It is a story yet you cannot listen.
Homecoming stories.
A story from my family, he said. You do not listen.
I can listen, I shall listen, speak.
You command me?
I command you.
Thus I am commanded. So, my grandmother came home. She came firstly to town
Not village?
Town, the streets of her district, this was as she wanted, she had arrived at the seaport and come through customs and also visa, worried, worried.
You said airport.
Airport, yes. But through she came. All the taxis! She walked along and passed them by. She came into town by bus. No fanfare played for her, no bands massed for her. So she told us, humour always with her you see. A large woman and robust, she wore town clothes. Many of the women dressed that way, when they were home also. She came into town as desired, she herself desired, disembarked from the bus, now began walking, walking through the streets. Carried only one bag for luggage.
Now this is a dream, everyone’s dream, one bag for luggage, simple thing, everyone’s dream, life as it had been to recapture, her family friends and lovers, a moment in time, the stillness, it is everyone’s dream.
It is not everyone’s dream.
Yes.
It is not everyone’s dream, it is not my dream, it is life, it is life in this story, for there, as she came walking through the streets she saw that in the street, there as she walked, after these years, there he was, there standing, her former lover.
What standing who standing what is it, story, what story this is no story
This is a homecoming, he said, homecomings are not simple things.
Yes.
No.
Mine will be simple.
Your homecoming!
Yes my homecoming why not my homecoming, my homecoming can be real thing, material life and not make-believe.
You dream of homecoming?
Yes. Why not?
He smiled, waited for me to speak more, but I was tired. I could have smiled. He said, You do not have dreams?
He was attacking me. I did not reply but only looked at him, then away.
You have dreams! I do not think you have dreams.
Everyone has dreams.
Of your own place?
Of your own place. Of your own place in my own place, in this hovel-place, place of ghosts, wherever place, whatever country, where we are, we ourselves, any place, I have dreams, any place.
He laughed and then was silent.
Any place that I am.
My grandmother’s dreams, he said, this was her village, her country. He stared at me and I saw the strain in him.
You speak of me as a foreigner, stranger to this region. I am not so, I said, I am not so. Why do you say it?
I am sorry.
It is not sorry, sorry is nothing, I ask you why. You speak of my country, it is my country, well and I do not speak of it. That is your own make-believe, it is what you need, a necessity that you demand, you and some other of your people, always, to see it in front of your eyes. And you have me in front of your eyes, representative of my country, you have it here, but I am not representative.
What are you saying?
I said it.
But it is nonsense.
Well it is nonsense. You say to me of my country, that is nonsense, also your grandmother, more nonsense, make-believe story, but I am to listen to you. You demand it of me, using rank at me, that I listen to a justification, the struggle now is for what existed in the past. This is not dreams but make-believe lies. You are telling me lies, seeking reasons, there are no reasons.
What do you say to me?
You are telling me lies, seeking reasons, there are no reasons, I do not know reasons, they do not exist.
I do not tell you lies. He glanced off and out through the hole where had been a window.
You say my country is another country. You say this to me, call it my country but I do not call it so, I am not there but here, I am here, in your country, your country is my country and you must allow it, it is this, you must allow it. If it is not to be so allowed, if not by yourself, so I do not know, there cannot be such justification. There is not only your struggle, not only your struggle. Are you observing ourselves, engaged not engaged, lawyers from overseas, all observers from international sources, foreign journalists of media, who are you now become, tell me?
One who does not tell you lies.
You do not tell me lies?
No.
Where is the cigarette?
What?
The cigarette? You had it.
The cigarette is gone. It is gone now.
Through the hole I saw layers of dark cloud. Dusk. If there had been sunset we would not have seen it. I could be sleeping, only ten minutes. I could sleep then he could sleep. I thought to say so again and began to but stopped. What was I to say, what had I said to him. He sat with his shoulders held, elbows to his sides, not able to relax but he might sleep in that posture.
He was thinking of morning. He would be thinking now for longer, not talking but in his own head. I could sleep ten minutes, he could waken me.
What morning would bring. It was a useless concern. I wanted to have him understand this. We had been together now five days. I had respect for him. He took the role of leader. It was a natural thing to myself but I said nothing and thus he was the leader. Through that I regained strength, I shall say it, facing the time to come. He it was.
I laid old plasterwork down, covered it with crumpled newspapers, lay with it as a pillow. I said to him, Speak, otherwise I shall sleep
You command me?
I command you.
My grandmother?
And her lover, yes.
Yes, he said, so, in her district. She had arrived there, walking through her streets, in her town, as you know, enjoying what had been her desire, as you know, the smells and the sounds, shades and light, hustle and bustle of people, all as you know, busy busy busy, and children, daughters and sons who are to live lives of great beauty, such existences, famous artists and authors, musicians and philosophers, all, all who are there, peoples and peoples, around her, everywhere, and it was in her place, was her home, this was to where, and there now in front of her, as the years had vanished, her former lover was standing, yes, standing there.
He shook his head and stared at the hole in the wall. I saw his right hand, the knuckles clenching, the tension at his eyes.
