To the Wedding
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A blind Greek peddler tells the story of the wedding between a fellow peddler and his bride in a remarkable series of vivid and telling vignettes. As the book cinematically moves from one character's perspective to another, events and characters move toward the convergence of the wedding--and a haunting dance of love and death.
sternum and collarbone as she walked. When she stood still, they would stir as she breathed, light and metallic, with a crisp sound. To wear this necklace would be to feel protected by every leaf of every tree in the world. The signalman searches for the hinges of the glass lid and its lock. He takes out a knife from his pocket. He examines the underneath of the case. He hesitates. Finally he lifts the whole thing off its legs. Inside, the leaves of the necklace stir. With his arms around the
door of her flat, her glance lingers on the mirror and her desk and the lace curtains of the grand windows and the armchairs in which her friends sprawl and talk, and on her coffee tables chaotic with papers. Wearing a smart gabardine trench coat, she turns the key in the lock very slowly so as to make the least possible noise, like a mother leaving a room on tiptoe when she has put her child to sleep. Gino wants us to get married. I have told him a hundred times—No. Last week I said: All
organs—taken from the young because they are healthier—are paid in U.S. dollars. I’m not giving the boy’s name because his family, to whom he returned on the borders of the Río Cuichal, are frightened of reprisals. Hold me tight, Gino. The signalman wriggles out of the sleeping bag whilst the boys are still asleep. John the Baptist lies naked on a mattress in the corner, his sex like a fledgling on a black nest. Outside in the early light it’s impossible to see the other side of the Po.
boulevard towards the sea. He carried the plastic bag. The sidewalk was crowded and the lights were still on in the shop windows. For five minutes he said nothing. You walk all day with your menu? I asked him. They turn the lights off in the shops here at 3:30 a.m., he said. We walked on. I stopped to look at a coat in a window. Bullet-proof glass that, he said. I dream about coats, dresses, shoes, handbags, tights, headscarves. Shoes are my favourite. But I never stop before a jewellery
birdsongs remind me of what things once looked like. Thrushes look as if they’ve just taken a dust bath, don’t they? And blackbirds, with their glossy black feathers, look as if they’ve just stepped out of a pond, but when they open their beaks, it’s the opposite. The blackbird’s song is dry. And the thrush sings like a survivor—like a swimmer who swam for it through the water and made it to the safe side of the night and flew into the tree to shake the drops from his back and announce: I’m here!