Translated Accounts

by Kelman, James

  listened to him

  What was happening. I was not in battle, not fighting. In warfare, what warfare. Certainly for himself, if this was fighting of we two, himself myself, what fighting had he done. I could not know yet in his manner there was surety, surety. Yes a dangerous man, I say so.

  My companion did not make introductions. Why. It was courtesy. What else would she have done. She had allowed intimacy between them, a familiarity. If a courtesy to myself also the newcomer, we having no knowledge, one to the other. I knew nothing but that he coveted her, yes, of course, what is to say here there is nothing he coveted her and her body was from mine, removed herself, her leg from my leg. Yes it is foolish, these things are foolish, as if life, if life is serious, I cannot discover when it is so, perhaps never.

  I know it. If I did not say it. Of course. The container of tea was with him and so I reached for it. I held the tea to my lips. But she watched, frowning. I acted not to notice, folding my arms after drinking. Now I was not so exhausted, not so tired, and withdrew from the covering, my legs up now to be squatting, yes, I could have sprung, power from there, yes. I said to her, Yes, it would be good for a cigarette now. Also for wine, brandy, if we had something.

  Ssh

  Ssh

  People are sleeping.

  Yes, people are sleeping, you say it for myself not to him, when I am speaking, you say it only for myself.

  Now she looked to me and I saw in her eyes the sparking, it was in her eyes, sparking. Shining, in darkness but I did see it, a light from some other place reflected there, perhaps her spirit. Also as a child. She had one photograph in her box, keeping it there, and she showed it to me, this of herself, ten years old. Certainly she was beautiful, I can see her, bright eyes, limbs, laughing, playful. If I then was thinking of my own family, and thinking of these old days when my own wife had not disappeared I did so also with this woman who now was my companion, had become so, I thought that she was.

  But this newcomer, what he had said, I did not respect it and thought surely she did not, how she could believe it it was falsity, falsity, if she did so believe it. But what he was saying to her, listening and I heard and was understanding that also it was the analysis of our situation from higher level of command, as he had access, had had access. Yet I did not doubt such was or had been his access. If she listened. She did listen. I do not say believed, listening only, but with greater attention. I know it. International perspectives, international corporations, co-operations, peacetime wartime co-operations. Concerns of these powers, obligations also, charitable to such as us, duties, yes, to such as, all to such as us, so he said, what is such as us, if shareholders he said it is security he said you know security, what is security.

  He looked to me. I did not answer. What is warfare. I would not answer him, argue, not answer. Did he know I had the weapon, he must have. He said it again to me. What is security. I looked at her and she said to the newcomer. We are alive, we three.

  I said, Yes, we are alive.

  You are too loud.

  I am too loud.

  There are children here.

  What

  You are too angry, she whispered.

  These statements he makes, I am too angry, this rhetoric that is nonsense for whose ears, to whose ears, to ours, to mine, not to mine, to yours perhaps, not to mine, it is falsity. Yes he would anger myself. Yes.

  I saw now he was looking to myself and directly, in no fear, I did not think so, not physically, not as intellectual, in thoughts, arguments, conjectures and beliefs, that we may have had, any of it none of it, it was of no account to him, neither myself as a man, I was of no account, only I was stupid.

  To him anything, I did not care. What he had for me, nothing. But he would be here and think anything was for him. Who was he, what to this woman who was my companion, what was he, and now he was looking to me and he spoke, quietly, calmly. He addressed my companion as before but now was looking to me also, so not to exclude, not excluding myself.

  We cannot effect change, he said, also it is our preference. Our people should not dispel energy, not needlessly, as in discussion of these matters. If decisions are made elsewhere and our energy is crucial, as it is, your energy our energy my energy, for all of us, we accept this as adult beings, mature beings, we cannot challenge as from no basis it becomes nonsense strategy, reflection of fools, suited to youthful years.

  Listen to him, whispered my companion.

  Yes I listen to him but it is his behaviour, I recognise it, and as without respect, yes without respect, certainly it is patronising. Youthful years. What this does mean, if he knows anything, anything or nothing.

  The newcomer looked to my companion, a smile was on his face. She said, He is a colleague, friend also, we have been in situations of complexity, issues of greater importance, superiors and others, all were present, foreign people, authoritys.

  Thus I am to obey this man, obedience to him? No. What is this obligation? He is older man, oh, I must be respectful!

  Sarcasm, she said.

  Sarcasm, yes.

  Foolish, she said, now turning from me, turning also from this newcomer, looking to other people there. She always would say what was the case, what that she believed it to be, never rising to such as this, if wasting her breath, she would not, and her irritability, I saw it and might have laughed but that what had happened before was again happening, and her irritability was against myself.

  I could not believe it. It was not to this other one, only myself. How could I believe it. Yet it was true. She did not disguise her perception of a situation, not from myself, I would see it, I would know it. It was this newcomer having his influence, affecting her behaviour. Of course it was puzzling to me, of course. Now where my anger was it was other factors, emotions. I thought to drink the tea, it would have nauseated me, my stomach.

