Stefan ÇAPALIKU
PROSE
AN AMERICAN DREAM
1.
"I'm going to sell my car and
move to America. There is nothing left for me here. There's no
sense in it anymore ... My wife and daughter are living there
and I am stuck with my parents back here. It doesn't make any
sense. I've done enough for them. I know they are getting old,
but they've also got my sister, not just me. Let her take care
of them for a change. That's the only solution. After all, you
only have one life. What do you think?"
These are the words I hear almost every
morning from my neighbour, right after I leave my apartment building.
He knows that I have my morning coffee at the cafe next door
and is on the lookout for me every day. I am pretty sure that
sooner or later I am going to have to change cafes. I haven't
changed up to now because I believed what he said, that he would
very soon sell his car, abandon his parents and finally join
his wife and daughter in America.
But every morning, his old car, that
Fiat Uno, remains parked out front. In the cafe sits Cufi with
his moustache, and over my balcony hangs the washing of his devoted
mother.
I enter the cafe for my morning coffee,
never in my life having drunk it at home, and Cufi pulls back
a chair for me to sit on. The place is usually full of people
I know. Cufi normally gets there at least an hour beforehand
and waits for me, all his brilliant conversation being ignored
by the people at the surrounding tables. He gives me a hearty
welcome, in particular since I'm usually the one who pays for
his morning coffee.
"Yes, Cufi... you're right... sell
your car... leave your parents at your sister's place and get
away... Your wife and daughter are waiting for you." This,
as you can imagine, is my daily spiel before I bid him farewell
and set off for work.
2.
I didn't know Cufi's wife. I had never
even seen her... until he showed me her photograph one fine morning
during the couple of minutes we spent at the cafe. I was thunderstruck,
but I collected myself immediately. I pretended to be indifferent
and to be staring at the waiter who was coming over with the
bill.
"How can I get this photo enlarged?
Where do they do that?" Cufi asked me right off.
"No problem," I replied, "I
can scan it at my office. What format do you want it in?"
Cufi replied simply, "Make it as
big as you can," and handed me the photo. I took it, seemingly
indifferent, and put it in the inside pocket of my jacket.
"What's your wife's name, Cufi?"
"Anna," he replied, enunciating
the two "a"s differently from one another.
"Anna? Alright. I'll try to get
it done as soon as possible," I replied as I turned to leave.
God, she was the most beautiful woman
I had ever laid eyes on! As soon as I got away from the cafe,
I took the photo carefully out of my jacket and stared at it,
without paying attention to where I was going. She was stunning.
It was a silhouette portrait. She had her blonde hair tied up,
and her lush lips were pressed against one another ever so gently.
She had high cheekbones and large, green eyes. Cufi's wife was
the ideal woman. She was the being ever man longed for in moments
of fantasy.
"I'm going to sell my car and move
to America. There is nothing left for me here. It doesn't make
any sense ... What do you think?" I recalled Cufi's words.
Who is this guy who hangs on here and doesn't try to get back
to her as quickly as possible?
When I got to the office later, holding
her photo in my hand, it occurred to me to buy his car, finance
a home for his parents and tell him: "Go ahead! What are
you waiting for? After all, you only have one life. Get going!"
It was with these thoughts that I began work...
3.
"You always luck out," said
my boss as we stood at the top of the staircase. "I just
get more and more bills and taxes to pay. You'll have to go to
America in my place. Washington. Get the ticket yourself and
go, tomorrow if you can. I have to be here to receive a high-level
delegation. Damn it!" he continued, before entering his
office.
Washington! I had just seen the word
written on the back of the photo of Cufi's wife, Anna. Washington!
And I was supposed to travel the very next day. I had no time
left, not a minute. All I could do was put the photo back into
my jacket and head home.
I didn't even have time to tell Cufi
what had happened. I phoned my wife and began groping around
in the upper shelves of the clothes closet for a suitcase. I
also had to get my ticket and make the usual arrangements. My
wife was not particularly fond of my sudden business trips, but
she knew better than anyone else what a travelling husband needed.
4.
When I got to the little airport,
I discovered that I still had Anna's photo with me. It was in
the inside pocket of my jacket where I usually keep my plane
ticket and passport. They were all travelling together, the photo
in my passport, her photo and the ticket, which was the means
of shortening the distance between us.
