Tales of a fisherman

It had been a harsh winter, during which Petar had cut out large chunks of ice to be able to fish. Now that it was finally summer, his days were much easier. No more kneeling down to saw through the thick layer of ice, inconveniently holding in his belly that had become far too large over the course of the season. Petar was surely enjoying his calm summer, fishing, doing renovations around the house and enjoying quiet reflection. He had foreseen he would come to resent Eli much, whom packed her bags and left him at the end of winter two years ago. She had grown tired of the ‘poor man’s shed in the cursed swamp’. Not only had she left him, she took his only funds and left on Sunday afternoon, their day off. Petar had closed himself off from love and from basically all non-essential human interaction.

The event had broken an inner piece of him that did not heal by itself. Eli had destroyed the man for a mere jar of money. Petar had retreated to self-sustainability as a man like him, lacking education and a trade, would hardly make his way in this world. At least that’s what he thought of himself. The image he had reduced himself to. Petar had gone through two years of self-hate and resentment towards the world and would feel discomfort seeing other happy couples. Apart from that, he had not often been open towards his own feelings. One misty morning, as he folded out his chair right next to tall, spiky plants growing up from the river, he concluded that he had little to lose and might as well sit and wallow for a day.

During his fishing reflections, Petar saw he had aged in the mirroring face of the water. He would not have forever, a thought he always tried to suppress. And though his life was peaceful, he wanted someone to share the early mornings with and someone to make a pot of tea for. He never drank it all on his own. On some particularly gloomy mornings, he poured two cups of tea just for the plain sight of it. A rather strange habit, he thought it to be. At least it made him feel a little more accompanied, just seeing the damp rise from the untouched cup.

And as he tried to face the thought he would not be on the face of the earth forever, something seemed to snap. His gloomy personality, that was molded into place by misfortune, failure and rejection, seemed to have its voice muted. As he reflected on his life, little had ever satisfied him. There would always be a tomorrow, a tomorrow in which he would get a new day falling out of the sky. A clean slate to begin on. And even though Petar was a simple man, he did not lack an inner life. If all, his imagination was rather colourful even though dark black in some nooks. What he wanted was just for one week to be alive and not live through the nagging thoughts of ‘what if’ and ‘should I only’..

It was pitch black when he walked over to the station and bought a second class ticket to the coast. Petar felt little joy towards his trip as he was quite nervous about what he would do on the coast. He had lacked stimuli from the outside world for quite a while and out of comfort had even chosen to avoid them. Now he would go search for them. He wanted to feel alive.

He breathed heavily as his anxious thoughts clouded the otherwise beautiful sunrise he witnessed through the train window. Of the little stress Petar had in life, the stress he did have was self-fabricated. His thoughts would grow darker and darker if he attached to them and started to fight them. His discomfort grew as the train chugged towards the coast and Petar even thought of getting off and taking the next train back west. Maybe he was supposed to live inside his little framework that he had designed for himself, to live comfortably in. Again, he looked at his reflection in the window and saw his face with the marks of age on it. He could not go on wallowing alone, watching the water crawl by each morning and sell the same fish day in day out. It would be a miserable existence.

Petar got to the coast and had a simple breakfast at a seaside cafe. He sipped three cups of coffee which he believed would give him confidence and strength. He tipped the waitress generously and had rarely felt more self-assured, as he crossed the pavement onto the beach. He took off his unpolished shoes and felt so energized he rushed to pull off his socks as well. He left it all right there in the sand and slowly but steadily walked over to the shore. It was the first time since his childhood that he had felt sand between his toes. This was something else than the pebbled riverbeds. A slight salty breeze gave him a taste of life that he rarely witnessed anymore. He sat down and put his feet into the water, that was warm and gently stroking his toes.

