I’ll turn my computer off, get up, and go home to make tomato soup.
I’ll tell Edgar this was always possible in the past, but that this morning, it no longer is.
I won’t even wait for him to show up. I’ll turn my computer off before he comes. That’s easy enough.
I’ll admit to him that, in some way, I’d like to be there now, in front of my computer, and that I was just imagining all this, like many times before.
I’ll drive really fast over the bridge with my eyes closed and count to ten. Maybe even fifteen.
I’ll tell Edgar I decided to visit him the day I finally drove my car across the entire bridge without opening my eyes once. I’ll tell him the fear I felt on that day was now behind me.
I’ll turn the stove on and open the refrigerator, while I think about the last sentence.
I’ll run the car off the bridge.
I’ll throw myself into Edgar’s arms.
When my husband comes in, I’ll shout for him to close the door because of the draft.
The next day, there will be a small article in all the newspapers about the bizarre accident.
No one will ever find out why I left, where I went, or what happened to me.
Some will try to find clues in my first and last novel, and they will search for me in Baltimore, in vain.
I’ll observe the soaring air bubbles and think about Virginia Woolf.
I’ll tell my husband how I hate books with morbid endings.
I’ll get up from the table and give him a kiss.
A huge neon sign will light up with the words HAPPY ENDING.
Before going to bed, I’ll have a cup of cocoa with plenty of sugar.
I’ll flip through the channels a little.
I’ll go to sleep.
Jelena Lengold was born in 1959 Kruševac, Yugoslavia (now Serbia). She is an accomplished storyteller who has published eleven books since 1982, including six poetry collections, four short story collections, and a novel, Baltimore. Her work has been translated into several languages, published in multiple anthologies, and is critically acclaimed across Europe.
Lengold has received multiple awards for her books. Her short story collection The Fairground Magician has won the Biljana Jovanović, Žensko pero, and Zlatni Hit liber awards, as well as the European Union Prize for Literature. Her poetry books Images from the Life of a Kapellmeister and A Well of Heavy Words have received the Đura Jakšić Award and the Jefimijin vez Award, respectively.
Lengold worked as a journalist and editor for the culture desk of Radio Belgrade for ten years before becoming a project coordinator in the Conflict Theory program of the Nansenskolen Humanistic Academy in Lillehammer, Norway. Since 2011, she has worked and lived in Belgrade, Serbia, as a freelance journalist and writer.
OTHER BOOKS BY JELENA LENGOLD
1. RASPAD BOTANIKE (Decomposition of the Botany), poetry, Pegaz, 1982.
2. VRETENO (The Spindle), poetry, Nolit, 1984.
3. PODNEBLJE MAKA (The Climate of the Poppy), poetry, Nolit, 1986.
4. PROLAZAK ANĐELA (Angels Passing By), poetry, Nolit, 1989.
5. SLIČICE IZ ŽIVOTA KAPELMAJSTORA (Images From the Life of a Kapellmeister), poetry, Prosveta, 1991.
6. POKISLI LAVOVI (Rain-soaked Lions), stories, Srpska književna zadruga, Savremenik edition, 1994.
7. LIFT (Lift), stories, Stubovi kulture, Minut edition, 1999.
8. BALTIMOR (Baltimore), a novel, Stubovi kulture, Peščanik edition, 2003;
Second edition published by Arhipelag, Zlatno runo edition, 2011.
9. VAŠARSKI MAĐIONIČAR (The Fairground Magician), stories, Arhipelag, Zlatno runo edition, 2008.
10. PRETESTERIŠI ME (Saw Me Up), selected stories, Arhipelag, Zlatno runo edition, 2009.
11. BUNAR TEŠKIH REČI (A Well of Heavy Words), poetry, Arhipelag, Element edition, 2011.
12. U TRI KOD KANDINSKOG (At Three at Kandinsky), stories, Arhipelag, Zlatno runo edition, 2013.
Awards
For the book of poems Images From the Life of a Kapellmeister she received the Đura Jakšić Award.
For the collection of stories The Fairground Magician she received the following awards: Biljana Jovanović, Žensko pero, Zlatni Hit liber, as well as the European Union Prize for Literature.
For the book of poems A Well of Heavy Words she received the Jefimijin vez Award.
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