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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 01 | volume I | March, 1998



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 01March, 1998
Prose

Waiting for the Letter from the Girl I Love

/4
p. 1
Igor Isakovski

    The day starts around noon and walks to the letterbox. Afterwards I return to the flat with empty hands, or, at best with the telephone bill. Speaking of the phone I start to use it. A few hours later, a girl rings my doorbell. I open it. She enters, sometimes she removes her shoes, and stands in the doorway of my room. “My God, what a mess!”, cry all those girls. At such times they forget that it's my room and that I live in it. In their frenzy of forgetfulness they begin to clear up. Most of the time they are annoyed that the bed is not as it should be: pillow, sheet and blanket, that's if the blanket isn't on the floor. I used to think that they had a phobia of such beds, but then how could I explain the fact that all of them, or almost all of them, had been laying in it and making love to me. Girls are strange. “Your bed isn't made”, is what they always say. None of them make remarks about my desk. I suppose that a desk full of papers and books and on top of all that – a typewriter, is justified by the fact thah they consider me a writer. I imagine that the bed annoys them because they don't consider me to be a lover. Nor a sleeper. In any case, I'm a big dreamer. Very few of them are aware of that.
    Someone's at the door. I open it. It's the postman. He has a large envelope for me. It weights ½ a kilo. I am expecting to find some of the letters I've written to her over the past two years. In the envelope I find my short stories. They haven't won the competition. They came third. Third place in that competition isn't awarded any money and doesn't get printed. But the envelope itself is a surprise. Sometimes I think that my letterbox is cursed, that there is an invisible barrier around it that won't allow her letter in. So I always imagine that her letter will get through after another letter has broken down the barrier. Or at least made a small crack in it. That would be enough. I ask for no more.
    Someone knocks on the door. There isn't any electricity. I open the door. One of them is standing in my doorway.


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