The Wonders of Olomuc

Preliminary remarks.

Here is a little childish story for children.

It was a dark night of February, the winter hadn’t still left the pace to the Spring keeping the land cold from within.

Jela was walking with her little torch in the courtyard behind their little house lost somewhere in the woods around Olomuc.

-         Jela, go! and be sure there are no Goblins in the courtyard before going to sleep.

Her father said like every evening after dinner.

That was the only way to have a bit of quality time with his lovely wife since the little kid tumbled into their lives.

The little Jela prepared herself properly for the task.

She grabbed a big torch from her father toolbox, the rake her mother usually use to take care of the garden, she stuck her head inside a little military hat and moved slowly towards the back door.

The backyard was dark and looked like a jungle to the eyes of the little Davy Crockett.

She opened her way to the big rose bush avoiding smoothly the dangerous spikes.

The area was clean.

Was time now to move forward to the giant children’s lake. She checked the parameter, the lake looked clean… but wait!

Something was moving upon the surface of the lake. Jela crouched down next to a bush making her breath one with the breath of the nature around her.

She moved silently from bush to bush until getting as close as possible to the suspicious being. It was fatty, just floating slowly in the opposite direction, the little head was looking at the house where her parents were resting unaware of the danger.

Jela gnashed her teeth and jumped towards the shadow hitting it with her weapon.

-         Pfffffffffffffffiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…

Screamed the little thing.

Jela dropped the rake and jumped instantaneously behind the closest bush, contemplating the scene from that safe place.

Everything seemed to be immobile, everything looked to be quite.

Whatever it was, now it was dead, she thought.

Jela stepped slowly towards the dead thing then she grabbed it with her little fluffy hands. It was a duck, a plastic duck, actually the duck of her little cousin visiting her that morning.

War requires victims sometimes.

She grabbed again her faithful shining rake and kept on walking to the last target, the border of her territory just before the wild forest of Olomuc. The stone bench was just beside the perimeter fence. A big bush was just rising behind it dropping a bridge between her land the no man’s land surrounding her house.

 She climbed clumsily up to the bush to give the usual inspection to the surroundings like every evening. Then she saw him.

He was a big scary Troll. His thin long ears were emerging from the dark dirty hair. The big nose full of pimples was randomly placed between the big dark blue eyes.

The curious being was sitting on a rock just from the other side of the fence mumbling something.

Jela raised up from the bush with a serious look holding her weapon with no fear.

-         What are you?

She said to the little being.

He continued mumbling without caring about the little soldier standing in front of him.

-         I am talking to you! Are you deaf?

-         What? Me?

He answered pretty surprised.

-         Well. Do you see anybody else around here?

-         Ok. But you are not supposed to see me. You know?

-         But I do.

-         Yes. You do. I guess human puppies can.

The big thing nodded annoyed.

-         What is wrong... Thing? You don’t have to be afraid of me until you don’t pass this wall.

Said the girl.

-         Aha! Now I am scared! Oh, so scared! You said that! That’s what is wrong, me being a… Thing.

-         What is wrong with that? You look so big and strange and cool… and beside, you said people cannot see you. Probably you can see things we are not allowed to, play games we will never know, visit places we will never have on our maps.

-         Yes. I can ride the sun rays with the fairies, swim in the rainbow until the gold pot and dancing with the stars for one week in a row since we neither need to sleep nor to eat. But nobody is ever going to like this big, ugly, fluffy thing! I wish I were at least tall as a normal human…

-         Sshhh!!

Jela interrupted him.

-         You shouldn’t say that! Mum says the angels could hear you, and when they hear you, if they say “amen” the wish will become true!!

-         Pfff. Angels! They never hang out down here unless they don’t fall down during one of their stupid football matches. And beside, I really hope one of those lazy birds will hear that.

-         I hope you are right… Thing. Now I have to go or my parents will be worried. Bye.

-         Rupert… grunt! That’s my name.

Jela ran back to her house. Rupert stayed there for a while contemplating the silhouettes behind the windows, then he jumped back into the wood.

Another day passed another night came.

Jela, armed to the teeth like usual, was on the field for the usual inspection.

