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184 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2004
I could do without the Crucifixions, though it was fascinating to see how various artists dealt with the same subject, but it was the Annunciations that I adored. I have this thing about angels. Raphael, Botticelli, Giotto – as long as there are wings.
So what’s this about an offer?’
‘It’s in Perth. That’s miles away, but I think our junk heap can just about make it. There’s going to be a literary festival with a couple of theatre performances. They’re looking for angels, or rather extras dressed up as angels.’
‘To act in a play?’
‘No. I’m not sure I really understand it, but the way they explained it to me was that while the festival is going on, angels will be hidden all over the city. People are supposed to go and look for them.’
‘What do we have to do?’
‘Nothing. They give us a pair of wings and every day for a week someone picks us up and takes us to a hiding place in a church, or in a ruin, or in a bank. We just have to stay put all day and let people find us. Somehow it’s all related to Paradise Lost.’
They have met before – that much is clear. What no one can see, however, are the wings he mentally attaches to her back, the wings of an angel he has never been able to forget.
„Balta se umpluse cu prea multe raţe şi lebede, trebuia ca din cînd în cînd unele să fie împuşcate. Literatura devenise o meserie, orice fitecine care studiase neerlandeza cu aversiune crescîndă trebuia neapărat să scrie un roman, debuturile magistrale se succedau din ce în ce mai repede, iar el era membru al unei echipe de curăţenie, o muncă neplăcută, însă utilă”.


Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old—
This knight so bold—
And o’er his heart a shadow—
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow—
‘Shadow,’ said he,
‘Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?’
‘Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,’
The shade replied,—
‘If you seek for Eldorado!’
Edgar Allen Poe Eldorado 1849
No lowlander can sleep with impunity in the mountains. The window, which has been left slightly ajar, lets in the cold night air. The man in the bed works his way through a series of dreams, none of which he will remember. In the silence, which he does not notice, an owl hunts its prey and a startled deer plunges into the black syntax of the forest, where Erik Zondag will take a walk tomorrow without identifying the deer's track's. When he wakes, he will see a snowy mountain range lit by the first rays of the sun—a row of sharp, gleaming-white teeth, daubed here and there with blood.
Is there such a thing as pornography without the porn? Simply an idea in your head, without a graphic image? Pure pornography of the mind, or of a situation, in which a lie changes every move, kiss, caress and climax into something else, something obscene and perverse? I think about this, and yet at the same time I lie here and wait for him to utter one of his infrequent words, for him to touch me again and make me forget my thoughts.