So tell me. I reached to his hand, to the back of it, rubbing the veins there. He watched me doing this. Do not worry, I said, you are tired, I am tired, we both are tired.
I am not tired.
You are tired, I see your magician’s eye, it is black now and sunken, it may fall out and I shall not catch it, I am tired, it shall fall to the insects thus we are to sleep, you first I shall be awake, alert, I shall watch these stars through this window.
I am not tired.
Yes.
I am thinking of another time. Still my grandmother, a friend of hers, from schoolchildren days. This had been a best friend, girls together
Sharing their dreams.
Sharing their dreams, yes.
This is a future for ourselves, sharing our dreams, only men together not girls. I am your grandmother’s best friend.
He smiled. You are holding my hand, oh lover.
I am holding your hand. Now no, take it. You must sleep, your brain is exhausted.
First is the story. Later, when she had bathed
Who, spirit-lady, angel from god?
Young lady, she had freshened, changed her traveller’s clothes, bathed and freshened, she made a telephone call to my grandmother’s lover
You people had telephones? You people, you had telephones?
My family was wealthy, computers and pianos, all new technologies, telephone call to this lover, her friend made this call. It was at that time I tell you now that her former lover, I have to tell you
now. This young man, thirty-five years
Grandfather, you are returning to him?
Her former lover, yes.
But about the girl, young lady?
Ah.
Tell me!
You are listening.
Tell me about her, how tall and what shape?
What?
What, tell me.
I do not know, tell you, tell you what?
Under her clothes, what shape? Loose clothes?
Loose clothes, yes.
What shape?
What?
Clinging? Clothes clinging, to her body, fresh-smelling?
Fresh-smelling.
Fresh-smelling!
Yes, scented.
What age?
As my grandmother, friends from schoolchildren days.
Yes but at that time I want to know, of when you speak.
She was not a girl, of the time I speak, it is you now, dreaming, it is you.
You said so.
No.
Yes.
No, it is you who is now worried, worrying. But you should not, these are stories, homecomings, leave takings.
You are wrong.
I am not wrong. He smiled. There will be a time for you also. Yes, there will be.
Not for me.
Yes, for you.
No.
He now did not speak but instead clapped my shoulder and was shaking his head. I knew that turn in him, but as also in me, it was also in me. And this moment later when he had tensed, I too, we both, tensing. There were things he was to say to me but these times would not come into existence. He saw I was waiting and he waited also. I nodded he nodded, having heard simultaneously, knowing there was not sleep and what was to happen from this moment
but of course his judgment vindicated. And when he raised his arm we were moving from there so very quickly. Yes it was then, as we moved from that abandoned old place, that first explosion, I was behind him. We separated. If he said something further, I do not think so, if he did so, it is that I forget it, I had been tired, we both of us, I do not know, perhaps, I may not have heard it, I have said so, that I did not see him again.
43
“letter fragments”
I hoped all might be well with her. I do not know what to say, nor then, to her. We should play together and I should take you on long walks. Do you have your friends? It is good to have friends. In the future this will be past and I shall be home with you. Do you see mountains from the window? In the mountains one can walk and see no one after miles. If one
it is I that say it myself, myself, having walked in the mountains and there are streams throughout, down from the higher peaks. This water is the purer, clear and cold, it is healthy water, no living thing has touched this water. I can take you there, if your mother is also home, where she is, if she will be come home then. Do you have a letter from your mother? If your grandmother hears of her, perhaps she does and has had a letter from her, your mother, you can ask your grandmother of this. I shall be home soon.
Here is not so good as home. People here are strangers to me, you would also think it. I work with funny men, they say things that are funny but sometimes I do not like them. It is necessary work. Until it is finished I shall be here but perhaps it will finish sooner. Here it is flat and if there is a little hill people say of it it is a mountain, you might laugh to hear them
If your mother has spoken to your grandparents, perhaps she has, you may ask them
I have written this letter to your mother. I do not know where you are. I have heard of our daughter, she is good, healthy, a friend has said it to me, he is trusted. What is wrong? How are you, if you are in good health, nothing has happened to you
I have written this to your mother. How are you? Are you in good health? I think here of yourself, and our daughter, how is our daughter, is she in good health. She should have friends. It is not so fine where I now am, people are not the same, they are not what to say I think trusted, I say that I do not trust them but what that is to say who is one to trust, in all this life, do we trust people, how many, if we have one person to trust then we trust him but how many might there be, if I complain, yes, I am the greater fool, and without you
44
“newcomer, I am the fool”
She had not found space by the wall for many others were there, also two babies, one who would not sleep. I had gone for something, now returning with it in one container, tea, also one cigarette. The space was to the centre of the floor, she was seated there, covering drawn to her waist. She was exhausted I was exhausted, more. So, in the darkness now, stepping over bodies, not spilling liquid, passing the container to her, sitting down close to her, now lying farther, farther, my head at her waist, we smoked the cigarette, later she was placing her hand to my forehead, closing my eyes as the child, as I would to a child, now feeling the covering, draught of it, she having drawn it over my body, once more her hand to my forehead, it becoming as a weight on me, until then I was hearing music from childhood days, religious times, yes in my head choral music, these low drums, also tapping hands, other sounds, and other sounds also there and I was coming awake, this fellow’s voice, stranger’s voice, he had arrived in our space, sitting here by my companion, and whispering to her. If he was a security, it was possible, where silence was the answer, who was not there and the room in darkness and the whining of the one baby, now moaning, it was its lungs, little thing, and not good. My eyelids were closed, it was thought I was sleeping, I did not open them, only listening listening but I could not make sense, I did not know this voice, who was he. And now my companion spoke, yes if there was agitation in her voice, yes, I heard it but that as I lay next to her and was to the other side from this newcomer, who spoke so quietly to her on the side other than myself. What she did say, nor what this other said to her, I do not know, sounds and not any sense, a droning. Anxiety was in her voice. Certainly.