Everything was calm that night, the duck was back in its spot of the pond. Daddy had to buy a new one to stop the storm coming out from the eyes and the mouth of her cousin when he figured out his duck was passed away.

Jela walked across the garden and got to the wall where she met the funny thing the night before. No one was there. Everything looked calm and quiet.

Suddenly somebody stepped next to her from nowhere.

He was smaller but she could easily recognize him.

-         Uhm… so looks like somebody was listening to you at the end.

She smiled.

-         Grunt!! I’ve got still this ugly big nose and these… elephant ears.

-         What should I say then? I’m not that tall either and I don’t think I am somehow particularly beautifull.

-         What do you know about beauty? You spoiled little girl.

Jela didn’t like what the ex-big thing told her. It was the same thing her father was repeating all the time when she tried to take part to the conversations between him and mum.

She tried to look at Rupert to show him her disappointment but the horrible thing was admiring his new proportions in a mirror of water next to the fence ignoring her.

She walked back home dragging with her that disappointment that would have been erased during the night like all the strong feelings of the kids at that age.

And another night came.

The dinner was pretty long that day and daddy was a bit hesitant to leave the little girl going out for her inspections. But there was no way he could stop her.

Jela went out like usually and she was happy she did it because something incredible was that night just next to the fence.

A man. A real one. He looked about 50 years old like her dad, perfectly shaved and good looking.

-         Hey little brat look at this. Pretty amazing isn’t it?

-         Brat? Me??

She turned up her little nose.

-         Anyway you really changed Rupert.

-         Yes I did. Now everybody will like me. The men will accept me and all my people will respect me.

Suddenly Jela’s father popped out from the house walking fast towards his daughter.

-         Jela! How many times I told you not to talk to people you don’t know? Especially if there is nobody around!

-         My friend, don’t worry she was not talking to any unknown strange creature.

-         And who are you?

The man with the big belly looked at the ex-disgusting thing now human shaped.

-         You can see me! But that’s amazing! Don’t worry I am your friend, see? I am like you.

He turned around on his tip-toe happier than ever.

-         Who the fuck are you! Are you a kind of retarded or what? Just get lost!

The big man grabbed the little Jela in his arms and walked back home.

Rupert was sad, disappointed. This was not the reaction he expected now he was so beautifully shaped.

He looked at the little girl jumping away from him in her father’s hand and he was pretty sure she had a couple of white feathered wings on her back.

He rubbed his eyes but it was dark, they were already far away and his sight was not as good as it was before.

He walked back to his forest where his people were waiting for him as they always did.

He followed the usual path, but there was no sign of what one day was his house.

He never found it, he never saw his friends again.

Now, handsome as he always wanted to be, he was alone walking towards the society he had always admired and where, he hoped, somebody could give him back something of what he had irreversibly lost.

- Southern Cat

The answer to the mystery you don't want to know - 2

 The first day I stepped out of the house was at dawn, I bumped into some drunken young college kids.

The sun hadn’t rised yet and I pulled my hood over my head but one of them looked at me with such sharp eyes and mumbled some words. At first, I just tried to pass them without looking back at him then the others talked to me. I couldn’t pick up what they were saying but I assumed it was a sort of greeting in the end. However, I was already alarmed, so I walked away under shade quickly.

“I guess your book would be nice also.“

Suddenly a girl shouted at my back in the distance.

I looked back. In a dim street light, three twentish boys and two girls were walking towards each other in opposite directions. I was amazed at first and as I was about to rise my feet again, I realized what had just happened. I didn’t feel too bad at least when it happened just once. However the next day and the day after the next day some random people came up with akward but friendly gestures and said something consoling to me.

 I should be glad and happy that people didn’t try to strangle me, but the moment people recognized me with such pathetic eyes, I re-realized my position in the world.

She will bug me beyond my grave, Can’t I be in my own world?

 As I walked in the apartment building, I mumbled some words. I put the key in but I couldn‘t turn it right away. Something was stuck inside of the hole. I shook the key and door handle several times but it didn’t move at all.

What the..

 The corridor was dark, and dim sunlight was hovering in the chilly air of the building. The sun was about to slip away and suddenly my brain began to grope the old memory, the forgotten moments when I was in Paris, the sleepless, blurry and dark days.

