Hunger Transient Hero

27 Pages·2017·3.36 MB·English

A PETIT LITERARY JOURNAL
SPRING 2018 VOLUME 3 ISSUE 1
Hunger
Hunger / 1
The nobodies: nobody’s
children, owners of
Leaving San Salvador and heading
nothing. The nobodies:
toward Guazapa, Berta Navarro & the
the no ones, the
met a peasant woman displaced
nobodied, running
by the war. She was no different
like rabbits, dying Transient
from any of the other women
through life, screwed
and men who had exchanged
every which way.
hunger for starvation. But this
Who are not, Hero;
scraggly, ugly peasant woman
but could be.
was standing in the midst of
Who don’t speak desolation, her skin hanging
languages, loose on her bones and a scraggly,
or the Hunger
but dialects. ugly little bird in her hand. The
bird was dead and she was very
Who don’t have of Publishing &
slowly plucking its feathers.
religions,
The Publishing of
but superstitions.
Hunger / 2
Who don’t create art, Hunger
Painting by Ricardo Celma but handicrafts.
A system of isolation: Look out
Excerpts From Who don’t have culture, for number one. Your neighbor
Painting but folklore. is neither your brother nor by Mark Axelrod
The Book of
your lover. Your neighbor is a
Who are not human beings,
competitor, an enemy, an obstacle Almost all of this is from an
Embraces but human resources.
to clear or an object to use. The article I wrote in the 90s
Who do not have faces,
system feeds neither the body nor that was published in The New
by Eduardo Galeano
but arms.
the heart: many are condemned Internationalist which was the
Who do not have names, to starve for lack of bread and only periodical courageous enough
The Nobodies
but numbers. many more for lack of embraces. to publish it. I have revised and
added a bit, but what was true
Fleas dream of buying themselves Who do not appear in the history
With Permission of the Author two decades ago is pretty much
a dog, and nobodies dream of of the world,
true today so, rather than rewrite
escaping poverty: that one magical but in the police blotter
what has already been written
day good luck will suddenly rain of the local paper.
and still remains germane
down on them—will rain down in
The nobodies, who are not worth
especially in the United States, I
buckets. But good luck doesn’t rain
the bullet that kills them.
have decided to let it stand. As
down yesterday, today, tomorrow,
Vonnegut might say, “So it goes.”
or ever. Good luck doesn’t even fall
down in a fine drizzle, no matter
A quarter of a century ago, in
how hard the nobodies summon it,
1992, as the sun set on the Bush
even if their left hand is tickling,
Administration and the sun rose
or if they begin the new day with
on the Clinton Administration
their right foot, or start the new
(two sides of the same star), I
year with a change of brooms.
had witnessed the famine in
1
John Fowles Center for Creative Writing, Chapman University
Co n t e n ts
Memoir
Introduction FICTION POETRY
Ariel Dorfman ......................22
Eduardo Galeano ..................1 Jonathan Swift.......................5 allen Ginsberg .......................11
Heading South, Looking North: A
Excerpts From the Book of Embraces A Modest Proposal C’mon Pigs of Western Civilization
Bilingual Journey
Eat More Grease
Mark Axelrod ..........................1 Margaret Atwood ..................7
Luisa Valenzuela...................16
Hunger and the Transient Hero Bread
Dark Desires
Ian Prichard .............................8
Clarity Charles Bernstein ................16 BIOGRAPHIES
Rivulets of the Dead Jew
John Diamond-Nigh .............10
Dragon of Air Doris Lessing .........................17 About the Writers ...............24
Two Cities
Knut hamsun ..........................12
Hunger (Excerpt)
george Orwell .....................12
Down and Out in Paris and London
(Excerpt)
Flann O’Brien .........................13
The Poor Mouth (Excerpt)
Luisa Valenzuela...................18
From Death Cats/El Gato Eficaz
Steve Katz ...............................19
The Smoochers
Maxine Hong Kingston ........14
The Woman Warrior (Excerpt)
Charles Dickens ....................15
Oliver Twist (Excerpt)
Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge those who have helped make the publication of MANTISSA possible: President Daniele Struppa,
Dean Patrick Fuery, Dr. Joanna Levin, and Dr. Eric Chimenti.
This Issue was created by Chapman University’s Ideation Lab. Special thanks to Renee Bulda, Aly Carley, and Cassandra Taylor.
Look for Volume 4, Issue 1
in the Spring of 2019
2
Mantissa Journal Volume III Issue I
Introduction
Somalia with both consternation express that. And so I set myself whatever reasons they had, I had of Aesop’s Fables or a redesigned
and perplexity—at what was the task of writing to as many two dozen or so of the world’s cover of Tolstoy or Trollope. After
happening and at how I was so writers as I could to see if they finest writers, all of whom were all, those are all public domain.
ineptly capable of alleviating might contribute. In the course committed to contributing prose
Then I thought that, perhaps,
any aspect of it. Being a mere of four years I have written or poetry of some kind, and
Grove was an anomaly; perhaps
purveyor of words, I really had over 200 writers worldwide all I needed was a publisher, a
the publisher who had published
no idea of what I could do to help and of those 200 I have received publisher willing to publish
such distinguished humanists
remedy that horror or any other positive responses from about these writers, a publisher whose
as Beckett and Pinget and Genet
horror whose focus was pestilence. 26. And they are: Martin Amis, interest in social responsibility
had somehow changed directions.
