S&S - 1

The sun slowly descended towards the horizon, cowardly seeking its shelter beyond the tall hills ahead. The vast shadow of a Night feared by all began to slowly spill over the last day in Time, while the yellow – purple colours of the sunset faded gently beneath the veiled line of the horizon. And as the heavy winter clouds menacingly approached the isolated village, they stirred within the tired old Priest a fear so deep and sombre – and a dread he’d not felt capable of facing in a long, long time….

Helpless he gazed now towards the sunset and the darkness settling over the entire village – suffocating the emptiness around him in a vibrant cloak of mystery and turmoil. He prayed alone, in the cramped dome of the church, in utter silence. He would only sometimes be disturbed by the creaking of the open window, repeatedly striking against the wall, and the subtle hums of the giant bronze bell behind him, that swayed gently in the wind.

Heeded or not by the deities of that ancient, pagan night all that he could do in those last moments was to wait, for soon, the Dawn of a new day would bring with it a new beginning, another chance for all the villagers to once again prevail, together, through another year – New Beginning for them ALL, Free of the destruction and the other worldly apparitions of which the Elders had been perorating for Generations!

SAINT & SINNER

November 28, 1991

“Come on, come on – Move, God damn it, move!!’ David yelled, pressing aggressively on the accelerator. The car engine roared back at him with deep, raspy revs that echoed harshly through the sombre Quiet of the morning. He kept glancing anxiously. He kept glancing anxiously in the rear – view mirror, to ensure he wasn’t being followed. Although there were no cars behind him, and the road had been deserted the entire morning, it took him a while still to convince himself that he was, for the Time being at least, safe and alone.

He slowly eased off the petrol pedal, finally realizing that there was no point in pushing the car any further. His old Chevrolet was already struggling to recover the remaining kilometres, and the real challenge seemed to only just be starting: he was already late, and the car, in its current state, promised more likely an early end to his journey than the miraculous swift outcome which he desperately needed at that moment.

He looked over to his right – at the thick leather bag resting on the passenger seat: his one – way ticket to a better life, he thought, gazing at it absentmindedly; fearfully almost, as he tried at the same time to convince himself that all of this wrongdoing he’d committed would have had a justifiable, and somehow pardonable motive, in the end.

He turned his gaze back to the unknown road ahead. He swallowed hard, struggling. His mouth was becoming increasingly dry, and an unfamiliar pressure in his chest was hindering his breathing. He felt nauseous. He was scared. And he desperately hoped that the young man who got shot, just moments earlier, would still make it after all….

Then he hoped that Tiny would still pay him anyway, even if he would arrive much later than they had agreed, at the appointed time and address. But more than anything, he wished that all of this ordeal he had been through, in the last half hour, would eventually come to an end – so he could finally resume the normal, boring course of his pathetic life!

A Day Earlier!

David’s morning began in the same overwhelming inertia he had recently resigned himself to. The outside cold intrusively entered the bedroom thought the window, creeping insidiously under the blanket he was tightly wrapped up in. Despite the window being shut, the cool autumn wind would always find its way, somehow, through the worn out wooden hinges, and manage to disrupt his sleep.

He reluctantly opened his eyes and was instantly struck by a horrendous throbbing headache. He began to recall, in sparse fragments, the events from the previous evening, a small after – work party with his construction site colleagues; in a dingy tavern whose obscure location he now struggled to remember.

Peering out the window from under the blanket, his eyes half – opened, the outside fog and the heavy clouds hovering over the city maliciously tempted him to stay in bed, to sleep a while longer. At least another hour! He thought…. Then he would be ready to get up and go to work, as if the numerous glasses of strong alcohol and beer he had consumed the previous evening had never seeped into his fatigue – ridden body.

Then he heard the familiar noises from the kitchen; his mother’s hurried footsteps, rustling on the hallway carpet, moving rapidly from one room to another, waking everyone up. She hadn’t entered his room this Time. Maybe she didn’t want to disturb him? She knew he’d been working a lot lately, until late in the evenings. Or maybe she heard him slamming the front door, when he finally got home that morning, close to dawn. In which case, either she was upset and didn’t want to see him, or she thought he was still tired – and allowed him a few more well – deserved minutes of sleep.