 The locked door, the chilly air... and it gave me cold shower down my back immediately.

“Why so early?“

Suddenly the door opened abruptly and a voice flew into my ears.

“Hell! Angie!“

It was Angie. She was peaking her head out and looking at me.

“Hell, you gonna give me a heart attack!“ I complained.

“I double lock inside when I’m at home.“

“Why are you at home at this time?“

I asked her while walking into the apartment.

“Did you have dinner?“ She didn’t answer for my question and asked.

It was Angie’s typical way of communicating. If she doesn’t like or doesn’t feel like talking about it, she simply ignores the question. My parents thought she wasn't really aware of the question or she’s just cautious when she talks but it wasn’t true. I know certain Angie-like behavior. She didn’t like to be exposed and dislikes talking about cetrain things at certain times with certain people. She had a lot of rules I guess and whenever people approach her too closely, she made excuses so not to mention about her personal things too much. I don’t know if she had special reasons to do it or she’s merely eccentric.

We were not too close to one another though. My parents never knew about any of us the same way as many other parents do. I can’t say we are a middle class family but considering my dad’s income and the amount of mum’s tax, we had quite a fine life financially.

Our family has a very simple and neat history but it didn’t help make me like them any more. My mum is Japanese who speaks perfect Korean, a very sweet but colorless person. She always agreed with my dad and rarely argued with anyone but I was never crazy about her. Angie gets along well with her but not with my dad. I was okay with my dad but he isn’t much of an interesting person, either. Angie and me both always seeked something else outside of our worlds but not that active in domestic life. Between me and Angie, this was probably the most intimate time I think since we happened to live at her place alone.

 Angie crashed herself on the couch and picked up her magazine wth such a reluctant gesture. If I didn’t show up, she might have been falling asleep.

“You didn’t go to work?“ I asked her again casually.

“Never.“

„What?“

“ I never go to work.“ She said with straight face.

“Haha funny...“

“Don’t get sore, and don’t call my name, call me sister from now. You gotta be more polite..you are thirty not twenty anymore.“

“Now, now. Why the hell suddenly become so considerably different from before? Something happened last week? Something big? Like some crazy national hero was murdered?“ I asked.

Angie’s weak smiled faded out.

“Where have you been all day?“ She asked.

“Went out to buy a book.“

“A book?“ Then Angie turned her head down towards her fashion magazine again.

She didn’t even ask me what kind of book I bought. Whatever came next she remained calm and made no comments.

She’s probably never been interested in anyone or anything. I thought.

She was always a likable person in general, her mild locution, easy going character and casual attitude. However in my eyes, she looked so empty. Even though she had a dirty mouth, she seldomly showed her inner feelings. Since she was three years older than me, I thought she didn’t feel like talking with me bacause I am too young but then after I met her group of friends I realized she’s just like that to everybody.

“So why did you buy that shit?“ Angie asked me finally.

I was looking through some pages of the book across from her seat, and raised my face. She must have noticed my sore feelings from my sudden silence.

“It's Symin’s first book.“ I said.

She looked my way showing her wonder for a while.

“....You might dislike it.“ Angie suddenly said.

It was an unexpected and weird answer.

“Did you read her‘s?“

“The first book is always a bit unpolished and bio autographical..you don’t like knowing about her childhood or whatsoever ...cuz when it comes to her private life, you get this ...“

„So you really read her stuff. Did you buy it by yourself?“

„Oh, well, it was in the school libary.“

Angie had finished her P.D. course in English literature and began to teach in the college last year.

"By the way, why do you think I would dislike it? I probaly want to know about her now.“

"You? Don’t be childish. Why all of sudden do you want to live with her? You wanted to get away from her.“

„What do you mean I want to live with her?“

„All day you are watching TV stories related to her death and searching for news about her on the internet. Why don’t you go back to Paris? You're doing nothing in Korea.“ Angie said.

It was Angie. She says what she thinks in such a casual way without much emotion.