  Now this one spoke across her so that she stopped talking, staring at the floor. He was talking to myself, looking to myself. I did not know. I said nothing. I was not talking to him. Energy for nothing. What was he talking, why we were to allow it, talking in this manner. I said, Why are you here? What is happening?

  The newcomer would have spoken but was stopped by my companion who whispered to me. You must listen to him, it is important.

  What is important, what he says, of course it is important, if you say it, I shall concede it.

  You are bitter, said the newcomer.

  I am bitter.

  Matters are acute to us.

  Matters that cannot be aired are acute to us, matters that we require none to inform us, of what exists in our midst, we do not require such information thrust down our throats, I said, not from colleagues. Neither lectures, we do not require lectures, not from such as yourself.

  He looked to my companion, It is contempt, he said, contempt from him.

  Then how do you respond? If you are to respond.

  He smiled. I shall respond.

  In what way?

  Again he smiled.

  I thought how easily I could strike him. My companion was unsmiling, and her agitation, I saw it. Now she looked to myself. I was a puzzle to her. The newcomer whispered, You are returning?

  Yes, if it is possible, sooner or later.

  Your companion has his own plans, perhaps strategies. He smiled again to her, and not to me, now taking from his coat a pack of cigarettes, matches, passing the cigarette to me. I did not accept it. He looked to her. Now I did accept and he had the match, striking it for me. I did not lean to him, he now moved his hand with the lighted match so that I could take the light, not moving too much for it. I did not see at his eyes in that glare. I smoked the cigarette for more than two draws, and did not look to them, until returning it to him. He smoked one draw and gave it to her.

  Yes you are irritable, she said to me. It was not spoken as to goad you. It is a philosophy he outlines to you, allow him to further advance his argument.

  We have all the time, I said.

&
nbsp; We have time, she said.

  Yes. I whispered to the newcomer, What will you tell me now, of foreign lawyers and theoreticians, yes, very moral people, talk to us of them, members of the human species, tell me of securitys, how they also are people, we may respect humanity, they may answer back to us, answering questions firstly, the killing will follow, nothing will change, only speakers.

  The newcomer passed the cigarette on to me.

  This is not sarcasm, I said, only tell me. He made a gesture, not as to antagonise. Now there was silence. I smoked the cigarette. Only a little was left, I ground it out. I thought now of all that I could say, and said it to her, You do not wish me here.

  I saw her exhaustion, knees drawn up, arms folded on them, chin resting. I could see her eyes. We had been in awkward circumstances, situations. Who had not been. I also was exhausted, body aching, food.

  She said, What do you mean. You are speaking nonsense, I do not want to hear nonsense.

  What is wrong?

  Nothing is wrong. I am tired of you. You are irritable, your bitterness, we cannot talk, you will not allow it, I see your face, he says things and you must deny you must deny you cannot listen.

  I cannot listen.

  No.

  No, I said, I cannot. You are tired of me, he is here and you say it. No, not to me, you will not do it. It is not justifiable.

  Nothing is justifiable.

  Yes, I am wrong, I am sorry for it. I got onto my feet quickly, looking not to her, neither to him never to him. Nearby I heard movement and further stirring from others, some listening, they could not do other, I could not blame them, and I said again to her, No, this is not justifiable. And I left her, striding from her, the bitterness in me and what reason what reason.

  And now happened that most unexpected thing, a security was in the doorway out from our building and I knocked into him, and off balance he falling. My impulse was to strike at him I was angry, to hurt him, and overpowered him could have struck at him easily but did not or would have been dead at once. He lay a moment then twisting and rolling immediately off from myself as expecting blows from myself. Now he saw it, knew what it had been, an accident, and he was onto his feet and he moved now towards me, as I also backwards. He gripping my arm and up under my shoulder turning my body, knocking me sideways and down and I was on the ground, himself on top, astride my shoulders now, and angry so very angry I thought to see his knife now to cut my throat. You fool. If I had had strength, I had none, I could not have unseated him. More securitys now behind and to the side. You fool, he said, and looking into my eyes as I also. Our eyes, myself himself. About him I do not know, staring down but I also to him, and he saw that and I saw his face, expressive. He was older, heavy on me, now that I could see him. He shook his head. You are a fool.

  As you also I said but into my mind, but why insult him, this was my own self to blame for this, striking into him so that he was foolish, looking so, if his other colleagues were there. My mind then went to my child. I thought I am dying they must kill me now, she will not know. Instead he slapped my face, and greater force, feeling at the corner of my eye if it was the skin tore, as though my eye would hit into my nose and fall out. One security laughed. One other said, A slapping for him, he is a naughty boy.

  Instead if they had killed me, I thought it then, if death was to come it would be peace, if none was to know, not anything.

