at the Annual Assembly of the Urban Liberal Soviets

 

W : oh, this is going to be exciting! i love this guy. i think he’s the only one so far who really understands our philosophy.

 

F : you reckon?

 

W : hell, yea. i won’t waste my Sunday afternoon for any random Joe.

 

F : i guess better to have him than some closet Commie. thanks for inviting me to this, by the way.

 

W : for sure … for sure.

 

F : … although y’all might find that hot too. a closet Commie. some kind of postmodern bullshit amalgamation of ideologies.

 

W : what?! how dare you say that. look, we’re just open minded about our beliefs, okay? you may not identify with our open-mindedness … our … breadth! our tolerance! i can’t f*cking stand those … “fundies”! who the f*uck do they think they are telling us what we should think. f*ck that. this crowd here, you see them? they keep me sane!

 

F : i noticed something about people here.

 

W : this crowd? what? fake hair?

 

F : not this crowd. townies here in general. they talk a lot of shit. social shit … sit around drinking $15 coffee talking about social justice and then drive off in their Continental cars. it’s hilarious. they don’t even know how funny they are. good thing their audience are like-minded!

 

W : i have no idea what the hell you’re on about.

 

F : your guy is up! oh, damn. he is hot!

 

W : shh!

 

(speech by the President of the Urban Liberal Soviets starts)

 

(crowd gasps)

 

(speech by the President of the Urban Liberal Soviets ends)

 

(unenthusiastic applause and some boos)

 

F : hahaha! that was f*cking hilarious! he was short of showing his middle finger to y’all! you’re right, he is worthwhile! ha!

 

W : what the f*ck?! ugh, what a bloody idiot! how can he say that?! the conservatives do not deserve public space! is he f*cking out of his mind?! the freaks are going to take us back a thousand years!

 

F : and where do you suppose this crowd will take us?

 

W : what?!

 

F : oh, stop whining! that’s the thing about you people. come on! be a liberal sport! show some, um, breadth. show them some of those tolerance stuff !

 

(W slaps F)

 

Глава Два: они

 

a lovely place, the Azeri. i knew the moment i stepped into my flat a story was about to unfold. i made myself a cup of tea and slowly began unloading my things. i knew i was going to be around for a while, because that’s usually how long it takes to start writing.

 

the flat was empty, bar the small writing table and chair by the window. that was all i could afford. i remember unloading my typewriter onto the table when a woman suddenly burst out of the door across the narrow alley from my flat. she looked curiously happy despite the soggy October morning. i was still, but my eyes followed her as she hurried by my window. i saw her slip a corduroy Tonic Lando onto her head and then disappeared from my view.

 

i smiled … she’s not from around here, i thought. it wasn’t very cold. she was just as much a stranger to this place as i was. but she looked really happy, so i quickly opened my window and listened closely just in case i could hear her thoughts. nothing.

 

instead, i heard jazz …

 

i lowered myself and strained to look up to where the music was coming from. right at the top floor of the building directly across from mine, 2 floors up from the door where the woman appeared earlier, large windows opened to a balcony. there it was … the slow, soft, supine brushing rhythm; the soothing, seductive, sad voice of a woman. i knew the song, it reminded me of someone. i smiled to myself and quietly sang along.

 

“… to see you through, till you’re everything you want to be … it can’t be true,

but this time the dream’s on me …”

 

nostalgia rushed through every inch of my body. i lowered myself again and looked up through the railing of the balcony, tilting my head further. what is that place ~ a flat? a studio? an office? i saw 2 walls. perhaps 2 rooms? a brick wall, saddle brown. the other one, painted tan and somewhat textured. the walls looked clean and kept, unlike the moldy exterior of the building. there was a painting on the brick wall: a Jegadeva!

 

i moved my body further to the right of my window to get a better view, but i couldn’t quite see the whole painting. i knew what it was though: the Fat Jentayu Lost in Geelong. i’ve seen it before. what was it doing here? how did it get to a place so far away from where it was created? i didn’t think i’d see it again, and certainly not in the Azeri.

