Public Republic

Angel Angelov

Photo: rent-a-moose

The stretching, the yawning, the numerous coffee houses, even the forceful movement of his stiff joints did not chase away the dream that came upon him. The insurmountable draw towards the kingdom of Morpheus was persistently dragging him in an undesirable direction and only the blinking screen of the monitor was holding him with effort in the new, unknown world of the Woman just born out of nothingness.

A multitude of her photographs were sprouting in his narrow, lonely room, filling it, flying out through the cracked open window; he would attempt to grab hold of them, but they lived their own lives and walked their own paths…

For only a moment, Levkadii managed to touch her face, caressed her, she smiled distantly, the mole on her left cheek blinked devilishly, and her small, tight breasts described an incomprehensible seismogram over the inside of her blouse.

The man, locked in for millennia behind his light brown miniature bureau, had been looking for her, found her, and started living with her. Behind the chair on which he sat uncomfortably, his narrow futon sometimes called to him, but at the moment when he would stretch out his stiff legs, some inconceivable power would lift him up, his gaze would point uncontrollably towards the screen, it would melt, swallow him, and his new life would possess him like an unstoppable passion and incurable disease.

Sometimes Levkadii thought of rearranging the furniture, placing the monitor in front of the north wall of the room, where the secure barrier, maybe, would keep him from getting lost in the vast worlds where he dwelt, where this woman dragged him. Her light blue eyes, dark blonde tender hair, her innocent smile lured him insurmountably and not long after, the man, no longer in first youth, rushed after her, ready to overcome light years of space to touch her and assure himself that she existed and to show her that he did too…

“Do you exist?” flickered the monitor’s greenish eye. He wrote, “I exist… can’t you feel me following you…?”

“And do you feel this time what my perfume is?” her words wrote out through laughter.

“I feel it. And the taste of your kisses…”

Her laughter ceased, the screen darkened, he saw a wrinkled frown through the middle, which bothered him. His message sought her mercy.

“I was joking… I still don’t know their taste…”
“Hardly will you learn it…”
“Why?” Levkadii truly puzzled.
“Because why ends with ‘y’,” she cut him off rudely.

Her flighty image was angry (she would get angry over little, like every capricious woman), but the man guessed that this was not her true nature.

“Maybe you are prickly out of love?” he asked her naively.
Her words stuck to the inside of the screen:
“It’s very easy to explain… And it’s not interesting…”
“You dream of entertainment?”
“You’re asking again… Do you really expect me to answer you?” The irritation in her letters was obvious by their tremble.

Throughout the years, Levkadii had been used to her oddities, but he felt how his strength was leaving him, how little by little, he was surrendering, the flame of the first unreal touch was burning out, and the running after her tempting body was slowing down, and the distance in Space lengthened too worryingly.

“Can you take me to that star?” Slyly, She looked at him with hope that the man would give her the wrong answer.

“I can, when do we leave?” she read, and felt joy without showing it.

A sudden impressive portrait of her flew in front of his eyes, blinded him, he attempted to touch it, but at that exact moment, the connection dropped, her image sprinkled as little shiny squares, which he gathered in his palms.

The screen irradiated him:
“I was joking… I just wanted to check if you’re ready to go…”
Levkadii didn’t like check-ups. He didn’t like the endless waiting either. He was waiting to finally meet her, he was waiting to at least touch her, not to mention that he would wait millennia more for the lovemaking that he dreamed of to take place.

Since his youth, he had understood that lovemaking is trust, and he was always looking for it without finding it, he was looking for it, he was looking for it, and when sometimes he thought he had seen it nearby, had almost touched IT, suddenly it would turn into regular fucking, heavy breathing, sugary sex, tiring and boring…

Her sudden silencing sometimes exhausted him, he would tell himself that this was the end of their relationship, he would swear he wouldn’t send her messages any more, but some strength would spring from the depth of Space, draw him in powerfully, he felt un-freed, waiting, shackled, dreaming, tortured, happy, crushed, hopeful, desperate and ready for anything to achieve his dream.

These sweeping states would appear suddenly, sometimes, after a short moment of quick dreams, he would see her next to him, jump from his futon bed, and his gaze would pierce the spitefully blinking screen, which waved goodbye to him, like a departing train just missed.

“You sleep a lot,” her words mocked him. “The little time that is left to you won’t be enough for you achieve it…”

The millennia-old man with trembling fingers would touch the keyboard, his words would fly away into the Endlessness, carrying in their wombs a hope that didn’t know it was directionless.