He got out of bed with difficulty, still gravely hungover. He yawned for a long while. Stretched and scratched his crotch. Then he opened the window to let some fresh air in. From the tenth floor of the tall apartment building, he could see the entire neighbourhood, everything was grey and bleak, after a full night of steady rain. The giant cement blocks, some taller, some shorter, covered everything in sight- spreading like a concrete jungle and encompassing most of the city.

He slowly opened the bedroom door, trying his best to control its infernal creaking that would always echo throughout the house. Then he carefully sneaked towards the bathroom and locked himself inside. He turned on the water tap and waited for a few moments – hoping that the dry, infernal gurgling which echoed through the building’s pipes would finally turn into water. Instead, the broken faucet immediately spurted out a disgusting, foul – smelling liquid. He turned the water down slowly and waited for it to clear up – all the while examining his swollen face and deep, sand – bagged eyes in the mirror. He checked his right hand – swollen and bruised. He tried to clench his fingers into a fist, but the pain was much too hard to bear. He couldn’t remember whose jaw he’d dislocated the night before, but he sure hoped it was worth the inconvenience which he now had to endure….

He carefully placed his hand under the jet of dark - brown water - still as cold as ice. That familiar smell of iron and waste …. There was no question of a nice hot shower that morning. He washed himself in the sink, as best he could - prioritizing the essential areas as much as possible, then returned to his room.

He changed into his work clothes. He pulled a large, woollen sweater over his shirt - a sweater that used to be blue, but now was just a shallow shade of grey. His jeans, perennially encrusted with dried lime and paint. He took a thick, black beanie from the edge of the chair and stuffed it halfway into the large back pocket of his jeans. He had left his boots by the door, he remembered - he would put them on in the hallway, he decided - so as not to make a mess throughout the house. There, on the coat rack, the black jacket would also be waiting… the same jacket he took with him always, just in case it got colder.

From the open door, he caught his own reflection in the hallway mirror, bundled up in that old sweater, with his dirty pants hanging loosely on his narrow waist, he felt he looked about twenty years older than he actually was… A haggard and hungover old man, at only 19 years of age…

He gave his cramped, dishevelled room a final scrutinizing glance - then exited, gently closing the door behind him.

‘Good morning,’ he mumbled sleepily, stepping into the kitchen. His mother was inside, but she didn’t hear him approach. She was trying irritably to light a burner on a stove. She seemed cold and slightly pale. She would never have admitted it, but David understood that she wanted to light up the stove just to warm herself up a bit, by the burner.

Their home was always cold - but she would never admit to feeling cold. She was never even hungry, for that matter; nor thirsty, or sleepy, too cold, or too hot. She always denied any sort of discomfort she faced - although, to David, the truth was always evident.

When she saw him in the doorway, the woman immediately jumped away from the stove and quickly sought a pretext for being in the kitchen.

‘Sit, sit,’ she suddenly said, ‘Eat something!’ - And immediately rushed over to the sink, where a greasy cast iron pan lay, since God - knows -when, and began to vigorously scrub at it with a dry sponge.

‘Go on, eat - you’re not going to work on an empty stomach, again!’ the woman continued.

‘You want some coffee?’

David didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked at the sticky oilcloth covering the table - at the plate in the center, and the few dry, unappetizing biscuits that were thrown upon it, those white, sterile crackers, that he had been eating all his childhood, but which, however, he had not seen on the table in a very long time.

‘You found biscuits,’ he said, staring dryly at the dirty white plate, chipped on one side. He tried to sound enthusiastic, not to upset her, but he had no intention of trying them. He Didn’t even have to taste them to remember their bland aroma., devoid of any flavour. They would crumble in your hand before you could even bring them to your mouth and bite on them. The same old biscuits that the woman used to somehow get, every week, from the bakery. She knew someone there, she would brag all the time, a former childhood neighbour of theirs, who would always set something aside for her, whenever possible - just as a favour to her.

Leftovers …the young man thought, swallowing bitterly. Whatever was left on their shelves at closing time, the day before - that’s what they gave you … he thought.

