The Sisters' First

I don’t recall the death of our father even though I was in the room. The rest I remember with a great deal of clarity. The first thing I do remember from that night was staring at my hands, which were pressed flat against the bright white tablecloth excepting the tip of my finger, which rested on the handle of a butter knife. I lifted my gaze to find my sister, Ivana, breathing heavily through her mouth and her white dress covered in blood. She had a feral look in her eyes, a look I had never seen on her before, but it was, after all, her first murder.

Ivana took a deep breath and whispered, “It is your turn, sister.” At that, I turned my gaze toward our mother who was standing stock still with mouth agape. My heart began to palpitate, but not out of fear or hesitation, but out of exhilaration. I had for so long waited to silence this woman. I was tired of her cruelty.

I slowly pushed back my chair and rose. Even as I approached her I was still thinking of how exactly I would do the deed. Would I start with her cold heart or would I pick apart the wall I saw behind her eyes? .... I came to her, only inches. I whispered in her ear, "Mother, it is time." It came to me then. It had to be the eyes. I hated those eyes ...

(To Be Continued ...)

City Symphony I

Vanda

I could hear my sister’s words echoing in my head as I stood before the window in that darkened, tiny apartment in Copenhagen. “Now, sister, I would like it if you refrained from murdering while you are here. The Inspector is close behind and a murder such as yours would most assuredly draw his attention and if you must, for heaven’s sake, go to the city center and try to find some homeless person.” Ivana said those words before leaving to go ahead to procure a new and better living situation. It was too risky to travel together, you see, especially after what I did in Paris. My sometimes impulsive nature got the better of me and we had to make a mad dash to the first place out of the city we could think of, the apartment of Olaf C. Seltzer, whom we knew only used the apartment for the occasional rendezvous.

I did my best to resist the temptation, but I couldn’t help observing the routines of the woman across the courtyard. She lived on the first floor. I was staying on the third. This gave me a perfect vista into all of the rooms of her apartment. Strange thing about Danes I’ve noticed is their tendency to leave their curtains open in the evening. I would watch the woman come in after work every weeknight. She would walk through her apartment turning on the light in every room until she reached the bathroom. Here I could watch her disrobe, quickly wash up, and put on an old flannel robe before going to the kitchen to fix her dinner. She would stand alone in her kitchen eating her food than she would read until she went to bed. Night after night, the same thing, the same routine. Ordinarily, I would not have taken notice of someone like her. I usually prefer a little more exciting fare, but there was something about her. It was the glow of her skin. It was much more than the natural glow of the Nordic type. It was clear and bright and emanated a purity I had never seen before. Its effect on me was immediate and profound. It took my breath away. It dazzled my eyes. Its effect could be described as magical. I must have been the only one who ever noticed it, for why else would she be alone night after night. It felt like destiny had led me to this apartment, to this woman. My skin grew warm to the touch, a lump grew in my throat, and my vision narrowed whenever the hour of her nightly return home approached. Was this what the first flush of love felt like?

Every evening for almost a fortnight, I watched this lovely creature move through her dull routine and continually reminded myself of my sister’s words, but my desire to take her was almost unbearable. I needed to touch her skin. I needed to find out if any of that purity would rub off onto me. I needed to hold her heart in my hands. I needed to be able to take this part of her with me wherever I went. This need drowned out the sensible voice of my sister. It became the rushing of blood in my ears. Some homeless beggar would not sate this feeling. Ivana must have known that I had better taste than that. I would be quiet. I would make her be quiet. I would clean up very well. No one would notice the absence of such a person before Ivana sent for me. I would wait for her to finish her nightly routine and go to her after she went to bed. I would most definitely need to use my best cutlery this time. Oh, she would have a special place in my collection. Yes, tonight.

She

When this all began she was but a child — maybe not in age, but in temperament. She had come so very far to find herself abandoned standing on an ice floe on the middle of the Weddell Sea* left to die.

“Who would have thought I would end up like this?”

She squinted against the low sun and across to strange ice formations and not much else. How would she get out of this predicament? A passing boat? A passing whale? Maybe Captain Nimo would drift by and invite her into a life of piracy and new adventures. She sighed scratching her head and considered her next move.

“Well, at least they gave me a few rations and this knife”

~~

This photo does not depict the Weddell Sea. I have used North Point (Milwaukee) in February as a stand in.

Death Valley, even with modern comforts, leaves an indelible mark on the spirit. Actually, it would be more apt to say that it takes a bit of your spirit for itself and dashes it against its rocky walls. If you go there, look closely at the stone and you will see evidence of this. If there is a God, it must have been in a strange mood indeed when it added this beautiful, but hard place to the canvas. It is not evil. It just is what it is and despite what its name might tell you, it is very much alive.

Conversation After Morning Salutation

At around midsummer. The 5:15ish sunrise. At the Lakefront. North Point. Bradford Beach. There you find the rare confluence of night owls and early risers. One bleary eyed. One prayerful. Some homeless. A few wisemen and the odd cop. There’s the guy with the massive bag of bread for all those damn seagalls (lakegalls). The guy with his electric guitar. A wistful girl on the phone to someone obviously important. A couple hand in hand. A gaggle of buzzed laughers and then there’s all those weird people with cameras … Oh, and Ma Nature’s display is usually quite interesting.
North Point, Milwaukee