It was not the first time that I had
crossed the Atlantic. I knew what a torture it was, realizing
full well that I was not one of those fortunate individuals who
could sleep all the way, not even one of those who could immerse
himself in a book for the length of the journey. On the contrary,
I sat there, drowsy and confused, and entered a reality of my
own creation, one which alternately elated and depressed me,
but from which I inevitably emerged with a backache.
My confusion during this flight had almost
reached the surreal. It was assisted no doubt by the fine weather,
not a cloud in the sky, and by the strangely transparent atmosphere.
From the time we left the continent, I stared out of the window
at the shimmer of light moving along the surface of the ocean.
And to follow that shimmer from an altitude of ten thousand metres
means that it was really moving quickly. Then I closed my eyes
and... later... in a light slumber, I began to imagine that the
shimmer of light on the ocean below me was Cufi's car. Cufi had
set off for America in his Fiat and, at the speed he was travelling,
was likely to arrive before me. Even though he was in a Fiat,
he was dressed like a pirate from the Middle Ages. He had lost
one eye in the vanguard of a battle. The empty socket was covered
by a black leather patch which was tied around the back of his
head by a strap. He had a sash at his waist and was suitably
armed: a dagger, a steel hook for boarding vessels, the type
of hook which had gouged out his missing eye, and a pair of pincers
to cut the throat of any sea captain who got in his way. I was
not sure whether or not Cufi still had both arms. He was, at
any rate, haughtier than I had ever seen him and had obviously
changed his mind at the last minute and decided not to sell his
car.
Later on, there was a moment when he
looked up and recognized me. We gave one another an unusually
friendly smile and waved, both acutely aware of what we were
up to...
5.
The important meeting which had brought
me so urgently to America lasted only two days, but they were
so crammed with activity that I hardly had time to come up for
breath. I only had one free day and would have to fly back home
on the next. As I had nothing particularly important to say at
the meeting, I remember spending my time thinking about where
I would go on the third day. I got back to the hotel, exhausted
after a dinner offered by the organizers. It must have been after
midnight, though it was early morning by European time. Although
I was desperately tired, I couldn't get to sleep at all. Alone,
with my clothes scattered from one end of the room to the other,
I remembered the photo. It was there on the dressing table. I
took it and had another look. On the back side, there was something
written: a name, an address and a telephone number. Everything
was at my disposal: a telephone, her number, I myself, she herself,
the desire taking hold of me, and the photo. It was simply the
time of day, or rather of night, which was out of line. "You
have time on your hands tomorrow, don't you?" I asked myself.
I did, but she might be at work and... and that would mean it
would all be in vain. I did not even really understand my motive
for needing to contact Cufi's wife.
"Hello? Anna...? I'm sorry to bother
you. I realize it's late, but... I'm... I just got here from
Tirana and am only staying for a short time, actually just till
tomorrow. And I thought you might have something you wanted me
to take back for Cufi, or ... if there's anything else I could
do for you."
"How kind of you! Thanks very much.
It would be a pleasure to meet you. It's been such a long time
and I've been getting homesick... for Tirana and everything.
Tomorrow? Tell me where you want us to meet and at what time..."
I heard her gentle, longing voice at the other end of the line.
I told her it would be convenient for
us to meet at nine o'clock at the entrance to the Philips Collection,
which was near my hotel.
"How will I recognize you?"
she inquired.
"Oh, don't worry. I have a photo
of you. I will recognize you right away."
6.
I left the hotel at ten to nine, having
spent almost the whole night wide awake, yet I felt a sense of
release. I had nothing to take with me, no briefcase, nothing,
and strolled down the road with my hands in my pockets. I was
leaning against one of the columns at the entrance and would
have felt like a local, had not a tall, thin man passed by and
greeted me in Russian with a "zdrastvuye." I smiled
and answered him in Albanian. It then occurred to me that I had
chosen the worst possible moment for our meeting because everyone
was on his way to work. Masses of people were entering the building.
This caused me to take the photo of Cufi's wife out of my pocket
once more and have another glance at it. I watched the flow of
people shuffling along. She was not going to keep the appointment,
and I had the impression of being in one of those romances where
you wait and wait in vain.
It was twenty past nine and there were
still lots of people passing by, but she was not among them.
She had not shown up. I took another look at the photo to assure
myself that none of the pedestrians resembled her. It was at
nine-thirty that I caught sight of a small, thinnish woman in
her forties. She looked weary as she approached and asked: "Hello,
are you Albanian?" and then pronounced my name.
