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Worker of the Month

Written in


by Veronika Romhány


1984 – 1994 – 2004 – 2014
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I remember the moment I heard sounds I would crawl under the table. I know – they know that I’m there. My clothes are tight – I feel enormous; like a behemoth. Sweating. The tablecloth hangs over down the table; it hides me and it’s comfortable. It is pretty white yet not gentle and the knots are shiny. They don’t notice me – and it makes me disappointed a bit.
I remember; my grandfather’s moustache is the style of Hitler’s. I can see how he stands naked in the January sunlight with his arms stretched out –
with his toes in the river;
like a saint.
I remember I’m smoking on the balcony. As a matter of fact I do anything, driven by greed. Damnation. If the leaves fall I kick them all apart.
I remember; I am collecting kinders – they are my sweet little dolls. I set up the strategic models on the table. I place them in poses, starring at them. And hurting them sometimes, I laugh – in my shame. My nails, sometimes unconsciously, sink into the skin of the soft lacquered figures. I feel forbidden pleasure. Then shame. I caress the anguished figure.
I remember a Friday afternoon. The sun slowly goes down while I’m travelling home. I’m dull. I am shaking on the metro. Twitching. A woman seated next to me mumbles: Dostoyevsky – I spit on the linoleum floor of the metro.
I am a half-breed man from lower-middle class..
I know my xenophobia raises me up from the crowd. I remember, my lover used to be called Ivan. His huge body like patriotism; enormous, impenetrable and soft. Russia itself.
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I remember; I lived in an almost completely deserted building with a battered, blue and bare sky above it. Occasionally, a buzzing plane slashed a white ribbon into it.
I remember. I can hear that one of my neighbours is listening to the news – the walls reverberate the signal. Again and again and again.
I remember: I’m waiting. I’m standing in the middle – in the backyard of the school. Kindergarten kids are holding each other’s hands, creating a circle around me. My blue pants are too short and the thick white cotton socks make my skin itch. The sock crinkles at my ankles in a strange way. I don’t see myself, only my body from waist down.
I remember – in the backyard of the preschool how the others are hurting me.
I remember – I’m sitting, my body like a motor: playing chess. My narrowed vision helps to not recognize the attack. Gazing strictly forwards. Just continu­­e with a rubber face.
I remember what my grandfather said: nothing matters. The body is made by concrete: it is impenetrable.

Diffract this //


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