Saturday, March 15, 2014

 I watch her every move, the way the light treats her skin, and the small harrowing journeys her voice takes me on.
 She talks to me about the writer Bruno Schlitz. We are visiting his childhood home, and she tells me that she is glad the old maze of apartments where his father went insane is still there, because they easily could not have been, and that it is exactly as she imagined.
 What she loves becomes what I love.
 I imagine for a second that she had never found the book of short stories as a young girl, and that her love of him was only the consequence of familiarity and that her assurances were trivial, and that which I witnessed on an overcast day in the downtown of a small country in eastern Europe is not an irreversible turn of the universe's notion of a destiny, but a trivial iteration of an algorithm, and this is the only way I could momentarily escape my curse, the only way I could ease the suffocation of my love.
 Then she told me that she was hungry and to light her cigarette.

She awoke me to tell me about her dream. She was a young girl and she was with an older girl she knew from the neighborhood. She met the girl as she walked back from the grain mill. The girl carried in her hands a basket of wheat just fresh from the mill and she began to say what a coward her father was. Then she said the girl took the basket of wheat and spilled it out into the road. She talked to me in her morning cigarette breath that I refused to believe she was not aware of and she asked me, why would she do that. Just throw away a basket of wheat.
 I don't know.
 She just threw it in the street. Why would she do that.
 I don't know. It's your dream.
 She laid her head on my chest and thought a while and then looked at me. I think I just remembered that her father abused her.
 Like in real life?
 No, in the dream.
 He abused her in the dream?
 No, I remembered that he abused her in the dream. I think she told me.
 I wanted to tell her to brush her teeth, but she would only roll her eyes at me, and then pretend to be pissed off the rest of the day.