"I am Cufi's wife, Anna." she
said.
Cufi's wife! Anna! She did not look like
the woman in the photo at all. She was a completely different
person.
I was dazed. I felt a numbness in my
limbs and a dryness in my mouth. I don't know what impression
I made on her, but I imagine I must have looked like someone
who had just been jolted out of a deep sleep.
"How are you?" she asked, as
she shook my hand.
"You didn't recognize me at all,"
she added. "I have been standing here for over half an hour,"
and smiled.
"It that right? Me, too."
She seemed to sense the confusion and
numbness within me.
"I wanted to tell you last night,
but I forgot. I wanted to tell you that you could not possibly
recognize me from a photo. I have changed a lot..."
"No, you haven't," I muttered.
"Yes, I have. It's true... Young
girls, girls are like the breeze..." she replied with a
rueful look.
I was still bewildered as we strolled
along the pavement. She was the only one to speak. I had forgotten
everything I had wanted to say, both the compliments and Cufi's
plans to sell his car and get back to his family.
In the end, she seemed to have had enough
of me, lifeless idiot that I was, and did the best thing she
could have done at that moment. She turned and shook my hand.
"All the best. Sorry I took up your
time. It would be better not to say anything to Cufi... Have
a good flight..."
7.
I returned home the next day, filled
with a sense of anguish and incredulity about what had taken
place. I even forgot to buy something for my wife and the children.
Nothing. I was completely exhausted.
The plane arrived early in the morning
and I was home by about seven. I greeted everyone, had a glass
of milk as usual, and left the house to go to work.
Cufi was waiting for me at the cafe.
He offered me a chair and I joined him.
"I haven't seen you around,"
he said.
"I've been late for work the last
couple of days. I wasn't feeling too well... That's why. What
about you?"
"I'm fine. Nothing special. But
I've decided to sell my car and move to America. There is nothing
left for me here. It doesn't make any sense ... My wife and daughter
are living there and I am stuck with my parents back here. There's
no sense in it. I've done enough for them. I know they are getting
old, but they've also got my sister, not just me. Let her take
care of them for a change. That's the only solution. After all,
you only have one life. What do you think?"
[Një ëndërr amerikane,
2004, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]
THE SINS OF THE BITTEN
1.
It was in geography class, the first
lesson on a Monday morning, when the classroom door opened. I
was sitting at the front bench near the entrance. This was the
only class where I sat up front. It was a rather chivalrous gesture
on my part, as if to tell the teacher and anyone else: "Here
I am and I ain't afraid of nuthin'!" Geography was a subject
I really liked and I had already learned most of the map of the
political world by heart. On that Monday, I was almost looking
forward to the teacher calling out my name and summoning me to
the blackboard, when the door flew open.
It was an extremely rare event for the
classroom door to open during a lesson, so it made an impression.
In came the vice-principal with a man dressed in a white jacket.
The former, a tall and portly fellow with a flabby chin and a
long, thin moustache, whispered something to the geography teacher
and then turned to us:
"The dentists have come to visit
our school. They've brought their instruments with them and are
going to check all of you, one after the other!"
Showing off his false teeth, he added:
"Mens sana in corpore sano" which he hastened to translate
as: "A healthy mind in a healthy body."
I was petrified and cowered behind my
desk. I don't know what happened to me, but I was completely
absent-minded from that moment on. The man dressed in white turned
into a phantom.
The vice-principal took the register
and read out the first five names. I was number two on his list.
He smiled briefly, twitched his whiskers and continued:
"Those of you who heard their names
read out, go with the doctor right away. The others will go later,
one after the other."
I got up. The others rose, too, and we
proceeded into the narrow corridor, passing the phantom.
Aleks, the boy next door who I always
played with during summer holidays and who was the third on the
list, gave me a look. I glanced back at him.
"They brought their instruments
with them," whispered Aleks to me. "They're going to
kill us."
While we were shuffling down the long
hallway, I took a deep breath and uttered:
"Let's run away!"
"OK," said Aleks and we took
a sudden turn left, the way you took to go out to the sports
field and to the girls' washroom.
The phantom did not notice, nor did the
three girls who blithely surrounded him. All we had to do was
wait until the geography class was over and then return to the
classroom. Aleks had an apple in his pocket which we took turns
biting into. Maybe we had been saved.