‘Come on, eat,’ the woman insisted, seeing that the young man had not the slightest reaction to her invitation. Then she put a mug of coffee on the table, which David instinctively rushed to pick up. He realized with disappointment that it was cold - and immediately chastised himself for being bewitched by the idea of a hot cup of coffee for that morning… Why would he have hoped that there would be anything else in that mug? Other than the same old foamy instant coffee, which the woman mixed directly in the mug, with lots of sugar; and then quenched it with cold water - just because that’s how she liked to drink it?’

‘Oh my goodness! What happened to your hand?’ the woman exclaimed, quickly approaching him to inspect the bruises on his fist.

The scraped knuckles of his hand had started bleeding again, he noticed. The raw, red flesh beneath the wound contrasted sharply in the pale light of the kitchen light bulb with his crusty, sunburned skin - the result of many hours of hard labour spent under the scorching sun.

David quickly pulled his hand back and tried to hide it behind his back, but it was too late….

‘And your face - My Goodness, look at you! Did you get in another fight again? Who was it this time, Huh?’ The woman exclaimed, exasperated, turning his face with her wet hand, from one side to another, attentively examining her boy for other potential lesions.

‘Ma, come on ….’ David eventually exhaled.

The woman looked at him for a brief moment - then rolled her eyes and turned her back on him. She too was tired of the same conversation that they seemed to have on an almost daily basis, recently.

‘Ma - I’m fine, alright?’ the young man said, but the woman ignored him. ‘It’s just a scratch, see? I hurt myself at work - that’s all, honest!’

She didn’t say a word. And he did not have the energy to keep on trying. He turned his gaze back to the mug in his hand - and stared intently into that lame excuse for a coffee - in which a few undissolved granules of Nescafe still floated undisturbed, in no apparent rush to mix with the rest of the concoction. He finally plucked up the courage and took a healthy sip from the cold, black liquid swirling in his mug. The taste was horrible and David involuntarily grimaced with disgust as he tried to swallow it. He quickly put the mug back on the table and tried to regain his composure. The strength of the coffee gave him a brief shock. He twitched involuntarily, with the same puzzled grimace on his face, which this time, the woman noticed.

‘Well, I’m sorry,’ she said, - ‘But I don’t have anything else …’

She was clearly upset by the young man’s impolite reaction of disgust; but understanding, at the same time.

‘Maybe you can talk to Billy,’ she said, ‘Maybe he can bring us back some more of that good stuff - the green one, what it was called? That was some good coffee... This instant stuff … I don’t like it much either. But what can you do? I can’t get anything good in this town, unless you know the right people who sell it…’

David was lost in thought for a few moments. He didn’t know how to tell her that Billy had long been out of the picture - and that’s why he didn’t come around as he used to. That he’d got mixed up with the wrong crowd and, since he became a successful ‘businessman,’ they hardly ever saw each other anymore. And when his childhood friend did deem to finally descent among the ordinary working folk, there was little more to share between the two than a few contradictory glances.

Their tight adolescent bond, firstly sprouted and cemented in the back alleys of their crumbling neighbourhood, was abruptly torn apart the moment Billy fell prey to the less…wholesome influences of the less positive elements that surrounded them both.

Initially united by the poverty which they both knew so well, they now had little in common - except for a painful past that Billy seemed to have left completely behind. David, however, who had tried hard - through costly sacrifices - to remain faithful to honest work, was still there, at the very bottom. And now he was having a hard time coming to terms with the success that Billy had recently had in his new endeavours.

He also realized at times how stupid it was to think like this, as they were working in completely different fields from each other. And it was not fair to compare the measly rewards of his contractor salary, with the earning potential - infinite, he imagined - that Billy and his mysterious employers were certainly enjoying.

Watching him rise, higher and higher, David could not help but envy him … and not necessarily for his money, but for the apparent security and utter lack of worries that he imagined his money could offer him too.

It was precisely this ostentatious attitude that had disturbed him greatly from their shared past and the friendship that he once valued more than anything. An attitude that suddenly underwent a completely unexpected change, the night before, when they had met by mere chance, in the same miserable bar in town.

