Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 48, May 2021

Revista Literária Adelaide

ment. I had begun to wonder if Zoey had She squeezed my hand again.
been a little reluctant to talk about the go-
ings-on at work where she might be over- “The suit won’t actually be damaged –
heard. I could certainly understand how and it will be yours to keep.”
working at that place could make you a lit-
tle paranoid. “I actually do own a couple of suits, so if
you’re worried about my attire...”
As we walked up Fifth Street toward the
park, Zoey squeezed my hand, which usu- “Oh, I forgot to ask you: Would you be
ally meant she was about to say something willing to be in the wedding party?”
that required my full attention.
I had to think about this. Zoey waited
“Let me start at the beginning. Stores patiently.
like ours receive huge shipments of men’s,
women’s, and children’s clothing. Before “Will you be in the wedding party?”
they are put on the floor for sale, each item
is checked for any defects. Many have moth “Of course!” she answered. “You’ll be an
holes, quite a few are torn or stained, and usher and I’ll be a bridesmaid.”
occasionally, some even smell bad.
“No more questions, your honor.”
So, the manufacturer issues a credit on
the defective garments. Now what do you Zoey smiled. “OK, here’s the deal: About
think ‘the store’ does with this damaged half the wedding party will be store em-
clothing?” ployees. And ‘the ‘store’ has recently been
providing the wedding parties of employees
“Sends it back to the manufacturer?” with suits and dresses.”

“Good guess, Steve!” I just stared at her, my mouth wide open.

“But not good enough!” “Careful, Steve. If you keep your mouth
open like that much longer, you may begin
“That’s right! Why bother going through to attract flies.”
expense and trouble of shipping back these
damaged goods to the manufacturer? It’s “OK, I’m going to make a great intellec-
much easier for both parties if we just toss tual leap here. Something tells me that the
them.” provision of these suits and dresses by ‘the
store’ is not voluntary – or even intentional.”
“That makes sense!”
“Why don’t you come right out and say
“Of course! But “the store” then gives the it, Steve? We are stealing this clothing from
clothing to charity and takes a tax write-off.” ‘the store.’”

“So ‘the store’ gets a credit from the man- “Yeah! But how do you do it?”
ufacturer and a tax write-off from the IRS. In
effect then, the more damaged goods, the “Well, we make it look as though we’re
more profitable it is for ‘the store! giving them to charity. There’s a big dump-
ster in the corner of the loading area be-
Now I get it! You’re going to treat me like hind ‘the store.’ All the damaged clothing is
a charity case and provide me with a dam- brought down a freight elevator and thrown
aged suit to wear to the wedding.” into the dumpster.

“Then, in the late afternoon, one or two
small trucks from the Salvation Army or

49

Adelaide Literary Magazine

another charity picks up the garbage bags from the other bags. When our guys arrive,
of clothing, and hands the guard a receipt.” they hand a receipt to the guard, pack up
their truck, and the next time those suits
“Zoey, I can follow this so far. So, I’m and dresses are seen will be at the wedding.”
guessing that you guys have arranged for
your own truck to pick up your suits and “I am honored to play a minor role in this
dresses.” grand plan. Oh! Just one more question.
How will you know what size jacket and
“Exactly. We even give the guard a receipt pants I wear?”
from a real charity.”
“If you’re not too shy, I can take your mea-
“Ingenious!” surements when we get to your apartment.
I brought along a tape measure in case you
“But wait! There’s more!” don’t own one.”

“Let me guess! How will your guys know 7
which bags to pull out of the dumpster?”
It was a beautiful wedding! My suit fit per-
She waited to see if I could guess the an- fectly, and Zoey actually caught the bride’s
swer to my own question. It took me several bouquet! One of the highlights was the
seconds, and then I smiled. last of more than a dozen toasts – “To ‘the
store!’ Without it, this wedding may have
“The bags must be somewhat different never taken place!”
from the regular garbage bags, so your
guys will know which ones to fish out of the Many of the guests yelled, “Hear, hear!”
dumpster.”
As the noise died down, we overheard
But then I was stuck. They couldn’t put an older woman, who spoke impeccable
signs on the bags, “Not for charity.” Brooklynese, raise an interesting question
with her neighbor.
Zoey waited. Finally, she decided to put
me out of my misery. “I thought everyone hates ‘the store!’”

“We paste big yellow stickers all over the Her neighbor replied, “Tillie, it’s kind of
bags. And on each sticker, in big black let- a love-hate relationship, if yuh get my drift.”
ters, it says, ‘CAUTION! HAZARDOUS WASTE
STORAGE.’ And just in case anyone can’t “Well anyway, it’s nice they gave my Rosa-
read, there’s also a skull and cross-bones.” lind a lovely dress to wear to the wedding.”

“Perfect!” “Yeah, and my Barry: they gave him a
beautiful suit!”
“The bags are carried down to the dump-
ster by two or three maintenance guys, ac- “So, Milly, lemma ask yuh: “What’s not
companied by one of our own people who to like?”
makes sure they wear gloves and hold the
bags away from their bodies. Anyone who “Well, maybe the next time that one their
gets on the freight elevator gives them a workers gets married, ‘the store”’could
wide berth. spring for a better caterer.”

The hazardous waste bags are placed in “You’re telling me! The food tastes like
a corner of the dumpster as far as possible poison! … And such small portions!”

50

Revista Literária Adelaide

About the Author

A recovering economics professor, Steve Slavin earns a living writing math and economics
books. The third volume of his short stories, To the City, with Love, was recently published.

51

MAYONAISE

by Adam Matson

Melissa stood at the kitchen counter, mak- published articles on climate change. Chris
ing a sandwich. Her phone chimed with a studied the deep snow of the past, looking
text message from Allison: “Chris Ritter for microbes, remnants of past life, clues to
committed suicide.” For some reason, the what kind of future the melt might reveal.
first thing she thought of was Chris’ old joke The tone of his articles had progressed over
about the Smashing Pumpkins’ song, “May- the years, like stages of cancer, from infor-
onaise.” mative, to alarmist, to grave.

She finished building her sandwich, and “There was a note,” Allison said, adding
now the components, including a mayon- that her source was Chris’ sister. “Appar-
naise jar, sat on the counter, waiting to be ently he was depressed. Co-workers were
replaced. Melissa just stood there, won- worried about him. He spent days watching
dering if she was still hungry. the ice sheets break off and crash into the
ocean. They found him in the bathtub….”
Alone in the house, she sat down at the
kitchen table, stared outside at the with- Melissa shut her eyes. It was horrible to
ering late-February snow. It seemed like the envision someone mutilating themselves
snow had been deeper when she was a kid. with a blade. Someone she had once loved
Like there had been more of it. Like whole and cared about very much.
epochs of her young life had taken place in
Maine winters. She thought of Chris Ritter, She and Allison spent half an hour on the
when they were on the ski team in junior phone, catching up, making vague promises
high, his practical approach to negotiating to get together. Then they ran out of things
a slalom course: “First rule: don’t die.” to say, and hung up. Melissa quietly cleaned
up her lunch. Her husband would pick the
She decided to call Allison, rather than kids up from school later that afternoon,
reply by text. She had not seen Chris Ritter giving her a few hours to herself. She de-
in more than fifteen years- nor Allison in cided to go dig through the crawl space in
five, she realized. One of the gloomy facts of the attic.
adulthood was that many old friends drifted
away. She and Jack had finished the attic two
years earlier, turning a dusty storage vault
Allison told her that Chris had died in into a cozy, livable room. There was a home
Antarctica, where he had been studying office set-up; a couch and a TV. Melissa
ice melt. Melissa had read Chris’ various wedged herself into the crawl space, and

52

Revista Literária Adelaide

starting digging through the archives of everything had occurred in the past couple
her life, until she found the box with the of weeks. She remembered not only ev-
yearbooks. The first yearbook she had ever eryone she had known in junior high, but
acquired was a hard-bound, silver-covered what they had looked like, sounded like,
junior high school Torch, 1995-96. Crisp, conversations she had had with them. So
glossy pages. Black and white photos of ev- many details that her mind just refused to
eryone she had known in the world, age 13. forget. Her marriage, the births of her chil-
dren, her career, past relationships, friend-
She brought the yearbook out of the ships, school, college, vacations- everything
crawl space and sat down on the couch. existed in the same space, like a neat, or-
Flipped through the pages. Inscriptions derly bookshelf, from which stories could be
decorated the inside covers, and many easily plucked.
random pages, a multiverse of handwriting,
scribbled in various colors of ink. She knew She thought about that year on the ski
where Chris’ inscription was, in the sports team; riding creaky chairlifts up remote
pages, toward the back, over the photo of Maine mountains; the “whishing” sound
the junior high alpine ski team. She found of her skis on the slalom courses; eating
the photo and stared at it, remembering chicken sandwiches and fries at McDonalds
with crystal clarity the day it was taken. The after a meet; the long bus rides home in
whole team huddled together, sitting at the the dark. Chris Ritter’s easy smile, and calm,
base of the practice hill at school, random shoulder-clapping advice from the top of a
skis sticking out of the snow. Fourteen kids mountain, as Melissa stared down a terri-
on the team, seventh and eighth graders, all fying incline: “First rule: don’t die.”
of them grinning like they had just laughed
at the same joke. Her 13-year-old self, cher- She hunted through more boxes until
ub-faced, with sharp brunette bangs, re- he found her music collection. She pulled
clined on the snowy slope, her legs splayed her old CDs from the box, inspected each
out and half-buried, her upper body leaning one, stacked them on the table, until she
against Chris. His hands rested on her head, found “Siamese Dream,” by the Smashing
like he was holding her hat in place. Pumpkins. The plastic case still opened and
closed, but the twin halves had broken and
His inscription read: “When I can, I will;” separated. The jacket with the song lyrics
lyrics from the Smashing Pumpkins song, was so creased and bent it was nearly
a concise note that belied the intensity of parchment. She pulled the jacket out and
their feelings for each other. Many friends flipped through the lyrics.
had written long, flowery testaments to the
seventh grade, a year that ultimately had “I’m going to put this on,” she said to no
not mattered very much. But just five words one, indulging the habit she had developed
from Chris. of talking to herself when she was alone
in the house. She put “Siamese Dream” in
She sometimes wondered if her memory her stereo, pressed Play. A fresh injection
was peculiar. She did not think of her life of memories surged through her mind. She
as a linear chain of experiences, the past a and Chris had listened to “Siamese Dream”
foggy haze at the end of the chain. For her, dozens of times, passing the lyrics sheet
memory was more like a clear, amorphous back and forth, trying to decipher Billy Cor-
orb. She remembered her entire life as if gan’s angsty poetry. Their favorite song on

53

Adelaide Literary Magazine

the album was the dark and mysterious all they could give, in their better moments,
“Mayonaise,” a dirge of obscure promises. was their better self, and when they could,
The song’s opening bars took Melissa’s they would.
heart to a place she could not explain, even
twenty-five years after hearing it for the She listened to “Siamese Dream” all
first time. The powerful explosion of guitar the way through, then started it over. She
at 53 seconds plunged her straight into the was glad her family would not be home for
bipolar years of ‘90s rock. Corgan took his a while, would not find her quietly crying
time pulling you into the song- a master- in the attic, over a long-estranged friend,
piece of sound recording- before his voice before she had time to compose an expla-
eventually arrived, like the whisper of God, nation. Her mind flitted through countless
bleeding secrets he would never suture. winter memories of listening to music with
The refrain, “When I can, I will,” seemed like Chris. But the memory she really wanted to
a teary, desperate resolution to do some- relive was from the ski team.
thing better. Melissa and Chris had spent
hours debating the meaning of this song, It was January, 1996, a Saturday. The ju-
the meaning of all the songs on “Siamese nior high alpine and Nordic ski teams had
Dream.” They laughed at their own fum- meets at Bleak Mountain, a jagged, rocky
bling interpretations. Corgan’s lyrics were peak deep in Western Maine. Bleak Moun-
deeply personal, and profoundly opaque. tain only had two or three trails, one of
The song titles- “Hummer,” “Silverfuck,” which was just long enough for a slalom
“Pissant”- were like jokes, laughing at the course. At the base of the slope sat a squat,
listener’s insights. A song about love, or wood-frame lodge. There was no chair lift,
escape, or inadequacy, or who knows what, or even a T-bar, but only a rope-tow. Me-
called “Mayonaise?” lissa had learned to ride rope-tows on the
practice slope at school. You had to grab
“Maybe he was making a tuna fish sand- the moving rope, lean back, and squat, it-
wich,” Chris suggested. “When the lyrics self an effort of athleticism, and if you didn’t
came ti him.” lean back far enough, you’d be dragged. Ev-
eryone on the team duct-taped their gloves
Melissa lay on the floor, poking him with to prevent the rope from shredding through
her socked toes, laughing up at the ceiling. the material and burning their hands.

“Don’t you want a pickle right now, for The alpine competition comprised over
some reason?” he asked. a hundred skiers, each running two heats.
The eighth graders went first, then the sev-
“Stop,” she begged. enth graders. Melissa, Chris, Allison, and
three or four other seventh graders spent
“That’s all it is,” Chris said. “He was the afternoon lurching up the hill in the
hungry. Rock stars need protein too.” falling snow, cruising the easy trail, waiting
for their turn to race. By the time their com-
Later, after they had listened to “May- petition began, the slalom had been run
onaise” maybe twenty times, Chris specu- about two hundred times. A slim snake of
lated that the lyrics “When I can, I will,” per- ice wound downhill from the windy moun-
haps meant that the singer, or the writer, or taintop to the lodge, the snow as firm and
the voice, was telling someone that they hard-packed as concrete. Melissa waited
were not perfect, and never would be, but

54

Revista Literária Adelaide

by the starting gate with her teammates, Chris weave down the course. He clipped
squinting through her goggles at the frozen the first few gates with expert precision,
course. planting his poles and pivoting around the
turns. Then he took a gate too wide, lost his
“This is crazy, man!” shouted Nick Barrett balance, and wiped out, tumbling past the
as he inched up to the starting gate. “It’s next two gates. Melissa held her breath as
sheer ice all the way to the bottom.” Chris careened out of control. But suddenly
he hopped up and righted himself, skiing the
“Remember,” said their coach, clouds of rest of the course deliberately, disqualified.
breath puffing around his head. “If you miss Melissa thought their second runs would be
a gate, you’re disqualified.” even worse.

