Ranko Marinkovic - Cyclops

The yearnings. They are all far away. Linear. Unidimensional metaphors. Long ago and far away … The sea, the mountains, the sky and He, the beloved. Distant, exotic lands, the call of the wild. East: the eighteenth century; the twentieth: far-away cities, jungles of light, wet asphalt, the Negro with the saxophone, cognac, the West. What do you expect from life? Give me some yearning, my love, my lover man. That I may yearn for you. A letter. Heads (of state). Tails. Black tie. He’s sent me two sets of undergarments (teddies), six (6) handkerchiefs, a silk shawl, and a negligee. It must mean something, the negligee. He’s inviting me. I can’t make up my mind, here — to leave — everything. Auntie told me, I don’t know, love, you’ll have to decide for yourself. Yearning, yearning for you …

She stopped crying. Wiped her eyes. Nose, too. Ruined everything. Snuffle snuffle. The nose had contributed copiously to the grieving, a handkerchief full of grief. And the eyes, the pretty eyes — red-rimmed, inflamed, rubbed raw — looked out with cold disdain, still gnawing the bone of sorrow, sucking the marrow. The boundless appetite of Miss, Mrs. Viviana. Soul feed. She licked her dry lips, cat style.

ATMAN knelt to serve her coffee. His face was grave, almost disappointed: she had not shone in tears. Nevertheless he managed to stretch his face into a now-now smile.

“I could kill you.” Her eyes smiled restrainedly. Beautifully. “You antediluvian creature!”

Antediluvian? Melkior snap-checked exemplar: Nothing in it. A gas mask, most likely. And even that with the wholehearted aid of the imagination.

She drank her coffee in large gulps. She was in a hurry to reach the dregs: that was where Destiny smiled sweetly at her. She turned the cup upside down and fell to waiting impatiently. Happiness is being born. Extending tentacles, moving in the dark, clearing roads, removing snags, downing obstacles. How powerful, how terrible Happiness is, there is no holding it back.

“I see a long road,” ATMAN read in the dregs. “A man standing alone at the far end. Waiting. Behind him, a splendid castle, a green park, a lake, white swans. Above the roof, wild geese flying away. Here, Mr. Melkior, can you see the geese?” ATMAN pointed his little finger at an orderly flock of dots. “These are geese. Meaning it’s autumn. It is in autumn that you will arrive by this road to the glittering castle, one, two, three, four, four years from now. But I see terrible obstacles on your way: destruction, fire, explosions. See the explosion, Mr. Melkior?” He was now pointing at a scattered spurt of dregs, the spot where the bomb had hit. “And many people around you, false lifesavers, reaching out, grabbing hold of you in turn, each one for himself, for a time. And now you’re on the road again, on your way to the waiting man’s castle …”

“And then?” She was listening to him with a patient’s eager concentration. In her eyes was fear of the unknown, with a humble, flattering plea for a happy ending. If at all possible.

“Then there will be an onslaught of malice and envy. I see a mean dragon with three heads, a flaming tongue in each. Envy, malice, and slander — the three-headed dragon blocking your way to happiness. You will get past the first head thanks to your beauty, you will get past the second head thanks to your kindness, but the third, the third head you will not get past.”

“Oh my God,” she cried, “not ever?” and covered her eyes with trembling hands, horrified.

Good. That was where her umbilical cord was fused to his, around the twinge of her Happiness. How he kept her chained to the frisson of Destiny! But we who know why the cock crows … Melkior laughed inside, but ATMAN’S phrase still lay flatteringly in his ear. We who know …

“The third you will not get past,” repeated the palmist in sibylline tones. “I see snowy whiteness all around. This is the passion of true love … to combat slander, and you are nowhere to be seen. I see you no more.”

“But you did say, Mac, you did say I was going to reach the castle in the autumn, four years from now? Try starting over again — you forgot that bit, Mac.”

