Skip to main content

Ferekeeko Strikes Again!

Image
By


Coming home from my Georgian lesson, I got a second one for free, on individual responsibility.

On Chavchavadze Avenue again, in the Vake neighborhood, I’m busy furtively checking myself out in the shop windows when all of a sudden I see a beast of a man shove his petite wife, a shove such as two men do just before they throw punches at each other. She stops, drops her head and waits for the man, presumably her significant other, to grab her by the throat with his left hand. He holds her thus, screaming at the top of his lungs into her ear.

I have a big choice to make . . . and I decide, gutlessly, to keep walking and pretend that it doesn’t concern me. Taking a punch from some swarthy-souled cretin in the name of chivalry? — Ferekeeko, do not put the blame on me!

But another man walking towards me makes the right choice. In his sixties, of a slight build compared with the cretin, he seems to be on his way home from the shop. As soon as his eyes hit the couple, he acts. Snapping to attention he tells the cretin to take it easy — whereupon he, the cretin, angrily swings round on him.

Now I have a second chance to make the right choice, and this time, inspired by our hero, I stand firm. The blood rushes to my head and spurs a ringing in my ears. I clench my fists and wait to make sure that the cretin does not touch the good man. A few passers-by crane their necks to watch.

The cretin gets right in the man’s face and kicks up a loud fuss. I can’t make out any of their words. But sure enough, he doesn’t lay a finger on our hero and walks off with his whipping-girl in tow. In a few steps she catches up with him, and while walking abreast of each other the soft twilight tickles their slouching frames. Their gait slows but they don’t look back. 

Then our hero looks around to see who has been watching the scene. His eyes meet mine. I nod and shake my head in approval. He is visibly disgusted. And suddenly I wonder whether that disgust might actually be meant for me.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Beijing The Behemoth

By
Beijing the behemoth. At the airport I’m beat from being up some thirty-odd hours, but too sentient to think of sleep, the hotel be damned. Throw me instead into this sea of concrete, bemused smiles and unabashed stares. In the taxi with Chris, the school’s recruiter, Iphigenia and I watch the towers of concrete repeat themselves for miles. I command myself to take in every detail, no matter how small. But I’m fading fast and when the city center at last comes into view, she’s too late. The fatigue has unfortunately set in and I can’t make out much but the obvious: taxis, bicycles, rickshaws. . . . And so the hotel it is for us, because anyway I’m just too damn worked up. I don’t have a map, I don’t speak Mandarin, I haven’t changed any money yet. I promise myself a good random stroll the next morning, one which will enlighten me as to the way of the street, the dao of the hú tòng.  But the morrow brings nothing so edifying. Only a short walk with killjoy Chris, who clams
Post a Comment
Read more

Portland Flashback

By
“Put this under your tongue,” Josh said, handing me three small circles of thin white paper. The club’s owner, a dubious character, not because of his whittled-away teeth or the stringy, wet hair plastered to the sides of his head, but because of the sheen over his dark pupils, had offered the goods to Josh. I hesitated, but then this sickly looking man gave me a friendly salute. And so, already three sheets to the wind, I placed not one but all three under my tongue. They were tasteless and dissolved in seconds. While I waited for the fun to kick in I scanned the room. Halloween: goth kids dressed up as vampires. Or — wait a minute — were they vampires disguised as humans? The room was changing. I looked over at Josh to make sure he was still there. The pudgy motherfucker, with a serene grin on his face, was lost in the screeching music. All of a sudden I caught the hungry gaze of a vampire, its eyes comically wide open. Don’t look at me! Averting my eyes I watched as the wal
Post a Comment
Read more

‘ho, vitsi’

By
When they think that they know the answers, people are difficult to guide. When they know that they don't know, people can find their own way.  — Tao Te Ching , chap.  65, v.  2, ll.  4–7 Teaching English was a good way for me to earn extra cash in my spare time in Tbilisi. Passionate and eager students of all ages would get in touch each month to seek my infinitely vast and untapped knowledge of The Bard’s tongue. But surprisingly, all of my students secretly turned out to be know-it-alls, often having a grasp of English far beyond mine. During our lessons they would indicate such knowledge in Georgian by saying ‘ ho, vitsi ,’ which means ‘yes, I know.’ Now, this may sound harmless enough, but let me tell you why I often had to fight off the urge to reach across the desk and administer a swift smack upside the head as if it were 1805. Ho, vitsi ’s literal translation does not convey the meaning in its truest sense. In particular the non-v
Post a Comment
Read more