Nick Barrett clapped his poles together, She ran two heats down what was basi-
screamed, and took off. Melissa watched cally a luge course, and somehow miracu-
Crazy Nick fly down the mountain, clipping lously finished them both. The key, she dis-
gates, skis carving tight grooves in the snow. covered, was to completely dismiss any par-
After what seemed like forever, he finally ticle of fear, to just fly. Crouch, tuck, plant,
arrived at the bottom, cruising toward the turn. Don’t die.
lodge with his poles in the air.
At the end of her second heat, her heart
Coach skied up to where Melissa and pounding, she glided across the softer snow
Chris stood shivering in the wind. at the base of the mountain to the lodge.
Fresh snow was falling, painting the moun-
“Missy,” Coach said. “About half of the tain twilight blue. She clacked off her skis
girls ahead of you have already disqualified. and set them against the wall of the lodge.
All you have to do is complete the course,
and you should place pretty well.” Inside, the lodge was packed with the
kids who had finished racing. Melissa found
Chris clapped a hand on her shoulder. an empty seat at one of the long tables,
“No pressure.” peeled off her jacket, and sipped hot choc-
olate until the coaches arrived with the final
“Just focus, and plant your poles, and results.
you’ll do fine,” Coach said.
“Well, it was an ugly day,” their coach
“I’ve never placed before,” Melissa said said, laughing off what everybody already
to Chris. knew. “An icy course, but I’m proud of you
all for running it. Some of you even finished.”
“Me neither,” Chris replied.
Nick Barrett nudged Chris.
“I don’t want to screw this up.”
“We’ll skip the disqualifications,” Coach
Chris’ number was called. Before he said. “And there were many. But we did
stepped up to the gate, he turned to Me- manage to place three boys, and one girl,
lissa. “First rule,” he said. “Don’t die.” The in the top ten.” He read the names of the
wind snapped around their ears like bullets, boys, all eighth graders, the usual suspects,
but Chris seemed perfectly calm. who punched each other with snickering
congratulations. “And our top lady racer
“Don’t die,” Melissa repeated. was Missy Caouette, finishing eighth overall

Chris waited for the signal, then took off.
Allison stepped up beside Melissa. They hud-
dled together against the wind, watching

55

Adelaide Literary Magazine

in the women’s competition. You’ll get your amble onto the bus with Crazy Nick and the
name in the paper, Miss.” other seventh-grade boys, staking out ter-
ritory close to the girls, but separate. The
The team swamped Melissa with cheers boys started talking. The bus lurched into
and hugs. Chris wrapped his arms around gear. Chris suddenly stood up and slipped
her shoulders and shouted: “Nobody touch into the seat beside Melissa.
her! We need her alive!”
“I’ve never sat next to someone who
It was a thrilling moment, but Melissa placed before,” he said.
had never really liked public attention, and
she felt more embarrassed than proud. It She laughed. “I didn’t die.”
did feel good to have Chris’ arms around her.
“That’s the most important thing.”
Darkness came quickly on Bleak Moun-
tain, the snowstorm swallowing up the “You pretty much died though.”
late-afternoon sun. Snow fell steadily as
they loaded their gear back onto the bus for Chris shrugged, as if he hadn’t really ex-
the return home. Melissa stared up at the pected to win.
black sky, the deceptively innocent snow-
flakes fluttering to the ground, the same icy The bus hit a frost heave, and everyone
substance that had tried to kill them on the cheered, as their gear rattled onto the floor.
slope. Melissa jumped a few inches across the
seat, nudging Chris. Chris started rooting
The road home from Bleak Mountain led through his backpack.
first, as always, to McDonalds, where the ski
teams stuffed themselves with gluttonous “Do you want to listen to some music?”
glee. Lumbering back onto the bus in her he asked her.
thick coat, boots, and snow pants, Melissa
collapsed into her seat. “Sure,” she said.

The last four rows of seats were packed He fished a Walkman out of his back-
tight with gear. The eighth graders crowded pack, untangled a length of wire with two
the seats as far back as they could get from ear buds. He handed her one of the buds.
the door, hiding from the coaches, con-
spiring. Melissa sat with the seventh graders “What is it?” she asked.
toward the middle of the bus, their allotted
territory. Placing eighth in the race drew her “A mix from the radio. I listen to 92-
no closer to the cool kids, which was fine Moose when I’m doing homework, and re-
with her, since the cool kids intimidated her. cord the good songs when they come on.
Next year, if she was still on the team, she Some of the songs might be missing the first
could sit at the back of the bus. few seconds.”

On the way to the meet, she had sat with He tucked his ear bud into his ear, and
Allison, the two of them whispering about Melissa did the same. The wires were short,
the boys on the team, and the boys in their forcing them to scooch up against each
classes, the entire way. Now Allison chose a other. Chris turned up the volume, and they
seat near the front, where she could stretch listened to the tinny music as conversation
out and go to sleep. Melissa watched Chris around the bus trickled to a hush.

One by one everyone fell asleep. It took
a while for the bus’s heater to get cooking,

56

Revista Literária Adelaide

but once it did, Melissa and Chris took off powerfully, almost murderously, protective
their jackets. Chris took out his ear bud of Chris. She almost wanted someone to in-
and yawned. “I’m beat.” He handed her his terrupt them, to try to poke Chris, or steal
jacket. “Pillows.” his boots, or any of the other pranks they all
endlessly pulled on each other, so that she
Melissa bunched up their jackets and could snap at them, lash out like a cobra,
pressed them against the window. She re- defend her boy.
moved her own ear bud, leaned against the
jackets, felt the cool of the window through The feeling did not pass. It strengthened
the puffy down. Chris put away his Walkman, into a proud, purposeful certainty. She loved
slid over next to her. Without speaking, or Chris, and would never let anything happen
explaining anything, he leaned his body to him. She felt his warmth in all kinds of
across her lap, stretching his legs out into thrilling places, on her face, in her belly,
the aisle. Melissa’s heart raced as he settled in her breasts. In that moment, the world
in against her. She glanced around the bus, seemed perfectly aligned, with Chris in her
to see if anyone was watching them, but no arms, snow falling outside, and a long drive
one was. Carefully she wrapped her arms back to school. She understood, for the first
around him, pulled him tight. He closed his time in her life, that love was as thick and
eyes and let her hold him. blinding as a snowstorm, as relentless as an
avalanche, entirely capable of swallowing
Melissa had never felt more excited, or her- crushing her- if she wasn’t careful.
more terrified. She had always wanted to
hold a boy close to her. Suddenly she felt First rule, she told herself. Don’t die.

About the Author

Adam Matson’s fiction has appeared internationally in
over twenty magazines, including Mobius: The Journal for
Social Change, The Oddville Press, Black Scat Review, and
Terror House Journal.

57

ATOM AND VOID

by Riley Winchester

The lobby at the ReAt Agency was pale and colors and moving shapes. Every minute
insipid. The walls were made of white bricks on the minute she jarred her chin into her
that were cold to the touch when I dragged chest and said, “Threw it all away, threw it
my fingers along the lines of grout holding all away.”
them together. There was one poster hang-
ing on the wall across from me as I sat and Perpendicular to her on her left sat a
waited. It showed a step-by-step sequence middle-aged man dressed in a nice suit.
of a caterpillar becoming a butterfly, and He looked like he came straight out of an
the text below the image read, “Change is Alcoholics Anonymous pamphlet—one of
possible, solutions are everywhere.” The the pictures where the alcoholic is at their
comma splice distracted me and I thought lowest, face sunken and jaundiced, passed
about taking one of the pens from the cof- out at the dinner table surrounded by a
fee table next to me and correcting the worried family. Though his face looked de-
mistake. I dithered between a period or a feated, he still dressed well. His suit was
semicolon, but since I couldn’t change the so nice I started to question my wardrobe
capitalization of the S in ‘solutions’ I decid- choice. I should have worn something nicer
ed on a semicolon. All of this was waylaid, than my everyday attire of jeans and a solid
however, by a man who walked in raving color t-shirt, considering the occasion.
and hitting himself in the thigh in a stab-
bing motion. And then there was the raving, self-stab-
bing man pacing back and forth, and me
This man wasn’t an oddity in the ReAt slouched comfortably, hoping for my name
lobby and I doubt anybody else took no- to be called soon to avoid the possibility of
tice of him but myself. I was the one who someone finding me at the ReAt Agency. I
stood out. There were four of us waiting for was the only one who looked like they had
our names to be called and start our lives any life left in them. My skin was tan, not
anew. A woman with short almond hair sat sallow. My eyes were pointed and bright,
to my left. She looked like she had been not dull. I had all my teeth. I didn’t fidget,
through hell and was at her end. Her eyes nor did I cry.
were black pits and her arms were tattooed
with bruises and track marks. She sniffled A light above me dinged alive and an
and held back tears as she played a video automated voice said my name. The sealed
game on her phone, hypnotized by the lurid door across the room unbolted and opened.
The other three in the lobby stared at me as

58

Revista Literária Adelaide

I cleared my throat and stood up. I walked old men become big purple dildoes owned
through the door and it closed behind me. by lonely young women. It’s a roll of the
dice. And it’s not ending your life; you main-
* tain consciousness after ReAtomization, so
you don’t truly die. You’re reborn and given
I first heard about the ReAt Agency in mid- a clean slate.
dle school, around twelve or thirteen years
old. Back then it was only a fringe rumor They say any problems you had before
spread online by conspiracy theorists, but ReAtomization disappear despite you still
at some point the discussion percolated having consciousness and the same mind
into middle schools and I found myself on as when you were a human. You no longer
the receiving end of a lecture on ReAtomi- feel inadequate and hopeless, because now
zation by Brent Hollins. What he told me as a cell phone you find meaning in what
that day in the lunchroom turned out to be you provide to others. You no longer lament
mostly true and it was similar to my experi- your husband leaving you for his coworker,
ence with ReAtomization. because now as a blender you can’t form
relationships anyway. Those are all human
Nobody knows who started the ReAt problems. Life is different after ReAtomiza-
Agency or how it came to be so big—and tion; it’s slower and more meaningful. And
it’s still unknown but that hasn’t stultified it’s much nobler than death. When you die
rumors—however one day it appeared and you’re dead and cease to exist. When you
it was here to stay. The concept of ReAtomi- ReAtomize you go back into the world and
zation is quite simple, but the science of it serve the needs of others.
is safeguarded and only understood by a se-
lect few. Instead of death, when someone After you ReAtomize a ReAt Report is
wants to end their life as a human they sent to a list of people you choose. The
can go to the ReAt Agency and be reborn ReAt Report is essentially your final words.
as something inanimate. You lie down in a It’s written for you and it explains the whole
machine that’s essentially a modified MRI process and defends the morality of ReA-
bed, and energy—allegedly extracted from tomization. They say it’s personalized and
deep within the earth—cycles around you very heartfelt, but you’re not allowed to
until all your atoms are reconfigured and read it. You have to have faith in the ReAt
you’re no longer human. After that you’re Agency.
only small pieces of your future whole. You
must be put together into something using *
the pieces you’ve become. There are people
who do this for you. In this new room the automated voice told
me to take a seat in the lone chair in the
You don’t know what you’ll be ReAt- middle of the room. The room was oil-black
omized as when you go through it but this and the air had a palpable haze to it; one
hardly ever deters anybody. You become a light hung from the ceiling and it shone on
thing with a predetermined essence to your the chair. It felt like I was about to be inter-
existence. Some become a fork, some be- rogated, and I started to wonder if I was at
come a birdhouse, some become an office the right place. Then a new voice, this one
chair, some become a light post. Unlucky upbeat and glib like a late-night TV host,
ones become a gas station toilet seat. Lucky took over. It opened by congratulating me

59

Adelaide Literary Magazine

for making such a bold decision and taking the walls and ceiling met, posters of movies
control of my life. I said thank you, but it I had liked as a teenager hanging up, the
kept going without acknowledging me. bed was fitted with solid black sheets and
bedding like I had slept in the night before,
“ReAtomization is NOT death!” the voice toys on the floor that I remembered from
assured me. “You will not die with ReAt- my childhood. They had captured my life
omization. You will be reconfigured with as and presented it to me for one final show.
much life as you had before as a human.”
A projector clicked on and the wall in front After a couple seconds of crying the dop-
of me lit up. A ReAt Agency Production pelganger lifted his head, trying to hide his
unfolded across the screen, and the film tears by wiping his hands across his cheeks.
started. The opening shot looked familiar. He looked at my old sports medals and
It was a slow moving shot in an entangle- trophies, academic awards I received as a
ment of tree branches and leaves. It panned kid, Prom King crown from high school—
out further and I realized that the tree was someone had taken all of my achievements
the big sugar maple in the front yard of and piled them in a corner of the fake bed-
my family home. My house came into the room for the film. He picked up a picture
shot—autumn red siding, weather-beaten frame from the desk, holding it closely to
shingles, two stories—and I saw the out- himself and never revealing the picture
lines of bodies moving back and forth to the camera, then set it back down and
through the front window in the living room. cried again. He sat down on the floor with
I sat up straighter in the chair and looked his knees pulled into his chest and his face
around the room, to both sides and behind buried in them. I started to feel bad for him.
me. Through the dim light of the projector I
saw nothing in the room except for the chair “You have an opportunity to change all
and myself. this with ReAtomization,” the voice said.
The doppelganger looked up from his crying
It cut to a new scene and the voice said and the tears had disappeared. His cheeks
over the film, “This was your life before.” A were dry and his eyes were no longer puffy.
lazy attempt at a doppelganger of myself He smiled at me and I stared back until
moped around in a film studio reimagina- it felt too real and I shot my eyes toward
tion of my bedroom. His hair was styled like the ground out of embarrassment. When I
mine and his skin had a similar tan hue, but looked back up the screen faded out and
he stood shorter in height and demeanor, transitioned.
and his cheeks were heavier. “All this, it
wasn’t what you wanted, it wasn’t what “Are these the names you would like us to
you thought it would be,” the voice said. I send your ReAt Report to?” The names on
remained silent. the screen were my mom Tara, my dad Lee,
and my sisters Jessica and Kira. I confirmed
The doppelganger stood still and started that they were correct. “A new life awaits
to cry softly, alone in my fake bedroom. The you!” the voice said. Then the screen went
room was an amalgam of all my bedrooms. black, for good this time.
It didn’t only resemble my bedroom as I had
left it earlier that day, it had elements of *
my bedroom throughout my life. There was
racecar wallpaper along the corners where I suppose I had known for years that ReA-
tomization was going to be my fate. I nev-

60

Revista Literária Adelaide

er explicitly thought about it until recently, the top accountant at her firm and Kira was
but the idea had always been germinating a physician assistant at one of the largest
in the back of my mind. There had always hospitals in the United States. I believe
been a war in my mind, a war between they are still doing both. Instead of putting
equanimity and self-reproach. It was a in the effort my sisters did and using school
long-standing war of attrition that self-re- to better myself and my future prospects,
proach ultimately won. The first shots, real- I became complacent. After high school
ly, were fired at my birth. I was born a very I went to a small local college and earned
sick baby and this resulted in spending the a degree in English, thus ensuring my fate
first three months of my life in the hospital. of being underemployed and underpaid all
The outcome looked bleak and the doctors my life. School wasn’t a jumping pad into
were sure I wouldn’t ever make it out of the a successful future for me. It was a place
hospital alive. And if I did somehow make it to remain comfortable and dawdle in stasis
out alive, there was no doubt that I would watching others make moves to improve
be mentally or physically handicapped. their own futures.
Nevertheless I defied the doctors, recov-
ered, and left the hospital at full health. I Athletics was simply a matter of burning
was a medical anomaly. The doctors called out. I was one of the best lacrosse players
me Miracle Boy, national newspapers in the area in my junior year of high school.
wrote articles about me, at five-months- I earned All-Conference, All-Area, and
old I got my own profile on 60 Minutes. So All-District honors for midfielder. But I felt
the expectations were high from the start. no joy in it. The joy came from the recogni-
tion I received from others. The only time I
The expectations were highest from felt pride in what I did was when I received
my parents, who I felt I perpetually disap- the approval of others and they celebrated
pointed from childhood through adulthood. me for it. I became so obsessed with my
Every superlative in the book was ascribed image through the lens of the outside world
to me when it came to comparing me to that I lost my true self somewhere along
my sisters. Between Jessica, Kira, and me, the way. Colleges reached out to me, news-
I was the smartest, most athletic, funniest, papers interviewed me after games, and
nicest, most attractive, had the most poten- everybody around me told me how much
tial. I had the brightest future and I was the potential I had in lacrosse. But before my
one in the family expected to make it the senior season started, I suffered a bad ankle
furthest in every aspect of life—academics, injury. I couldn’t move like I used to and it
athletics, career, and so on. But I failed in all hindered my play, and because of this I be-
of these regards, pathetically and passively. came an afterthought on the lacrosse field,
no longer the standout people had thought
I did well in school but never gave it of me as before.
enough effort to make it to the next step
like my sisters did. Jessica and Kira worked There was no point in playing lacrosse if I
hard in school yet still finished with worse wasn’t celebrated for it. I didn’t love playing
grades and test scores than me. Despite it and I didn’t like how I felt when playing
this, they attended prestigious colleges it. I stopped caring and my senior season
where they earned lucrative degrees. At was a stark drop-off from my junior season.
the time of my ReAtomization Jessica was Colleges stopped contacting me, and I was