Pestilence and hunger. Famine, Margaret Atwood, Christine was forthright and sincere.
mainly. Sitting on my sofa,
watching the nightly news and
feeling impotent to effect change
was not the principle upon which
one took remedial action. Nor was
sitting in my corner office working
diligently on the next piece of
fiction or deciding whether to
use an excerpt from Derrida or
Eco in an upcoming lecture. So, I
began to think about what I could
do to get involved since not to
remedying the problem was, as
Cleaver the Younger once so deftly
put it, being part of the problem
and being part of the problem was
not being part of the solution.
But what could I do, as a mere
purveyor of words, that would
get me off the couch and into the
universal melee that was hunger?
World hunger. Finally, I came
upon an idea to organize and edit
a collection of fiction, poetry and
essays devoted to hunger, written
by writers from all over the world
and published by a publisher who
would donate most of the profits
to a foundation whose mission
it was to help remedy the burden
of world hunger. I set out very
systematically to discover a Painting by Alejandro Boim
foundation that would be eager I first contacted Grove Press From new directions to newer
to participate in such a program thinking, of course, that such a directions. Perhaps others,
Brooke-Rose, J.M. Coetzee,
and I found one in the Freedom distinguished press, a press of when they discovered such a fine
Maryse Condé, Ariel Dorfman,
From Hunger Foundation of Davis, noble causes and richly-stocked collection of writers and writing,
Raymond Federman, Eduardo
California which, “founded in writers, would be interested. And would be as enthusiastic about
Galeano, Allen Ginsberg, Günter
1946, [...] promotes ‘Self-Help for they were. For a time. Until the the possibility as I was. Perhaps
Grass, Alasdair Gray, Thomas
a Hungry World.’” Their mission day came when they informed Noonday would be interested.
Keneally, Maxine Hong Kingston,
“is to create, develop, demonstrate, me that “the collection would After all, they published and still
Doris Lessing, Wole Soyinka, Ben
and disseminate, worldwide, not make much money.” But published Hamsun’s Hunger and,
Stoltzfus, Ronald Sukenick, Luisa
innovative programs to eliminate I didn’t think making a lot of after all, it documents the horror
Valenzuela, Gerald Vizenor, and
chronic hunger by providing money was the point. At least of hunger—albeit in an artistic
Elie Wiesel. I also had the good
resources and information that not making a lot of money for the way. But perhaps that kind of
fortune of interesting Madame
empower the poorest families publisher. Making some money hunger is easier to publish. After
Jehan Sadat, an enthusiastic
and communities to help for the foundation which, in all, it happened over a hundred
supporter of the Freedom From
themselves.” They appeared effect, might put some bread on years ago, and late nineteenth-
Hunger Foundation, to write a
to be the kind of foundation the ground for some child in, say, century Norwegian hunger isn’t
foreword to the collection. And
with whom I could work and Ethiopia was the point. But I was fin de siècle American hunger
then there were others who
they had been very helpful in wrong. Profitability was the point. or Latin American hunger or
have not committed, but who
sending me material which I How naive. And in my naïveté Rwandan hunger, and Hamsun
said they’d consider it. There
could forward to the writers. I marveled at the loss of the pro won a Nobel Prize and... well,
were, of course, a lot of missing
bono spirit of publishing. At least you get the idea. In short, their
writers, noble and not Nobel Prize
Once I had a conduit for the
semi-pro bono. Not in that world. answer was “this would not
winners, who did not wish to
“profits,” my next goal was to
No “kinder, gentler” humanists be suitable for our list” and, of
participate. For whatever reason.
interest writers. Writers from
there. No, what I discovered were course, “list suitability” is
There were a number of American
around the world. Writers
bottom-line guys and dolls whose of paramount importance
writers, minority writers, who
who had either experienced
quest for the absolute seemed to in the publishing world.
did not wish to participate either.
or understood the debilitating
be hedged in a “new” collection
For whatever reason. But for
effects of hunger and who could
3
John Fowles Center for Creative Writing, Chapman University
Introduction
I’ve continued to scour the book The Blockbuster Complex: The endpiece is a painting by the
Manhattan pavements for a Conglomerates, Show Business Chilean painter, Camilo Ambrosio.
publisher who might be interested and Book Publishing that “Given In both cases, I am extremely
in this collection, but the results the preoccupation of publishers grateful to them for allowing
have been fruitless. Without and editors with acquiring and me to reproduce their pieces.
naming names, just about every promoting best-sellers, and the
major publisher has repeated evident decline in editorial Dismissed by the
the same phrase to me: “it won’t standards, the question of how disingenuousness of the New York
turn a profit.” Curious, that in authors whose works have more publishing establishment and in
an industry which thrives on literary than commercial promise a pique of rejection, I composed
the “stripped cover” and the may fare today is a crucial one for an essay, this essay, as a way of
junk book, no one would be the industry. From what I have expressing my frustration with
interested in supporting an issue been able to observe, apprehension the Mad Ave. moguls. I said to
like hunger simply because it is widespread—among authors, myself, send this essay out to
might not make “big bucks.” It among many agents, among some magazines in order to expose the
reminds me of the admonition I editors, and even among some publishing industry’s callousness
once received from a Hollywood heads of conglomerate-owned to things that matter. No luck.