It’s been nine years since I had been Seoul. As my sister said, there was nothing I had to do or I want to do. I lost most of my contacts among school mates so there was no friends to share my time with. Strictly speaking, I only had two to three friends, but after I met them a couple of times, I wasn’t sure we were talking about the same issues or if they were enjoying my company. They smelt me like a house broken dog does towards a wild dog. They seemed to admire my single life somewhat but then there was a moment they didn’t agree with my life in many ways. Sometimes it

came out in a synical tone in their voices or indirect words such as ‘that’s your idea‘, ‘you won’t be satisfied ever.‘

We became too different kinds of people then. I wondered how Symin adjusted to her life in our hometown. She stayed out of Korea longer than I had, probably about 10 years in a row.

I booked my ticket to Paris the same month I arrived in Korea, and went to the airport in Angie’s car the next week.

“I never liked you when you were younger.”

Angie abruptly said while she drove.

“…why?”

I was surprised but asked back calmly.

I wanted to lead this conversation longer than she wanted.

“Because you were like a robot.” She said

“But mum used to say I have anger-management problems. I don’t think robot is the proper word in

that case.”

“Yes, you have a crazy temper but you know how to hide it until the last moment. And you do the proper things. I mean you always did things too properly. Remember, nobody called you by name? We all called you, ‘An, Yujung’. You were not a typical, popular kid, but you were always a school leader or representative of some sort but never had a best friend.”

“…yes. So what is different now?”

I didn’t want to listen to my childhood from someone who didn’t show me any favor.

“I do like that interview last time.” She said

“Oh, that was it.”

Angie was smiling while she was driving.

“It could kill me. You know people could hunt me down and kick me out of Korea. But people were generous in the end. I’m impressed!”

“Because people are not sad or angry, but happy about finding a genius. Inventing a new genius for the new generation." She said, “Well, we have a few things in common now.” Angie said again.

“What’s that?”

“Being single.”

“Being an old maid, you mean? Yes, I don’t think we will ever marry anyone. Because we have the same parents.” I said .

Angie was probably satisfied by this comment, I could see a feeble smile appear around her thin lips.

We didn't talk for another half an hour.

“So we're almost there.”

She said.

“Don’t follow me in, just drive back home. I hate saying goodbye to people in the airport.”As we arrived at the airport, I said.

Anyway I haven’t got much baggage. A few sweaters and pants and Symin’s books, that was it.

“Hey, I think you have changed since I saw you last.” Suddenly my sister said.

“You mean when I was twenty three? I don’t even remember that time.” I answered.

She helped me to pull my carrier out from the back seat and we faced each other over the car.

“Anyway if you ever feel like visiting, you're always welcome. I have a wide wooden floor and huge windows, but no separate room or a living room. There isn't even a wall in the shower room. But you can sleep on my red couch and you can even dance around on the spacey floor! Because I have an old piano there too.” I said cheerfully.

“Okay, If I ever have any time…” Angie seemed to want to say something more but then she stopped.

“We’ll talk later.” She said.

“Sure. Bye then. ” I said even though I wasn’t sure how we could talk more or where we could talk later.

She probably wasn't using msn, skype, facebook or anything useful, but well, I will see her in the future.

The Answer To The Mystery You Don't Want To Know

                                               -  Witch Cat


Prologue

So they came to my house the next week. The unknown best friend of their genius, the invisible company of their heroin’s past, the helpless and harmless rival of their legendary writer. I became under the sudden spotlight with such and such nicknames in the public.

 Being celebrity’s friend is suffocating, especially if the person became an untouchable being just because she's gone. The media, people’s ignorant passion toward her life, the ridiculous imagination about her ordinary life all made me tired and sick.

 So when the man happened to push the mike toward me, I impulsively shouted at people around me.

“Her arrogance, her unlimited ego, her uncontrollable selfishness, I used to hate those things about her. But then why on earth are all of you dying to know about this human? Is there anything else you want to do in your life?

And what do you think about her sleazy curiosity about a harmless being, how many innocent people got hurt by her malicious descriptions about them in her books? It wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair at all!”

 My voice was probably way too emotional. I can imagine my eyes were getting red while I was spitting in the air.

“Yes, you shouldn’t have said that in public.” My sister said after we watched my interview on the nine o’clock news the following day.

 I didn’t retort against her because it was clear that I was out of my mind like the bunches of people with cameras and mikes that broke into my house. Some of them came for making a documentary about her and some from News channels and there was a guy who was to write about her story.