“I forgot nothing,” ATMAN replied sternly. He put the cup away, closed his eyes and tilting his face ceilingward. “I see you no more … do not interrupt, I’m not finished yet … I see you no more with my human eyes. Wait, I’m looking inside in another mode. Milk, boiling milk, is what I see. Black milk from hellish feed, an egg hatched by a viper, the accursed generation. Rising, all rising … Oh-ho, oh-ho. Ohhho, here comes a dark army, warriors with teeth from ear to ear, tooth by tooth. Blood and knife, blood and knife …”

“What about him, what about him?” she cried out dementedly.

“Knife and blood,” said ATMAN in a trance, his face contorting with prophetic pain.

“Is he still standing there in front of the castle? Is he standing there alone?” she shivered miserably, deeply in love.

“Standing, standing … Falling! Tooth to neck, knife to throat.” She screamed. “I see a honeycomb, a honeycomb, an endless honeycomb. Heads protruding from the honeycomb, eyes mournful, ears dry. Heads, heads, a thick cluster of grapes. A bloody vintage. Thump and thump, and thump and thump … sledgehammer, blow after blow. Reapers advancing. Murderers. Oh Mel-kiooor, Mel-kiooorrr …”

“What?” blurted Melkior.

“Don’t ask,” she whispered, “you’ll wake him. He’s not finished yet.”

“Very well,” said Melkior, offended. “I can leave if you like.”

“No.” She gave his hand a fierce squeeze. He felt the squeeze with all his body, it was like the touch of a thunderbolt. “He sees you, too. Listen.” She left her hand on his. He felt nothing but that hand.

“What happens next, Mac, what happens next?” She wished the dream to go on. Perhaps there was a nice ending. Perhaps even a happy, a happy one!

“He lifts him bodily, does Melkior,” ATMAN whispered ceiling-ward, his face clearing up, diluted. “Lifting, lifting. He’s heavy, limp, half-dead. There’s hope yet, says Melkior. I’ll do it for her sake. That and anything else, I’ll do anything for her sake, says Melkior. I love her, I love Viviana, says Melkior.”

“You love her?” she asked, in near-consternation. “Who is she, Mac? Whom does he love?”

“Vi-vi-a-na,” said ATMAN, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat with suppressed laughter. Adam’s apple. Melkior noticed this and blushed. I’ll smash him, he thought, right on the Adam’s apple bobbing on Adam’s throat. I’ll smash him …

“But who’s Viviana, Mac?” She had noticed nothing. “Why’s he lifting him up for her sake? Who is she?”

“Your mother’s daughter but not your sister,” he replied Pythian style, and his Adam’s apple bobbed again.

“My mother’s daughter but not my … Why, that’s nobody, Mac! It’s nobody, isn’t it?” she spoke to Melkior. “Meaning you’re not in love at all.”

“That’s what it means,” Melkior readily took the proffered chance.

“So what’s the idea of the teasing, MacAdam?” she cried in disappointment. “You are all confused. You’re spouting nonsense. You can’t see anything further, right? You can’t see anything further.”

“Oh but I can. Melkior is carrying him on his back to the glass castle. I’m doing it for her sake, says Melkior, and gives him his heart’s blood. Melkior donates his own blood for her happiness. He comes around, opens his large eyes. (Beautiful eyes, she corrects him.) If I’m dead, he says, then it’s all over and done with (as they say); if I’m alive then let me wait, let me wait for her to arrive. They cut your throat a bit, says Melkior, opened your veins and went on. You’ve lost your blood. But I’ve given you some of mine, there’s plenty more where it came from, says Melkior, enjoy it in good health. I’ll give it back to you, he says, when my own is restored, I’ll give it back twice over. Please don’t bother, says Melkior, and refuses with disgust. I gave it to you as a present because … but he won’t say why; and the truth is that he did it for her happiness. But I’m going to get you a tutor, says Melkior, because you’re artless like a stork — you’re waiting on one leg. You need to be taught a thing or two. Oh no, I want to wait for her alone, he says. Anyway, I do know how to stand on two legs. Not at all, says Melkior, you’ll need to have a tutor before I fetch her. You’re standing on one leg, one and a half at best, and what she needs is an eagle, indeed two eagles for round-the-clock shifts, and a couple of parrots as well, for agreeable chats. — I’ll give her everything, everything from inside myself, eagles and parrots included, only please go and bring her to me.”