NEST

NEST


“Where are you going with that?” I panted, looking at his jugular. He is quiet. By the jugular I recognized his rapid pulsation, beating like a broken clock. His lips were plump, lovely. His eyes were round and white, his pupils widened, the brown almost gone. Above them, the two balanced eyebrows raised like that Elenski Skok2F Bridge before Lazaropole. Two black locks from his thick wavy hair fell across his wrinkled forehead. They were still.
“Answer me! Where are you going with that? They’re my son’s, where are you headed? Speak!”
“What can I say, mate?” he said, in a moan.
“You’re stealing them! That’s what!” I snapped.
“They were left sitting here in the yard and I thought you didn’t need them. There, I left them.”
“Don’t need them? Kids leave things around, don’t act stupid! When I was little I used to leave my bike on the street. What business do you have touching what isn’t yours, huh?” His jugular looked like it would burst, and in my ears it was as if someone was marching on sand.
He whined again: “What can I tell you mate?” and took a step back.
I replied: “Who the fuck are you callin’ ‘mate’, mate! Don’t move, you’re dead!” I took out my cell phone, my hands shaking. “I’m calling the police!” My weight was on my left leg, my right thigh started going limp, my right knee started shaking, my guts were swimming, and my ankle started losing strength.
“Wait, dam… wait” he implored.
“Wait for what? What?” I looked at the numbers. “Do you dial 02 before 192?”
“I don’t know, I think you don’t. Wait a second” he said pleadingly, and I looked at him and marveled at his answer. Did I just ask him that?
“Wait”, he said slowly. “Here, I’ll just stand here. Hit me. Hit me as much as you want. Beat me, mate. I won’t defend myself, word to mother.” He blinked for the first time now. And there was nothing shrewd in those slow eyelids.
“Beat you?” and the dreamed images of me stomping him flashed through. “No, pal, I’m calling the police. Why should I beat you? I don’t need to beat you. You’ll answer for this.”
“They will beat me. You beat me instead.” and he emphasized they a bit.
I went mute. I was looking into his calm eyes. There was no defiance there. So this was what it felt like to stand before bared shoulders with a whip in your right hand.
“No. You’re stealing. Police.” The cell phone in my hand was shaking again.
“I’m ashamed, mat… Sorry. I thought you didn’t need them and I took them for my kids at home.”
“You mean you stole them?”

AuthorOgnen Cemerski
2018-10-30T11:30:43+00:00 October 21st, 2017|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 116|0 Comments