producer that I shouldn’t write publishing houses—that in the The Nation ignored me; as did
any film script which had to do blockbuster era the artistic worth Harper’s and The Atlantic; only
with American Indians since, of many individual authors is Esquire had the decency to write
well, Indians don’t sell at the box being sighted or ignored, and their me their sympathy. Undaunted,
office. And, apparently, hunger minimum means of livelihood I made a tape of the essay and
doesn’t sell in the bookstores rendered more precarious than sent it to National Public Radio;
or on college campuses. ever” (Whiteside 103). One certain beyond any reasonable
may, by extension, include uncertainty that they, of all
One of the latest publishers (in
books of purpose as well. media, would eagerly broadcast
a series of publishers who sit
it. After all, how many essays
behind four walls and several Clearly, some may recognize my
on “what it was like to go to my
windows) told me she was attempt to get this anthology
high school reunion” could they
reluctant to publish an anthology published as being a fruitless
play? But their response was
with only half of the collection in one done in a meager effort to
equal to the rest. In ways it was
hand. That is to say, she seemed try to rectify the heretofore
even more puerile, since they said
concerned that the writers who unrectifiable notion that in a free-
it would be better as “a written
were writing original works could market, Friedmanian economy
essay” than one made for radio.
not fulfill the task. I asked her if “some must eat and some must
she were worried that writers like starve, depending on the vouchers So, after 25 years of getting
Martin Amis or Ariel Dorfman or one has,” but I felt certain that nowhere in an attempt to publish
Wilson Harris weren’t up to the somewhere on the streets of the literature of hunger and not
task of writing a piece on hunger. Manhattan, somewhere, someone, the hunger of literature, I have
She replied that she was concerned someone other than someone my own platform to do so.
they couldn’t do a very good job who by Grand Central Station sits
writing “on assignment.” Hunger? down to weep, would redefine the
An assignment? “You mean you issue of the bottom line in terms
think none of these writers has of the human condition rather
ever thought about that issue?” I than capital gains. Needless to
asked. She hedged. And hedged say, the relationship between
again. And the hedging was profit and prophet goes beyond
merely another way of saying, “we the homonym of spelling and I
won’t make any money.” Except continue to search impatiently for
she didn’t have the courage to say an editor who can recognize the
that. It’s not politically correct to spirit of humanity. So far there
decline to publish an anthology is little fruit either in America
on hunger based on content alone, or England. This is where the
one must have an excuse. Hers revised portion comes in.
was to cast doubt upon the ability
When all else fails, publish
of the writers to produce a work of
yourself. So, I decided to devote
substance, rather than consign her
this 3rd edition of MANTISSA
decision to the god of profitability.
to “hunger” in several of its
To say I have been disappointed iterations. I’m including stories
by the New York publishing written by those people who so
“community” is to say the very graciously offered to submit a
least. Perhaps the industry quarter of a century ago and those
“reflects” the tenor of the times, who only recently submitted. I’m
the Gingrich tenor, the balanced- also devoting this issue to the
budget-at-all-costs tenor, the first person who agreed to submit
disdain for social responsibility something; namely, the late
tenor, the tenor of the times. Eduardo Galeano... and in honor
Perhaps it’s always been that of his first contribution, I’m also
way. I’m reminded of the quote including a painting of him by the
from Thomas Whiteside’s 1980 Argentine painter, Ricardo Celma.
4
Mantissa Journal Volume III Issue I
Fiction
A Modest
There is likewise another great nor cultivate land: they can very baked, or boiled; and I make
advantage in my scheme, that seldom pick up a livelihood by no doubt that it will equally
Proposal it will prevent those voluntary stealing, till they arrive at six serve in a fricassee or a ragout.
abortions, and that horrid practice years old, except where they are
by Jonathan Swift I do therefore humbly offer it to
of women murdering their bastard of towardly parts, although I
public consideration that of the
children, alas! too frequent among confess they learn the rudiments
It is a melancholy object to those hundred and twenty thousand
us! sacrificing the poor innocent much earlier, during which time,
who walk through this great town children already computed,
babes I doubt more to avoid the they can however be properly
or travel in the country, when twenty thousand may be reserved
expense than the shame, which looked upon only as probationers,
they see the streets, the roads, for breed, whereof only one-
would move tears and pity in the as I have been informed by a
and cabin doors, crowded with fourth part to be males; which
most savage and inhuman breast. principal gentleman in the
beggars of the female sex, followed is more than we allow to sheep,
county of Cavan, who protested
by three, four, or six children, all The number of souls in this black cattle or swine; and my
to me that he never knew above
in rags and importuning every kingdom being usually reckoned reason is, that these children are
one or two instances under the
passenger for an alms. These one million and a half, of these I seldom the fruits of marriage, a
age of six, even in a part of the
mothers, instead of being able to calculate there may be about two circumstance not much regarded
kingdom so renowned for the
work for their honest livelihood, hundred thousand couple whose by our savages, therefore one
quickest proficiency in that art.
