POEM as she and nature become one . her soul is finally soothed by the sun Anjali Mariampillai Web Editor her breath becomes the air, as tears become the lake at last the sun grazes her skin her eyelids, fingers and neck painting her in glittery gold jewels like bringing flowers to a stranger’s funeral as she surrenders to the icy lake frees her from its harsh grip the cold water that had clutched onto her sinking body like an envious lover Reaching for the light – inspired by Solveig Hestholm no closer could she be to the godly than breathing the last of what‘s left of her at the brink of sweet release as the lotuses gather as an astounded audience watching a shipwreck from shore September Photo: Solveig Hestholm 26
Therefore, I think I am (or maybe not) SHORT-STORY Rahul Mitra writer Illustration: AdobeStock // hiddencatch; Freepik // macrovector // rocketpixel It was the land of Kafka and the city of cats- Prague. Not like Istanbul, of course, or ancient Egypt, where cats were worshipped, or even Norway, where all the cats were extraordinarily fluffed out butterballs, but just a city overrun with starving, feral, stray cats. And one of them, a strikingly vicious looking specimen with scruffy black fur and a grumpy expression, now blocked his way. Tuco tried to side-step it, making a wide loop on the cobblestoned path, but the cat was having none of it. It yawned, stretched out its body to an impossible length and then with a look of supreme dignity, cut directly across his path and disappeared into the thick hedge on the right. “Aaah…shit!” he murmured to himself, for a black cat crossing your path could not possibly be an auspicious start to a dream holiday. Tuco was on his way to the Strahov Library, a long-time dream of his. He had been fascinated with the library ever since he saw its pictures on Instagram six years ago. Being, as he was, an artistic type, he had immediately promised himself a trip to this library as a reward for finishing his first novel. And now, here he was. Of course, he had not quite finished writing it yet, but at least he was more than half way there. He was also very committed to the craft, even though he did not get enough time to write regularly. Life just kept getting in the way. But now he hoped that this visit would give him some fresh inspiration, a final push that would enable him to finally finish his novel and get on his way to literary superstardom. And then, and only then, would he post a selfie taken at the library across all his social media handles. Only a picture taken at Strahov Library, and specifically in the Teologický sál could properly communicate the authorial weight he must radiate after he got published. But where the hell was the entrance to the library? He hadn’t seen any tourists around, and he had put it down to the recent heat wave that made it unbearable to be out during the afternoon hours. Well, not everyone could be as dedicated to literature, art and culture as he was, of course. Even his wife had refused to accompany him today, citing the heat and his inability to take good pictures of her as the reason. Apparently, she took great pictures of him, while he made a mess of every pic he clicked of her. How could he explain to her, that he was no longer the young university student, that ten long years had passed since they first started dating, and that he had grown older over this period. Perhaps his hands shook when taking her pictures now. Well, good riddance! Now he could wander as he pleased and spend as much time in the library as he wanted. He was finally in front of the library building, but the big door, which he remembered from numerous pictures and videos appeared to be shut and there was no one around to ask for directions. Perhaps the library was shut today? That would certainly explain the absence of anyone around. He looked around for some shade and decided to try his luck at the monastery which apparently also had a brewery. But here, too, the main door was closed. As he went around the building, he found a narrow wicket gate built into the wall. Pasted next to it on the wall was a big sheet of paper with arrows and the word ‘ENTER’ written in red. Well, what the hell, he might as well get inside and see what attraction this was. At least there would be some shade inside, he thought to himself. He was right, for it was dark and cool inside the stone building. A narrow passageway led into a large, well-lit stone room. Tuco stood on the threshold, peering in and saw a room that seemed to have been hit by a hurricane. There were clothes everywhere, covering what seemed to be a bed as well as a chair. A small, square table in the middle of the room was piled high with books and magazines and there were other books on some cheap looking shelves that lined the wall. A baby crawled on the bare, stone floor, while a thin, serious, almost sad-looking young man sat at a desk and scribbled away on a notebook. From somewhere further inside came the sound of running water, and the whole place gave the impression of chaos, scholarship and a genteel poverty. Even the desk on which the young man was writing was overflowing with single sheets of paper, books, magazines, receipts, a wallet and small boxes of what looked like medicine. His coming had not been noticed, and the young man was utterly absorbed in his work. So Tuco stood silently on the sidelines and stared, for something about the young man and the whole scene unfolding before him was fascinating. Presently, as he watched, the baby started crying and the young man tore himself away from his writing. Picking up the baby, he sat down on the bed, crumpling under himself the assorted bric-a-brac of clothes and bed linen that lay on top of it. Then, retrieving a child’s feeding bottle from somewhere under the pile of clothes, he proceeded to feed and talk to the baby. It was several moments before the baby finally dozed off and the young scholar gingerly stepped away towards the table and started writing again. <strong>SEPTEMBER</strong> 2023 <strong>UNIKUM</strong> NR 7 27
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