“In Another Country” / Memorable Fancies #057

As I do not know the language of this country, there is a problem. Others gather, seem to sympathize, but I can’t make them understand me.

A stranger approaches. He looks like me. At first I take him for a fence or a pimp, but he offers me neither gizmo nor girl.

He takes me to a bar. By motions my new friend asks what I would like. I shrug. He orders. I say “same for me.” No one understands this. Nonetheless, drinks of a dark, smoky color are served. The glass is warm and not too clean. He motions to me to drink. I do.

Could this man have been me? Our faces, the same nose … If my grandfather hadn’t emigrated instead of staying in this wretched, decaying place where a few ancient ones are left to sing the national anthem, to worship at the relic-infested altar, to chant fear and revenge, the glory that might have been theirs, if only ….

Yes, I feel it now; he is myself. I never left. There was some fantasy of going to America in those days, but there was no money. Already, I feel the hate rising in me. The people on the far side of the hills: their betrayal of so long ago – it must be avenged.