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HE AIN’T HEAVY — THE GRAND FINALE

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(Cont’d from parts I and II.)

After a year in town the sounds of the street which I once thought sensuous became nothing more than endless streams of noise.

Once again I couldn’t manage to fall asleep. Rhappy, V. E. and Co. were at it right outside my bedroom window. I considered getting up and roaring from the balcony, fist pumping like Il Duce, but finally could not bring myself to do it. It will only make things worse, I decided, because then they will start to take pleasure in annoying me in subsequent 3:30 am sessions, talking even louder to mock my fury. Better to let them remain oblivious to my suffering, to do it in silence. At length I became so tired that their voices seemed sufficiently muffled to act as a white-noise machine.

When I got up later that morning I took a closer look at the pine tree whose branches shaded my window. It reminded me of a tree I had seen near a chapel at Kodjori, a town in the foothills above Tbilisi with a ruined fortress that gazes southward across the mountains. Presumably a wish tree, on it hung ribbons and cloth, the vestigial hopes of dozens of souls dancing in the wind. My pine tree had the same appearance in that its branches were strewn with ornamentation, most of which, unfortunately, was of the plastic-bag and food-wrapper variety. I guess these were wishes long forgotten or made half-heartedly.  

Then I saw that V. E., probably finding it too hot to sleep, was still out, standing across the street and sharing a cigarette with the security guard who worked at the shop behind them. I quickly worked myself up into a righteous indignation and muttered words from the demon inside me.

But I noticed that V. E. was subdued and pensive. In contrast with the early morning philosophizing he chatted quietly with the guard until he noticed our resident stray dog Kouklítsa, aka Gógo-gógo, limping up the steps towards them.

I tensed up again. Understand that Iphigenia had gone to great lengths to improve Kouklítsa’s life during our days there. As such I feel a tenderness for the dog which I associate with my wife’s indefatigable altruism. My cheeks flushed with anticipation as Kouklítsa approached the Giant. Were V. E. to do anything that would even remotely bother the dog . . . But he reached way, way down and caressed Kouklítsa’s head, whispering to the old girl.

And in my little world of hate the pent-up anger dissipated like the wisps of cigarette smoke over Kouklítsa’s wagging tail.
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