are forced to employ all their time wives are breeders; from which male will be sufficient to serve
in strolling to beg sustenance four females. That the remaining
for their helpless infants: who as hundred thousand may, at a
they grow up either turn thieves year old, be offered in the sale
for want of work, or leave their to the persons of quality and
dear native country to fight for fortune through the kingdom;
the Pretender in Spain, or sell always advising the mother to
themselves to the Barbadoes. let them suck plentifully in the
last month, so as to render them
I think it is agreed by all parties
plump and fat for a good table. A
that this prodigious number of
child will make two dishes at an
children in the arms, or on the
entertainment for friends; and
backs, or at the heels of their
when the family dines alone, the
mothers, and frequently of
fore or hind quarter will make
their fathers, is in the present
a reasonable dish, and seasoned
deplorable state of the kingdom
with a little pepper or salt will
a very great additional grievance;
be very good boiled on the fourth
and, therefore, whoever could
day, especially in winter.
find out a fair, cheap, and
easy method of making these I have reckoned upon a medium
children sound, useful members that a child just born will
of the commonwealth, would weigh 12 pounds, and in a
deserve so well of the public solar year, if tolerably nursed,
as to have his statue set up for increaseth to 28 pounds.
a preserver of the nation.
I grant this food will be somewhat
But my intention is very far from dear, and therefore very proper
being confined to provide only for for landlords, who, as they
the children of professed beggars; have already devoured most
it is of a much greater extent, and of the parents, seem to have
shall take in the whole number the best title to the children.
of infants at a certain age who are
born of parents in effect as little Infant’s flesh will be in season
able to support them as those who throughout the year, but more
demand our charity in the streets. plentiful in March, and a little
before and after; for we are told by
As to my own part, having turned a grave author, an eminent French
my thoughts for many years number I subtract thirty thousand I am assured by our merchants, physician, that fish being a prolific
upon this important subject, and couples who are able to maintain that a boy or a girl before twelve diet, there are more children born
maturely weighed the several their own children, although I years old is no salable commodity; in Roman Catholic countries
schemes of other projectors, I apprehend there cannot be so and even when they come to this about nine months after Lent than
have always found them grossly many, under the present distresses age they will not yield above at any other season; therefore,
mistaken in the computation. of the kingdom; but this being three pounds, or three pounds reckoning a year after Lent, the
It is true, a child just dropped granted, there will remain an and half-a-crown at most on the markets will be more glutted
from its dam may be supported hundred and seventy thousand exchange; which cannot turn than usual, because the number
by her milk for a solar year, with breeders. I again subtract fifty to account either to the parents of popish infants is at least three
little other nourishment; at thousand for those women who or kingdom, the charge of to one in this kingdom: and
most not above the value of two miscarry, or whose children die nutriment and rags having been therefore it will have one other
shillings, which the mother may by accident or disease within at least four times that value. collateral advantage, by lessening
certainly get, or the value in the year. There only remains one the number of papists among us.
I shall now therefore humbly
scraps, by her lawful occupation hundred and twenty thousand
of begging; and it is exactly at one children of poor parents annually propose my own thoughts, I have already computed the
year old that I propose to provide born. The question therefore is, which I hope will not be charge of nursing a beggar’s
for them in such a manner as how this number shall be reared liable to the least objection. child (in which list I reckon
instead of being a charge upon and provided for, which, as I have all cottagers, laborers, and
I have been assured by a very
their parents or the parish, or already said, under the present four-fifths of the farmers) to be
knowing American of my
wanting food and raiment for situation of affairs, is utterly about two shillings per annum,
acquaintance in London, that a
the rest of their lives, they shall impossible by all the methods rags included; and I believe no
young healthy child well nursed
on the contrary contribute to hitherto proposed. For we can gentleman would repine to give
is at a year old a most delicious,
the feeding, and partly to the neither employ them in handicraft ten shillings for the carcass of a
nourishing, and wholesome
clothing, of many thousands. or agriculture; we neither build good fat child, which, as I have
food, whether stewed, roasted,
said, will make four dishes of
houses (I mean in the country)
5
John Fowles Center for Creative Writing, Chapman University
fiction
excellent nutritive meat, when he above twenty years ago, and in
hath only some particular friend conversation told my friend, that
or his own family to dine with in his country when any young
him. Thus the squire will learn person happened to be put to
to be a good landlord, and grow death, the executioner sold the
popular among his tenants; the carcass to persons of quality as
mother will have eight shillings a prime dainty; and that in his
net profit, and be fit for work till time the body of a plump girl of
she produces another child. fifteen, who was crucified for an
attempt to poison the emperor,
Those who are more thrifty
was sold to his imperial majesty’s
(as I must confess the times
prime minister of state, and other
require) may flay the carcass;
great mandarins of the court, in
the skin of which artificially
joints from the gibbet, at four
dressed will make admirable
hundred crowns. Neither indeed
gloves for ladies, and summer
can I deny, that if the same use
boots for fine gentlemen.
were made of several plump young
girls in this town, who without
As to our city of Dublin, shambles
one single groat to their fortunes
may be appointed for this purpose
cannot stir abroad without a
in the most convenient parts
chair, and appear at playhouse
of it, and butchers we may be
and assemblies in foreign fineries
assured will not be wanting;
which they never will pay for, the
although I rather recommend
kingdom would not be the worse.
buying the children alive, and
dressing them hot from the
Some persons of a desponding
knife, as we do roasting pigs.