He sought a cheap boarding room near the main boulevard and to mark his victory of stepping into the world, he drank a whole bottle of red wine. That night, he was was handsomely walking along the boulevard and crossed the fair where everyone seemed to be having a great time. He felt remarkably sad though, the wine had made him very drowsy and he seemed to be more emotional after this already long day. Nothing at the fair seemed to get this attention and nobody at the fair seemed to pay attention to him. Then one stand got in his eyesight, it was a booth where you could fish for little ducks and win prizes such as plush animals or even a watch. Because he took the cheap boarding room he had a few coins left to make a catch. He seemed to have the experience needed and caught five ducks in a row effortlessly. ‘Fisherman, can you help me get that pink bear?’ whispered a silky lady voice right into his ear. Petar got a shiver over his back and the lady seemed to notice. She softly giggled and Petar struggled to find his words. ‘Well.. Yes okay’. Catching about eight more ducks in a row, the pink bear was handed over to Petar. He then gave it to Yana, the name of this sturdy blond lady with a full and lovely face.

And so, they both had a drink and retreated to the smudgy boarding room. Yana didn’t seem to mind, she was attracted to Petar’s confidence, his calmness and his eyes that were dark blue like the deep river he fished in. Eventually, when Petar slowly let his guards down, they had become immensely attracted to each other. A few months later, Yana, head over heels, drew in with Petar and so they lived near the river bank together and drank tea each morning. Petar was still broken but slowly, his wounds were healing. It seemed he found a partner. And every time she left for groceries on a Sunday afternoon, especially at the end of the winter, he would look at the pink bear in the living room, fearfully, until she’d come back.

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Ivan, the man by the pond

After having ignored his alarm clock for over 5 minutes, it was time for Ivan to get up. No matter what a man did, each morning waking up takes something from him. Whether it’s waking up to make breakfast for the family and bring the kids to school, to report for work or to take care of animals.. To first hug your wife and say good morning and then leave the sheets. To each his own. Ivan had lived through many hard mornings, just like this Tuesday when he woke up to a day that seemed the same as all others.

‘Oh lord why’, mumbled Ivan as he turned on the light on his nightstand. ‘I don’t.. Whatever..’ Nights are cold in this part of the country and Ivan had to pull open the window that had frozen to the frame. It felt to him like pulling off a band-aid, like the end of a soothing night in privacy that harshly and without mercy turned into another morning. He wanted none of it. ‘But what’s a man to do..’ Ivan thought. He put on his night robe and didn’t bother to make the bed. Nobody to keep the house tidy for anyway. Ivan stumbled to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He yawned for what seemed like a minute and slowly brought his jaws together again. He lit his first cigarette and watched the smoke crawl over the ceiling.

Ivan had all forgotten what he had dreamed about and he hadn’t remembered any dream since his wife left him. His nights were just a blur that he hoped would end as soon as did his days. There was little sense to it all, at least that’s how Ivan saw it. It had been so cold in the living room that the water Ivan poured was too cold to drink. It caused him a headache. Ivan had a rough shave like he always did. He chose to focus more on the left side of the face as he had done the right part yesterday. He’d always get bored after doing the one half so he couldn’t be bothered. It eventually evened out but his face always looked like a patchy field of dying grass.

‘I don’t even know how I get through my days at that cursed place..’ Ivan thought to himself. He was referring to the light bulb factory he had sold his hours for a mere simple man’s living. It had bored him to tears from the start as there was no variation at all. The only difference through the days were how bad his shaved looked and how many spoonfuls of sugar he felt like putting in his coffee. He’d quite had enough of it but felt his responsibility to at least pay to keep the heating running, as winter was coming. Every day again, Ivan had found a reason to turn up and let his boss walk over him again. He never worked fast enough, his boss was never satisfied with the number of light bulbs he stocked a day. Even if it would be a thousand shipments and the whole world and for all Ivan cared the whole universe would be lit with the damned bulbs, it wasn’t enough.

The boss, named Miroslav, had held a grudge towards Ivan ever since he spoke up about the shortened break hours. From then on his minutes were measured and so was his output; the number of boxes he piled up and wrapped in plastic to be then shipped to wherever. Ivan couldn’t care less even if they were shipped straight to the devil. He’d want to be home. As he had spent his morning already overthinking the dread of it all, it suddenly dawned upon him ‘what if I don’t go? What if I would do as I please all day? No, I should at least have a reason to abstain from working.. I am not sick and should not act like a sick man. I don’t want to call it on myself.’ Still, Ivan couldn’t let go of this idea. After all, though cold, the weather was still bearable and relatively sunny. He could do.. Stuff he wanted? What scared Ivan was that he didn’t know what he wanted. His life had revolved around the early waking hours and the late nights gulping down his soup and tearing and eating pieces of bread. There was little else going on in his life.