61

Adelaide Literary Magazine

done with lacrosse. I had disappointed my Cocaine, cannabis, psilocybin mushrooms,
parents, my coaches and teammates, all the ecstasy, LSD, amphetamines, opioids, angel
people who had believed in me. dust, benzos, I even got high on nutmeg
once. But my two favorite drugs were al-
The disappointment extended beyond cohol and sex. No matter how much I did, I
school and sports. While my sisters got could never get enough.
themselves nice jobs and nice husbands
and moved into nice houses, I bounced Fortunately for me the two worked so
around from low-level job to low-level job, well when taken in conjunction. Alcohol
hadn’t been in a meaningful relationship in made it so I didn’t care how I behaved or
years, and moved back home with my par- treated others, so I was shameless in my
ents at twenty-two after I graduated college. unending pursuit of sex, going after every
I was supposed to be the successful one but girl I could get with. I became addicted to
I was cleaning toilets at a movie theater at both and they consumed my mind during
4 a.m. while my sisters slept in their king all hours of the day. I felt nothing unless I
beds with their husbands, alarms set for 7 imbibed in one or the other.
a.m. so they could wake up and go to their
six-figure-a-year jobs. Like all addicts, problems quickly arose.
I did bad things, things that led to painful
I was a fraud my entire life as a human. guilt that only bolstered my emptiness. One
There was an idea of me, a projection, and night on a tequila and cocaine jag I stole a
then there was the real me. They couldn’t car and drove it into a ditch, where I aban-
have been more opposite. People saw a doned it and hitchhiked back home. I reg-
well put together, erudite, charming, happy ularly got kicked out of bars and blacking
person who was merely in a transitional out became an almost nightly happening. I
phase in their life, and everything would be got my ass kicked too many times to count
sorted out soon. But that’s not how I felt because I flirted with the wrong guy’s girl-
or who I thought I was. What people saw friend or because I got caught in bed with
of me was simply a pleasant chimera I had the wrong guy’s girlfriend. I woke up in the
put up. No one ever saw or met the real beds of strangers whose names I didn’t
me. I was scared of the world meeting the know. I got hangovers and gonorrhea. If I
real me. What if they didn’t like me? Then was conscious and breathing, chances were
what would I do? I was so terrified of being I was on a bender.
exposed that I ran as far away from myself
as I could. When I finally came down from the
bender, the cumulative hangover—from
All of this led to unceasing feelings of both alcohol and moral degradation—was
emptiness in my early twenties. I felt that partially to blame for my decision to ReAt-
there wasn’t just a hole inside me but there omize. One can only endure so much self-in-
wasn’t an inside to me at all. I could never flicted suffering before they break. Life is
find happiness or contentment in myself in much more sustainable when the suffering
anything I did. I needed external elements is inflicted by someone else.
to distract myself from the internal empti-
ness I felt. I thought drugs might do it, so It wasn’t all alcohol and sex, though. I
I experimented with every one I had ac- walked along the righteous trail too. I tried
cess to in an attempt to fill the void in me. Buddhism because I had never belonged to
a religion and I thought having some belief

62

Revista Literária Adelaide

system would help. I studied the three uni- mind. I wanted the most out of life. I wanted
versal truths, the four noble truths, and I to burn the hottest and shine the brightest.
followed the eightfold path. I meditated, I I wanted not just a life but a spectacular life,
read books on Buddhism, I treated people and I didn’t care what price I had to pay for
how I would have liked to be treated. But I it. I wouldn’t settle for mediocrity because
did it all in vain. Nothing inside me changed I had lived my entire life surrounded by it
and I felt fraudulent for following an ascetic and all I saw was lifelessness and despair.
tradition while my life consisted of so much But my actions belied these thoughts. I lived
sordid indulgence. I was no Buddhist, no a passive life and I never took chances. The
matter how bad I wanted to be. fear of failure kept my feet cemented to
the ground, scared to disappoint myself or
I tried celibacy and it worked for a while. others. I wanted to run away but I was too
There were no more shameful mornings scared to take the first step. I was pathetic
filled with regret and empty explanations and inconsistent, with delusions of grandeur
as to why I couldn’t remember her name and actions of indolence. I had all the con-
or how we met. I liked that part of it but I trol in the world to make a change, make
needed the touch of someone else, espe- something of myself, and I was too scared
cially on nights when I felt lonely. I couldn’t to ever do it. Choice is a great burden. Many
fulfill myself but I thought someone else lives have been wasted to choice, and I was
could—if not permanently, for one night. determined to not let this happen to me.

I did volunteer work with illiterate adults *
and it opened my eyes to the unmistakable
fact that there were people—a lot of them— The Atomists were ahead of their time. In
out there who had worse lives than me. Yet the fifth century BCE in ancient Greece,
I still felt miserable with myself, and seeing Leucippus and his student Democritus
others who had it worse than me be con- founded the philosophical school of At-
tent with themselves only compounded my omism. They declared that everything was
misery. I lasted a week doing that. made of small, invisible, indestructible
particles called atoms, that there are an
I took antidepressants for some months, infinite number of atoms, that between all
and I do believe they helped a little. But atoms there is empty space—the void. It
I couldn’t stay on them. It bothered me would be thousands of years before many
knowing that I needed the help of pills to of their theories were finally debunked,
get through the day, and it made me feel though some still remain correct.
weak. Others could take them, that didn’t
bother me and I didn’t think less of them Many of Leucippus and Democritus’s
for it, but not me. I knew some things were contemporary philosophers in antiquity dis-
breaking down and building up inside my paraged Atomism for attributing everything
head, but I also knew that I could fix them to chance, for believing that atoms bounced
myself. I didn’t need the help of pills. If any- around blindly and determined the order of
body could quell those thoughts, I thought the universe. But Atomists never claimed to
it was me. believe in the arbitrariness of the universe.
Atomists were staunch determinists who
What drove me most to ReAtomize was believed everything happens in harmony
the constant cognitive dissonance in my

63

Adelaide Literary Magazine

with natural laws. The world, Atomists be- there was legitimate reason for this philo-
lieved, is unalterably fixed by mechanical sophical contempt. The Atomists relied on
principles. Leucippus is credited to having no empirical evidence in the construction of
said, “Naught happens for nothing, but ev- their theories. The entire philosophy hinged
erything from a ground and of necessity.” on one big hunch: that things were made
of smaller things—atoms—and those move
Unlike other prominent Greek philoso- through the void and provide things with
phers such as Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, their ultimate purpose.
the Atomists never sought to understand
the idea of a universal purpose. To Atom- I had a hunch too. I didn’t have any ev-
ists, understanding a universal purpose was idence that what I was about to do was
so insuperable it seemed illogical to even going to fix anything or improve my life,
try, so they broke it down, like atoms. They myself, in any way. But I had a strong con-
believed things are explained by the pur- viction in my hunch, like the Atomists. I
pose they serve. The butcher slaughters knew I couldn’t prove anything to anybody
the cow because people are hungry. The or explain my reasoning. Did my choice to
engineer designs and develops the vehicle be ReAtomized need to be tested and vali-
because people need to travel. There is no dated through a pragmatic modern Socratic
universal purpose shared by all humans, dialogue of some sort? What is purpose?
they posited; one’s purpose is contingent What is reason? What is the void that we
on one’s role and what one does to serve all mechanically move through like tiny little
the common good. It’s mechanically fixed atoms under the microscopic eye of God? Is
and determined from the start. it physical life on the earth? Is it the trans-
mutation from corporeal body to soul and
The idea of the void was essential to At- an infinite eschatological existence? Per-
omists, for without a void there would be haps both? Were Leucippus and Democritus
no life. Atomists believed atoms needed the correct? Do we have no purpose outside of
void to move freely throughout; movement the role we serve? Nevertheless I didn’t
was impossible in a plenum, in a space with care. I never sought purpose or some con-
no emptiness. The belief in the existence of trived semblance of purpose. I just wanted
the void raised a syllogistic dichotomy among something other than I already had, and
Greek philosophers. If there is a void, the that was possible through ReAtomization.
void is not nothing, therefore the void exists
and is in fact not a void. When confronted *
with this, the Atomists simply said motion is
a fact of experience, and thus there must be I rested myself into the ReAtomization bed
a void despite how difficult it is to conceive. and placed my wrists and ankles into the
hooks attached on the sides. They automic-
Atomist philosophy never gained any se- tically locked in and I was strapped to the
rious popularity in antiquity. Leucippus was bed. “ReAtomization will commence in two
mostly forgotten, and Epicurus, who lived minutes,” an intercom told me. I started
one hundred fifty years after the emer- to fidget as the hooks dug deeper into the
gence of Atomism, denied his existence al- bones in my wrists. Sweat loosened their
together. Plato disagreed with Atomism so grip and made my skin slippery. I tried to
vehemently that he is said to have wished to free my wrists, almost forgetting why I was
have all of Democritus’s books burned. And there and the reason for my bondage.

64

Revista Literária Adelaide

I thought of my family and how they A blue light of pain blinded me and I con-
would react when they received the ReAt vulsed against my shackles. I pulled so hard
Report. My mom would be seated at her on them I thought they would snap and I
desk and tears would start to well in her eyes would run free from the room, away from
as she read further on. The tears would land all the noise and motion and pain, but they
on her desk and speckle the papers in front didn’t budge. The room got hotter. The pain
of her. Later she would tell people how she in my wrists disappeared. It felt like my
saw it coming and didn’t do enough about it, body had been invaded by lidocaine. A bead
that she was always too hesitant to broach of sweat falling from my forehead down my
the conversation and she wishes she had temple evaporated mid-fall. My stomach
done more to make sure I received the help was peeled loose from my backbone. I tried
I needed. On nights she couldn’t sleep she to scream but my voice box dissolved into
would read the ReAt Report over and over nothing—only dead air came out.
and wonder when the break had happened
and blame herself for it. Then one day she I left my body and saw a pile of smooth
would ReAtomize, hoping to see me again. stones sitting next to the bed. I didn’t know
where any part of me was but I was some-
My dad would read it in disbelief, where in the room still conscious. I floated,
thinking it’s a spam email and ignoring lost but aware of everything around me.
it. But his phone would ring and my mom The machine stopped and the room went
would be hysterical on the other end. He silent. I must have gone unconscious then,
then would know it’s real. He would try to because I don’t remember what happened
console my mom but nothing would work. after that.
He was never good with words or saying
the right things at the right time, and that *
would become especially apparent now. He
wouldn’t talk about it with others. If any- Today I am a fountain in a park not far from
body asked, he would say I passed away in where I was born and lived my entire life as
an accident, and nothing more. a human. I’m big and made of cast stone. I
have a circular basin with fine ridges along
My sisters wouldn’t be surprised and the edge, carved with care. I have three
they wouldn’t act surprised either. They tiers and water is always flowing from me.
would reluctantly attend my bodiless fu- When people are tired or have nowhere to
neral. During the funeral, Jessica would be, they sit on me. Sometimes they throw
think about the work she’s missing out on coins in me and make wishes.
and all the extra work she’ll have to make
up for that weekend. Years later, Kira’s first- There is music in the way a hungry
born son would take my name as his middle squirrel pecks at an acorn in the early
name. Neither sister would ever make men- morning hours before the human world is
tion of me to their children. awake, when the dew is still a crisp blanket
over the grass. In the trees in the distance
The bed whirred and buzzers sounded. the leaves sway for me, back and forth, back
My thoughts became distorted—I saw and forth, until the wind stops and it’s time
words and abstractions flying around the to rest. I’ve found beauty in what I previ-
bed, escaping me, and I tried to wrangle ously saw as the most quotidian corners of
them back in but they were too elusive. existence.

65

Adelaide Literary Magazine
The other day a young couple sat on me
for two hours and talked out their problems.
This morning a grandma waited for her
grandson and tossed a penny in me every
five minutes or so. If I could smile, I would
do it often. If I could cry, I never would. An
amber glow is rimming the horizon in the
west right now. It’s almost night.

About the Author
Riley Winchester’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming
in Ligeia Magazine, Miracle Monocle, Sheepshead Review,
Ellipsis Zine, Beyond Words, Pure Slush’s Lifespan Anthology,
and other publications. He lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

66

THE ERRAND

by Mark Leib

He was looking at the schematic designs why disfigure it with a garish colossus? So
and the pain in his stomach was worsen- when Nancy Shoreland, wanting to get
ing. The house that the Shorelands want- things rolling, had called him in the early
ed to tear down to make room for their afternoon, he’d put her off, said he needed
monstrosity was a lovely old red brick thing another day to make some small changes.
from the 1950s, one comfortable story But what he really wanted was to say, “I
only, low to the ground, with lots of space won’t do it. I won’t commit this outrage.
in front for a bright green lawn of St. Au- You’ll have to find some other dupe.” The
gustine grass and in back for a capacious only problem was that he didn’t dare. Not
yard with orange trees and a garden of with Ken Urdang breathing down his neck.
buttercups, marigolds and lantanas. Seen
from the street, it fit in neatly with the His wife stepped into the study. “Would
yellow brick ranch house to the east of it, you do me a favor?” she said.
and with a modest 1960s Mediterranean
style cottage, also with a broad lawn, on “Sure,” he said, happy about the interrup-
the west. The new Shoreland home would tion. Caitlyn looked tired. Lovely, though:
easily overwhelm its neighbors. It was to her copper-colored hair had been recently
be three stories high, stone with a terra cut to just above her shoulders, and she was
cotta roof, visible from a block away and wearing an Alicia Keyes tee-shirt and gray
entirely wrong for its surroundings. Zon- sweatpants. Shielding her blue eyes were
ing wouldn’t let the Shorelands obliterate the pink, oversized glasses that she used
the front lawn, but in the back the inten- for reading. The slight downturn of her lips
tion was to cut down the fruit trees, elimi- suggested seriousness of purpose.
nate the garden, and extend the monster’s
rear parts virtually up to the row of hedges “I’m just barely going to make the mid-
marking the property line. The point, Tan- night deadline on grades,” she said. “And
ner knew, was to rule, domineer, proclaim we’re out of half-and-half. I’d go if I could
supremacy far and near, and though he’d spare the extra minutes but I can’t. Would
designed a dozen mansions over his years you mind picking some up for me? I really
with the firm, he found this one particular- need my coffee.”
ly oppressive. What about harmony? What
about scale? The block they were building “Not a problem,” he said and stood up
on was so modest, so pleasant and human, from his desk. “How are the essays going?”

