Rejected by the one, I loved, I turned to face the river. The trees were whispering sweet words to me, almost imperceptible in small intervals, that were almost wee. Wearing sandals I searched the shore for a place to sit down. It was peak time for all strangers to gather up in one place, so I had no difficulty to find someone. The grass was green everywhere. One didn\u00b4t have to pay much attention to find a mind focused enough to make a decision. The lack of a free will, that was the opposite, or just exactly the same.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I sat down at a section of the riverbank filled by couples accidentally. My body was unaware of observant eyes watching me. Most couples were cuddled closely together, and with eyes watery from observation I followed their gaze. It felt like a riddle, why they seemed, cuddled altogether, to see nothing, even as their gaze wandered fro and forth all the rows of other pairs and random foreigners like me, who happen to sit next to them a little too close. The trees, that were planted on the other side of the river, were weeping willows. They looked good, and that was all the reason, why I loved to sit down at this section of the river.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I had no intention to meet someone. Swept by a loneliness, that was more wholesale than the sting of finding oneself alone and probably abandoned, I summoned up my gaze to shake off the extensive view, that had settled upon my eyes naturally, as I lay there in vicinity of bodies moving and shoveling through the spacious heat in, what seemed to me to be, slow motion. The air was hot and brooding with warmth, which evoked not only laziness, but also an odd kind of arousal. I stood up to fetch a drink, something refreshing, as the seconds went by without anything occuring in particular. The uneventfulness of that time passing supplied me with the sense of motion I needed to get up, a kind of necessity brought on not by hardship solely, but by sheer boredom and passivity, too.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I roamed through the offerings of the vending machine, that stood in the hall of a hospital, a tall and broad building with flat windows overlooking the scenery. It seemed to me the most inexpensive possibility to get at something for my throat, that felt a bit sore and a bit dry, too. There were cafes nearby, but the noisy bustle of a coffee shop wasn\u00b4t what I was looking for to get myself refreshed. Any conversation seemed tiresome in a way hard for me to explain, and so I avoided the company of people, who would or might have thought to be obliged to talk to me, and be it only on the simple occasion of having to vend me a drink. The hall was, even if not air-conditioned, still cool and chilly, because it saw little sunlight in the day and was empty at nighttime, when most employees had left their shifts. The presence of the few remaining waiting to be called up by some staff at the casualty unit didn\u00b4t seem to be able to fill the spaciousness of the entrance hall. Broken outcries of pain and lament now and then teared up the silence and succumbed again. Most emergency cases in an appalling manner seemed to have received from heavens or hell itself the dubious gift of patience, that was in fact desperation.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
For some nickels the vending machine sold me a cup of coffee. The coffee was sugary and whitened with what tasted like the cheapest of coffee creamers. \u201eExcuse me, where is the entrance to the hospital?\u201c, someone tapped me on the shoulder, when I was about to return to cross the sandy and dustily pebbled path, that lead alongside the river and the riverbank. I made no effort to answer his question. \u201eOver there\u201c, I said hastily and vaguely pointed towards the direction I just now had parted for once. I merely caught a glimpse of his face. It was a very pretty face, framed by dark brownish curls, and even if the glance, I accidentally shot, was short, it could have been, that its expression hadn\u00b4t escaped his attention. He tried to keep me talking. There was no need for that, for I didn\u00b4t understand one word he was saying. \u201eAnd who are you?\u201c, every word he muttered seemed to be questioning me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There was no need to resist those brownish curls and those brownish eyes, which seemed to wander around in some unknown distances. By not saying much I let myself fall down like a sack emptied of its weight, that was to say, of its content also, and lightly as a feather. Strangers were sitting in our backs, maybe regarding us, maybe not, as he unpacked his guitar to play some merry bossa tunes. There were no twitching birds. The river was steadily flowing in its riverbed, as if there were no breeze to maybe sailed upon and no depth, that would have provoked any doubtful thoughts. I wouldn\u00b4t have been able to explain, why I listened to him very closely. We didn\u00b4t spare any jokes, too. \u201eDogs\u201c, we said, the weeping willows on the other side, they looked like droopy, hairy, slumbering, neat, and unattended dogs, small dogs somehow, not taken care of by their owners, if there at all existed owners, who would have liked to call these creatures their pets. \u201eThey have taken roots therefore\u201c, we said laughingly, \u201eangels kissing\u201c, we continued, as one of us was stating, that he saw wings everywhere, winged dogs, seldomly peculiar dogs with wings. The shape of the branches seemed to change with every turn of our heads. \u201eShe is taller than he is\u201c, he commented on the flapping of an one winged dog, \u201eyeah\u201c, I said, \u201eshe\u00b4s…kind of, you know,…bending down towards him, or something like that…\u201c, as I squinted and narrowed my eyes to become shortsighted enough to inspect those botanical excesses.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There was no treason. We stood up together to part the place, where everyone was enjoying themselves in this late evening dawn. The bushes surrounding us bursted with quiet buzzing and humming of small strange and indefinable insects with short sidepieces and torsos, seemingly furry and cuddly. They weren\u00b4t bees or wasps, we stated, as we rose from the ground, noticing with sideglances from the corners of our eyes, how the pairs and strangers lying alongside the shore next to us waved to drive away some persistent animals, which seemed to have lost their way from one bush to another. \u201eWhy are they doing that\u201c, he said laughingly, without any astonishment.