 

i sat down on my chair and thought, how very extraordinary. unbelievable, in fact. the sun was just rising and the day was already so fascinating. a Jegadeva, here! 

 

“Whippet, no!” i suddenly heard a voice call through the window. i looked up to the balcony across, but there was nothing. so i picked up my cigar box, lit one up and surveyed the dark wooden flooring in my flat. gorgeous, i thought. and then i heard Merchant. Jesus, i thought, who lives up there? i wondered if they had the same aged flooring …

 

“… i’ll keep waiting and someday, darling … you’ll come to me when you want to settle down …

one fine day we’ll meet once more and then you’ll want the love you threw away before …”

 

i sat down at the table again and went through my rent agreement. the music had stopped, but i didn’t realize it. the windows on the balcony across were shut. i was looking at the door right across the alley when it suddenly opened and a dog dashed out excitedly and bounced around outside my window. a Whippet! i laughed quietly to myself … the Whippet’s name is Whippet! a woman then appeared and looked somewhat confused with the mechanics of the door. a foreigner. American? then again, maybe not. the dog wasn’t hers, that was obvious. but it trusted her. and perhaps even liked her, never walking too far ahead from her.

 

i spent the afternoon having lunch at home. i had brought my electric flask. what a great invention, although there’s something inherently lonely about electric flasks. i decided to walk around the neighborhood a bit that afternoon to get to know my neighbors better. but they weren’t around. it was relatively quiet and the people i saw didn’t look like they lived in the area. so i decided to venture a little further out.

 

i walked down a street where they sold a lot of bread. it smelled of love and family. it was nice. there was an old woman across the street, sitting in front of a store. she looked at home on an elaborate high-back wooden chair with a shawl over her shoulders, smoking a long pipe. time froze and i took mental pictures of her; long shots, black-and-whites, mug shots … i must’ve stood there for eternity just absorbing her. she was powerful.

 

the next thing i knew, a rusty Moskvitch zoomed in front of me, almost running over my feet. i snapped and turned to look at the automobile. it was so perfect, the whole experience. i felt like an unappreciated subject of the Soviet Union and someone had tried to kill me. how romantic. the automobile looked packed from the back. a sage lamp shade occupied almost half of the back screen and there were fresh flowers … and the Whippet! ha! what a small world, i thought, we meet again …

 

i arrived back at my empty flat late that evening, not remembering where i had been all day. but i saw a lot and had mental pictures to prove it. how very awkward this time of day, neither light nor dark. i made myself some porridge and sat by the window, watching my neighbors return from their daily lives. they look decent. small families. a few children ran pass me, bouncing a ball to each other. it made me happy and my flat warm.

 

i chomped another spoon of porridge and looked up from my bowl. it was them again! the 2 foreigners, with the Whippet obediently beside the one with the hat. another family, i thought. my windows were shut and i had only the complete view of their backs. a story was being told, i could tell. it must have been an interesting day. the door opened quite easily this time, perhaps by a seasoned hand. one by one, they disappeared into their building. the dog … the one with flowers and a lamp shade … the one with the hat. home.

 

within moments lights came up right at the top floor of the building directly across from mine, 2 floors up from the door where the family disappeared. ah, the balcony belongs to them. and also the Jegadeva.

 

like magic i sudenly heard the sound of a trumpet. for God’s sakes, i’m in heaven, i thought. there was a musician in my building! i didn’t know the song, but it suited my day. an unbelievable day. i took time with my tea and later sat myself on the little steps just outside my front door. there’s nothing like a nice moment with a cigar in your hand.