“Some of my students should never have
graduated high school,” she said. “Their

67

Adelaide Literary Magazine

sense of procedure is good enough, but see Monticello, along with the buildings
their English is abominable. One of them at the University of Virginia. that Thomas
said that DNA testing is a good way to Jefferson had designed. Wouldn’t it be in-
match blood samples with ‘virtuous’ sus- vigorating to tour them unencumbered by
pects. That’s the word he used, ‘virtuous.’ family? He could write Caitlyn from Char-
As if you have to be some sort of moral par- lottesville: I have no failings to accuse you
agon before anyone’ll test you.” of, you’ve played your part beautifully, but
a man with my needs can’t be shackled to
“Maybe he knows something,” said anyone. From Virginia he’d head west: visit
Tanner. “Maybe only the best people have his old college roommate Chuck Kantor in
criminal genes.” Cleveland, then continue gloriously alone
through Illinois into Wisconsin. One of his
“I’ve got another few hours still to go. former girlfriends lived with her family in
Please get me the half-and-half. And be Kenosha; he’d stop to see her, shake hands
quiet on the way out: Ginna’s sleeping.” with her husband, explain that he was a
newly-liberated man basking in his pos-
“Getting right on it,” he said. As he passed sibilities. Then west again to the sparser,
her, she pecked him on the cheek in thanks. wide open states: what was Iowa like?
Then she watched him all the way to the Montana? He had a couple of hundred in
door. cash in his wallet and enough money on
his bankcard to keep him going for weeks;
Outside, it was drizzling. Even in the then there were all of his credit cards. Be-
early evening, the sky was an unbroken fore the funds ran out he could choose –
dome of white and there was a heaviness Idaho? Wyoming? – rent a room, find a job
in the air that was more oppressive than at a coffee shop, let his beard grow, buy a
the rain. He opened the door to his black cheap guitar, play all night under a thou-
Lexus remotely, then slipped in and turned sand stars. And the Shorelands – he could
on the ignition. Pulling out of the driveway, call them from Grand Teton or Yellowstone,
he felt glad to be relieved of the Shoreland tell them what they could do with their ugly
design and the mockery it made of his ar- behemoth. Of course, the partners would
tistic principles. He put on his wipers at their be livid. Hey, they’d murder him if they ever
lowest speed, wended his way through the saw him again. But they wouldn’t ever see
obstacle course of parked cars on the street him again.. In a few moments he’d come to
and turned right onto Gower Boulevard. the corner on which the convenience store
The store was a minute away. waited. All he had to do was hit the gas and
not the brake….
As he headed up the street, it occurred
to him: he didn’t have to come back. He saw the store up on the left. He waited
for a few cars to pass, then made the turn
It would be simple enough. Instead of and pulled in past the gas tanks to a parking
stopping at the convenience store he could space. There was only one other car be-
drive all the way to Interstate 275, head sides his, a blue Camry maybe ten years old.
north till it merged with I-75 and then just The rain came down harder. Wishing he’d
break loose, cut and run, anywhere. Out thought to bring an umbrella, Tanner threw
of Florida up to Georgia, only stopping to his door open, skipped to the dry space
refuel, getting a hotel near Atlanta, then
continuing on the next morning to the Car-
olinas and Virginia. He’d always wanted to

68

Revista Literária Adelaide

under the canopy, and hurried through fervor, the electricity, the unpredictability
the doorway. Inside, the fluorescent lights of real lovemaking. I’ve got some money:
were dazzling, but for next to no one. Be- we can leave the country if you like, go
hind the counter stood a brunette woman, to the Grenadines, St. Vincent or Bequia.
maybe in her mid-30s, hard-faced and We’ll agree to stay together just as long as
bored-looking, and beyond her there was the intoxication lasts – the minute it fades,
a bald man, clearly overweight even from we’ll say goodbye and move on to other
the back, surveying the beer locker. Tanner adventures. The wonder of new love, that’s
smiled at the cashier – she was dressed in a what we’ll live for, both of us know there’s
crisp orange apron with the name “Handy’s” nothing better. Maybe you’ve been married
printed on it – and she smiled back, her also (she was wearing no ring). In which
leathery features softening for a moment. case, you can easily guess what’s coming
Then he headed for the refrigerated dairy tomorrow: more of the same. Why accept
case at the far end of the store, past the it? Why accept less than everything in your
stacks of two-liter Cokes and the shelves of only life? The spiritual liquor, the elixir, let’s
aspirin, acetaminophen, ibuprofen. Among live for it even if it means changing partners
cartons of milk – whole, skim, reduced fat a dozen times. Because the fact is, I’m crazy
- he found the one remaining quart of half- about you, I’ve looked into your wounded,
and-half, grabbed it and headed back to the discouraged eyes and I want to be the one
front of the store. “Hi,” he said to the bru- who restores their light. Say the word and
nette, who looked lonely now, and troubled. we begin our pilgrimage.”
“Just this.” He put the carton down between
them. “Cash or charge?” she said, absently. She glanced over at the bald man still
perusing the beers. “Three ninety-nine,”
And he thought: they could run away she said in a monotone. He reached into
together. his pocket, withdrew his wallet and then
his debit card. When she handed him the
She was slim, sinuous, toned: even in her bagged carton, she said, “Drive careful in
apron that was easy to see. And standing the rain.”
close he could make out the benevolence
in her eyes, not the lofty disapproval Caitlyn “I will,” he said. “Thanks for mentioning it.”
wore so often these days, not the tight- He pulled open the glass door and walked
lipped glare that told him he’d failed once out to his car. It was raining harder and he
again. This lovely, misunderstood, complai- had trouble finding the key in his pocket.
sant brunette: he’d say, “Look, you deserve When he did, he could feel the water under
better than a minimum-wage job dealing his collar.
cigarettes to minors, your life should be lu-
minous, your prospects glittering. Leave this The drive home was lugubrious. It struck
dungeon behind: we’ll go get dinner, down him that he’d imagined abandoning not just
some drinks, share reminiscences of the Caitlyn but Ginna too, and he rebuked him-
lives we’re putting far behind us, then we’ll self for not thinking about his daughter and
go to the best hotel in downtown Tampa, her needs. He himself came from divorced
choose a penthouse room and make love parents and had always felt resentment
all evening. Make love, not just have sex: that his father had left his sister and him
I’ve been married nine years and I miss the alone with their bipolar mother. Not that
the old guy hadn’t apologized several times

69

Adelaide Literary Magazine

since the terrible break. But when you’re And Tanner thought: he could run. He
only a few years old and your father skips could hit the gas pedal and flee.
out on you, how not to blame yourself for
not being important enough to keep him? He ran through the particulars: he would
No, it was best that he hadn’t run away with gain maybe ten seconds between the time
the cashier, for Ginna’s sake if not Caitlyn’s. he lurched off to the time the cop got back
As for Caitlyn…well, overly familiar or not, into his cruiser and sped after him. In those
she seemed honestly to love him. And the ten seconds, he would kill the headlights,
fact was, there were still moments - not swerve right at the first intersection, then
seldom, if he was honest - where it thrilled left at 50th Street, then right again on Ponce
him to be with her, where he marveled that de Leon and through a labyrinth of his own
a woman of her intelligence and beauty had devising. He knew these streets perfectly,
chosen him, of all people. If only….If only he’d lived in this neighborhood for nine
that damned Shoreland property wasn’t years and probably had a much better geo-
torturing him. Why was it so hard to go to graphical sense than did some tired rookie
Ken Urdang and say, “If this is what they with half the city to patrol. Of course, the
want, I’m the wrong man for the job. Let cop had probably written down his license
someone with lower standards erect this number, but if he evaded him in these first
travesty.” No, if he did that he could kiss his seconds and then darted out of town on
future goodbye. Lenny Mancuso tried that I-275, he could be on his way to points north
once, and they made his life so miserable in minutes, long before other officers could
afterward, he took the hint and resigned. respond to an APB. Freedom: why not seize
No, in this case, candor was suicide: his it?. Since he was a child, he’d been truckling
only option was to prostitute himself and to alien rules, his mother’s, his teachers’,
rise accordingly. Ken Urdang and Danny Sonnenfeld’s, and
now his own city’s in the guise of some
His reverie was interrupted by the jolting sanctimonious police officer. To become an
appearance of flashing red lights in his outlaw: well, who else actually lived by his
rearview mirror. What was that about? He own lights? Who else could in all honestly
wasn’t speeding, he hadn’t ignored a stop use words like independence, autonomy,
light, he’d waited to pull out of the conve- self-reliance? Before the night was out, he’d
nience store parking lot until the street was steal someone’s license plate – easy enough
clear. Maybe he just needed to move aside with a simple screwdriver, he’s seen it done
so the cop could surge past him and hurry in a movie. Then he’d dye his hair black or
on to its real quarry. But when he pulled to even better, shave it all off, travel the back
the side of the road, so did the black-and- roads all the way up to Canada, to Nova
white car with the red flashing lights, and his Scotia and the Bay of Fundy.…His chances of
heart dropped like a guilty man’s when jus- reaching the border unnoticed were excel-
tice finally arrives. What was his infraction? lent. He might even emulate a famous poet
he’d read about: leave his car by the bayside
For a few moments, there was no move- as if to say, I just may have drowned myself,
ment. Then, in the mirror, Tanner saw a tall, or I may be in Bangkok, you’ll never know.
youngish-looking officer in a dark cap and a Then goodbye to all the balls and chains –
yellow raincoat get out of his car and walk goodbye especially to Nancy and Rob Shore-
towards him. land and the huge blemish they wanted him

70

Revista Literária Adelaide

to plant on a lovely old Tampa neighborhood. His silence worried Tanner: what could pos-
Just to say “Screw you” to the whole bunch sibly deserve so much rapt attention? Then
of them, even to Caitlyn who some evenings he said, “Excuse me for asking, but are you
treated him no better than an old dog, even any relation to Professor Caitlyn Tanner?”
to shrewd little Ginna who at six was already
learning how to shame him into buying her “Yes. That’s my wife.”
every video game she craved. He thought
of Halifax, which he’d visited when he was “Mr. Tanner,” the cop said with a broad
back in architecture school: the wharf where smile. “It’s Peter Snell! I was in Dr. Tanner’s
pretty young women on roller skates cruised forensic science class! I think I met you at
past like promises of happiness, the water- the end-of-semester party a couple of years
front where kids with guitars and ukuleles ago!”
sang three-part harmony, the smell of had-
dock frying, of molasses bread and blueberry Relief washed through him. “Peter,” he
grunt. All he needed to do was to wait till said. “How are you? How long have you
the cop was just short of his window and been in uniform?”
then screech off at top speed. Then no more
Shorelands telling him to compromise his “Just a few months. Listen, Dr. Tanner’s
principles and build their kitsch leviathan…. class was the best I ever took. I’ll never
forget her tips on collecting skin, hair and
The cop knocked on the window and clothing fibers. And how to use a micro-
Tanner opened it. “Your license and reg- scope!” He handed the license and regis-
istration, please,” he said. He was young: tration back to Tanner. “Would you do me a
too young to wield such elemental power. favor and tell her Peter Snell said hello and
Tanner opened his glove compartment, thank you for a wonderful class? And tell
found his registration and handed it over. her I found work! I’m making a real salary,
Then he took his wallet out of his pants believe it or not.”
pocket and with some difficulty wrested the
license from its compartment. He handed “Of course,” said Tanner. “I’ll tell her just
this over too. that.”

The cop, standing in the rain, was silent “Sorry to pull you over,” said Officer Peter
for a few moments as he scrutinized both Snell. “I guess I’m still proving myself – to
items. Then he said, “You realize this sticker myself more than anyone else. And your
is supposed to be affixed to your license sticker is expired.”
plate?” He held up the registration docu-
ment so Tanner could see it: in one corner “I’m glad you did,” said Tanner. “I’ll tell
was a yellow rectangle with a date. “The Caitlyn one of her students is remarkably
sticker currently on your license plate ex- vigilant. And that he’s found gratifying work.”
pired three months ago.”
“You have a good evening,” said Peter.
“I’m sorry, officer,” he said. “It was an “Be sure and put that new sticker on before
oversight. I promise to put it on as soon as you go out again tomorrow morning.”
I get home.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks.”
The cop was silent and once again
peered at the license, as if for secret writing. Looking younger than ever, Peter
beamed at him, then turned and walked
back to his car. Tanner waited a moment,
shifted into drive and carefully moved

71

Adelaide Literary Magazine

forward. When he reached the speed limit, show them the designs and agree to build
he felt free to breathe again. Wouldn’t that their loathsome dream house, just as they
have been awkward: a high-speed car chase wanted it. He would shake their hands and
with one of Caitlyn’s students? And the kid nod his head and principles be damned, he
barely looked 19!. was going to make some money. There was
nothing wrong with it: it was the way of the
The rain came harder now, and Tanner world.
had the feeling it would last for 40 days. He
proceeded through a green light and then He pulled into the driveway, cut the
he was seconds from his street. As it ap- lights and climbed out of the car, carton of
proached, he understood that he had one half-and-half in hand. The rain was heavy
last chance: keep driving, go anywhere but and cold, so he ran to get under the cov-
home. Drive all night, drive till the tank was ered walkway at the front. He removed the
empty, then run, hitch rides, crawl, what- key from his pocket – its head was shaped
ever it took. Only don’t make the turn back like a starfish - opened the front door and
home. stepped in. There was a light coming from
Caitlyn’s study. He took a few steps and
He made the turn. The darkened street there she was, brow wrinkled, poring over
welcomed him. Tomorrow morning, he someone’s essay.
would call the Shorelands and tell them
he was ready to move forward. He would “Well, I’m back,” he said.

About the Author

Mark Leib: I’ve published in Two Bridges Review,
JewishFiction.net, Boston Review, Commentary, Harvard
Magazine, American Theatre, and elsewhere, My plays
have been produced in New York, Chicago, Cambridge,
and Edinburgh. My arts criticism has won seven awards
for excellence from the Society of Professional Journalists.
I teach creative writing at the University of South Florida.

72

PROJECT
IMMORTALITY

by Yuri Korobaev

Translated by Irina Stoliarova

PART 1

Chapter 1 development vector of the study of the nu-
clear physics fundamentals.
MICHAEL
I have had the privilege to familiarize my-
Michael checked his e-mail. After reading self with your published works. I find them
several messages, he stopped at the one to have brilliant evidence based on impec-
titled “Invitation to Mr. Palmer from Profes- cable mathematical logic. But the beauty of
sor Richardson.” dry figures hide the very essence of the dis-
covery, its birth. Unfortunately, your articles
Michael clicked on the heading to open do not reveal the nuances that prompted
the letter and scanned it. Interested, he you to take such a revolutionary approach
began to read carefully: to physics. Namely, the source of your intu-
ition, which makes a researcher’s unerring
“Dear Doctor, I have taken interest in instinct possible. Therefore, I would be
studying your works on the theory and happy to meet you in order to discuss face
practice of fission of elementary particles. I to face how you manage to determine the
must confess that I am impressed by the re- right direction of your research that leads
sults of your work in the field of nuclear and to a discovery. In return, I am ready to share
quantum physics. There is no questioning with you my unique ways of creating condi-
the accuracy of the conclusions drawn tions conducive to creative ideas.
from those practical experiments that your
research group has conducted, thanks to I humbly ask you to accept the in-
your painstaking work. The results of your vitation to visit my estate. All financial,
research will undoubtedly influence the

73

Adelaide Literary Magazine

transportation, and other expenses will be single, never married. Despite being busy
covered by me. he visited the gym regularly, but the age
started to inevitably overshadow his ap-
The estate is located on a small private pearances and a small treacherously belly
island in the Pacific Ocean. I am sure that a began to show itself.
vacation in a place far from civilization will
do you only good. Nevertheless, you will Michael kept his entire wardrobe in per-
not be out of touch with the world as the fect order. His belongings were flawlessly
island has a good broadband. Therefore, ironed and stacked on the shelves. He went
this place is a good fit not only for rest, but, to his barber once a week. He was moder-
if necessary, for work as well. ately prim, pedantic, and attached great im-
portance to even petty things.
I hope you will not reject, but accept my
invitation. Looking forward to hearing from Michael’s house was on the outskirts of
you! Lancashire, but recently he had worked a
lot at CERN and had a small cozy apartment
Best regards, prof. Bob Richardson.” rented there.

