Monday, March 07, 2005

I received the phone call last night. I was surprised. I thought something might have happened: he never calls me, and it was late, even later for him. His voice sounded distant, as if it came from the darkness. I went out to stairway so I could hear him more clearly. Yes, I said. In his usual way, he started asking me questions one after the other. The questions were informative, he wanted to know the exact details. His voice were laden with anxiety. Every word spelled mistrust, doubt and unease. In my usual way, I tried to reassure him, and to hold him back. I feigned confidence. In the weak light of the stairway, his questions attempted to grasp me; I felt like in a dream.
The same scene came back to haunt me later that very night. I was half awake, lying in bed. His warning, concerned tone rang in my ears, while at the same time I could feel my liver being stabbed, bitten and torn to pieces, at times by a vulture, other times with a sharp needle connected to a metal arm. The pain and fear kept me turning from side to side.

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