 

i stayed on the steps well into the night and saw lights turned off, one flat after another. the trumpeter finally gave up on me, and almost as though on cue music suddenly came out from the flat across. i knew the song. it’s a sad one. i looked up and saw the Whippet on the balcony, staring into what i suspect was a night view of the sea. there’s something very Stoic about this dog when it’s alone. behind it i noticed a single glass door slightly ajar, and a view of the brick wall inside. music oozed out into the alley. i’ve given up trying to imagine the inside of that flat. it will forever be a mystery to me, and i loved it.

 

the alley was quiet, except for the calming music coming out of the flat. i whispered in my head, “Whippet!”. the dog looked down at me curiously for a moment, and then rested its head at the edge of the balcony. it continued to look at me, approvingly. we became friends that night. the telephone suddenly rang inside the flat, but the dog only bothered to move its ears … looking at me still, welcoming. the phone rang again and again … and again. no answer. when it finally stopped, Whippet closed its eyes and i closed mine. so peaceful. so much love. the day closed on me. an extraordinary, unbelievable, fascinating day.

 

i’ll write about them, the foreigners. and their dog, Whippet.

 

“… lovely, never ever change … keep that breathless charm, won’t you please arrange it?

… cause i love you … just the way you look tonight …”

 

Nana’s upright piano

 

… the little girl walked right up her grandparents’ walkway and knocked at the front door.

 

“Baba! it’s me!” she called, but noone answered. “Baba …! Nana …?”

 

“perhaps they’re not home. but it’s Wednesday, and i come every Wednesday. surely they should expect me …” she mumbled to herself.

 

worried, she walked to the side of the house and peered through the window. the television was on, but on mute, and the cat was … licking something on the ~ “ommigod, Baba!” she screamed and took a few steps back before doing a triple-cartwheel somersault crash through the glass window.

 

she dusted the broken glass off her body and ran to her grandfather who was sitting on a rocking chair.

 

“hi there, my little one,” he greeted her weakly.

 

“Baba, you’re bleeding! there’s so much blood on the floor and Spotty’s drinking it!”

 

“stupid terrorist cat. murtad excuse of an animal. hisss! spit! piss! oh … don’t be alarmed, sweetheart. maybe she’s just thirsty. let her be … let her be. just let her be.”

 

the little girl was confused and looked at her grandfather for explanation when she suddenly realized something was terribly wrong.

 

“ommigod, what happened to your left eyeball?! i can see the insides of your eye socket and it’s totally vile!” she yelped.

 

“yes … it popped out. it should be somewhere on the floor. just look for a round bloody jell-o, that should be it. i suspect it should have some fibrous material on it. my vessels …” he replied, somber.

 

“eeek! Spotty’s eating it!”

 

“let her be, sweetheart. life’s like that …”

 

“where’s Nana?! does she know? you need to go to the hospital!”

 

her grandfather gave a big sigh and then explained his wife had left him. she found out that morning he had been stealing her money and spending it on his secret teenage wife in the form of the next door neighbour’s daughter.

 

they got into a heated argument and she threatened to leave him. he admitted to his granddaughter he was willing to let his wife go, with the condition she should first make him a fresh cup of coffee ~ black, less sugar.

 

“she stormed into the kitchen and then came out barging at me with a stone pestle. ala, you know … batu lesung. she managed to hit me somehow and the next thing i knew, my eye popped out of my head,” he explained.

 

the little girl was staring at her grandfather blankly, trying to absorb and digest the story he was telling her. meanwhile, he kept on bleeding.

 

“i didn’t know what else to do. she just walked out on me. with her purse! i’ve been sitting here since. i’m bleeding … and i think i only have 3 oxygens left. i may be dying, sweetheart. would you make me a cup of coffee?”

 

the little girl then blinked, took a deep breath and reached out for her grandfather’s pipe on the table. with a stylish sense of finesse, she lit it and slowly toured around the room. there was glass everywhere from the broken window. Spotty was done with the eyeball and is cleaning herself. soon the cat will jump onto her grandfather and cuddle up to sleep.

 

she took another puff from the pipe and handed it to her grandfather. she then kissed him on his forehead and walked over to the piano. she hopped onto the seat and started to play her grandmother’s upright Weinbach.