Even though Ivan resented leaving the wooden house to make his way to the bus stop, he put himself to it and put on his woolen socks and then his tall leather boots. He left the heating on slightly so not to have the pipes frozen and walked downhill. Birds were singing in the frosty morning and Ivan felt the cold air penetrating his lungs. Eventually Ivan waited at the bus stop with the other workers whose faces looked just as depressed as each morning. There was no place for Ivan in the bus stop so he waited next to it. The bus driver was one of the few people he could get on with. They had daily, pleasant conversations. Little did Ivan know that the driver called Stan would help change his day. And so Ivan hopped on the old bus that very slowly drove down the village main street, on the way to the industrial area in the nearby town. ‘Today I just don’t feel like it anymore, I just can’t bear the thought of turning up..’ said Ivan to Stan, whom steered around some potholes. ‘So you don’t go’, said Stan. ‘But how does that work?’ said Ivan hesitatingly. ‘You tell your boss to find another guy to bother and you just walk into the woods or something, enjoy some time for yourself.’ Ivan thought he had something going here and strongly aligned his thoughts to Stan’s. As all the workers got off, Ivan asked Stan if he could drive another round with him. Stan was up for this and so dropped Ivan off at the edge of the forest. ‘Do you know what you’re doing? Don’t lose yourself in there, the nights are cold..’ Stan said. Ivan clicked his tongue and got off the blue bus that drove farther down the muddy road.

As Ivan entered the forest, it didn’t even come up in him to let his boss know he wouldn’t turn up. The light bulbs could count themselves for all he cared. Ivan had no orientation of the forest as he had never been in this part of town before. He just kept walking and far away he heard some loud shots. The hunters had woken up as well and were probably tracking down deer. Ivan felt like a little kid, sitting at a small pond he discovered and looking at his own reflection in the water. He looked happy and fulfilled and noticed himself carrying a wide smile whilst staring at the face of the water. As he continued his walk around the lake, he lit a small fire from a pile of wood that had halfly burned up. ‘It must have been left by some hunter, there are even matches.’ Ivan started singing a song about early mornings and felt the peace and quiet around him. Eventually he realized that this could be one of the best days of his life.

He kept strolling through the forest and eventually, with a loud bang, his foot got stuck. Ivan didn’t feel anything until he looked as he had already fallen down onto the grass. It was a hunter’s trap that had been covered in branches.. He had not thought about this and screamed out of fear. As he couldn’t rid himself from the tight rope around his limbs, he kept lying in the grass. It didn’t hurt much but Ivan realized the danger of him being out in the cold, with nobody around..

This was not the only realization he had, it dawned upon him that he had experienced one of the best mornings of all his life just by listening to his heart. He had never been more afraid and happier at the same time. The tears were rolling down his cheeks. And so he concluded, with fear and regret of his previous mornings, that even though he’d have to spend the night, he could at least count the stars. And he would count all of them, just as he counted the light bulbs through all other days.

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#Shortstory

Short story: "Darko"

Awoken by a thunderstorm, Darko sat himself against a pile of pillows and wept away his eye discharge. It had been quite a heavy night with the guys and as often, it ended with him getting too little sleep for his business the next day. He thought little of himself, like he constantly disrespected the day after by always getting so little shuteye. In just half an hour, he’d have to be all set for the big event of today. Opening the window blinds, the sun was still hidden somewhere. The dark and gloomy sky greeted him with an anxious ‘good morning’. Anxiety was one of Darko’s more severe problems apart from the regular alcohol abuse. It could be correlated, he thought as he wrestled his fat legs through his narrow trousers. ‘The devil’, he hissed as he ripped right through the bottom whilst bending over to reach his socks.

Darko had a rough start of the day, quickly pouring a cup of dark roast coffee which he always gulped down in a few sips. His wife Mirya told him to be safe on the road after listening to the forecast on the morning program. She was cooking eggs as Darko slammed the terrace door aside to reach the porch, lighting up his first cigarette. Darko was certainly no healthy or handsome man but he had some manly ways that left women in awe. Just a certain type of women, until they saw right through the talk and the lies. He cared just for his business and his little built up pile of wealth. Mirya was not his first wife and might not have been his last. If only..