Jesus Christ, her biography? It would be better to write about the childhood of the Facebook founder.

Not surprisingly I had to hear my interview over and over the entire month, I mean particles of my interview, strictly speaking.

“Her arrogance, her unlimited ego, her uncontrollable selfishness!”

“Yes, Ji, Symin was Charismatic, even her close friend couldn’t help but feel jealous of her in every aspect. Throughout history, genius has caused a lot of trouble in their society. Humans can be cruel towards somebody better than an ordinary person. But in the end, the public loves to find genius because they reach somewhere we can’t, and they discover something we could never even think about, so her book was like that. Her stories were base on our modern history and…”

In a TV show, they stopped my interview and made this absurd comment.

 I assumed that people could watch my interview in Youtube now.

“Why don’t they just make into a rap? So they don’t need to repeat how great she is and how jealous I am.” I said to my sister not trying to hide my irritation.

“Why don’t you just calm down? She’s dead. She’s gone. You can’t fight against the dead, why don’t you just let them have some fun until they find something more interesting? Some psychopath will show up soon because summer is coming, so don’t worry.”

She answered me in a sarcastic but calm voice.

She’s my sister, Angie. Her full name is An, Youngji, but when you pronounce her name very fast several times in a row, you kind of smash the middle word ‘young’ and it sounds like ‘Angie.’ And people used to call her like that. Her whole life she had this nickname and nobody called her by her full name. I used to envy this fact that everybody was always being friendly to her. Because most  people call me by my full name. People thought I might love that, being distant, but actually most of time, I didn’t enjoy being called by my full name. I felt like was a certain place or stuff or the name of a book but not a human. I couldn’t complain about what people saw in me. They might have been constantly misunderstanding about me but I didn’t have the power to fix it. Because I never had what people call ‘social skill’. Angie says I have this abrupt and blunt attitude and that’s the reason why people don’t approach me much. She says that’s something cold and makes people think I’m sharp-She probably just wanted to console me- but I think I shoo away decent people all the time. And that’s how I ended up being a ‘Best friend’ of Symin. So to speak, I never thought I was her best friend, not even just a friend. We used to argue and fight over nonsense and she was my dear dear stalker if I was allowed to talk about the truth.

When I opened my mouth toward the camera the first time, all my suppressed anger burst out and I said things that I shouldn’t have said in that moment. The Icon of the new generation had just died a week ago mysteriously, and all the Koreans were crying about it, and at that very moment -they found the only person who might have known the heroin’s life and might help solve the mysterious death- I opened my mouth and said ‘she is a bitch’.

I thought people might throw stones at me on the street and threaten to burn my house down, including my parents’.

I went so far as to think about leaving the country.

If I tell you the truth? She was a brat and a rat. Yes, she ate me up bit by bit alive. I don’t know how she became a damn ‘great writer’ all of the sudden and what could she really create with her flat and simple brain. Even though I read most of her writings before her ‘brilliant debut’, I never read any of her published works. She published eight books and until she published eight long novels, I never got a chance to read them.

 She was anonymous until the year 2007. And boom, her eighth book became a best seller causing huge success in the publishing industry, people began to carrying her book on depressing subway or stinky bus rides and some TV talkshow idiots even mentioned about the book as being their favorite, and her seventh book and sixth book became famous in reverse order. I don’t doubt that  the rest of her books would be other best sellers in the future.

-Witch Cat,

WW

Winding my way through the back side which was the front side in the 6 am metro light, I am at home in my city of strangers gazing at me with their sausage breath and unknown thoughts.

I walk like a zombie would like to on coffee but has not the heart to – on my way, bounding up steps looking at my feet, the path, parting people as I part my scattered thoughts.

The crowd tosses its energy about with its eyes on the green grass of others’ eyes. Pulling the bill of my cap tighter with my left hand, I pat the paper stacked in my heart pocket with my right, keeping my power down low, out of sight, warming me in the cold.

A

A frame of life

The rain was falling on his large shoulders while he was sitting on the cold sidewalk. He was hypnotized by the drops melting in the puddle in front of him. All the lights from the million shops around the Jonggak station were reflecting on the liquid crystals transmitting a cathartic feeling to our man.