Michael knew the invitation was timely. For several years now at a research
The past five years had been quite intense center near CERN, a team of nuclear scien-
for him. He had been so absorbed in his tists led by Palmer had been chasing tiny
research that he frequently worked twelve particles deep underground in a huge col-
hours a day seven days a week. Michael lider to smash them into smaller elemen-
realized that he indeed needed to get rid tary particles. It is worth mentioning that
of the accumulated fatigue. Some rest was Michael took pride in having had this fas-
all he needed at the moment! In a month cinating activity bring several discoveries in
and a half, the Large Hadron Collider would nuclear physics.
be shut down for two years. The collider
had exhausted its capacity and needed a Chapter 2
large-scale modernization. Therefore, now
almost all work would be associated with BOB
the received data. And that could be done
anywhere! It was the perfect time to set The plane made a circle over Tahiti and the
aside a couple of weeks for a trip to a pri- turquoise color of the coastal ocean flood-
vate island with the ocean, the sunshine, ed the window. A few minutes later Michael
and the warmth. Moreover, here, at home, entered the Faa’a airport building. In the
in Lancashire, winter was rather nasty. So arrivals hall a half-naked Tahitian woman
he was now sitting in front of the computer with huge gorgeous feathers on her head
in sheepskin slippers and a warm knitted was dancing to the ukulele tune played by
sweater so he wouldn’t freeze. Of course, two musicians. As Michael stepped out-
he was used to this way of life. Yet, some- side into the crowd, he saw a short balding
times he wanted to bask in the sun as well. man in creased pineapple print shorts and
scuffed flip-flops holding a sheet of paper
“Yes!” Michael decided. “I will certainly go!” with the name ‘Mr. Palmer’ on it.

Michael Palmer was a forty-eight- Michael walked over to him and intro-
year-old nuclear physics researcher of av- duced himself.
erage height and with brown hair. He was

74

Revista Literária Adelaide

“My name is Jack,” the man said, “and I’m “Yes, I am Robert Richardson, but I’m not
a helicopter pilot. Mr. Richardson asked me a Professor. I had to make the right impres-
to take you to the island.” sion on you so that you would accept my
offer. I’m aware of some snobbism in the
They waited for the luggage, then headed academic world and I didn’t want to take
to the helicopter sector of the airfield, any chances. Please forgive me for taking
where Jack completed the flight formalities. this liberty. However, I’m sure you won’t re-
About an hour later, they were flying in a gret coming to the island!”
small Bell 407GXP helicopter. Another hour
and a half later, they were approaching a Michael’s face changed. First, there was
small but incredibly beautiful island. a grimace of discontent and he wanted
to rant, but Bob’s entire appearance was
“Here we are,” Jack reported, shouting over saying that, yes, he was at fault, but it was
the roar of the helicopter blades whirring. really such a petty thing. On the one hand, it
looked like an undisguised trick, but on the
They hovered over a small mowed lawn, other hand, it was a winning naivety. And
where a conspicuous red stone H-shaped he did it with such dainty that Mike gave
sign marked the helicopter landing site in up. He was thinking: “Indeed, most likely I
the center. Six small bungalows stood about wouldn’t have accepted an invitation from
three or five hundred feet apart from each Bob without this prefix ‘professor’. There’s
other in the lush greenery around the lawn. no sense in complaining now! I’m not going
to fly back to Britain immediately, am I?”
Jack carefully landed his Bell on the lawn
and turned the engine off. The blades gave “So what am I here for?” Michael asked,
it a couple more turns and then stood still. a hint of irritation in his voice.

A tall man in light linen trousers and a “Please, let’s calmly talk about it at my
motley Tahitian shirt walked out onto the place,” Bob pointed to one of the bunga-
lawn to meet the helicopter. A straw hat lows which could be seen through the palm
was protecting his head from the sun. He trees. “I will explain everything to you.”
seemed to be in his early to mid-fifties,
but despite his age, he moved with quite They crossed the lawn. At a closer look,
an ease. Michael guessed that it had to the bungalow turned out to be quite big.
be Professor Richardson. The man’s eyes Two sides had an L-shaped terrace under
met Michael’s as he approached the heli- a shared roof covered with a thick layer of
copter, then he gave a welcoming laugh and straw. There were gaps between the floor-
opened the door of the helicopter cabin. boards of the terrace, to allow rainwater
drip to the ground. Two hammocks were
“Hello! My name is Bob,” the man said attached to the log supports that held the
reaching out his hand in a greeting, “and I’m roof. In the middle of the terrace there was
glad to see you on my island. Welcome!” a huge round stone table with ceramic ter-
racotta tiles covering its tabletop. A bar-
“Thank you, Professor Richardson!” Mi- becue pit with a grill and coals was at one
chael replied as he shook Bob’s hand. side of the table. Wicker rattan chairs were
placed around the table, while two rocking
“Actually,” Bob winced a little and shook chairs stood closer to the wall.
his head, “I’m no Professor.”

“What do you mean? You’re Mr. Rich-
ardson, aren’t you?” Michael felt confused.

75

Adelaide Literary Magazine

The bungalow itself was a frame con- Imperial, “you’ll definitely appreciate it! It is
struction covered with planks. This pro- a delightful drink.”
vided enough room for huge modern plastic
windows and floor-to-ceiling blinds. If nec- Bob took two glasses, poured some rum
essary, the terrace could be enlarged; the into them and sat down at the table.
window panels would be shifted and the in-
side of the bungalow would become a part “Once again, I beg your pardon! Some-
of the open terrace. times I deviate from the generally accepted
moral standards if the ends justify the
Bob opened the door and invited Mi- means.”
chael in. Inside it was chilly and dim, the
air conditioner was working, and the blinds Michael realized that Bob was referring
were keeping the sun out. to his ‘professorship’ trick.

“This is my home! Have a seat,” Bob ges- “Your ends or mine?” Michael retorted.
tured at the dark cherry leather sofa with a He took a little sip of rum. It tasted exot-
bamboo coffee table next to it. ically divine. That was just the drink he
needed now.
Michael looked around. This was a
living room combined with a country-style “Mine, of course… Nevertheless, I try to
kitchen. Wooden blinds on the windows be grateful while pursuing my own benefits.
blended in with the wood paneled walls, Moreover, I’m sure that by being on my is-
matching their color. Almost all the furni- land you will, first of all, have a wonderful
ture lacked doors, probably to improve the rest. Judging by the way you have been
airflow due to the high humidity. Ethnic working in recent years, you simply need a
masks of local tribes decorated the walls. break. Secondly, if you want, you can con-
Terracotta vessels with primitive Polynesian tinue your work. You will find yourself in full
patterns stood on the shelves. privacy here. Thirdly, I hope you will still get
to know and use our unique method of gen-
There was a dining table with four chairs erating creative ideas!”
in the middle of the living room. Above the
table there was a fan with a lamp attached “But what can you offer me, a physicist,
to the ceiling beam. Modern household ap- here, on this island?”
pliances added more comfort to the decor.
“I’ll turn your world upside down,” Bob
“Have a seat,” Bob repeated. smiled and leaned back. “And I hope it won’t
be just yours, Michael. With your help, we’ll
Michael sank into one of the chairs. change the outlook on the physics of this
world.”
“Which do you prefer?” Bob asked,
“Whiskey, rum, tequila? Some wine, perhaps? Michael thought: “I am in deep trouble.
I do have quite a collection! Or, maybe, some Looks like the man in font of me is a lunatic.
coconut milk? Tea, coffee?” Though he deserves some credit, he’s well
educated, but apparently Bob is not a phys-
“Sure, I could use some strong liquor. The icist! He’s not even hiding it!” Nevertheless,
choice is yours. I don’t know much about Michael was already there! And it would
alcohol.” be unwise to leave such an exotic island
without getting some rest. When would he
“Then Dominican rum it is,” Bob picked decide to fly here again? Most likely, never.
up an open bottle of honey-colored Barceló

76

Revista Literária Adelaide

And the rum seemed to be quite good! The flowers framed the bungalow plots, calla
glass was empty very soon. and gardenia grew on the lawns, ginger
and orchids bloomed all around. The whole
No response to his statement, Bob re- place was filled with the singing, chirping,
filled Michael’s rum and continued. and tweeting of the birds. After walking
for abound three hundred feet, they found
“You don’t mind talking to me, do you?” themselves in front of a large dining gazebo
shaped like a wooden podium. Log pillars in
“What do you mean, Mr. Richardson? You the corners of the gazebo served as a sup-
paid for my flight. I’m grateful for the oppor- port for the roof, which was covered with
tunity to be in such a heavenly place. And of a thick layer of straw matching the roof of
course, I’m at your service,” Michael smiled the bungalow. Inside there was a large table.
as the rum started to work. The tabletop was a huge tree trunk sawn
across in half, then unfolded upwards. The
“Wonderful,” Bob was delighted, “then tabletop lay on two logs. The benches on
let’s switch to the first name basis. Call me either side of the table were made similarly
Bob, will you?” to the tabletop but from smaller logs. At the
end of the gazebo there was a small kitchen
“Okay!” Michael agreed. with a gas stove, a sink and a kitchen table.
A cook was bustling in the kitchen, she
“That’s great,” Bob said, rubbing his palms was a heavily-built woman, apparently a
together. local. At the table people were eating and
drinking from dishes that emphasized the
“But is that all you wanted to tell me general style of the island - crude bowls and
about the purpose of my arrival, Mr. Rich- mugs of red clay made on a potter’s wheel,
ardson?!” Michael exclaimed in surprise, and in the middle of the table there was
instantly forgetting that they had switched a huge terracotta pot with a lid. Everyone
to the first name basis. were eating something resembling porridge.

“Generally speaking, yes! But I’d like to “Enjoy your meal!” Bob greeted the
give you a couple of days to settle in and then people at the table.
we’ll definitely continue this conversation.”
“This is our team,” Bob said smiling to
He smiled, got up, walked towards the Michael as they entered the gazebo, “I
exit, gesturing to Michael. think you’ll get along with them. Each of
them has their own task. Researchers from
“Let’s go explore the island!” different parts of the world have gathered
here. I don’t think we can bore you on this
Michael emptied his glass quickly and island.”
set it on the table, then followed Bob out-
side. “This is Dr. Steve Craft,” Bob introduced
a thin longhaired man in his thirties. “He’s
Once back outside, Michael looked a botanist”.
around. The landscaping included well-
kept banana and palm trees. There were Steve stood up and nodded in greeting.
no paths, because the ground was covered He looked like a hippie from the sixties in
with a thick carpet of cut grass, inviting ev-
eryone to walk barefoot in any direction.
But what particularly delighted Michael
was the smell; it came from the flowers that
grew everywhere. Bushes of white tiaré

77

Adelaide Literary Magazine

his ripped, frayed jeans and a T-shirt with a “This is Marie! She is in charge of the
huge marijuana leaf printed on it. hotel complex.”

“And this is our star,” Bob pointed at a The woman turned her head towards
pretty woman, also in her thirties, “Jessica. Michael, a slight smile brightened up her
She’s a mycologist.” face. She looked at Michael with an eager
gleam in her big brown eyes.
Jessica greeted them with a smile, waved
her hand and asked Michael: Michael smiled back at her. He could
not determine her age. She radiated a cer-
“Do you know what mycology is?” tain power, which could bring happiness or
destruction. This notion made Michael un-
Michael got slightly embarrassed and comfortable.
replied:
“Have a seat, Michael, you need to eat
“No!” after the flight,” Bob said.

“I’m an expert on mushrooms!” Michael and Bob sat down. The cook
brought two bowls, removed the lid from
“Do you pick them?” The moment Mi- the pot on the table and scooped up por-
chael asked the question, he realized that ridge into the bowls with a ladle.
he had said something wrong.
“What is this?” Michael asked, pointing
“I study them!” Jessica smiled. at the contents of the bowl, which gave off
a pleasant sweetish aroma.
“Peter is a mathematician,” Bob intro-
duced a somewhat heavily built man who “Try it! This porridge is made from the
looked about forty-five years old. seeds of the Polynesian breadfruit tree.”

“And what is a mathematician doing Michael picked up the spoon and, with
here?” Michael asked with a slight irony in disbelief at first and with a great appetite
his voice. Without the rum he would not soon after, quickly ate the whole bowlful of
have taken such liberty. porridge.

Peter glanced at him and replied briefly: “Are you up for seconds?” Bob asked.

“I calculate.” “Thank you, I’m full!”

“Mathematics is needed everywhere,” The cook brought a glass of freshly
said Bob, “Peter is an ingenious programmer. squeezed orange juice and placed it on the
And these days you can’t do without pro- table in front of Michael.
grammers!”
When Michael and Bob finished eating
“Anna is a psychologist,” Bob introduced and drinking their juice there was no one
a middle-aged woman. else at the table except for them.

Anna had an absent gaze. She looked “Shall we continue our journey?” Bob
as though she didn’t care about anything suggested. He got up, inviting Michael to
around her; and when she was introduced follow him further.
she did not even turn towards Michael as if
her name had not been called at all. They walked another five hundred feet
and came to a small octagonal bungalow
The last person to be introduced was a surrounded by tiaré bushes.
woman at the end of the table.

78

Revista Literária Adelaide

“This is the famous Polynesian flower,” She would help Michael deal with some
Bob noticed that Michael was admiring the household issues and she could also show
flowering fence. “The locals simply adore it. him the island. Then Bob headed for the
Apart from aesthetics, this flower here is a exit.
sort of a clock.”
Michael stopped him with a question.
“How so?” Michael was puzzled.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did
“The tiaré flowers open between noon you get this island?”
and two in the afternoon. If the islanders
see that the flowers have not opened yet, Bob returned and sat into a chair, his en-
they think it is still morning. Yet, if the tire appearance showing that the question
flower has opened, they think it’s already was rather complicated and had to be an-
afternoon. This clock isn’t very accurate, but swered in detail.
given the Polynesian way of life, they do not
need a more accurate timing!” “I’d like to have this conversation with
you a little later, when you get more com-
Michael and Bob walked up to the bun- fortable here. But I’ll tell you something
galow’s glass door, with a small bronze bell right now, just please, be patient and don’t
hanging on the right side. ask too many questions. Alright?”