He stood on the porch not far from the pouring rain. The porch where he and his men had drunk, played cards, grilled meat, sang through the nights and now and then had a fight. His men would pick him up in ten minutes, Darko reminded himself as he checked his golden wristwatch that clenched more and more tightly around his hairy wrist. The golden watch had been passed on by his father whom wore it until his final day. Darko had dreamed about his father the last couple of nights, dreaming about his violent death, experiencing night sweats and waking up breathless. Mirya, the caring Mirya would lay him back to rest and hugged him until he relaxed and dozed off again. Darko got sweaty palms just thinking of the restless nights.

In front of the house, just one honk told Darko that it was time to go. He rushed back in and shoved the door, leaving it open so a chilly draft crept through the living room. Mirya handed him his long coat that reached over his knees. The one garment that did not make him feel like a heavy man at the moment. He hastily kissed Mirya goodbye and she went back to check upon the eggs. Darko took his thick wallet from the hallway table and rushed through the front door. Out there on the drive was the black Mercedes with the engine running. He could just see the bright headlights beaming through the millions of raindrops coming down from the sky. He was awaited by Mitko with an umbrella which covered both their heads. He was led to the back door and got in, Mitko shaking the drops off the wet umbrella and shutting the door gently. Mitko got in the front seat and offered Darko, the driver and the bald man in the back a cigar. The driver slowly backed down the car towards the forest road leading up to the mansion. Making a turn and slowly rolling down towards the village, the men did not speak a word and slowly sucked on their cigars. Darko could say they were nervous, and so was he. They were never to be told about Darko’s fear and anxiety as it would hurt his reputation and character. Even thought they suspected he had issues, while in the car they couldn’t think of anything apart from their own nerves.

The village was still asleep with just some vans stocking up the shops with bread and household items. Darko was known in the village but nobody mingled in his business. To each his own, the men all knew. Outside the village, the weather worsened and the driver decided to break the silence and heavy breathing of the men by switching on the radio. A slow jazz tune seemed to calm the nerves they were all trying so hard to hide. Fifty minutes south from the village it was the first turn right onto the dirt road. Before dropping speed and making the turn, the driver with a leather hat and a big round nose slowly ran his fingers down the silver cross hanging from the rear-view mirror. The car turned right and the men’s heads bumped up and down to the movements of the car as it drove through some potholes. ‘Take it easy there’, said Darko with a cracking voice. The leather hat then moved left and right observing all holes and navigating around them. The windshield wipers hastily moved up and down the window but the rain was so heavy they could hardly keep up.

The music was turned off to Darko’s instructions and the wipers were the only noise apart from the wheels of the car spinning to hold grip on the muddy road. ‘Does Mirya know?’ Mitko asked. The driver with his asymmetrical head adjusted the mirror to see Darko’s reaction. Darko frowned and stared outside the window. ‘No, poor her. Forget about it. It’s over now. She’ll get to know.’ The car had trouble crawling through the muddy curves leading up the mountain. ‘You’re all worthless’, mumbled Darko. He sighed heavily. ‘Why bring this car out of all I’ve provided you with?’ Nobody spoke for the last half hour. It was another right turn and the car got almost stuck. The driver touched the cross at the rear-view mirror again and pushed the now dirty car to its limit. It got unstuck and so the men arrived at a brick and mortar barrack with a cement sheet roof. The area, cut off from everything, was surrounded by trees just having lost their last leaves in the autumn storms. ‘We’re here’, said Mitko. His heavy boots first touched the muddy ground outside the car. ‘Coffee’s ready’, said a stocky bald man named Emil, standing in the door opening of the mountain shed. His trench coat protected him from the cold and it seemed he was about to leave. ‘Coffee with cream, as you like it. Everything is here for a month’s stay.’ Darko nodded slowly and gave Emil in his trench coat a thumbs up. ‘You may all leave now’, said Darko with a low voice. ‘Don’t tell anyone about me being here. Don’t speak to Mirya. I don’t want to have the same faith as my father’s’, he said while tightly holding onto his golden wrist watch.

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