spirit are in great concern about
that vast number of poor people,
A very worthy person, a true
who are aged, diseased, or maimed,
lover of his country, and whose
and I have been desired to employ
virtues I highly esteem, was
my thoughts what course may
lately pleased in discoursing on
be taken to ease the nation of so
this matter to offer a refinement
grievous an encumbrance. But
upon my scheme. He said that
I am not in the least pain upon
many gentlemen of this kingdom,
that matter, because it is very
having of late destroyed their
well known that they are every
deer, he conceived that the want
day dying and rotting by cold
of venison might be well supplied
and famine, and filth and vermin,
by the bodies of young lads and
as fast as can be reasonably
maidens, not exceeding fourteen
expected. And as to the young
years of age nor under twelve; so
laborers, they are now in as
great a number of both sexes in
hopeful a condition; they cannot
every country being now ready
get work, and consequently pine
to starve for want of work and
away for want of nourishment, to
service; and these to be disposed
a degree that if at any time they
of by their parents, if alive, or
are accidentally hired to common
otherwise by their nearest
labor, they have not strength to
relations. But with due deference
perform it; and thus the country
to so excellent a friend and so
and themselves are happily
deserving a patriot, I cannot be
delivered from the evils to come.
altogether in his sentiments; for
as to the males, my American
acquaintance assured me, from
frequent experience, that their
flesh was generally tough and
lean, like that of our schoolboys
by continual exercise, and their
taste disagreeable; and to fatten
them would not answer the charge.
Then as to the females, it would, I
think, with humble submission
be a loss to the public, because
they soon would become breeders
themselves; and besides, it is not
improbable that some scrupulous
people might be apt to censure
such a practice (although indeed
very unjustly), as a little bordering
upon cruelty; which, I confess,
hath always been with me the
strongest objection against any
project, however so well intended.
But in order to justify my friend,
he confessed that this expedient
was put into his head by the
famous Psalmanazar, a native
of the island Formosa, who
came from thence to London
6
Mantissa Journal Volume III Issue I
fiction
Bread
that you can see the bread, you
can even smell it, it smells like
by Margaret Atwood
yeast, and it looks solid enough,
First published in Murder in the Dark solid as your own arm. But can
you trust it? Can you eat it? You
Imagine a piece of bread. You
don’t want to know, imagine that.
don’t have to imagine it, it’s right
here in the kitchen, on the bread
With Permission of the Author
board, in its plastic bag, lying
beside the bread knife. The bread
knife is an old one you picked
up at an auction; it has the word
BREAD carved into the wooden
handle. You open the bag, pull
back the wrapper, cut yourself a
slice. You put butter on it, then
peanut butter, then honey, and
you fold it over. Some of the honey
runs out onto your fingers and
you lick it off. It takes you about
a minute to eat the bread. This
bread happens to be brown, but
there is also white bread, in the
refrigerator, and a heel of rye
you got last week, round as a full
stomach, then, now going mouldy.
Occasionally you make bread.
You think of it as something
relaxing to do with your hands.
Imagine a famine. Now imagine
a piece of bread. Both of these
things are real but you happen
to be in the same room with only
one of them. Put yourself into a
different room, that’s what the
mind is for. You are now lying
on a thin mattress in a hot room.
The walls are made of dried earth
and your sister, who is younger Painting by Alejandro Boim longer had any food left. She went
than you are, is in the room with to her sister and asked her for a
you. She is starving, her belly is tell, thirty or forty or a hundred mouthful of bread. ‘My children
bloated, flies land on her eyes; you of your friends, your comrades, are dying,’ she said. The rich
brush them off with your hand. will be caught and will die. If sister said, ‘I do not have enough
You have a cloth too, filthy but you refuse to tell, tonight will for myself,’ and drove her away
damp, and you press it to her lips be like last night. They always from the door. Then the husband
and forehead. The piece of bread is choose the night. You don’t think of the rich sister came home and
the bread you’ve been saving, for about the night however, but wanted to cut himself a piece
days it seems. You are as hungry about the piece of bread they of bread; but when he made the
as she is, but not yet as weak. How offered you. How long does it first cut, out flowed red blood.
long does this take? When will take? The piece of bread was
Everyone knew what that meant.
someone come with more bread? brown and fresh and reminded
You think of going out to see if you you of sunlight falling across a
This is a traditional German
might find something that could wooden floor. It reminded you of
fairy-tale.
be eaten, but outside the streets a bowl, a yellow bowl that was
are infested with scavengers and once in your home. It held apples The loaf of bread I have conjured
the stink of corpses is everywhere. and pears; it stood on a table you for you floats about a foot above
can also remember. It’s not the your kitchen table. The table is
Should you share the bread or
hunger or the pain that is killing normal, there are no trap doors in
give the whole piece to your
you but the absence of the yellow it. A blue tea towel floats beneath
sister? Should you eat the
bowl. If you could only hold the the bread, and there are no strings
piece of bread yourself? After
bowl in your hands, right here, attaching the cloth to the bread
all, you have a better chance
you could withstand anything, or the bread to the ceiling or the
of living, you’re stronger. How
you tell yourself. The bread they table to the cloth, you’ve proved
long does it take to decide?
offered you is subversive, it’s it by passing your hand above and
treacherous, it does not mean life. below. You didn’t touch the bread
Imagine a prison. There is
though. What stopped you? You
something you know that you
There were once two sisters. One
don’t want to know whether the
have not yet told. Those in control
was rich and had no children,
bread is real or whether it’s just a
of the prison know that you know.
