EXCERPTS
Violations
I have a stomach ache and hope that the man will leave as soon as he
finishes his coffee. I take his empty cup and while I’m standing near
him. He grabs my hand.
“I want you!” he blurts out.
“What?” I ask, convinced that I must have misheard him.
“I want you!” he repeats more loudly. It takes a few seconds before
the real meaning of his words sinks in. I feel myself color as I
condense every ounce of my human dignity in these three words:
“But I don’t!”
“I still want you!” he says, egging himself on. He won’t let go of
my hand. He gets up, grabs my other arm, and pulls me toward him with
one decisive movement. Now we stand eyeball to eyeball, and I can see
what a powerful change has come over him. His eyes glitter with the
instincts of the predator on the trail of its prey. This look is so
deep, so evil, that I realize that this human being who has just become a
beast could also become a killer. For a moment fear robs me of my
strength. I could scream; perhaps someone would actually hear it. But I
feel ─ I know
─ that if I scream, I will pay for it with my life. With his thick
hands, he would squeeze my throat until no sound would ever come out
again. Now his stare is radiating enormous power, as if he wants to
hypnotize me, and I understand that no supplication, no pleading, will
help me. Never before was I in such danger. I try to escape.
Father Theo
Father Theo is wearing his long, priestly black robe, which makes
his sturdy, muscular figure appear unusually slim. The large linked
silver chain he wears traces a taut V on his chest above the heavy
Byzantine cross. A delicately etched Christ and an inscription in Greek
adorn its golden center.
“What has happened to Laura?” I turn to him, offering the plate of kalash.
“Last year she never missed a single holy liturgy, and today she did
not come at all. She liked to watch me paint in silence, said it calmed
her. To tell you the truth, I find her a rather odd creature.”
“Small wonder, too. She did not have an easy life.”
“Have you heard anything?”
“They were just saying that she has been admitted to the psychiatric
institute again. It is a recurring problem with her unfortunately. Has
she not mentioned it?”
“No. But then, she spoke little about herself.”
“Nowadays they say that it is one’s childhood that determines one’s
entire life. And hers, you understand, has been a hard life. Her
stepfather, he—how shall I put it—constantly plagued her with his…
attentions, as it were.”
“I had no idea! I was wondering why
such a pretty creature was not married. But she said something once
about married life not being for her, and that this was something she
had known from quite an early age.
“I can well believe that,” the priest said, nodding.
“I did not realize what lay behind those words! Who would have
thought it? This, then, is her secret. Hers is like this. How many
people might have some deep, painful secret? How many I wonder?”
“Perhaps more than we would think,” Father Theo said, his voice trailing
off and his grayish eyes seeking out the distant ranges of the
mountains. These in turn, as though mirrored there, harden the lines
around the priest’s mouth.
“We might be surprised. If everyone
spoke about it openly, we would probably never have suspected it about
the majority of them. In truth, we only really find out about those who
actually become ill as a result of it. And that, after all, would
depend, besides the circumstances, also on the person’s spiritual and
mental constitution,” I analyze further.
“Indeed, we are not all alike,” says Father Theo, and the corner of his mouth seems to twitch almost imperceptibly.
“And life tests one, yes, and how!” I glance outside at the still
innocently blue sky. “I always thought that tragedy only afflicted other
people. I would never have believed that, that also to me, something
like that could actually happen.”
“With you?” Father Theo’s head jerks up and his eyes are upon mine.
“Once, in a hotel, abroad … that is, in the Soviet Union, a half
drunken comrade and he, he … and I did not dare to cry out because,
because I was afraid that he would strangle me, but even afterwards he
did not let me go, and again, I mean, he forced me again.” As I am
saying it, my heart doubles the volume of blood it hurls through my
veins. In the eyes of the priest a momentary revulsion flashes, which he
instantly hides beneath descending eyelids.
“I would never have
suspected this,” he murmurs, lifting the lightly closed fist of his
right hand and letting it drop into his lap.
“Um-hum,” Father
Theo says, shaking his head. He looks at me, perturbed. “It is
abominable! That you, umm, abominable!” He is silenced for a moment. “I
can imagine it um-hum, better than you think,” he says finally, almost
in a groan, as dew-like drops
materialize around the pores on his forehead, “but it is very difficult to speak about such things, um.”
“Surely you … you are not saying that, that you …?” I stutter.
The Old Hindu
