The Unveiling!?
(A rather short
surrealistic story)
by Haim Kadman
I’m
descending the staircase with quite an amount of
optimism; I’m still quite optimistic. But
the closer I get to that hideous little box my
optimism fades away. How can anyone expect a
letter when there’s nobody to write to, and
nobody to answer it, if… There’s always
hope though to revive one’s heart, indeed,
one should always be hopeful – although the
five tiny round dark holes in that box, are the
very proof that it’s empty.
A letter!!!
A sudden outburst of movements takes place; a
bundle of keys is pulled out in frenzy. The tiny
tin door is almost torn off. Relax man! Slow
down and don’t you tear it, the envelop is
open. What’s that? An invitation…
Someone is getting married? A doubled and
redoubled disappointment!
“Dear and
honorable Mr. X”. ‘Oh, what a
delightful card, what a blissful moment!
Let’s read it once again.
“Dear and
honorable Mr. X, you are solemnly invited hereby
to unveil the statue of naivety and innocence, at
the public square in the gardens of anonymity
– do come incognito”. What an
astounding invitation, what a treatment, I shall
have to wear my top hat.
************************************
The gardens of
anonymity paradise on earth, vast green lawns
stretched up to the horizon.
How long
do I roam here, where does the ceremony take
place? Where are all the guests? I must
concentrate otherwise I won’t get anywhere.
‘Dear and
honorable Mr. X.’
Oh, there
they are, a dark wall of human bodies and above
their heads rises a familiar figure of a woman.
Who is she? A Leonardo’s Madonna or a
Raphael’s? Not at all, it’s some
familiar woman, as simple as all that.
‘Dear and
honorable Mr. X, would you please unveil the
statue.’
I ascend the
broad staircase all alone, me and my top hat and
nothing else. So what! Why should I be
ashamed? Big deal! Should I run about instead,
looking for a fig leaf? I ascend still but I
can’t see any veil, a row of buttons
that’s what I see… Do I have to
strip this woman in public? Where are all the
guests and where is that certain one, with that
caressing voice of his? Doesn’t he wish to
tell me a few more things?
Well,
there’s something I’d better tell him:
‘Dear Sir, I’d rather undress. Oh, what
a deplorable tongue’s slip. I’d rather
unveil an abstract statue.’
Haim
Kadman 2007 © All rights reserved.
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