David was with his work colleagues; Billy was just passing by on business. David, already drunk, seemed to have forgotten all the resentment he had been harbouring for so long - he himself did not know why - and invited his old friend to sit at the table, next to him and drink together.

That night they were like brothers again. They drank together, laughed and told stories all night long, as if many months of absence and resentment had not passed by them at all. As if only a few short moments had flown by between them, all this time they had not spoken. The prosperity of one and the stagnation of the other seemed to completely dissolve in that cheap bottle of Brandy - which David insisted on buying, and which, of course, they could not leave unfinished.

Billy, of course, took the opportunity to repeat his speech.

‘You have to do something!’ he pleaded, from the opposite corner of the table.

‘At some point,’ Billy continued, ‘you have to snap out of it - grab the bull by the horns, and take a fucking step forward! You can’t stay like this forever, brother - breaking your back on the construction site, digging trenches, for the Municipality - and then go home to your mom.

Can’t spend your whole life working for the bosses, man - when they feel like it, if they feel like it. Because, you know what? You’ll just wake up one day with your ass in the water - and no way to go - and it’ll probably be late to do anything about it. I mean, look at your dad! Or do you want to end up like him too, huh? Is that it?’

‘Listen to me,’ Billy kept rambling, but this time, David listened without prejudice. And as the glasses emptied more and more, his words became much more convincing.

‘I know it’s not easy…’ Billy said, squeezing his friends hand tightly in his own, ‘But at some point,’ he said, ‘You have to get your ass off your mother’s couch and go out into the world - be your own man - find your own way.’

‘You can’t always live in fear: what if it’s hard? What if it doesn’t work out? Fuck it, death is waiting around the corner for all of us, Pal - not just you! Whether you fall off the scaffolding and break your neck, or a loan shark blows my brains out, we both end up in the same place. But at least you’d know you tried - and no matter what happens, you alone will be responsible for your decisions and the situation you end up in. If you just sit there, waiting for chances to fall into your lap… then, make yourself comfortable - because’ you’re going to be waiting for a long, long time…!’

David listened more attentively than ever. Maybe the Brandy was to blame - or maybe Billy had always been right, but only now was he finally hearing what he’d been trying to tell him all this time.

‘I spoke to Tiny earlier,’ Billy said, after he emptied his glass in one gulp.

‘You know Tiny, right?’

‘The biggest Thug in town? Yeah, I know Tiny…’ David said ironically. But Billy paid him no mind, and continued smirking.

‘It’s very simple, he say. The man is waiting for a shipment.’

‘What kind of shipment?’

‘It’s none of our business - you just pick up and deliver, that’s all - you don’t need to know more.’

At some point though, he lost his train of thought, and could now only partially remember the details, Billy mentioned something about a drive … some shady characters … a lot of money. He couldn’t currently string them together into a coherent story, but the essence of the offer was still haunting his subconscious and seemed to make all the sense he would need to consider it.

If that damn fool hadn’t spoiled the whole mood ... …. The young man thought regretfully, looking at his bruised fist in the pale light of the kitchen bulb. Maybe, who knows?

From the hallway, the mixed voices of two children could be heard and the entire apartment seemed to suddenly fill up with life.

“Well, now they’re awake …’ the woman sighed from the sink. She sounded more tired than ever.

Soon, a boy and a girl - ten and seven years old respectively - burst energetically into the kitchen. They then sat down at the table together, but not before a heated argument took place, over the seat next to the stove.

‘Mama!’ the little girl cried, already with tears in her eyes, in a tone that suggested she would soon start screaming if she didn’t get what she wanted.

‘He’s taken my seat again! Get off, you dummy!’ The girl shouted, yelling and continuously hitting her older brother, who defended himself, giggling all the while, from the barrage of tiny slaps assaulting him from all directions, yet firmly protecting his seat - which he obviously considered to be only his own.

David cracked a smile as he watched them from the kitchen door. The racket of his younger siblings always woke him up faster than his mother’s overly sweet coffee and always gave him an extra reason to go back to work.