A drop smartly sneaking into his scarf woke him up from his dreams.

He looked at his legs covered by soaked trousers and gave the input to stand up.

He couldn’t keep his shoulders straight while walking as they were collapsing under an invisible weight.

Dragging his steps towards the lights he tried to put together the 1000 pieces puzzle of the last 24 hours, when his plane landed at the Inchon airport.

His girlfriend came to pick him up, she kissed him but that was not the flavour of 3 months waiting kiss, nor the expected welcome to his new Korean life.

She dropped him at the Vook Corp. offices where he was going to have his last interview to get the job.

He stepped on a shining little shoe. The guy looked up at him and decided to let it go.

He was walking in his little black expensive suite surrounded by a bunch of other penguins. Probably the usual evening with the colleagues imposed on them by the unsaid company rules. His girlfriend told him about that.

A fat guy, probably the boss was making fun of one of them while the others were laughing at him just to please the big guy. What a disgusting scenario, he thought.

Sometimes you don’t need to know the language to know what’s going on.

That was his feeling when he stepped into the Vook director office. The head of his department was arguing loudly with So-Young, the friend of his girlfriend who forwarded his curriculum there.

They stuck in a deadly silence as soon as he stepped inside.

The interview went pretty smooth… too smooth probably. A few technical questions and that’s it, we will call you back, he said.

He turned the handle of the little tea house.

That’s funny, he thought. He found the same handle on his girlfriend’s door. The only difference was the post-it on it:

“Sorry Larry. Your luggage is on the stairs. I met another guy a few months ago, I thought I could manage it with both of you but… there’s no point in going on with this lie. He can just give me what you can’t, what I need. Y.”

End of the story, he was “not enough”. It was not the first time he felt like that. He turned his back at the door barely holding his tears and walked down forgetting about his luggage.

He was staring at the little spices floating on the surface of his tea, as if an explanation for all that could be hidden there.

Suddenly the phone started blinking with his irritating vibration.

It was a message from the Vook Corp. He didn’t need to read it, he knew already he didn’t get the job… he was “not enough”.

He left there the mobile and stepped out. There was a plane going back home in 3 hours, he wanted to catch it.

Soung-De was cleaning the tables that evening, it was his turn.

He hated the job but he had to pay the rent somehow. With a glance he saw the I-phone, he never had one of them and he couldn’t afford one. Nobody was looking at him while he was grabbing it.

There was something written on the display: “We would be pleased to have you on board starting on Monday.”

Soung-DE couldn’t speak English, probably the address of the owner, he thought.

He turned it off quickly and put it in his pocket.




- Southern Cat

....Invisible

Good morning darling, he says calmly. The first sentence of the day comes out from his mouth in a polite way, as he would be greeting his colleague.

Good morning answers Veronica with a sleepy sound in her voice. How come that man sounds the same every single morning of the year, she asks in her mind. Even if there would be angry lions raining down from the ceiling, he would have the same dead, emotionless morning opening. 

He does not yawn, he does not rob his eyes. There are no signs from the night that made him sleep just a moment ago. This is not normal, did I marry a man or an alien, she continues her thoughts. Or maybe he is a robot, a spy robot, working for the government of France. The whole thing about being a French diplomat must be an undercover story, she exaggerates in her mind. 

We must make sure that Victoria studies for her mathematics exam today, he says. It is very important for her future to do well with her high school and we need to make sure that she knows that. Veronica does not care about her daughters future seven a clock in the morning. That is too early, maybe later. In fact what she cares about is the act that made her daughter born into this world 19 years ago. Yes, an act is the word for that. Her husband is polite even while they have sex. 

It is an act for him, such as asking their daughter to read for the exam. It has to be efficient and serve a purpose for the future or otherwise it is a waste of time. Veronica does not have any other purpose right now than to get him inside her, she really wants that. She wants to feel that they are woman and a man, not a sister and a brother.  

Victoria would be a fine doctor one day, he continues talking. It would be a perfect career choice for her. I can be your doctor and I can be one right now, Veronica says trying to sound sexy. She never thought that she would fall into saying such a cliché, but desperation is speaking in her. No darling, your job as a translator is just perfect for you, he says and smiles distantly. 