Bob opened the door and invited him to “Alright,” Michael agreed.
come inside.
“About six years ago we launched a re-
“Here are your quarters! Make yourself search project, I’ll tell you more about it
comfortable, make yourself at home! In a sometime,” Bob began, “but after a while
word, enjoy your stay!” we realized that without financial and legal
support we couldn’t continue our research,
They stepped inside. Just like in Bob’s so we began to look for investors. I got lucky
bungalow, the living room was combined then. An old university friend of mine who
with a kitchen in the same room, but the had started a small software company had
area was smaller. Despite its modest size, made insanely big money in just a year.
it felt cozy and welcoming. The bungalow When he found out that I was looking for
was a harmonious combination, on the one investors, he believed in our project and
hand, of the comfort of modern life and on invested into it. And he bought this very is-
the other, of the spirit of a Polynesian vil- land for me!”
lage.
“As simple as that!” Michael exclaimed.
The bedroom was a separate room. Mi- “It’s hard to believe it!”
chael peeked inside. In the middle of the
room there was a double bed made of thick “It’s all about the project,” Bob continued
bamboo, with a cascading mosquito canopy. calmly. “My friend learned about it at its
Its head consisted of five thick bamboo planning stage. He realized that the chances
stalks tied with a hemp rope. of finding the funding for our project were
close to zero, as we didn’t always stick to
After teaching Michael some of the sub- legal research methods. When he suddenly
tleties of using the dwelling and sharing the became rich, he didn’t know where to in-
Wi-Fi password, Bob informed him that in vest his money. Yet, he found it prudent to
an hour he would send over his assistant. invest in our project. What a stroke of luck

79

Adelaide Literary Magazine

for both of us! He bought the island so that island and its residents. After that I’ll be sure
there would be fewer legal issues. I’ve set to provide a very exciting and rich program.”
up a science center in this remote corner
of the world, away from all kinds of prying Bob got up, opened the bungalow door
eyes and ears.” and bid his goodbyes:

“Look, I don’t know what kind of research “Make yourself comfortable, enjoy your
you’re conducting here. But if it’s as covert stay! I’ll leave you alone for now!”
and semi-legal as you say, aren’t you afraid
of undesirable consequences and unwel- “Thank you!”
come guests to the island?”
Bob closed the door behind him.
“Our research is more mental than tech-
nical. There is no need for such security mea- Michael took his time to unpack and
sures as barbed wire or security towers with shower. Then he sat down on the couch and
gunmen. They will only attract unwanted at- plunged into work with his laptop on his lap.
tention. It was decided to limit ourselves to
highly qualified experts in our research field About an hour later, he heard a bell ringing
and to pay them a decent salary. And as a outside. Mike got up and opened the door.
cover, our island serves as a kind of a tourist
spot located on private property. There’s a A slender girl of about twenty-five in
small hotel complex on the western side of a light colorful dress stood at the door. A
the island. This is a V.I.P. resort with terms necklace made of tiaré flowers adorned her
of greater anonymity. Tourists coming here neck. She smiled and introduced herself:
want to keep their trip a secret and, in turn,
they don’t snoop around. But even if a spy “Aloha! My name is Maya! I’m here to
is sent here,” Bob laughed, “they still won’t help you, answer any questions you may
be able to ‘dig up’ anything because of the have.”
specifics of our research.”
“I’m Michael,” Palmer introduced himself
“And what if I’m a spy?” Michael asked and reached out his hand.
with some irony.
“Nice to meet you,” the girl smiled and
Bob stopped laughing, sternly looked went on. “There’s a button here,” she
into Michael’s eyes and replied: pointed at the orange button with a tele-
phone receiver image by the door. “If you
“Michael, I found you myself!” have a question at any time, push it and
I’ll try to help you over the phone. Or I can
“Ah, yes, that’s a good argument! But come over, everything is within a walking
what if you reveal your secret research to distance here. Should you want to see me
me and then certain agencies come and re- personally, my bungalow is the one over
cruit me over to their side?” there”, the girl nodded her head towards
the building about fifty steps from his house
“It’s too early to talk about it now! When but still barely seen behind the thickets of
you find out everything, you’ll decide for bamboo, tiaré bushes and palm trees.
yourself what to do. For now, you should
rest after the flight. I’ll give you a couple “Alright,” said Michael.
of days to get acclimated, get to know the
Maya turned around and walked away.
And Michael headed back for the couch to
his computer.

80

Revista Literária Adelaide

About the Author

Yuri Korobaev: Writes under the pseudonym “Budimir”. Lives in the Russian Federation,
Anapa, near the Black Sea. This is the excerpt from the work originally written in Russian, -
translated by Irina Stoliarova. The book is written under the influence of growing interest in
psychedelics, both official science and society as a whole, against the background of their
legalization in some countries. Therefore, I am sure that the book will be a commercial
success.

81

EFFLEURAGE

by Erik Smetana

Renee pulled her car to the curb and dou- Over there was behind a sheer, strung to
ble checked the address on the GPS. It was the rafters. On the other side was a bench
a house. The woman on the phone made and a coat hook. Renee couldn’t take it any
no mention of working from home. Re- longer, she wanted to leave.
nee got out of her car and walked up the
driveway, the concrete chewed up from too “You alright in there?” Armand’s shadow
much salt, Renee watched her step, careful moved on the other side.
to not let a heel disappear in a pockmark.
“What? Oh, yes. Just one second.” Weary
The front door matched the drive. Dis- of staying and too ashamed to walk out for
repair, paint peeling away revealing other fear of what her friends might think if she
colors, each one an uglier shade of faded. chickened out on what they all described
Renee hesitantly pushed the doorbell. Please as the best massage of their lives; Renee
be the wrong place. undressed and wrapped the sheet around
her body.
The door opened and a tiny woman
stood on the other side “Hi. I’m Armand Fell. The concrete floor was cold on Renee’s
You must be Renee. It’s a pleasure, please bare feet as she tip-toed to a foldaway mas-
come in.” sage table arranged in the middle of the
room. Armand was moving clothes from
Inside, the house was tidy. But it was still the washer to the dryer and seemed in no
a house. Renee felt odd and resisted the hurry. “Go ahead and lie down, I’ll be just
urge to turn tail and go back to her car. “You one second.”
have a lovely home,” she said with only the
slightest bit of snark in her voice, “Armand.” “Well I never,” Renee thought. Then
The word tasted wrong on Renee’s tongue. Renee did. Face down on the cold vinyl
table while the massage therapist hung a
“Thank you.” pair of pants and started a new load. The
smell of bleach stung Renee’s nose. Then
Armand led Renee to a door, the base- she felt something. Cold. Wet. On her feet.
ment door. Renee followed her down the
steps into an unfinished space flanked by “Brewster. Scoot! Go lay down.” Armand
laundry baskets, cardboard boxes and a stomped her foot as she spoke and the click-
washer-dryer combo stacked on top of one clack-click of an animal marching led out of
another. Handing Renee a crisp white sheet, the room.
“You can undress over there.”

82

Revista Literária Adelaide

“Just so you know I’m allergic to dogs.” Pressing firmly with her palm on the back
of Renee’s thigh, “They’re in the pantry, be-
Armand washed her hands and lathered hind the pasta.”
them in a thick coat of moisturizer. “Don’t
worry about Brewster, I’ll keep him out of This time at the basement door, “I looked
here.” Armand dug in. “First we’ll start with there, I can’t find them.”
some light Aston Patterning, release some
of that ugly tension built up in your neck, “Did you actually move the pasta boxes
back and legs.” and look behind them?”

Armand’s hands moved over Renee’s Silence. Then, “Um. Thanks hon.”
muscles, the fingers poking and prodding,
untying knots. From the doorway, an unfa- Refocused on Renee, “Now we’re going
miliar voice shouted. “Mom! Aunt Diane’s to shift gears a bit and use some light shi-
on the phone. She wants your potluck po- atsu massage to really work these poor
tato recipe!” muscles.”

Unfazed, “I can’t talk right now. I’m with Renee didn’t say anything as Armand
a client. I’ll call her back.” sent shivers of therapeutic pain up and
down her spine. Instead, she mumbled to
The voice, a young girl, shouted down herself, inside her head. What kind of dog
the steps again. “She says she needs it for and pony show is this? But as much as she
tonight. She’s at the grocery store.” wanted to speak up or better yet stand up,
get dressed and storm out, she...
“Fine! The recipe’s in the drawer next to
the fridge.” “Mom! Jimmy’s practicing his sword swal-
lowing again and he won’t let me watch.”
With that the basement door slammed The whine of another little girl, her voice
shut. painful on unaccustomed ears.

“Okay, now that we’ve loosened you up Armand sighed and began to work with
a bit, let’s work on some deep tissue move- one hand, the other applying pressure to
ments.” Armand went on about her busi- the back of her own neck. “Tell your brother
ness and Renee focused on not whimpering to let you watch and if he says no, tell him he
when Armand’s small but strong hands can kiss his fire breathing lessons goodbye.”
grazed tender spots.
In the chipper, vindictive way that sib-
At some point Armand flipped on a radio, lings speak when they one-up one another.
the sound of music drifted into the room. Easy “Okay!”
listening patched in with advertisements for
vinyl siding and the latest tour of reality show Two hands back on Renee. Working
castoffs coming to town. Armand kneaded harder. More firmly. The sound of a boy
Renee’s muscles with precision. shrieking in agony over his little sister getting
her way echoed through the floor. Followed
“Honey? Where are the barbecue chips? by the scraping clank of someone tearing
All I can find are the sour cream and onion down the steps.
ones. You know I hate sour cream and
onion.” A man’s voice boomed down the “Robert Matthew Greer! What have I
laundry chute. told you about wearing your skates in the
house?” Armand fumed.

83

Adelaide Literary Magazine

Instinctively, Renee pulled the sheet doll collection, all of the Barbie’s are bald
tighter attempting to camouflage any parts of now. Even Tropical Princess Barbie. She had
her that had come uncovered. Robert talked the prettiest hair!”
fast. Too fast. Everything he said blurred
into one long mish-mash of a word. “You- Turning her face up to the laundry chute,
Won’tBelieveWhatHappenedToddWasGo- Armand shouted back, explaining that Brew-
ingForALoose PuckAndWeDidn’tHaveThe- ster didn’t shave her Barbie’s, if anything it
WholeRinkSomeFrooFrooIceBalletThing was probably her brother and pleading with
WasPracticingOnTheOtherSideSpinning- her daughter and anyone else who might be
InCirclesAndShitAndAPrettyOneJoeSaid- in earshot, “Will you please leave me alone?
HerNameWasTiffanySpunReallyFastAnd- Can’t you see I’m with a client?”
C a u g h t To d d I n T h e H a n d W h e n H e r S k a t e
CameDownAndCoachWellMike’sOlder- “No. It was Brewster. He’s coughing up
BrotherHe’sUnofficial Assistant CoachHeTh- Barbie colored fur now. I think I should
inksToddMightLoseHisPinkyPlusHeGotTiffa- put him outside.” The girl replied and then
ny’sNumberFuckYeah!” dropped a pair of dirty socks and a now use-
less Barbie wardrobe including a white coat
“Watch your language and take your belonging to veterinarian Barbie, possibly
skates off in the house.” Armand’s words butcher shop Barbie down the chute, the
fell on deaf ears as her son tore back up the miniature uniform landing on Renee’s head.
steps.
Armand brushed the sock and coat
The sound of the door slamming was away and continued pressing and pulling.
followed by a loud crack and crash. A horn Smoothing and tugging. For a few minutes it
blared outside. was just the two of them and an instrumental
mix of “Copacabana” on the radio.
“Hey Honey? The mailman just crashed
into our mailbox. What do you think I should “Mom! Grandma’s at the door.” It was the
do? He’s not moving,” Armand’s husband boy.
shouted down the laundry chute, “No. Wait.
He’s moving. I think he’s okay. Nevermind.” “James Ryan, that’s not funny. You shouldn’t
joke about the dead.”
Armand neverminded and pushed hard
with her thumbs. Working up and down Re- Indignant, “I’m not joking. She’s scratching
nee’s spinal column, flexing the joints. The at it. She doesn’t look happy.”
joints of her own hands popping with each
effort. “Hey hon? He’s not kidding. It’s your mom
alright.” The husband assured her.
A little girl, one of many it seemed, yelled
from the top of the steps. “Brewster ate his “Oh? Well, open the back gate and call for
tail. He really ate it! It’s gone. And I think he her. She and Brewster can play until I’m done
ate Miss Garvillo’s cat, he keeps coughing down here.”
up calico colored fur.”
“Alright.” Said the boy.
“Calico isn’t a color. Just stick him in the
back yard. He’ll be fine.” “And Jimmy?”

Another girl chimed in through the “Yeah?”
laundry chute. “I think he’s been into my
“Don’t let Grandma eat the dog,” then
thinking for a moment, “And don’t let the
dog eat grandma.”

84

Revista Literária Adelaide

Renee had had enough. She lifted her “Not sold? Half off today, half off next
face, the skin on her forehead sticking to time and I’ll even throw in a happy ending.
the vinyl as she pulled away. “This has been How about it?”
one of the least relaxing...”
Renee turned seven shades of red and
Armand cut Renee off. “My deepest apol- pulled the sheet tight. “Well I never. I should
ogies. It isn’t normally like this, but kids are report you. This. This. I.” She couldn’t spit
kids. And husbands, well they’re husbands.” the words out until the ones she couldn’t
imagine herself saying came out, “Um, okay.”
“That doesn’t excuse...”
Renee turned over and pulled the sheet
“Let me make it up to you. Let’s call it half up covering her face, uncovering every-
off this session and your next?” thing else while Armand went and reap-
plied some lotion. “Before we wrap up here,
Renee thought for a moment. The mas- should I go ahead and schedule you for the
sage itself had been decadent. Her muscles same time next week?”
had never felt so relaxed after an hour at
the spa. But the chaos. She wasn’t so sure
there was going to be a next time.

About the Author

Erik Smetana lives just outside of Nashville. His words have appeared in one form or another
in The Missouri Review, No Contact, Annalemma, Hobart, New World Writing, Monkeybicycle,
Eckleburg, Pank, and others.

85

TWO DREAMS

by Maria Tsirona

ONE He opens his eyes in terror.

“Eleni, my Eleni, my girl, my wild, crazy girl,” The room is silent; there is only a pale
– his voice warm, so close to her face, his wind that moves the curtain softly.
breath on her face so warm. She opens her
eyes and sees his lips saying these words; He rests his hand on his heart, to calm
his lips that speak her name, “Eleni” they it down.
say, “My Eleni”, the tone of the voice is so
warm, she could melt in this heat, “my girl”, At that moment, his alarm clock rings.
he says, “my wild, crazy girl”.
He reaches out, still dazed, and he turns
She opens her eyes in terror. it off.

The room is silent; there is only a pale He recalls the way he was speaking her
wind that softly moves the curtain. name – with such longing.

Her heart is banging as if it’s ready to break. Silence.

She’s looking at the curtain that’s swelling He gets out of bed.
with the breath of the wind. She recalls
his lips, so close to hers – the way he was TWO
speaking her name.
The sound. The sound of her laughter is
She hides her head on the pillow. different. She laughs, and she thinks she
hears someone else laughing. If she were
“Eleni, my Eleni, my girl, my wild, crazy not alone at that moment in the elevator,
girl,” – his voice warm, so close to her face, she would have sworn that this sound was
his breath on her face so warm. She opens not her laughter. She’s looking in the eleva-
her eyes, and she’s looking at him, and he tor mirror and sees another woman laugh-
doesn’t stop saying her name and only her ing. This other woman has her eyes. She
name, each time warmer and warmer – if also has a dimple on her right cheek. These
only he could make her melt in this heat, characteristics reassure her; they are hers.
a heat made only of her name, “Eleni” he Whether she expects from her hair or her
says, “My Eleni” – “my girl”, he says, “my smile is lost: they are unknown.
wild, crazy girl”.
“That’s good,” she murmurs now, un-
locking the apartment door. “Laughing alone.”

