SIXTEEN
Remember
how I sent you a flower
and
you wrote to me that it was not a flower
but
a bird that flew into your window
when
you were sixteen and sitting on the chair
cutting
those tiny figures from paper
that
you said were a pale shadow
of
what Matisse did in his dying days
when
he was in France and bedridden
and
visited by Picasso who himself in those days
was
but an old man with wrinkles
the
size of your beautiful cutouts
that
included all sorts of creatures
that
your vivid imagination produced by night
but
also by day
when
Mildred sent you to work in the post-office
where
your job was so boring
that
you sometimes fell asleep and they woke you up
(the
senseless animals that they were)
with
a new pile of envelopes
which
you had to disassemble
into
a bunch of separate groups
that
were later picked up by local postmen
who
were so angry when you 'dared' to make a mistake
that they called you all those cruel names
which
you could never repeat
not
even to yourself
but
in fact they were madly in love with you
even
Mr. Fonstein who you once told me
had
this enormous collection
of
Playboy postcards
at
the bottom of his black leather bag
that
he was so proud of
as
this bag (he claimed)
came
from his great-grandfather
who
had built the post office a few million years
before
you put your pretty little foot in it
and
then got bored by the routine
that
made you think of all those creatures
that
were by turns fascinating and absolutely ghastly
and
made you scream at night
much
to the discomfort of Mildred
who had all those lovers sleeping with her
and
who may have been so disturbed by the noise
they
jumped out of bed right in the midst of it
and
never came back to Mildred
who
would in the morning ruin your breakfast
by
making a scene or just telling you off
for
being such a ‘spoilt and selfish little brat’
and
for destroying her life
which
had really been destroyed ages ago
when she had worked in the house of Mrs. Kitts
that
spooked us so much every time we passed it
in
those three weeks that we spent together
and
that I could never forget
and
wished to substitute with something new
but
failed miserably and instead came back
time
and time again to those wild gasps of pleasure
that added some strange spice to our walks
and
filled them with the understatement
we
could barely expect the night
when
I walked up to you
after
that strange Bergman film
that
you watched with some lanky idiot
who
yawned in the middle of it
and
whom you subsequently dumped
with
such phenomenal ease
that
I felt you had a list of idolaters
that
stretched way beyond London
where
you only came for a day
and
would later return home
and
I would think that was it, really, but in fact
you
replied and subsequently
I
found out about how awkward you were
and
yet how spontaneous and electrifying
and
my God how disorganised your
handwriting was
and how many nights I spent trying to read
those
bizarre scriptures that never contained 'I
love you'
or even
'I miss you'
and
instead concentrated on what you thought
of
this or that film, book, record
and
so walking by the house of Mrs. Kitts
was
an erotic experience so strong
that
it welled up inside us until it finally happened
and
we released it by the cherry tree
near
the place where I was staying
because
Mildred disliked me with a jealous passion
and
because I had the money from the military
that
could sustain me for those three weeks
before
I had to get back to the front
yet
I was no longer scared because I had you
you
who were so sensitive as to never mention death
in your letters except maybe indirectly
when
you asked me to be cautious
and
not to attempt any courage
because
otherwise you would cut me out of paper
(which
you did in the end)
and
hang me over the window
alongside
all those dreadful creatures
from
your nightmares that nothing could cure
except
for a small flower I sent you
before
they assigned me to my final mission
and
that flew into your window as a bird
of
which you told me in your last letter?
Yes,
I did receive it,
and
yes, you were only sixteen at that time,
and
innocent, and too immersed in life to know
that
one day
one
night
we
would really meet.