2.
I had been chosen to hold the main
speech at the National Debate on Cultural Policies, to accompany
delegations of foreign experts, and to organize dinner parties
and the minutes of the meetings, in short, to do everything.
In the midst of all the stress, as I was gobbling down my combined
lunch and supper at home, a disaster occurred. Both of my bridges,
which a country dentist had painlessly installed some five years
earlier, fractured. I was paralysed. I could not open my mouth
and was thus in a rather tragicomical situation. Most of my teeth
- front and back, upper and lower - had fallen out.
I was in despair and had a terrible night,
hardly sleeping a wink.
"Get to the dentist, right away!"
ordered my wife the next morning, as the children giggled in
the corner of the room.
I phoned a colleague who had just had
his teeth done, telling him of my misfortune. We arranged to
meet at a coffee shop near the office and, from there, to go
together to his dentist.
"She is a real master of the trade
and she won't hurt at all. She tries her best not to cause any
pain," the colleague assured me.
I kept my mouth closed all the way to
the dentist's office, greeting acquaintances with a nod and an
odd grimace which tried to be a smile. I looked like a fool while
my companion chewed his gum with all his sparkling, white teeth.
We arrived. The silhouette of a thin
woman appeared at the smoked-glass door.
"That's her," murmured my friend,
as we entered without knocking. I stood at the doorway, my limbs
numb.
My companion presented me in lavish,
baroque terms which degenerated into rococo. I blushed at what
he'd said and thought to myself: "Why do I feel like this?
Why couldn't he have taken me to a male dentist, even some brute
with loutish hands?" But I had no time to ponder. I shook
her hand, giving her a crooked, almost toothless smile.
"Have a seat," she said in
a low voice.
"I sat down and endeavoured to speak.
"I am in a real predicament. I mean, like Hiroshima and
Nagasaki!"
She laughed, washing her hands in the
nearby sink.
"And he's a real chicken!"
exclaimed my companion, trying to break the ice.
"Yes, I can see that," replied
the dentist. "Otherwise he would not have come at such a
late hour."
The words "would not have come at
such a late hour" rang in my ears, but I had no time to
reflect on any ulterior meaning.
3.
When we got back to the classroom,
after the first lesson of the day, the vice-principal, the home-room
teacher and the geography teacher were all standing there waiting
for us. Three wrathful faces, ready for the attack, as if some
natural disaster had occurred.
"Aleks we know. But we did not expect
such behaviour of you. How did you dare disobey the vice-principal's
order?" screamed the home-room teacher.
How we'd dared to disobey the vice-principal's
order, neither Aleks nor I could supply an answer.
"You disappeared during class?"
added the geography teacher.
Aleks and I were in deep trouble and
felt the huge hands of the vice-principal tugging at our ear
lobes, as he hurled: "I'll get them to rip all your molars
out!"
He dragged both of us by the ears down
to the dentist's office, his false teeth glittering in satisfaction.
"You deserters! Now see where you've landed! Give 'em hell!"
The dentist looked at us in disgust as
if we had come from a mule pen or from another planet.
"Sit down," he shouted. "Open
your mouth! Cavities in two premolars and in one canine tooth.
You are going to need large fillings."
Oh Lord, take pity! What were premolars
and canines, and what did he mean by large fillings? I could
make no sense of it. Suddenly I heard the whining of a motor
and felt a metallic sphere spinning in my open mouth.
My brain went numb and I remember nothing
else, aside from Aleks' screams as he sat down where I had been
sitting, that is, in the dentist's chair, and the wad of cotton
stuck up my nose.
4.
"Let me introduce myself. I am
Anna," said the dentist in a soft voice.
I mumbled my name in reply. She smiled
and sat down on the little rotating stool in front of me.
"Now, open your mouth so that we
can see your Hiroshima," she continued, smiling again and
sticking her instruments into my mouth.
I was totally embarrassed and did not
know which way to look. My glance was fixed on the my companion
whose neck was also craned to study me, as if he were examining
some old watch.
"They did a bad job on you. Really
bad, but I will see what I can do... So, what do you mean 'chicken',
eh? You're not really frightened, are you?"
She asked all the questions while I had
my mouth open and could not answer.
