Fiction Fix Six

Fiction Fix
“As a matter of fact…”
“Markič, what would you like to say?” Dievas asked.
“Perhaps…this is our heaven,” Markič said. “At least I think so.
What about you?”
“We do too, we do too!” we agreed almost in unison.
“If that’s the case, then there is no reason for sadness,” a
cheered-up Dievas said. “Come, I’ll treat you to heavenly manna!”
This was heaven! There were no television hosts and sports
commentators, no song competitions, no Eurosong and no dialectal pop
song; there were no skiers or skiing, no Skumavc and no Žmavc, no Špela
Skumavc, and no Beštrov Tonček from Žiganja Vas. There was only pure,
perfect Baltology and Baltological truth. There were morphological
analyses and ancient word roots. The roof of the institute was simultaneously
our semantic base and derivational plane. We, the participants of
verbal action, converged and diverged around the roof, and each pecked
at his own lump of heavenly manna. Day began to break.
“Markič, the moon is setting and dawn is lighting the sky,” a
poetically disposed Algirdas said.
“Indeed,” Markič agreed and likewise stared at the dawning horizon.
“Each night brings with itself restlessness and intoxication,”
Dievas said with satisfaction.
“Look over there in the distance!” Agnieška exclaimed and
tugged me by the sleeve. “The kmiel that Lithuanians make beer from is
growing over there!”
“Oh, you’re right!” I said with excitement. “What a lot of hops!”
“It’s such a beautiful morning,” Agnieška said quietly. “I have
never experienced such a marvelous sunrise.”
“And jodajki are grazing over there. Look!” I said. I pointed out
the black cows in the distance and hugged her. In that moment I thought
the cows looked like a herd of mighty brontosauruses.
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