the other had five children and
hallucination I’ve somehow duped
So do those not in control. If you
was a widow, so poor that she no
you into seeing. There’s no doubt
7
John Fowles Center for Creative Writing, Chapman University
fiction
Clarity
thing, anyway. Calling her had lab notes crinkling beneath them express their true selves. He was
been a test, a last-minute gauge and textbooks digging into her unconcerned as to what form these
by Ian Prichard
to see what power she still held back, Kira knew the feeling was expressions took, suggesting only
“Poor Tom,” she said, and hung over him. And instead of fleeing, something else entirely. Victory that their intensity increase. Nine
up. For more years than he instead of fending off panic was too strong a word, but agency, in ten of the men Tom brought to
cared to count, it’d been “Poor and cascading into frenzy, here certainly, and pride, and whatever him never showed up a third time,
Tom,” then emptiness. he was, wondering almost idly else you called the opposite of but those that stayed kept telling
how long that kite string was shame. A kind of astonished Jonah things. Torments they’d
Tom could quite literally do the today. Was she in Istanbul? elation, like walking through suffered as children. Abuses
math, could see as they spoke Buenos Aires? Across town? the curtain of a waterfall to they’d doled out since. Thought
the wireless connection between find not a dimly lit overhang, dreams and impulses they’d
them, clear as kite string between For many years, Tom wished he’d but what you always thought planned to take to their graves.
cans. And when it was over— never met Kira. It never stopped life should be, what existence,
those two words were a visceral him from calling, but he used to what existing should feel like. Soon, the weight of their
severance. Shears through string. daydream about her falling off collective debt was palpable, the
Gristle yielding under the knife. cliffs or stepping in front of a bus. The last time she’d seen him, the strain of it showing in Jonah’s
Something shattering and final. sun hadn’t made it up over the face. Tom longed to shoulder
“Wait,” he’d choke into the row houses across the street. She some of the burden—not for the
space between his name He was clear of all that now, was up, working, and annoyed. glory, or the secrets, but to ease
and the silence. “Wait.” though, thanks to Jonah. And his keeper’s pain. Jonah was
he slid his phone back into his “I don’t like showing up like
candid with him, and the method
Then he’d come back to himself, at pocket and jogged back across this,” he said, an ataxic gesture
was plain, but the endgame
a bar examining freshly scuffed the street to join them. indicating all the different
had been beyond Tom’s ken.
knuckles, or in a convenience thises that he meant, his eyes
store buying cigarettes he’d never ❧ bloodshot and red-rimmed. “Prepare your heart to be
smoke, or bent double in the street spontaneous,” Jonah had told
sucking air after what his lungs “I’ll let you if you pay me,” she’d “I know,” Kira said. “But him, once he started speaking
told him was a long, hard run. said back then, the words nearly you can’t come in.” in aphorisms about closure
drowned out by the vein-flooding and the fullness of circles, and
Tonight, though, staring at the “But I have it.” Crumpled bills
rush. Kira thought at first that dragging his boning knife
phone in his hand, “Call Ended” lay cradled in his open, shaky
the feeling was shame. It should across the whetstone, Tom
fading to black, such desperations palm, the smell of stale bed
have been, from what she knew finally knew what he meant.
barely registered. He’d been calm linen and the need for sun rising
then of the world and morality.
for several weeks now, returned off him. “Poor Tom,” she said.
But in its wake, with Tom pulling ❧
almost to a pre-Kira state. What “Look what it’s done to you.”
twenties from his wallet, with
he could remember of such a
For a moment Kira wondered if she To say Kira sold sex would be
were about to see a man liquefy, or to grossly oversimplify what
spontaneously combust—some it was she did. Unlike college,
Victorian nightmare come to life. she discovered shortly after
But he pulled himself together and leaving it, the real world was a
walked down the stairs. When he place where if you call someone
was beyond the gate, Kira hollered stupid, he’ll give you money. This
after him, “You can still call.” was true at all levels, and what
Kira specialized in was finding
❧
men who believed themselves
impervious to bullshit, and
For generations, the blocks shoveling it down their throats.
around CJ’s had been a family
Like any good consultant, she
neighborhood, its composition
convinced people that she alone
a microcosm of the city at large.
held the key to a problem they
It was decrepit now, and half-
weren’t aware they had. She
vacant, and the six-figurines were
simplified game theory to an
pouring in. Most of them loved
elevator pitch McLaren-driving
living in the overpriced squalor,
assholes could pretend they
with coffeehouses and art spaces
understood, and by applying
sprouting around them—Tom
to financial markets certain
was there for the others, those at
cosmological principles like
the end of the bar, back to the TV,
the ubiquity and perpetual
gaze fixed firmly on their receding
expansion of dark energy, she
potential. If a mark mentioned
made a name for herself in ever-
the word “unfair,” or so much
smaller circles on ever-higher
as hinted at the concept, Tom
floors of ever-taller buildings.
would nod at Jonah, who would
approach, buy a round, and listen.