The panic did not last as long as I had
suspected. I began to calm down, especially when she leaned over
me to get something out of the drawer on the other side. I don't
know. It was probably by accident, but her breasts slid across
my chest and gave me an erotic sensation I had never experienced
before. Damn! There I was with my mouth open, terrorized by the
calvary awaiting me and, in the midst of it all... lust!
She smiled once again and told me that
I would have to come back the next morning. I was confused. I
wanted to reveal to my companion what I had felt, but decided
not to. I was afraid that he would repeat his famous remark about
biting only being a sin for those with no teeth.
5.
I told you the story of my childhood
experience with dentists simply to clarify that I do not believe
what people say about early experiences influencing you for the
whole course of your life. Only people who are real conformists
adhere to that belief, and I dislike their sort. My experience
has taught me the opposite. I began enjoying the visits to my
dentist, Anna.
She continued to give me appointments
at odd hours of the day, at times when no one else was present
at the clinic. She cleaned all my remaining teeth and massaged
my gums. I cowered at the sight of her needle. Once, she used
a full three ampoules of anaesthetic for one tooth. The only
thing which Anna refused to do was extract the molars.
"For the extractions, I will refer
you to another doctor. He is experienced and has done that sort
of thing all his life. Don't worry, he's a real pro." "Alright,"
I replied. "You're the expert." I had put my entire
soul into her hands.
She continued to touch me more and more
during subsequent appointments, but she changed her tactics.
Not only did her breasts slide over my chest with increasing
frequency, but she would raise one leg while mixing the amalgam,
and her thigh, firm but fleshy, brushed against my shoulder.
I began to tremble every time she came near me. But nothing came
of it. I had to sit there with my mouth open and try the best
I could to keep my teeth dry of spit. The torture continued.
During another appointment, when she
had verified that the freezing from the needle had taken effect
on my lips, Anna bent down to get something from the other side
of the chair and I felt her thighs touch my knees ever so briefly.
She smiled, and I grimaced tastelessly from the freezing.
6.
We went to the elder dentist the next
day. The moment I saw the old man with the grey hair, I was convinced
that he was the one who had been my first dentist at school.
I was sure I recognized him and began trembling at the doorway.
"Here he is, doctor. This friend
of mind needs to have a molar extracted. It's this one,"
she said, pointing to the x-ray.
"Hmm," he snarled, and then
whispered something to Anna in a low voice. "Have a seat,"
he said, turning to me.
I sat down. The same ritual. Me with
my mouth wide open, and the dentist wielding various instruments
in his hands. He glowered and took out a long needle with a thick
point, the thickest I had ever seen.
"Open wider," he growled. I
opened as wide as I could until my jaws began aching. He thrust
the needle somewhere into my throat and I felt a mind-boggling
pain. I groaned as he removed it and cast the needle into a receptacle.
"It is going to hurt. The tooth
is infected, so it has to come out," he snarled again.
Anna, who was still with me, came even
closer. She was gentle. She took my hand as she would a child's,
and gave me a small, white handkerchief. "I am here at your
side," she whispered gently. "We are here together..."
I had trouble comprehending, and could
not react. My sight dimmed, even though I was staring at Anna.
I looked up for pity and... the moment of truth arrived. He thrust
his pincers into my mouth and began yanking at the molar. I thought
I would die. He pulled and pushed, but the tooth would not budge.
The pain was unbearable. I was quaking. He seemed to be yanking
everything out of my being - my head, my heart, my stomach...
everything. He stuck his thick arm with all the veins into my
throat, my esophagus, down into my guts. I screamed and cried,
yet my voice was feeble. Then, a little bit of something spewed
out of my mouth.
"Shit!" he hissed loudly.
I turned pale. I was growing numb and
started shaking, having convulsions. I could no longer control
my limbs, in particular the lower ones. They were bobbing around.
I was lost.
"It must come out!" he cried
like a savage beast, and repeatedly thrust his pincers into my
lacerated maw.
Incoherently, I drifted in and out of
consciousness. I shivered and shook. My legs were twitching electrically
like the cut-off tail of a lizard. It was a cataclysm. Then I
dimly saw Anna mount me. She positioned her ass somewhere down
below my lifeless belly. Spreading herself over me, she seemed
to squeeze me and spasmodically contorted in one final act, and
then... it was over.
[Mëkatet e të kafshuarit,
2004, translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie] |
Albanian Literature in Translation
Modern
Authors from Albania (late 20th - 21st centuries)