86

Revista Literária Adelaide

While entering the house, the bright “What are you doing here with the blinds
daylight blinds her. The sun melts on the down?
sea, and its light is reflected throughout the
home, bathing the walls, sparkling upon ob- “There is such a strong light outside. And
jects. It eliminates matter and at the same I have work to do.”
time multiplies it, changing its form.
“I invited Nikos for lunch. Did you have
She takes off her shoes, leaves her keys, something to eat?”
her bag, and goes out to the patio. The
house is located in one of the oldest apart- “I am not hungry. Maybe later…”
ment buildings in the city and faces straight
at sea. As she goes out, the wind lifts her Eleni tiptoes, barefoot; she takes a dress
long dress as if it wants to take it off, or tear from her closet, leaves the room, –not a
it up. Eleni laughs in surprise. She stays for word about my hair, she reflects–, and
a moment at the edge of her patio, in front closes the door behind her, silently.
of the sea, bathing in the strong sunlight, in
the strong wind. “I’ll be there in about an hour”.

She enters the house and picks up the Nikos hangs up his cellphone and takes a
phone. Forming the number, with the few steps down the hall to the second floor,
headset between her ear and her shoulder, at the Courthouse. Then he stops; he has
she unbuttons her dress. forgotten where he intended to go.

“Hello!” He stands there for a moment, in the
middle of the long corridor – he stands still.
“I have stuffed peppers for lunch.” He recalls the way he says her name, in his
dream, earlier in the morning. The way he
“With minced meat?” speaks her name while touching her face
with his lips – so close, so warm.
“With rice and cheese.”
Again, he reflects.
“I’ll be there in about an hour.”
Once more – as always.
“I’ll be waiting.”
The same, familiar heat rises on his cheeks,
She leaves the phone, takes off her dress burning them.
and throws it in an armchair. As she walks
barefoot on the cool tiles, her hands move “Now you have become even lighter.”
towards her hair with a spontaneous move-
ment to fix them in a bun. Then she realizes “That is?”
that she has cut it, a few hours earlier; a gift
to herself for her forty-fifth birthday that Nikos laughs. “Nothing ...” he murmurs
was three days ago. She smiles. She opens as he reaches out to fill their glasses with
the bedroom door to pick up a clean dress wine. They have just finished their meal.
from her closet. She finds strange the fact Nikos is thinking about his dream, once
that, when opened, the room is dark, with again – he reflects that there was a time,
lowered shutters. Then she sees Christos sit- not long ago, he actually believed that he
ting at his desk, in front of his computer. The had got rid of such dreams of her.
room is lit only by the screen light.
Now he’s looking at her for a moment –
fleetingly.

Eleni is looking at him for a moment –
fleetingly. Their eyes meet for a few seconds.

87

Adelaide Literary Magazine

She turns hers away from his ocean blue Christos turns his back and walks to the
color; she doesn’t want to remember the kitchen.
dream that upset her.
Eleni goes out on the balcony. The wind
“What is Christos doing for so many hours is getting stronger, and the sun, about to set,
in the bedroom?” Nikos asks. paints orange the patio corners.

“Well, you know him…” She sits in the armchair where Nikos was
sitting earlier. She’s looking at the empty
“What is happening this time?” plates, the glasses. Many years ago, all four
of them were sitting at this table, all the
In the sky, a cloud that looks like a bubble time. Christos, Nikos, Katerina and she – so
hides the sun for a while. “The usual,” says young, so full of dreams. Then the children
Eleni softly, but sad. “Some new female came and, all of them, were pushed a little
patient, maybe; perhaps some new confer- more at the same table; the twins, George
ence as far away as possible…” and Sofia, for themselves, and Anastasia,
for Christos and Katerina. Now, the children
She raises her eyes to his. have left for studies, and only she and Nikos
share this table across the sea. Katerina has
They are looking at each other again; a been dead for a decade, and Christos is
long, silent look this time. so busy with work that he is almost not at
home.
Nikos empties his glass and then leaves
it on the table. He gets up. “I have to go; so But Nikos is always here. After Katerina’s
much work to do in the office.” death, he has become the permanent third
member of the house.
Eleni gets up behind him. Nikos reaches
out and gently messes her short hair. “I Eleni is looking at the empty space
like it so much. Christos, I’m leaving,!” he around her. There is a slight trace of his
shouts as he walks out the front door. smell left; she smells it. His eyes come to
her mind. The way they were half-closed,
There is no reply from the bedroom. annoyed by the sun, and then nailed to
hers. Blue. “Blue”, she says out loud. His
He hugs her and kisses her on the cheek. eyes have always been his strong point; she
“Thank you for the lunch,” he says, and Eleni reflects.
is only looking at him. Eleni, my Eleni.
She’s looking at the sea in front of her,
“Come if you want, after the office, at the playing with the remnants of the sun.
evening…” she tells him as he goes down
the stairs of the apartment building. His Eleni, my Eleni.
house is just one floor down.
“I raise my hands unconsciously to my
“I’ll come.” hair, to fix it in a bun. “I’m still not used to
it,” says Eleni now, late at night, observing a
Eleni closes the front door quietly. When part of the moon reflected in her wine.
she turns her head, she sees Christos in the
hallway. She turns to Nikos sitting next to her.
She’s looking at the cigarette in his fingers
“Did he leave?” he asks her. – at the quietness of his presence. What if I

“Why didn’t you show up? He is your
friend, after all”.

88

Revista Literária Adelaide

told him I saw him in my dream? If I said to She wonders what makes her talk to him
him that his lips were so close to my face like that. She wonders what exactly the
that - she stops. meaning of the words is.

“What are you thinking about?” Nikos “Because I am so patient with you, my girl”.
asks her, taking a sip of his whiskey.
“Well, maybe you’re right”. There is a line
They sit the one next to the other, with between her eyebrows now.
the sea –big and quiet–, in front of them.
The night is chilly. Nikos feels the chilliness Nikos reaches out and erases this line.
touching Eleni’s bare shoulders and knees He takes a deep breath. He pulls his hand
and feels jealous - for the unscrupulous way away from her face with incredible difficulty.
it touches her knees, for the overt way it What if I told her about my dream? What if
touches her arms, wrists; her fingers as they I whispered her name as I did in my dream?
hold the glass of wine.
Eleni empties her glass. His touch on
My Eleni, he calls her in his dream, so her face causes her an unrepeatable upset,
close to her lips. completely unacceptable.

My Eleni. “However, sometimes you are utterly in-
sufferable,” she adds.
He puts out his cigarette.
He looks at her straight in the eyes. “Do
“I’ll need Christos tomorrow,” he says. “A you believe that?”
college at work suffers from panic attacks
and needs help. Where will I find him?” he She bows her head. “Oh, forgive me,”
asks. she murmurs regretfully. He is not to blame
for my dream. “I’m not in a mood tonight.”
Eleni runs her hand through her hair and
shakes her head negatively. “I have no idea. “Why?”
I think he will be at the clinic tomorrow
morning”, she murmurs while she recalls Because you were leaning over my face
Christos’ face earlier in the afternoon when and you were whispering my name in such
Nikos had left. a scary way. Again and again. She’s thinking
about it for a while; she doesn’t say a word,
Nikos looks at her profile, sullen but so though. She shrugs – “the usual,” she mur-
clear as her short hair leaves her cheeks, murs. A lie is only the beginning; she notes.
forehead and neck bare.
Nikos looks at her wrists. They seem in-
“I don’t want to see sadness in your eyes, credibly tender to him. He recalls the way
girl,” he tells her tenderly – for decades he he sees her in his dream. He smiles. A lie is
uses this word for her, only he and no one else. only the beginning; he reflects.

Eleni is looking at him thoughtfully. Eleni, “It’s time for me to go downstairs. None
my Eleni. She takes a long dive into his eyes, of us is in the mood tonight».
and for a small, tiny moment, she feels the
beginning of vertigo – only the beginning. “Why do you say that? What’s happening
She holds tight the arm of her chair. “You to you?”
know you’re the only one I have,” she says,
looking at him. “I don’t risk losing you.” He looks her in the eyes. He hesitates
to answer for only a few seconds. A pro-
fessional liar, he reflects. “The usual,” he

89

Adelaide Literary Magazine

murmurs with the same smile. He wonders “Was it a full moon yesterday?” he asks.
if his smile addresses to the woman of his
dream or the one sitting next to him. “Yesterday, yes.” Nikos lights a cigarette.

“Hello?” Eleni doesn’t speak. She’s looking at the
blue light that the moon spreads upon the
“I’d like to speak to Mr Argyriou, please...” sea.

Eleni raises her eyes to the clock on the “You are so silent,” Nikos says to Eleni.
wall; it is almost three o’clock after mid- “Why?” He’s glancing at her; the tips of her
night. The voice on the other end of the lips are so soft, he realizes he wants like
wire is youthful. crazy to bend down and kiss them – first the
one, then the other.
“What’s the number you called?”
“I’m not silent at all,” Eleni murmurs
The girl tells her their phone number. and turns to Christos who is continuously
looking at the moon. “Will you need two
“Wrong number,” says Eleni and hangs blue shirts? You want me to put them in
up. In the mirror, another woman with her your suitcase?” she asks him.
face is looking at her smiling innocently.
“Yes, please, I will need them.”
She imagines the disappointed girl
looking for Christos, asking for explanations. Eleni gets up quietly and enters the
She goes out on the balcony. The night is house.
moisty; it sticks to her arms. The sea in front
of her is silent; the lights of the ships glide “Another conference?” Nikos asks Christos.
over it. “Tough times for you, neurologists, eh?”

Since children have left home for studies, “What is this question?”
three years now, the absence becomes a
sea that Christos swims blissfully in its wa- They are looking at each other for a while,
ters. Eleni watches him disappearing, diving thoughtfully. Then Christos speaks. “It’s not
into hospital boards, into countless doctor your business,” he tells him firmly, sternly
appointments, into numerous conferences –”stay out of it”, he adds, almost angry.
worldwide. She watches him change, mu-
tate into an unknown Christos, who even Nikos looks at him for two moments,
uses new words, but never her name; he silent. Then he turns to the sea. He extin-
has abolished her name, completely for- guishes his cigarette, furiously.
gotten it.
Nikos is still sitting on the patio. He fin-
She touches fleetingly the line between ishes the wine left in the bottle. He smokes.
her eyebrows that Nikos touched earlier. He lights a new cigarette from the one that
goes out. The night is humid, and the sea
Eleni, My Eleni. is quiet.

Christos is looking at the moon, with the Christos is long gone.
binoculars. It is late at night; all three are
sitting around the big table on the patio. “Will you sleep here? It’s three o’clock in
There is a thick candle in a glass upon the the morning.” Eleni is sitting next to him –
table; its flame plays with the night breeze. her scent, all the afternoon wraps him like
a clean sheet.

90

Revista Literária Adelaide

“No. I think I’ll go downstairs. It’s not far the sea stretches, blue, behind her back;
away.” it’s autumn. Nikos looks at them, both, first
she and then the sea. He turns to her eyes
She smiles at him. The tips of her lips again, and he laughs with a perverted bliss.
are pulled and sweetened. Why can’t I kiss Because in her eyes, he recognizes the
them? Again and again? woman who has been waiting for his whole
life. Here she is, standing right in front of
“You can’t even get up,” she tells him qui- him. She smiles at him, and her heat enters
etly. “Your eyes are red. Come on, I’ll get his body and changes its shape, it trans-
your bed ready in a minute”. She gets up forms him – it never leaves.
– he grabs her hand by the wrist, forces her
to sit next to him again. He pretends, of course – for years; to
Christos, to her, to Katerina, to acquain-
“Please stay for a while”, he whispers. I tances, to strangers, to friends. He pretends
want to smell you; I want to look at you until so well that in the end, he believes that the
I can no longer see, I want to touch you, to more he is a friend with Christos, the more
breathe you – he reflects, he doesn’t say a he is with his wife. In the evenings he closes
word. “You are tired of preparing Christos’ the doors of his house and opens those of
bags. OK, you will make my bed,” he excuses hell. He undresses her secretly, over and
himself, a liar. Only stay close to me. over and over again, betraying everyone; he
wraps her around him, and he sleeps with
Eleni looks into his eyes, then at the his head on the curve of her neck, gaining
candle that goes out on the table, then at strength for the next hour, the next day, the
the moon, and into his eyes again. What if I rest of his life. And then, fortunately, the
touched his lips? What would happen? children come, and reality enters new, less
painful paths. And when Katerina leaves
“I’m tired,” she tells him quietly. “I want forever, and then, one by one, the children
to sleep. “I want to make your bed and go to spread their wings, when the three of them
sleep – I can’t play with you both all night.” are all together again, the old nightmare
comes to life, scarier than ever. Don’t these
She gets up and enters the house. things disappear with age? he wonders
many times, at night, and then he looks at
The red from the watermelon, the ca- his face in the mirror. And the answer is al-
nary yellow, an orange cut in half, a sprig of ways there, in his eyes.
basil, a blue sea and a blue scarf, the one
she wore around her neck when he met her. Now he’s looking at her as she sits on
the bed next to him. “Is everything OK?”
Eleni. Years and years and years. she asks him.

She can reach out and bring the moon “Everything’s fine, thanks. Now, go to
to your palm round and juicy, dripping on sleep...”
the floor. She can sit next to you, and her
presence can wrap you like a spider’s web. She’s looking at him. She extends her
“My future wife,” Christos tells him count- hand and caresses his face warmly. Nikos
less years ago, one afternoon, in Aristo- purses his lips, to hold back the trembling.
telous square, in front of the sea; the two
of them are twenty-five years old, and she “Nikos…”
has just turned eighteen. The sun plays with
her long brown hair and brown eyes, and

91

Adelaide Literary Magazine

Nikos holds her hand in his palms. “It was only a dream, my girl, it’s over
“What?” he whispers. Eleni, my Eleni – he now,” he whispers with a dry throat.
only reflects it; he doesn’t say a word.
He smells her scent; on the sheets, on
“If you need anything, I’ll be next door – the pillow, on her sweaty nightgown.
you know.”
“You were in my dream,” Eleni whispers.
“Don’t you worry. Good night”. Again – she doesn’t say that.

His name; it’s his name – They are looking at each other for a while.