 

her grandfather sank into his chair and closed his right eye.

 

мошенничество

 

P : what’s the state of our education system right now?

 

E : dismal, boss. why?

 

P : i see. too bad. i’m thinking of setting up a new university.

 

E : well, you’re in power so you can very well do whatever you please. but, why should we set up another?

 

P : i haven’t decided yet. but i say … isn’t that astronaut a looker!

 

E : i guess …

 

P : i know! we’ll set up a university for Space Studies! how smart are our kids, sport? not like, smart in Math but you know, street smart. wise.

 

E : well, they’ll do whatever you want them to. so i guess they can be smart if you asked, Math-wise or wise-wise.

 

P : really? perfect. we’ve done well with our policies then. if what you say about them is true then i’m glad we decided to cut funding for the Liberal Arts and Social Sciences. we did the right thing. it worked. those damned programs breed trouble-makers.

 

E : because they force the kids to think? to use their faculty of reason in human situations?

 

P : exactly. we don’t need that. that’s my job. i decide what they should think. too many ideas is not good for us, you know. the thing about the masses is they can’t think for themselves. they think they can, but they can’t. i know this.

 

E : naturally. you were a Social Science graduate.

 

P : Sociology and Media Studies, yes.

 

E : but Sir, not every one of these kids want to study square things, you know. not everyone’s cut for Physics and Chemistry. Biology … Math …

 

P : Business Administration. do it now. with immediate effect, increase our scholarship funds for Business courses. that’d keep the f*cking liberals-wannabe busy.

 

E : how so?

 

P : it’s an alternative to the square courses. we’ll trick them into thinking that. and with lots of scholarship money on the plate, they’ll bite. or at least their parents will.

 

E : you’re brilliant!

 

P : not naturally, no. it happened in college when i did my final year paper on propaganda and manufacturing consent. oh, how i miss college life. those wonderful October days when ~

 

E : how will we pay for the new university?

 

P : huh? what new univer ~ oh, the space school? send the bills to the Russians. they owe me one.

 

guess who?

 

there was a little boy and a little girl. they were best of friends. one typical Thursday afternoon they found themselves indoors playing a game that required a lot of screaming and shouting. they were playing Superheroes Padadadap-Padaaa! it was mad fun. the girl’s father however, was not pleased with the noise. the 2 children were then forced to play outside of the house. and so they did … because they were obedient children despite the fact they were screaming brats.

 

but wouldn’t it be more fun if they played far away from home, they thought. indeed, they agreed that a little adventure would add more oomph to their little game. so they walked out of the house compound, without permission, and headed to the nearest monsoon drain. they climbed down the drain, jumped over the fast flowing, polluted stream of liquid gunk and climbed up the other side. they then headed straight into the woods.

 

and so they had the whole woods to themselves. they began screaming and shouting again, playing Superheroes Padadadap-Padaaa! the little girl then found, lying under a shrub tree, a shining axe. a bright idea came to her head. she walked over to her best friend and axed right down the middle of his head. the little boy froze and then asked what that was all about. the little girl then giggled like an annoying blonde Caucasian female child and pointed her index finger at her best friend.

 

“you look like Ultraman!” she said.

 

“really?!”

 

“uhuh!” she replied, giggling even more. a quiet thought then entered her mind. she thought she was rather creative and really, quite clever.

 

“this is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me! i’m a real superhero now!” the little boy said while the axe sat firmly in his skull and blood dripped down his face.

 

the little boy and little girl then held hands and walked home so they could show the little boy’s parents how magnificent it was that with one stroke of an axe, the little boy had transformed into a superhero. the axe, they thought, was now mightier than any pen in the world.

 

and so they reached home and ran to the little boy’s parents. as soon as they got into the house, and while standing in a puddle of blood, they asked: “hey fellas! guess who?!”

 

“Ultraman …?” came the reply. and the whole house then broke into laughter.