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We set on our way to his place. He lived in a small apartment nearby. We had to squeeze ourselves through masses of wandering people in the streets, that were filled with the typical evening flair of a summer, cooling down by sunset. It was a nice flat. We uncorked a bottle of wine, and lit a cigarette, we handed to each other in change, mutually ceasing to speak, keeping quiet in order to let the silence grow. There were mirrors everywhere in this small rented flat, which had no bathroom of its own, but merely a shower cubic in one corner of the kitchen, which served also as the living room. We didn\u00b4t need any candles. If he lit one, it was just for the purpose to make the room smell nice. It occured to me, that it was scented with some mixed aromas, indefinable for an untrained nose, not accustomed to tell apart the ingredients of anything, that was mingled. The scent, I thought, made me sad, but it wasn\u00b4t for the scent, that I was sad, truly. As I wasn\u00b4t capable to share the unspoken sadness and made no effort in doing so, we left the kitchen, lit by the candle, and moved to the adjacent chamber, a wood framed window in the kitchen was looking out at. I didn\u00b4t ask, and he didn\u00b4t explain, why there was a window, instead of a continuous wall, separating two chambers in an ordinary rented flat like that in this suburb. \u201eIt\u00b4s special\u201c, I thought I heard him murmur in a manner as to himself more than to a listener like me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sadness wasn\u00b4t the emotion, which settled in, when we undressed to let ourselves fall over, head over heels, onto the matress, that looked more like a gigantic fauteuil than a bed. We were very talkative and chatty, when we hit the bed, as if we fixed a date and made an appointment to speak out only, when lying upon it. \u201eI\u00b4m for real\u201c, he said, \u201eme, too\u201c, I agreed without thinking too much, what I was saying. \u201eYou know, I\u00b4m for real\u201c, he said, \u201eyeah, sure\u201c, I replied.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Wild it would have been, what we were doing, for a flickering flame to watch. But as nobody was watching, it became only wilder. Groans and moans filled the air, as we lay there bickering one another with our teeth and tongues. We told each other, that we wrote short stories, when we were banging and poking softly and doing business and kept going, skylarking like this. Dreamily we told each other, what short stories we would have written in this instance, and what these short stories were about, as if all of them were just immaterial like prohecies, to be true only in a wholehearted way, and to come true in the right moment, when all hands of clocks were pointing due to one direction, that was to say, straight to the north. I was weeping, but it was for no other reason than reminiscence solely, that I wept. He didn\u00b4t seem to realize, that I was weeping, for I must have wept very quietly. \u201eSleep\u201c, he demanded, as he took me in his arms, and bickered on with kisses and caresses, to wake me up again, some minutes or hours, I couldn\u00b4t tell which or how many of them had passed, for I had fallen asleep, later.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201eI wrote stories about fucking a chicken\u201c, he told me, as he penetrated me on and on again. I had no idea, how much pain he had stored up inside of him. It could have been located anywhere, as a clump in his heart, a clemp around his chest, very tight, or in any place of his body. \u201eSo you write with your penis\u201c, I said. We laughed simultaneously at our jokes, that build on each other with that tint of obedience, which was characteristic for all matters of course, like rungs of a ladder following each other, that ran up high to burst through the ceiling. \u201eWe want freedom!\u201c, he laughingly shouted, \u201eWe are individuals!\u201c \u201eMay I speak into the microphone as a spokesman then?\u201c, I jokingly mocked him, as he waved his dick and teasingly grabbed my hair to direct me to take it into my mouth. \u201eAnd what do you write about?\u201c, he asked, panting. I was being maybe a little too serious, for I told him the truth. \u201eI write about a juvenile rebel, who is a bully.\u201c \u201eOh, really?\u201c, he said. \u201eYeah\u201c, I said. \u201eYou prefer to take in the pain over getting hurt, don\u00b4t you?\u201c, I said, distractingly. \u201eNo, I…maybe\u201c, he said. \u201eAnd why is he doing that?\u201c, he asked. \u201eHe was the son of a rich family. And he never managed to get rid of the cynicism of the wealthy. He fell so low. That was the end. But he never managed to get rid of all the cynicism.\u201c<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He fell very silent then. We continued doing things. We slept, and after we rejoiced, we continued our fucking and our love making. He was very gentle. Suddenly he pulled a hand over my mouth to keep it shut. It felt good. It felt like I was being raped.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201eAnd how did your story end?\u201c, he asked, worriedly, when he was pushing his bike beside me on the empty sidewalk early morning, because I had insisted on going home, although he had offered me to stay. Hastily, to anticipate falling asleep again, I tore the heavy and loaded bedsheets aside to get dressed quickly in an awaken state. We had reached the doorstep of the house, I lived in. \u201eI…don\u00b4t know\u201c, I lied. On the doorstep we sat and watched the morning dawn, that looked used up in my eyes, that were tired and exhausted and swollen from exhaustion and defeat. \u201eSomeone was watching\u201c, I hesitatingly said. \u201eIn his parents\u00b4mansion, he made love to a girl in a chamber, that served as the cloakroom during a feast. Spread on the bed lay all cloaks of all guests, who were invited. `Nobody\u00b4s there`, he whimpered during sex, `you don\u00b4t have to be afraid, nobody\u00b4s coming in`. The door couldn\u00b4t be locked. She saw someone. With a stern face he stood there, motionless, just watching. Aside of the sternness, there was no expression on his face. She cried. That was, why she cried.\u201c \u201eAre you finished?\u201c, he asked. \u201eNo\u201c, I said, \u201eI\u00b4m just going home now. Goodbye\u201c, I unlocked the door to the tenement. \u201eGoodbye then\u201c, the boy, who fetched me from the shore, said, \u201eI\u00b4m sure, we will meet again.\u201c<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Rejected by the one, I loved, I turned to face the river. The trees were whispering sweet words to me, almost imperceptible in small intervals, that were almost wee. Wearing sandals I searched the shore for a place to sit down. It was peak time for all strangers to gather up in one place, so […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":19310,"template":"","categories":[52,10],"class_list":["post-19379","stsp_text","type-stsp_text","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-issue-24","category-prosa"],"yoast_head":"\n