She begs him, she whispers to him, she Then Nikos gets up and leaves the room
shouts at him. But he doesn’t stop; he runs in a hurry. He leaves the house and bangs
along her body, he swims in her body with the front door behind him.
his fingers, with his palms, with his lips, with
his breath; he drives her crazy, like a wave Vardaris wind is blowing.
that comes and goes, like a wind that buzzes
in her ears, like a light that blinds her – The day is sunny and bright, like clear
water in a glass. Eleni is sitting at her
“Nikos, Nikos!” she shouts and wakes up. patio. In front of her, the sea is fierce; big
waves crowned with foam. The wind drops
Nikos is sitting on her bed, next to her. down two pots with basil. She hears them
breaking without moving from her seat.
Eleni is looking around in panic. She
feels her heart ready to break in the next His hands. His eyes. His lips. When they
moment. say, my girl. “It was only a dream,” they say.
“It is over now”. He looks at her, and he holds
“Calm down my girl, it was only a dream the railings of her bed. His wrist touches the
...” he murmurs hoarsely. curve of her neck. In her dream, the same
wrist slides on her breasts.
Eleni tries to calm her panting. A dull
pink light comes from the window and rests The crazy wind is blowing.
on the edge of the bed.
One moment. It only takes one moment,
Then she raises her eyes to him and – she reflects.
she’s looking at him.
In her dream, his lips are everywhere on
Eleni raises her eyes on him, and she’s her body.
looking at him, and Nikos feels dizzy by the
heat of her gaze. He stretches out his hand And the same lips were so close to her
and clings to the railings of her bed, to save face, that morning she wakes up because of
himself: a rushing wave comes upon him, him – for years she has never noticed how
frightening him with its ruin and strength are his lips, or his hands; or his outline.
–that’s why he holds tight the edge of her
bed. If he wouldn’t, the wave would sweep Eleni looks straight at the sun. She is
him away, swallow him; then, he would blinded. She closes her eyes.
bend over her body and do to her every-
thing he dreams of every night, and perhaps Suddenly, she wants to scream.
even all these things that no one of the two
had ever dreamed. Nikos is staring out of his office’s window
at the leaves of a poplar tree that the wind
is shaking madly.

92

Revista Literária Adelaide

He wakes up listening to his name. At first, Again. His hands. His fingers. His wrists
as a whisper, then louder. He opens his eyes and palms. Again. Who was this Nikos –for
and tries to understand where he is. When years– and who is he today?
he remembers, his first thought is that he
dreams of Eleni shouting his name, as so “I can not wait,” he tells her the moment
many times. But then, actually, he listens she opens the entrance door to him – “I can
to it; it comes from her bedroom. Nikos sits not wait anymore”, he says.
next to her at dawn, he sees her dreaming,
he sees her begging him – he listens. And It’s almost midnight, and the crazy wind
since he listens, he cannot pretend the op- is still blowing all over the sea, the city – “No,
posite. Suddenly, at that moment, and then I can not wait anymore”, he says; he grabs
again, a little later, when her eyes raise that her head with both his hands and kisses her,
wave, he realizes that nothing will be the stealing life from her, giving life to her, rec-
same anymore; an eternity has slipped be- reating the word life, for both of them.
tween these two moments.
THREE
Now he’s taking a deep breath, still
looking at the crazy wind. There is a knock Eleni is sleeping.
on the door, and his secretary enters, hesi-
tant. “Mr Dragonas, I know you told me not Nikos holds her in his arms – her eyes
to disturb you, but Mr Dimitriou claims it is closed. It is a dream, he reflects, another
an emergency.” dream. As soon as she opens her eyes, I will
wake up.
Nikos turns to her, feeling his mouth
bitter. “Of course,” he says softly. “Please, She opens her eyes. “Am I in your arms
let him in.” or are you in my dream?” she asks him and
“I do not know,” he answers. “Maybe you are
At the evening, there is still the same in my dream…”
wind.
The sun bathes the room in bright light.
Eleni is sitting in the same seat, alone.
She has not eaten anything; she has not Eleni is looking at Nikos, and then she’s
talked to anyone. She has seen the sun looking at him a little more. “What are we
plunge into the water at dusk, painting the going to do?” she asks thoughtfully, and
sky scarlet. She has seen a big white ship then, once more, with a kind of despair on
leaving the port when the moon has begun the edge of the question –
to rise in the sky with its one side eaten.
“What are we going to do?”
He leans over her face at dawn; it is not a
dream. His breath actually touches her face. Nikos doesn’t speak; he only holds her
close. He gently touches her lips with his
Empty. Full. Empty and full at the same finger, making them stop talking. Not now,
time. There is nothing inside her but the he reflects; Not now. Not yet. He softly
thought of him; only the thought of him. touches her face; he bends over her.

“Eleni, Eleni, my Eleni...”

93

Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

Maria Tsirona is a Greek author, storyteller, teacher of creative writing, and text editor. Before
becoming a full-time author, she worked as a lawyer for many years. She has published five
novels, a novella, and several short stories, most of them awarded. Her stories have a touch
of romance, bright sunlight and strong feelings. She lives in Thessaloniki, Greece, with her
husband and their two kids. You can find more about her and her books at mariatsirona.com

94

THE CIGARETTE
PACT

by Dennis Mitton

“Rachel saw the ghost again last night,” Julie Grace laughed. “I bet. I pulled them out
said, already deep in bed. yesterday and spent the morning sorting
them.” She held a couple out for inspection,
“Great.” Sam rolled his eyes, pulling on a pulling them from underneath her arm, like
tee-shirt. “She’s got me afraid to work in the a mother hen protecting chicks. “I’m saving
attic this weekend. The little weirdo.” these – for the funeral, you know – but,
please,” she held her arms out over the
“Hey. Shut up.” She threw a pillow at him. table, “rifle through the rest and take what-
“You don’t get to call your daughter a weirdo. ever strikes your fancy. I’ve stacked up some
It’s just her being a kid.” She pulled at the old photos of the neighborhood right here,”
blanket around her neck. “It is kind of weird she said, pointing. “Of your house.”
though,” she said. “It’s such a matter of fact
to her. Nothing spooky at all. She doesn’t She looked at the photo in her hand.
have any fear at all when she talks about it.” “Wish you could have known the old codger,”
she said, rubbing his photo with her thumb.
“Right. Our ten-year-old sees ghosts and “He was such a damned sweetheart. And he
isn’t afraid of them.” Sam shook his head. would dote on your little Rachel like a prin-
“I don’t believe in them, and she’s got me cess. Which she is, of course.” She flashed
scared to go upstairs by myself.” a pageant smile to Rachel. “That man loved
children.” She looked at the photo again,
Downstairs the next morning, in the and then at Julie. “Too bad we never had
kitchen and eating pancakes, Julie brushes any. Or couldn’t.” She set the frames down.
the hair from Rachel’s eyes. “Hey sweet- “You want some coffee? You two gather
heart. When you finish up, let’s go to Miss up whatever you want. I’m going to the
Gracie’s. She’s cleaning out some pictures kitchen.”
this morning and wants to know if we want
anything. Maybe we can get something for Julie picked through the photo boxes on
your room?” the table. “C’mon, sweetie,” she said to Ra-
chel. “Maybe you can find something cute.”
“Good god. Waddya got here? Thirty
boxes?” Julie was shocked.

95

Adelaide Literary Magazine

Julie found two black-and-whites, old photos on the table for a minute, looking
pictures of the street, and set them aside. for something. “Where’s that photo of the
“Look,” she showed them to Rachel, “our backyards you found?”
backyard. Look at the old cars. Find any-
thing?” “In this stack,” Julie said, handing her a
pile of photos. “Do you want to keep it?”
Rachel pushed a few photos aside, and
something woke inside her. “Momma. It’s “Honey, no,” she laughed. “I just want to
the ghost,” she said, pointing to a woman show you two something. Here,” she said,
with Grace. pointing. “You see now? Look at our back-
yards. See those cute little tables by the
“Oh. You found something?” fence? One on each side? Every morning
after the husbands would go to work and
“It’s the ghost. Here,” she said again, still we’d get the kids off to school, we would
pointing. meet right there. I drank my coffee, and
she would have sweet tea and a cigarette.”
Julie picked up the photo, holding it closer She turned away, wistful. “Those were
and adjusting her glasses. “No ghost here. I wonderful times.” She looked hard at Julie.
don’t see it, sweetheart. I think Dad might “That’s the ghost. Gloria.”
be right,” she laughed. “You’re seeing things.”
“That’s the ghost? She’s the ghost? Your
“No ghost where?” asked Grace, carrying best friend?”
two china cups of coffee on a serving tray,
Southern style. Grace put on airs, looking “That’s her. I’m sure of it.” She took a sip of
at the china. “Figure I ought to use it before coffee. “We made a pact one day.” Julie saw
I die,” she said in a rough London accent. the thought of it carry Grace to somewhere
else. Somewhere grounded and sure. “It was
“It’s nothing,” Julie said. “Rachel thinks silly, but we sealed it with a drag from her
she sees a ghost here, but it’s nothing. Just cigarette. We were right out there,” she said,
a picture of you and a friend.” She flipped pointing with her eyes outside to the fence.
the photo over to show Grace. “We were laughing up a storm over some-
thing – who knows what – and she grabbed
Grace came close to look, and serenity me over the fence, kissing me on the cheek.
fell over her like a net. “I think Princess Ra- Hard. And her eyes watered up, too.”
chel knows what she’s talking about.” She
stared at the photo. “O la la. Will you look “If I die first,” she said, “if I die first, I’ll
at that? We were so thin. And sexy,” she wait for you here. Right here.” She pointed
mouthed to Julie. She held the photo out for at the backyard where we were standing.
Rachel. “Hotties, right?” “By the fence and the house. I’ll wait for you
to die, too, and we’ll go off together.”
“You were two good looking women,
that’s for sure,” said Julie. “Who are you Grace shook her head. “‘Sweetie?’ I said.
with? Where’s the ghost?” I don’t know if it works that way.’

Grace moved the photo into the light. She stopped me in my tracks. ‘It works
“That,” she said, pointing, “is Rachels’s ghost. that way for me. For us.’”
Miss Gloria Aldridge. My best friend. We did
everything together. We were closer than “We were probably thirty? I raised my
sisters. Thicker than thieves.” She sorted cup of coffee, and she raised her tea. We

96

Revista Literária Adelaide

looked at the cups and I burst out laughing. “She knows who the ghost is. It’s her
‘You know,’ I said, ‘a graveyard pact needs at best friend. They made vows to stay in their
least a cigarette.’ She laughed and reached homes after they die and wait for each other,
down to her little table for a pack. We ’till the last one dies.”
smoked a cigarette together, holding hands.
Marlboro Light.” “Julie?” He turned to her. “I hate to be the
one to break this to you, but Honey? Ghosts
She looked to see where Rachel was and aren’t real.”
then turned to Julie. “I’ll tell you what. In all
my years, I loved my husband desperately. “I know, but Rachel is so sure, and if you
But that was the most romantic thing I ever heard Grace’s story, well, it might sway you.”
did in my life. And I still believe it’s true.
That’s why I say she’s the ghost.” Gracie sat He snapped at her. “Julie, there are no
back in a chair, fanning herself. “I’m sorry, ghosts. We know this. No ghosts. Got it?”
Sweetie. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone He looked at her over the top of his glasses.
that story before. Had no reason to, I guess.” “You aren’t filling Rachel’s head with this silly
business?” He waited and turned back to the
Julie waited for a moment, letting television. “No ghosts.”
Grace’s countenance settle.
Later, in bed and asleep, Julie woke,
“Baby doll,” she said to Rachel. “Let’s get wrapped in covers but chilled. Her forehead
up whatever we’re taking, and head on home. felt cold to the back of her hand. Easing
You ready?” from the bed, careful not to wake Sam,
followed the cold to Rachel’s room, like a
“Grace?” she asked, waving her arms over mountain trail.
the table. “Can I help clean up these piles?
It’s a little messy since we sorted through I was 2:30 and Rachel lay awake, staring.
everything.” Julie stopped and wondered. “What’s up, sweetie? Why are you awake?”
“Grace? What happened to Gloria? Do you
know?” “I just am,” she said. “I’m cold.” She snug-
gled further into the blankets.
“Do I know?” She wiggled and settled
further into the chair. “Honey, I cried for a They both heard it. The screen door
week. She died a month later. At the Piggly slammed. Alarmed now, and scared, Rachel
Wiggly of all places. Heart attack. Right in asked her mom if was windy outside?
the middle of the store.”
“I don’t know,” Julie said. “Maybe daddy
Julie was confused. And horrified. “She forgot to latch the door. I’ll go pull it right.
was so young. My god. That is so terrible.” No big deal.” She looked at Rachel.
She looked down for a moment, then at
Grace, forcing a laugh. “That is just about “Mommy? I want to come.”
the worst story I’ve ever heard.”
“No need to be scared, honey. It’s just the
After dinner, Julie couldn’t forget the door.”
story. “You won’t believe what Grace told
me today.” “I’m not scared. I just want to come.”

Sam gave a grumpy nod, his television “Okay. Here’s your robe.” She tossed it on
interrupted. the bed. “I’ve been freezing tonight.”

The downstairs looked normal. The
kitchen, the dining room, and the sitting

97

Adelaide Literary Magazine

room, all normal. Julie looked out the back took her coffee to the porch table before
window. “Pretty nice outside. Hot,” she the heat sweltered like a rug. Outside, she
looked at Rachel, “but nice.” sat sipping coffee at the glass table, staring
at the fence, wondering how much of
She sat with Rachel at the dining table Grace’s story could be true.
and sees a tear fall from Rachel’s face.
“Honey,” she said, grabbing Rachel’s hand. “Julie.” She heard her name called in
“Baby, don’t be afraid. Daddy just forgot to an unfamiliar voice. A man’s voice. “Julie?”
do the latch.” Surprised, she saw Rusty, Grace’s nephew,
come around the corner. “I was just coming
Rachel sat still, not moving. “I’m not to see you,” he said, looking like something
afraid,” she sniffed. the cat dragged in. He carried a small packet.

“Then why are you crying? Why are you “Sit down,” she said, smiling. “I was just
sitting here all sad?” over to see your Aunt yesterday.” She saw
Rachel’s name on a card taped to the box,
It was a plain fact. “The ghost is gone. written in Grace’s ancient script.
She took Miss Gracie with her.”
“That’s what I came over for,” Rusty said.
“The ghost is gone? But you heard Daddy,
ghosts aren’t real, sweetie. And Miss Gracie Julie could tell that this wasn’t a friendly
isn’t going anywhere yet.” call. She reached across the table. “Oh, God,
Rusty.” She touched his hand. “Is she okay?”
“The ghost is gone. It’s not coming back.”
He shifted his elbows from the table
They sat together for a moment. In si- to his knees and looked at the concrete
lence. Resting and confused. between his shoes. “She passed away last
night. The doctor has already been here. I
“I want to go the bed now,” Rachel said. came over early and found her.” He looked
up at Julie. “The mortuary will be here later
The next morning was bright and prom- this morning.”
ised of another hot, oppressive, Southern
day. Early light filtered through to the Julie turned away, and between tears
kitchen. “Hey! I know what we can do,” Julie and deep breaths, asked what happened.
said to Rachel. “Let’s go out to the back
fence and sit down. I’ll drink coffee, and you “The doctor said it just looked like she
can have a coke. Just like Gracie and Miss was ready to go. No illness. No reason to
Gloria did. Want to?” think she suffered at all.” He paused. “Just
went to sleep and didn’t wake up.”
Rachel shook her head No.
“Rusty, I’m so sorry. We loved her. Rachel
“It’s okay, hon. I know you were scared loved her like a Grandma.”
last night. It’s alright. So, hey. You want to
go? You want ice or just Kool-Aid?” Julie Rachel popped through the screen door.
started pouring the drinks. She hesitated, seeing Rusty and her mom,
with Mom sad and teary. She came to the
“I’m going to my room and read.” table, to her mom’s side, and pointed to the
box. “Is that for me?”
Julie let her go and made a cup of coffee.
“Everyone is tired after last night,” she “Sweetie! Manners,” her mom scolded.
thought. It was still cool outside, and she

98