Cyclops (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)
Language: English
Pages: 576
ISBN: 0300181728
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In his semiautobiographical novel, 'Cyclops', Croatian writer Ranko Marinkovic recounts the adventures of young theatre critic Melkior Tresic, an archetypal antihero who decides to starve himself to avoid fighting in the front lines of World War II.
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Into your eyes?’’ ‘‘No, love,’’ he said in a seductively tender voice, suddenly embracing her and kissing her on the mouth. What a cad! Melkior thought jealously, while the other end of his thought rejoiced. Desecration of compassion, rape of the angel! he added derisively and watched her eyes filling with tears of surprise. She covered her face with her hands and blindly staggered back to Freddie. He took hold of her protectively and sat her down in a chair. He then made toward Ugo, rolling his.
The oil lamp have a look first. . . . But the door suddenly slams shut and smash!—the lamp has of course crashed to the floor, and the maid shouts fire. Confusion, slamming of doors, great commotion. It seems that the maid is indeed on fire. Mistress shouts ‘‘Water!’’ the judge shouts ‘‘Not water! An overcoat. An old one!’’ They put the fire out. The maid is not on fire at all, it is the anteroom rug. Mistress wails, ‘‘Oh my God, the carpet! It’s only fit for the rubbish heap now!’’ ‘‘Who cares about.
Maestro seemed to have sensed the irony in the question: he gave Melkior a suspicious look with one eye—the other being filled with a smoke-induced tear—and replied disdainfully: ‘‘I hate nothing. I merely reject the superfluous.’’ ‘‘And yet you use the electric tram!’’ ‘‘Never!’’ flared Maestro, hurt. ‘‘I walk a full hour to the office. I walk and think. After all, human thought came into being on the foot. The ancient Greeks thought in the street. The peripatetics walked. As people talk, so they.
Something from you. All these characters ever do is talk nonsense.’’ ‘‘These characters are mostly me,’’ explained the palmist with a pride of sorts. ‘‘You are so kind, kitten, thank you very much. But at least I know what compensation is—which Freddie for one does not, I’ll stake my life on that.’’ ‘‘Freddie’s a dolt,’’ she said in irritation. ‘‘And so are you. You only differ from him as much as a melon differs from a pumpkin.’’ ‘‘Well, at least that makes me the melon. Admit it—I’m the melon,.
Out of spite.’’ ‘‘And this man, would you believe it, lets loose a pigeon from the box where he is sitting! You must have been there, surely you remember?’’ Yes, Melkior did remember the pigeon. Freddie’s soliloquy had indeed fallen flat. The women protected their hairdos, believing the assailant to be a giant bat. The pigeon kept hurtling into the dark- 154 ness of the box, into the galleries, terrified, miserable, panicking for its columbine life. There was a pigeon hunt on all over the place,.