I opened my eyes only a little, that I might not to be seen. Who else might be there. There only was he, that one. But this space was small, who else might have entered. But outside this area I could not say, if others, yes, perhaps waiting for this one beyond here.
He was speaking as forcing an issue onto her, that I was not present, addressing herself alone, so for him I was not in existence. If he was entirely a stranger to myself, he was not so to my companion. I understood this, he was familiar. Only something in her, lightness of tone in speaking, easy manner, I cannot say, perhaps as in movement how she stretched her legs, confidence also was there in her. Yes she knew this man. Intimately perhaps, it is possible. I worried so at these earlier moments and could not discard the thought. Yet also in my companion there was caution, knowing him she did not trust him, what it was there, personal impersonal, what it was, I sensed it there. A silence had come between them, and my throat now, irritation, my mouth dry my throat dry, yes, we had smoked the cigarette earlier. I would have reached for the container, perhaps tea remained there. Perhaps my companion had given it to this stranger. He was speaking again, whispering, so not to disturb people around, also for eavesdroppers, some always were awake, seeing things hearing things.
Who was he. I could suppose. If in former days political, they might say. I say security, then as now. But if these two had been in struggle together, why should she not say, afterwards she might say it to me. We would speak.
We did so together. Not for every thing. I did not say to her she was beautiful, I did not say to her how I loved to see her, only to see her. Our coming together was a recent thing. Intimacy. What is meant by this. The sexual act, of course but also intimacy meaning moments together, safely, safety, if to relax and as then if asleep by her, safekeeping.
If she knew this stranger. She knew him, it is beyond doubt. I lay still, listening. In his voice was humour, irony, yes and also there I heard someone cynical, his quiet quiet voice oh do not trust this man.
Who could care for this. I did not. Oh yes, pretending analysis, inter
national situations, worldly perspectives. I now could make sense and knew it, knew also it was not serious from him. Analysis of the situation, the political, all manoeuvres and movements, intervention from unlikely sources, foreign sources. No, he could not be trusted, even as he spoke. Surely my companion knew this. If she might listen to this in seriousness, no, I could not believe it. I made the movement as waking, opening my eyes, blinking, yawning, other detail, looking to herself but then to the newcomer, and puzzled. And my companion looked to me, gestured at him. I was yawning again and she whispered to me, He is repeating a lecture. Hear him, it is a lecture.
But you know different, I said.
I know different, yes.
But she had not liked that I spoke to her as I did. I looked to the newcomer, to her again. And in my look was my question but no, she did not introduce this man, neither himself, he did not do so.
What then I was to do, what, leave this place where we were. What was expected of myself. No. I did not know. I smiled but faltered and only I think was staring, I do not know. It was in darkness there and others were around, children also as I have said babies and not all were sleeping and if someone smoked the light also would affect us and all were conscious of others during this period and would not talk loudly and would be careful for others, how else, if there is continuation we must take such routes for other people, each of these days was survival, are we to survive I am to survive, and my neighbours, what are the children here may we look after them, the lungs of the baby, what, what anyone is to do, the mother or the father who were like myself, young people. Yes, I was young, if so, growing older.
The newcomer scratched his ear. I understood he was expecting of her that she might know this scratching as a sign, signifying an experience shared, as from a former period that they were together, knowledge one to another, intimacy of them, shared of them. I knew it. It was certain. But if he wanted her to recall this shared moment she did not, did not, nor any response to him.
He now was silent, waiting for some other thing, perhaps of myself, response of a different form, might I enter into this, if we were in competition. He would fight with me. Yes. If he was fighting for her, aggression certainly was in him, and subtlety of voice also, yes, he was a dangerous man. But I too, also, if he thought to intimidate myself then we might see, let us, we can see what would happen. But if he was a security. There was no sign from my companion, none to myself. Under the covering her leg lay against mine, she was not removing it, also now from her was a pressure, and I laid my hand onto her thigh, and in a moment her leg was into a new position and I moved my hand, from her. And he was speaking again now in his quiet quiet voice, conversing, it was simply that, he was here to be conversing, waking us from sleep that he might simply converse, his nonsense talk, international affairs and relations yes we do not know this, cannot understand this cannot comprehend this I am a poor peasant of the low low classes of people, lower classes of people. Who has power, yes not myself, not myself, not we. I listened to him
Translated Accounts Page 23