  I remained on the ground. My eyes were open. The securitys had gone. Voices now also gone. Nothing. But the night, it also had gone. If I had lost consciousness, perhaps I did do so. How long I was there lying, if I did glimpse her, perhaps. There was good light, moonlight, sunlight, towards dawn. I thought I did see her in the doorway, a shape there. I could see a person, someone there observing. Now as in a dream what she was doing, images crowded of my companion and the newcomer, these two now together, and the voice now that I heard it, strongly, this voice talking, These people want from me what is it they want from me.

  Later it was dawn. I walked by the perimeter, securitys were there, one challenged me. I acted as though not hearing that he might ignore me. None else may have heard, there was no necessity that a confrontation should take place. But he stepped sideways into my path and raised his arm and I stopped and his eyes stared into myself, a moment there standing until he thought not to bring matters further. What is there to die for. I can die for it, not as others had done, if others had done, my own death might be for anything, nothing. I walked to the outer area, others were here. If there is the wish to die it is nothing to talk about.

  The moon was not part of it, the moon was above another part of it, someone’s world where children were and smells of old people, people near to death, now from the other section smells also. Later I would return to mine, securitys by the door, barring entry, now seeing myself, raising the weapon, I was no threat. Of course she would have gone, nothing there in the space, also clothings that I had, these also gone.

  The security was in my path.

  How long it had been here in this place. Some detailed the days and the weeks.

  45

  “letter to widow, unfinished”

  Unfortunately no one told me of his death. I would have wanted to know. I would have thought of him. At the farewell-gathering I could have sat by myself, ensuring some solitary time. This is the ritual. I could have performed it. I know about rituals that they may allow us an understanding and in this will lie their worth. Ritual is far from a bad thing, if under the foregoing, if it is so.

  Then during the periods of repose these moments where nothing is demanded of us, reflection on the individual now deceased often will transform itself into lived-experience and we are remembering scenes of our youth, feelings that we shared, our various leanings, political, sporting, other, also love, loves, early ideas of love. I here am referring to the deepmost experiences of our youth. We re-encounter the most vivid images of greatness, future greatness, for the species, of which we are a part, gloriously. We think then of tragedy, for we consider humanity itself. We consider individual human beings, we regard them as tragedies and ponder on meaning, their significance for us. We are aware these are not the experience of youth, that we have no true knowledge of such a thing, as a tragedy, its reality, which is for adults, and we are able to glorify in that, as in our youth, we glorify in this now, this present, this

  communing,

  that we are here in the face of a form of greatness, for what else is death?

  This is how we think. Yet too we would know it as erroneous. When we become older we are aware that tragedy is an experience, deeply, another experience, another reality, this is what it has become, that we encounter it throughout our lives, individuals whom we have enjoyed, who have become no longer with us, and we are to experience this.

  In these most difficult moments such as that now before us we think how would it be if our children were present. I also think this. I cannot halt the thought, my own child. And could such a thing be possible? Have children, dependent children, been present? Of course they have. What did the father do? Did he cope? If it is not possible to cope. Myself to think so, for to what is it akin, or may it be so? War situations, where one has to have one’s children? Be at war but take care of them. Yes. And to go further, we must recognise that this is as it is for all parents, as we are and have been, and for all time. If I may think of Egyptian peasants of 7000 years ago in the knowledge that this is not ruled out as a form of hell, that drawing an exception to this rule indicates only the nature of generality, that a rule may enclose any number of general indicators, only they are a guide to behaviour, behaviour that is difficult in situations grasped as socially awkward. But from the earliest time we both set out to show the positive aspect to this, that these insurmountable burdens superficially are so, only so, that they do much to alleviate the unbearable, unbearable action, the nature, of our present environment.

  I become weary of the extension, it becomes further descent, my own inabi
lity, and lack

  Movement, confined space, always that presupposition. Examples?

  I received word of his death too late. No one advised me earlier. I regret this. It is awkward, is to be so expressed.

  Yet such as this cannot be helped, these are the thoughts, there is a time for such thoughts, it is during the grieving, perhaps at the outset, of the grieving period, and no one told me of his death, no one told me, I write to you

  I write to you

  46

  “this comes back”

  If I could not move my body if it was not broken. You have him, he said, voice coming from where. It was not, I was not, this was a floor, floor, pallet and covering, and the hand at my groin and I moved, shifting onto my side and it over me the arm over me the hand gripping me. The heat great and sweat, old layers. If my head was beneath the covering I would not breathe, I knew it, could not, suffocating, I knew it. Drifting again into sleep, something like sleep, a pain dissipated. If I would awaken, if it was a dream passing, an event past, from earlier in life or if it had been happening how long a long time, and the erection now, thinking it happening, it was happening, as endless thing, as dreams are, cyclic. And I was awake again, and the hand having me there gripping me, I felt the heat also from her body. I barely could move, stretch only my limbs. What was it asked, things asked. If things were asked I heard them then the next moment had arrived, I would not know until the moment to follow, or longer, how long, hours. What these questions were. The hand gripped me, tight in, strength there squeezing, yet I would open my legs, wishing I might do so but what the dread was, or dreading that I was, but was not it was not,