> a little Germanness
Could you give examples of what you mean by that?
> Tell your student that he did a wonderful job
Already done ;-) It’s a ‘she’ and one of the best students I’ve ever had.
Short Story / The Dark Side of the Moon
Gang warfare in some distant country. 200 victims. Weather will be fine.
The feeble voice of the speaker floated across the room, barely noticed by the three figures at the bar that sat silently while the barkeeper boisterously cleaned some glasses. He glanced at the guest that had been sitting there for at least two hours and ordered nothing but a glass of water and a beer coaster. An elderly man in a grey suit … His sharp features rested fixedly, and if it wasn’t for his occasional nervous twitches, you couldn’t tell if he wasn’t already dead. Poor guy, reminds me of my old grandfather … I wonder what he’s thinking of. Perhaps I should talk to him, he looks really troubled. But probably it would just annoy him …
He had always hated that kind of location. The intrusively round form of the counter induced his glances to turn towards the other guests. With a mixture of curiosity and deep antipathy – like a child at the zoo that can’t turn his eyes off a slimy earthworm – he stared at the couple who was sitting a few feet away from him. The woman vacantly looked at her fingernails, and with disgust he saw that they were of the long, fake type. Her red dress was of the same colour, which, together with her overly painted eyes, gave her the slutty look of those prostitutes that used to line the streets around his house. She run her fingers through her hair, and a whiff of her overpowering perfume wafted over to him. How dare she molest his sensitive nose with her stink! As if it wasn’t enough that he had to bear her most unbearable view.
Anger surged within him.
He started to shred his beer coaster in tiny little pieces in order to pull his mind off this maddening person. As the bits of carton in his hands got smaller, he had to struggle to rip them, and he only stopped when his fingers had turned deep red and ached like hell. His sweat left stains on his shirt and made him feel even more uncomfortable. He took a deep breath and looked up.
The woman turned her head and glanced directly in his eyes, and a sudden flush of heat seized his old body. Her eyes seemed to scream at him; “Hey, you old geezer, what are you staring at?!”
The very thought of her high pitched voice plagued his ears and pierced his head like a blazing knife that was run slowly between his eyes. The rising rage choked him, and no syllable left his mouth despite his burning desire to stand up and bawl out to her in a way that she would always remember him as the man who made her cry like a little baby.
And what had he done that this nerve-racking barkeeper had to look daggers at him? Haven’t I been a good guest? Did I intrude into your affairs? He eyed the barkeeper suspiciously until the young man looked away and pretended to concentrate on his glasses.
Dull pain now possessed his head and he perceived his mind drifting away. Oh, he had gone through this uncountable times, but still wasn’t used to it. You can’t get used to it, the doctors in their shiny white coats once said to him … but that was long ago. They didn’t understand him anyway. No one knew how to truly enjoy the cosy bittersweetness of rage like him, how to feel the invigorating energy flow through his veins and bring him back to life again.
He started to tremble and had to concentrate in order to remain seated. He slowly put his right hand into his pocket, reaching out for a straw to pull him out of this sand whirl of his tormenting thoughts. And as soon as his searching fingers had finally found their destination and stroked over the cold steel, he caught himself being a little relieved. Yes, Steven, it is still there. Where do you think it could’ve gone? Now do it.
In a sudden move, his head turned over again and his dead eyes fixed the woman like an old hawk does with his last prey. He felt his muscles string up. But at that moment she and her partner stood up and prepared themselves for leaving. He started to panic. Do it! No, I won’t. Not again. Not this time. He grabbed the counter and struggled against the invisible force that had finally gained control over him. Do it! The pain in his head had now become insufferable, every fiber of his flesh screamed for relief and each of his bones to burst in countless pieces.
Do it! The cold metal in his hands, relief, relief, it’s not far away, you’ll be free. The words throbbed in his head as did his furious heart in his shaken chest, and with every beat of it his predetermined decision was hammered into his mind. I’ll do it!
“Excuse me, Sir, are you alright?” a calm voice asked.
He fell.
The sudden interjection of the young barkeeper broke through the wall of fog in his head like the blinding headlamps of an approaching car in a black night. Nothing but glistening light surrounded him, and one second seemed like eternity.
Suddenly he awoke and found himself lying on the ground just in front of his stool. The couple had already left the bar, and the barkeeper hastily stumbled to the telephone in the corner to call for help.
He felt dizzy, and only vaguely did he realize what he was just about to do. Tears filled his eyes. The tremendous perception of having once again lost the fight for his life made the foundations of his soul tremble in anxiety. He felt no longer any strength. He wouldn’t fight any longer.
At that magic moment, when the victorious hawk spreads his wings and digs its talons into the slain rabbit, the hunter and the prey finally become one. And so the man’s beaten body rested motionless while his last feeble cries for mercy went once again unheard, and his very existence seemed to fade away into nothingness …
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FrakKevin reviewed Version 1 -
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Duke reviewed Version 1 -
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This was very interesting. However, I think some readers may have trouble understanding exactly what was going on without knowing the painting. I did notice a few subtle slip-ups in grammar that was likely the result of English not being your first language, all of which were forgivable and still easy to understand with the exception of this paragraph:
“And what had he done that this nerve-racking barkeeper had to look daggers at him? Haven’t I been a good guest? Did I intrude into your affairs? He eyed the barkeeper suspiciously until the young man looked away and pretended to concentrate on his glasses.”
I don’t think that was the result of bad translation, just bad grammar.
Otherwise I really liked this. I found it interesting when you quickly and subtly changed from third person narrative to the voice inside of the man’s head however I think you should have made it a bit more clear what you were doing.
Finally, I think the ending could have been explained a bit better, I assume that the man died, but how? What was the hawk symbolic of, the angel of death perhaps?
Anyway, tell your student he did very well and that his English is very good but can still use some polishing up.
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lord_of_fools reviewed Version 1 -
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This is fantastic, considering it is written by someone for whom English is a second language. There are a few grammatical errors, but considered the author’s background, these are entirely forgiveable. I can’t remember ever having seen this painting, but the writing made me picture it in my mind and I’m going to look it up to see how accurate my imagining was. The use of the hawk and the lady in the red dress throughout the story were original and stood out very well. The language itself was beautiful, still retaining a little Germanness to it, if that makes sense, though I don’t think authors can help if their stories keep the rhythm of their original accent and language; it makes reading them all the more exciting. Tell your student that he did a wonderful job and that I am jealous of his skills in a foreign language- I only wish I could write so well in French or Japanese.
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