She required cash, up front, and
billed the sex in seven-minute
All Jonah required was faith—
increments as a change order
willingness in the absence of
under “executive management.” It
explanations, as he had it. There
gave her timid clients the board-
was no dogma, and little in the
way of core philosophy. Jonah
simply encouraged them to
Painting by Alejandro Boim
8
Mantissa Journal Volume III Issue I
fiction
Dubai started talking again, assumed psychologists would standing over whoever’s voice it
whining really, but Kira’s call denial, Tom knew it was was squeezed the trigger again,
attention drifted. More than a the same, but why bring it up and the street went silent and still.
mile off the freeway, it was quiet from down there, to cheapen
Standing in the aftermath, as
here in the middle of the night, his devotion? So his conception
the kids came back to life and
and while she was sure that what of Kira existed in suspension,
apartment windows slid up
she was hearing was the tramp untethered from reality or
and everyone started dialing
of heavy-soled boots, there was principles. The way he longed
9-1-1, Kira thought of the police,
a moment of disbelief, of eerie for her, and the hope with which
of the time they’d take, the
disconnect before she realized the he staunched his hemorrhaging
money she’d be out. “Nothing
boots were not some aural illusion pain—these too existed in a blind
that concerns us,” she said to
but actually treading her street. spot, simultaneously purposeful
Dubai when he asked what was
She turned towards the sound and and beyond any semblance of will.
happening. She turned against
saw seven men in quasi-military
“Have you ever heard an the stream of people rushing to
garb marching, not in formation,
IV drug user describe his meet the sirens, and walked her
but in gaits coordinated enough
addiction?” Jonah had asked client through the presentation
that their footfalls rang together.
when Tom first explained it. he was making in forty minutes.
They carried knives—kitchen
room confidence they needed, and knives and cleavers, from what And so Tom had come up
leeched her unrulier ones of just Kira could tell, and one that with tonight’s errand as an
enough of their volatility to keep looked like a small sword. intervention, a way to break
them toeing their investors’ line. the cycle. He diagrammed the
She was close enough to see
location, chose the night, lined
There was a third type, the ones their faces, or would have been,
up the clothes, told the men to
Forbes, etcetera, considered pillars had they not been shrouded in
bring their knives. He didn’t know
of the international economy— balaclavas. There was some fear
what they’d do once they got
and, increasingly, that Forbes, hanging around somewhere, in
there—Jonah had taught them to
etcetera, didn’t mention at all. her twitchy quads and deep
plan well but leave the act itself
What she did with these men breaths, but mostly it was
to inspiration—but they all knew
was rearrange them, morally, curiosity she felt, watching
it was “next-level shit,” as one of
motivationally, permanently. them cross over her street on
the men put it, excitedly, when
They have more in common with their way up the main road.
they were only a few blocks away.
every other male on the planet
❧
than either group would like to
❧
admit, but one trait unique to
them was that at a certain stage Tom didn’t recognize Kira, either,
When the first screams came—
in their development they were though he did see her. She was
shrieks of panic from the women
deprived of something they backlit by a street lamp, and the
and the beastly roar of male
wanted very badly, and they mask, hanging down over his
aggression—Kira took a few
had built their lives around the eyebrows, made the distance
strides in their direction. Then
determination to never experience fuzzy. But even in broad daylight
a couple of shots popped off,
the feeling again. Kira wasn’t so he wouldn’t have taken her in
loud as hell but small caliber,
fragile that she could commiserate, right away. He had no reason
probably something tiny like
but she recognized the emotional to expect her, for one, and two,
hers, like what she was reaching
mechanism, and she manipulated for the first time in twenty
for, fumbling for in her purse, not
that fear in ways that the men years, she wasn’t on his mind.
finding. She stopped. Sorry, girls,
who paid her to do so invariably,
His mind was on a building three she thought, you’re on your own.
afterwards, wished they hadn’t.
blocks ahead. Storefronts below,
Most of them simply disappeared Kids rushed out of a pizza
apartments above, a string of girls
from her life when she told them joint, shouting, pointing at the
out front. He’d never thought
the bill they’d just paid would be uniformed men retreating, full
of himself as someone who had
their last. The more vindictive speed, the knives they still
anything against prostitutes.
among them—a trait she gripped catching the intermittent
Lust was an urge that required
cultivated—exacted their revenge lights of the night street. Kira
satisfaction, and if the notions of
not on her, but on the colleagues counted six. In their wake,
romantic love peddled by Disney
or rivals they referred her to. girls who’d slipped their heels
movies and the American popular
were in hot, barefoot pursuit.
These days, Kira’s practice song were a lie—which Tom
comprised almost solely men from knew them to be—at least there Then a groan of agony came from
this third group, and it was to one was a modicum of honesty about the center of violence. Then
of them that she was talking an the world’s oldest profession. another, this one sounding more
hour after hanging up on Tom. like a word. Then the word, clearly,
Neither, however, had he ever
repeated three times, each louder
“No, you listen to me,” she said quite come to terms with the fact
than the one before. “No.” The
into the phone, to a man in Dubai. that what he’d done with Kira
man had to be making an effort
She was on the street smoking a counted as the same thing. He’d
for his voice to carry so well.
cigarette. “That’s actually why chalked their transactions up
“Please. Look. I. You,” the voice
you pay me. I’m terribly sorry you to a quirk of their friendship, a
said. “I won’t.” Kira couldn’t place
thought I was going to be there kind of quid-pro-quo generosity
it, but for a second it registered
today, but since I never told you he could afford. On some level,
as familiar. Then whoever was
I was, I’m actually not sorry.” buried under strata of what he
9
John Fowles Center for Creative Writing, Chapman University
fiction
Dragon of Air
overgrown–I see these guys on the man. Another stone goes into his axe down. As weapons go, the
lam, fugitives, bums, making their mouth. He wavers, hand propped hatchet of course is more portable.
by John Diamond-Nigh
way to shadowy pseudonymities against the tree, head down. He Missing one hand, what use is
When Loie Fuller’s Chinese somewhere toward the railroad’s is very weak. And likely quite ill. an axe? I bought that hatchet,
dancers enwound end. If they get that far. Many believe it or not, in Damascus.
