My commander died when I was twelve years old. Cold frustration and apologies were my roommates during those years. Night after night I crawled the walls in no vein. My brother, too small to talk, thought me to dance in the moonlight.
One sunny afternoon I portrayed him as Moses and he started to cry. My commander was his father. No one speaks about him anymore. Our lives have separated. We each have our own families now.
Doctor once told my about a patient of his who masturbated in his sleep. “One hell of a sleep” I thought.
The next day I was fresh anew and started to kindergarten. He was nowhere to be found, no one knew where he was. I promised myself to find him whatever it takes. I have not succeeded to this day. My life passes me by in this flat that I inherited from my father and that I share with my war time commander. Those were the times; times to forget, times I keep on remembering.
I was a young boy back then, fresh as a leave of a wine tree. My muscles were growing as was my mustache. Only later that I discovered its usefulness in the jungle in the middle of a night when enemy is circling around you like mosquitoes and you cant tell the difference one from another.
My formative years were a disaster and full of mistakes too. I broke hearts, I was beaten to death for that and for bunch of other things I have half-forgot and rightly so – it ain't easy living in a house of a beast.
My mother, I never knew her. I heard she was a painter or a sewer or else... but what difference does it make.
I put my rubber gloves at night and try to sleep – sometimes it works, sometimes not. As is the case now when I stand naked in front of a window looking streetwise wearing my rubber gloves – god forsake them.
Not only midgets, not only pregnant women, I have killed even animals, but that was all in my dreams. In my waking life I am your regular war veteran doing my daily routine – killing midgets, pregnant women and small animals. |
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