‘Go on, if you’re not eating then get out of here - I have to feed these two,’ the woman said, already agitated, quickly losing all her patience.

David looked thoughtfully at the short woman, slightly bent over the sink where she had been scrubbing that greasy pan, which stubbornly refused to be cleaned.

The little boy conceded the seat next to the stove, laughing defiantly, which the girl immediately claimed with an air of imposing royalty - she had always had such a keen sense of ownership and would never have given up anything she was firmly convinced was undoubtedly hers.

The picturesque morning scene of the house was abruptly interrupted by a slammed door - coming from the back bedroom; then, by the grumbles of the dissatisfied father - who had evidently woken up because of their noise.

The young man’s smile disappeared abruptly. The feeling of well - being turned into an immediate need to get out of there quickly. He grabbed the cup of coffee from the table and downed it, he shook himself again, from all extremities and stepped into the hallway, towards the exit.

‘I’m off,’ he said to the woman, without looking back. Then he went into the hallway to put on his boots.

‘Davi!’ The little girl shouted. Then she ran towards him and grabbed his leg.

He looked down at her, momentarily surprised by that bundle of white skin and long, tangled curls - more blonde and brilliant than the yellow sunrise of a warm summer morning. Who does she even take after? The young man wondered, looking at the little girl. Nobody in our family is blonde, he told himself. All of us are dark and ugly.

‘Davi,’ the little girl called again, with her small child’s voice, unintentionally dropping the ‘D” at the end of his name. ‘You’re coming to my talent show, right?’

‘Talent show? What talent show?’ the young man asked, pretending not to know what she was talking about.

‘My show, silly,’ the little girl said, seriously. ‘The winter talent show! We’re going to siiiiiiing ….We’re going to recite Poemmmmmms… And, if I win, the teacher told me she’ll give me a tiara and a prize. You’re coming to see me, right?’

‘Well, I don’t know; we’ll see. I’ll think about it,’ David teased.

‘What are you going to do for the show?’

‘I’ll sing of course!’ said the little girl, categorically, almost offended that the young man didn’t know such an obvious answer.

‘Ah, well if you’re going to sing…. Then maybe I’ll come.’

‘And will you get me shoes too? I can’t go without shoes… Mom is making my dress, but she doesn't have money for shoes,’ said the girl, just as seriously - with a maturity in her voice that almost brought tears to her older brother’s eyes.

David gently stroked her cheek, carefully not to scratch her with his dry calloused hands.

‘Will you get them?’ the little girl asked again.

‘I will, sweetheart,’ he told her, in a lowered voice, careful not to reveal his held back sighs.

The little girl suddenly lit up with a radiant, innocent smile that shone on her round, white face, like a sun.

‘Okay, bye -eeee!’ She shouted impatiently and immediately hopped back into the kitchen; where she excitedly relayed the news to her mother.

At the same time, David’s father was coming out of the bathroom slowly and noisily. David saw him for only a brief moment, in the same tank top, torn on one side and greasy around the edges. His prominent belly, like a professional alcoholic’s, spilled out under his yellowed tank top and the waistband of his underpants, in which he went around the house undisturbed, always - regardless of the children being around. His bushy, tousled moustache …. His chubby cheeks covered with a sea of prickly stubble - a patchy beard that he only shaved once a week when he went down to listen to the football match, at the bar, with the other unemployed louts of the neighbourhood, which he called friends.

David only looked at him for a moment, as he could never endure any more. His image made him nauseous and, simultaneously, and uncontrollable rage would take hold of him. He promised himself every moment of the day that he would never be like him - and this was a promise he was not willing to ever break.

Yet, he didn’t want to become like Billy either… He would somehow manage, he would tell himself, whenever doubts about his choices rushed upon him. He had to manage! He thought. But he would have to do it his own way, honestly and honourably, without hurting anyone in the process.

He pulled his beanie over his ears, quickly opened the door and stepped outside.

‘I’m off!’ He shouted again, pulling the door behind him, but nobody answered him from behind.

Through the closed door, you could only hear the gurgling voice of the little girl, who was continually shouting. ‘Mom, mom! He said he’ll get them, he’ll get them!’