“because he didnt feel like going home
to an empty apartment on his birthday . . . ” *
the apartment didnt miss him
it held its breath pinched its nose when he was there
Stinking
human being
it could scarcely abide his presence
it fowled its plumbing
chilled
its water
impeded its electricity
shuttered
it at least a couple times a week forcing
him out onto the cold tiled hallway floor barefooted -- the
fool he wasnt learning the game -- to
throw whichever switch needed
to be thrown to restart the electricity flowing
back into the bedroom bathroom or kitchen
the bedroom is where he spent most
of his time when he was at the apartment
he didnt entertain
it might have liked that had he
given it a chance
it might
have enjoyed guests
their
different voices manners and dress
scents sexuality humor
it
might have enjoyed anyone
other than he
not that it would ever
while he lived there
he didnt cook meals
didnt read books
he
usually
returned to the apartment to sleep
and
slept fitfully
he cried
pounded
his pillow or mattress with his fists
pulled
his hair
talked ranted to himself
and
often
collapsed
into a stupor that might pass itself off as sleep
his birthday
it came and went every year
for years and years and years
he knew it
though when he was pressed for it
he disallowed it
lied
he said he was a Jehovahs Witness
which usually provided him a wide berth
a nearly insatantaneous pass
religion it never ceased to amaze
and amuse him
hed go to a bar
have the bartender pour himself a shot and another for him
silently congratulate toast himself on another year snaked
Again
-- What are we drinking to buddy
-- Well drink to ourselves Our intransigent selves
-- I dont know what the means
but dont mind if I do
-- I dont either
and then hed have the bartender pour him a couple of doubles and wander away from the bar
take a seat at a table for two
set a drink down before himself and the other across from the empty
chair
a drink in front of an empty chair an empty glass in front of an empty
chair kept even drunken patrons at bay
none the wiser
and refilling a glass
buying the bartender another shot
kept his mouth buttoned shut
none the wiser
only the apartment knew
and the apartment for all its efforts squandered couldnt push this this
this squatter on his way
the brownstone knew only one family for three quiet generations before
him
and maybe
maybe it wasnt really
him it despised after all
it despised being an elegant warehouse to someone who wasnt waiting for
anyone
they had been
and were gone
if it knew the game he played at the bar
on his birthdays
it could have said who the empty chair was for
2241,
Friday, 22 8. 14
* Laszlo Krasznahorki, War and War, Gyorgy
Korin’s consideration