Veronica starts to kiss her husband’s neck, the chest and the stomach. Her hands are sliding down into his boxers and that is a mistake. Oops a daisy, he says and gets up as a lightning would have just hit him. He learned this British saying when he was on a work mission in England. He always uses it when he tries to escape unpleasant situations in a polite way. He even mixes a bit of British accent to his voice trying to sound funny, but he fails badly. Funny and him do not simply go together.

I will make sure that Victoria will get a good mark from her exam, he continues talking as nothing had happened. He graps a towel and walks towards the doorway of the bedroom. I fell in love with him, because he was so different from other men. He was generous, polite and he had good manners. Unlike Jack who used to drink too much and then get aggressive with other people. He was always in trouble, she remembers. Every time she gets sad she tries to think about how bad her old life used to be, but it does not seem to work anymore. It does not matter how much she thinks about it, it does not make her feel any better. 

Veronica is still lying on the bed and she hears the water coming down from the shower in the bathroom. My husband is not a robot, he is a man. He has to be, she says out loud. She gets up from the bed and walks to the bathroom. 

Darling, is that you, her husband asks. Yes, it is me, she answers. I have been thinking, he says. Victoria should apply to the medical school of London when she finishes her high school. I don’t give a shit, she says. I’m sorry darling, what was that, he asks. I don’t give a shit, she repeats. You said something about sheets, he asks again. 

Veronica removes the shower curtain from her way and goes under the shower with her husband. She puts her arms around him and tries to look at him in a seductive way. There is an almost guaranteed job for everyone who graduates from the London Medical School, he says. Veronica lets go of her husband and goes back to the other side of the shower curtain. 

That was a fast shower darling, her husband says and continues to talk about Victoria’s future. Veronica feels angry and frustrated. She takes a hairbrush from the bathroom table and throws it on the floor. Did you drop something, he asks. Veronica leaves the bathroom and goes to the bedroom to get dressed. 

Could you please make one omelet for me, says Veronica to the Italian chef at the breakfast table. The same for me please, says her husband. Could you make one Italian stinky, rotten pizza for me with some macaroni on the top, says Victoria. That is the only thing you stupid Italians can do, she continues. One omelet for her as well please, says her father ignoring her provocation. So about this medical school, he continues. It is a little bit expensive, but it is an investment for the future. 

Why are you talking about a medical school, asks Victoria. It has a great reputation and its professors are well known worldwide, he continues and still ignores her daughter. He is talking to his wife, not to her. I will never study in any pathetic medical school and especially with their retard professors who have born with stethoscopes hanging on their necks. 

Veronica is deep in her thoughts and does not hear what her daughter or her husband is saying. The chef brings the omelets to the table and the family eats their breakfast in silence. 

The car driver is outside, Veronica’s husband says. Come Victoria, you don’t want to be late from your class and I need to be on time at work as well. I don’t give a shit about the class, Victoria answers. Her father ignores the comment and stands up. Bye darling he says to his wife and kisses her on the cheek. See you later. Yes, see you later, she answers to him without looking at his face. Victoria follows him and does not say anything. 

When they are gone Veronica starts to cry, she cannot eat even if she is very hungry. She feels like she would be in a bad TV-episode that always repeats itself. Then she does something that she has done many times before. It is an act that stabs her heart, but gives her pleasure. She is full of sadness and guilt, but she surrenders. She walks towards the Italian Chef, takes his hand and walks him to the bedroom.  She cries silently, he cries as well. She stopped believing in happy love stories many years ago.

Lotta

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The sun soaked the city's asphalt and burned children's feet, while gypsies danced in Smichov Nadrazi to showcase their new shoes. Drunks howled like dogs against the sirens as old ladies softened their wrinkles in disapproval.

Pigeons flew.
Bees buzzed. 
Jazz jazzed.

Meanwhile, the hum-drum workers shuffled their feet; low and flat, as the cello from my dreams played to the audience of Smichov Nadrazi.

Soft and sweet

And I, an idiot or a baby, stood at the center of my world, hands in pockets, a smirk on my fat face.