The boy–be frank, I was the boy–
A shining web, a floating don’t even suspect I’m here. He takes the stone from his
in his minute château en Espagne,
ribbon of cloth They look up and see a kid’s mouth and gnaws on a new one.
was writing a letter. Such is our
It seemed that a dragon of air playhouse, though pretty high
idealism at 16 or so. To the editor I have a dozen hard-boiled eggs.
Had fallen among dancers, had and substantial for a kid. It’s not
of his town paper at just that point Some bread, some cheese and
whirled them around much to look at from outside.
when the tramp appeared. All I an apple. Into the pail they go. I
Or hurried them on its own And who lives in a treehouse?
hear anymore is ‘fraud’. Our world add a bottle of water. Then down
furious path. Birds. The stone goes back in his
is so profusely avaricious that it through a small trap door I lower
mouth. Not once does he look up.
Elsewhere Yeats asks, in what So I never see his face. But I like takes whole galaxies of bureaucrats the pail. Hand over hand, I let
is perhaps his most frequently him. Tell me why? He’s taking my to protect me. Above those Dantean out the rope. It’s how I bring my
quoted line: Who can tell the axe. But that stone is poignant. circles of bureaucrats, the few men firewood up, my food, all that
dancer from the dance? An old He gnaws it like an intransigent and women who own the world in my bird-sung, Thoreauvian
friend, facing the dissolution of rind. He’s hungry. That stone is protect me from even greater fraud. domesticity I need. I don’t need
his marriage, wrote those lines all that he has for food. When that Fraud from Haiti, from Russia, much. That pail, in fact, came
at the bottom of a card. I think stone is done, he slides it into his employing, of course, a speckled from my mother’s barn, once
he meant to ask, who can tell the pocket and takes out another. and camouflaged fraudulence of used by pioneers. There’s a risk
that he’ll cut or untie her delicate
relic and take that too. In the
pail I’ve also placed a knife. My
best hunting knife. A diminutive
Excalibur. A knife, I believe, that
makes you inviolable. I have so
few possessions; those I have are
laden with magic and stories.
Just as he reaches into the pail
for an egg, we both hear a crash,
far off, then a steely rustle
nearby. He grabs the knife and a
couple more eggs and he’s gone.
Manifest even to me are his
terror, his weakness. He wobbles,
he stumbles but somehow has
vanished. Quick, climb up. He still
might have time. He does look up.
I see his eyes, kind yet charred
almost wholly black by the
miseries of a bad relentless luck.
He shrieks but it’s soft, a warble
almost, a sound his pursuers will
take for a bird, as he’s hurried
away on some furious path.
It seemed like a dragon of air . . .
mistakes of life from life itself?
Or, as Auden, and later James He could be a hunter, his gun their own. They stalk and undo my
Hillman would point out, who nearby, propped against a tree. enemies. Like the reach and grace
really knows what powers control There are many of those in the of God used to do, they protect
our lives? What forces hurry us woods. Or a brother-in-law of the me from evil, yet all the while are
off on their own furious paths? Maysersmiths, who live in a tidy themselves the greatest evil of all. I
farmhouse down the road with look at this now–men and women
Under the tree where I live an lamb’s ears and daffodils and who own the world–and think how
old man is stealing my axe. He gentle English ethics. Maybe he’s out-of-step I was, how arcane,
sorts through a small mound of from Iowa. Breaking himself from the dandy En Espagne of an old,
metallic debris under its curly tobacco by chewing a stone. Maybe aesthetic morality. Emulating
camouflage of vines. From his he’s Baudelaire, here to inspect Baudelaire up to his trivial end.
mouth he draws a wet stone. He’s my opera. My opera takes place
searching for what? A weapon. in Paris. It begins at Baudelaire’s I cap my Pelikan pen and watch
One of his hands is missing. The Le Club des Haschichins on Isle as the man at the foot of my tree
forearm wilts down to little St. Louis, where a doctor serves rubs a thumb along the edge of
more than a blunt twig. I see this jellied hashish on a silver plate. my axe. It’s sharp. I sharpened it
sometimes. Wracked animals. That fantasy is relentless: even this morning. To be sure, it would
Deer, dogs, men. My tree being when I see a wolf (especially when offer negligible defense against
close to the disused Buffalo- I see a wolf) I think it’s Baudelaire. the rifles of a cop, or prison foe
Hamilton line–a line now shorn I think of Baudelaire now when I or bounty hunter, but some
of its rails and ties and thickly see this tragic, poignant, hungry protection. He picks up my hatchet
and feels that as well. He sets the
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Mantissa Journal Volume III Issue I