“Only in my restless, trembling dreams am I truly with you…” Levkadii would justify himself and feel her harmless girlish laughter amongst the ringing of the stars. He knew that she knew, knew that he shouldn’t hope, knew that her path was different, knew that his vehemently shortening path was narrowing and darkening, but his knowing didn’t relieve his tortures – it made them painfully sweet and hopeless.

“Of course you know that I have many lovers.” The Words on screen finally awakened him.

“Our creator made you a free person…” The sorrow in his Words stuck to the screen like a haze.

Her laughter echoed through Space. It was a forced laugh, it was obvious by the font of the letters.

“I need to be saved…”

“I know.” He was more serious than ever.

And he decided it was time. He readied himself, his excitement was obvious, the polished shackles trembled with impatient waiting, he concentrated and already knew how he was going to save her. The uncertainty tortured him, but Levkadii was resolute – he had decided to wait for her until the end of his days. As if she had understood his decisiveness, She appeared after only a century of waiting.

Beautiful and attractive as always, now She – the same charming girl – had added to her image the devilish enigma of a woman with experience, calm and secure in her victories. Her insides, the dwelling of her Soul, though, was restless. Time sometimes whispered worry to her, which she would try to ignore. But when she read, “You live like a suicide! Time is endless but yours isn’t…,” she contemplated and almost slapped Levkadii’s screen.

“My Time is not your business…”

“I’m trying to take care of you,” the confused man timidly defended himself.

His love stood in the way of his essence, changed it, he felt that his crush was final and irrevocable and indeed, through saving her, he was hoping he would rescue himself. The passion was settling amongst his cells, a big portion of the liquids that raged in his organism changed their contents, and Water, this clever girl, which sustained his life, got worried…

Despite his waiting, her appearance took him by surprise. Her image was flying, circling with distrust, it was without clothes, it hung horizontally over the futon of Levkadii, who imagined the lovemaking that he had dreamed of for millennia. He had even prepared the marble liquid in enormous quantity, he wanted to give it to her as a gift, to make her happy in that way, to root her to his hopeless love.

She fluttered above the bed, a motionless hummingbird with invisible wings, but it wasn’t immediately obvious if she expected what he was expecting. Their interaction was wordless, he stretched his hands, generously filled, in this moment the image fell apart, the pearly liquid splashed and couldn’t reach its goal, unused, spilled wastefully, without managing, without turning into an attachment and eternal lovemaking… Then he angrily wrote:

“It didn’t even turn into regular fucking…” There was regret in his voice, but anger predominated.

“Yes, I know, for man that’s the most important thing in the world, fucking…,” she unjustly picked on him.

“Not for me…,” Levkadii tried naively and timidly to justify himself.

His love, forever smoldering, was pushing him towards despair and decision-making. He felt his extremities soften, his joints were whimpering painfully, his ex-athlete heart was warning in syncopation with the Surrounding Space about his state. The woman understood him:

“I know how you feel… My heart is also crying… I’ll be honest. Not for you…”

“Thank you! Not only because you’re honest, thank you for having a heart that can cry…”

On his screen, droplets appeared, but it wasn’t obvious whether or not they were tears.

Levkadii took a deep breath, opened the window of his narrow room widely, the breeze from the stars licked the screen and left prints there.

They were like painful scratches, like messages from far away that were aware of their own uselessness. He words appeared almost as a farewell:

“Maybe we’ll see each other somewhere… I don’t know about you, but I’m leaving. The endlessness is endless and that fills it with hope…”

The letters on the screen, scratched from the prints, emitted sorrow mixed with joy.

His decision was significantly more ancient, but it smoldered, hugged firmly and unwaveringly by Hope. Now after her words, the decision uprooted itself, caught his hand and started leading him. The window waved its wings, as if it were saluting the pedestrians of the crowded street from the seventh floor. Levkadii felt light and inspired. He peered at the stars and flew away. He was hoping, even after millennia, to meet her. A moment before he took off, he glimpsed the screen:

“I’m leaving too… I will look for it always…”

His body got heavy, he felt how he was changing direction, the stars started to grow distant, the street, the pedestrians and this world impetuously attracted him, he remembered Levkadii’s Rock (*), overjoyed, but before he touched the asphalt he managed to grasp the difference. His passion didn’t leave him, and Apollo had no way of helping him swim out.

At that time, the screen in the room spoke with her sad voice:

“And maybe I have to jump off Levkadii’s Rock… Only I’m not sure if I want to be rid of my passion…” she questioned herself, but there was nobody to answer her any more.

* — According to Ovid, the tragically-in-love in ancient times would throw themselves from Levkadii’s Rock with the hope that if they were able to swim out with the help of Apollo, they would be rid of their passion, and their salvation would return to them the true value of life, which, until that point, had seemed poor and torturous to them…

Translated from Bulgarian by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer