Page 54 - May 2021 Litterateur
P. 54

Short Story










                                     There was a man -





                         Anna and the silent city.







                                      Elżbieta Adamiec, Poland









                     Anna, I saw children falling asleep. I used to believe in hope and love and

                     all  ideals.  Like  a  child,  I  long  for  the  moon  in  the  window  and  for  the
                     quietest lullaby hummed by my mother. Thanks to her, from time to time I

                     grow  angel  wings.  The  horizon  line  shines  and  the  depths  of  hell

                     disappear. I have never cut a shape of heart in the bark of a tree, the very
                     thought  of  such  deed  hurt  me,  even  though,  like  St.  Joseph,  I  would

                     always have a penknife or a tiny hatchet with me.



                     Anne  believe  me,  I  was  able  to  keep  silent  about  all  disappointments,  I

                     succeeded,  were  defeated  and  hid  like  a  child,  between  yesterday  and

                     tomorrow,  between  thought  and  silence,  a  word  and  hourglass,  where  a

                     grain  of  sand  sifts  into  time  and  into  silence.  Like  all  boys  I  was  not
                     brought up to be St. Joseph, I was him, I held a woman's hand, because

                     most simply I loved, built a house and had children.




                     I liked the sound of the sea in all those Januaries, Julies and Novembers
                     and  the  damp  beaches  got  populated  with  abandoned  shells,  divine

                     judgments and with time locked in a drop of amber.



                                    One day I will give you a name, said Anna lowering her head.



                     Look,  please  look  -  another  amber,  the  sacred  stone!  It  has  a  city

                     embedded in it: with mosses, ferns and an insect that has taken its final
                     position and become silent. Nothing will frighten it, nor will anything kill it.

                     A coda to the eternal city, the sea and thoughts that survived the tide, but

                     did not return and somewhere there they tell stories about calamus flasks,





                  Litterateur                                          54





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