Kornaros's Classic Poem in Longhand by (an 12-year old resident of Crete) Manolis Emmanuel Aligizakis
Greek Canadian Literature Libros Libertad Manolis Aligizakis
Eyes
questioning, wondering eyes
smiling lips, shy laughter
on the screen, momentarily
uncomfortable reaction
to my comment
visceral need for touch,
dermal and internal which
I dream of experiencing,
emotional fast heartbeats,
body warm, willing, expecting
you in the sweetness
of the moment
eternal image in my mind
excerpt
knew it wasn’t right. I was lying to myself, to God, to her. I was
being deceitful, but I told myself nobody from Losada’s world, or
Bartolomé’s world, knew I was still alive anyway.
And so I had lost my zeal for the conquest. I began to see the
whole thing as the most hideous crime since Christ’s crucifixion. Up
to that point, I had refused to acknowledge the enormous truth, but
there it was before me, looming huge as a cathedral. The Church had
denounced the atrocities committed against the natives, convincing
the king to pass laws against the brutality, laws that were all but
ignored. But why had the Church failed to take firmer action?
The Church was my life, my mother. But I resented the Pope for
not being more determined to defend these souls who could not,
would not, learn to love God through the destruction of their world.
The conquest had nothing to do with bringing the Gospel to the
savages. In fact, the savages wore armour and rode horses. What
kind of God would allow this destruction? My faith, as I understood
it then, was about to sink like a ship in a storm, battered by the fury
of the sea and wind. I felt as though my life had been a lie, and only
now was I beginning to glimpse the truth of the world God
intended.
Only the Cross of the Crucified saved me from going mad. I saw
myself clinging to its base on Calvary while sweet Jesus died above
me. He could have saved himself but didn’t. He chose to sacrifice for
us. Could I sacrifice myself for him? Or would I give in to my
desperation and seek her out, seek my perdition? I was the only
Gospel many of these Indians were likely to know. If I faltered and
fell prey to temptation, not only would I likely find death at the
hands of Baruta, but the Gospel would never be told or, more
importantly, be shown.
What was I to do with the mission God and Friar Bernardo had
entrusted to me? Each time I raised my arms to heaven, pleading for
help, I would reprimand myself for my weakness. Far behind was
the chivalric image of the missionary I once thought I could be. The
truth that I didn’t deserve to be called one descended upon me like
freezing drizzle, dampening my cloth, chilling me to the bone.
excerpt
Respectfully, of course. I think we can call on the infinite power and all-knowingness of God. And God is good, Caitlin. He knows what is best for each and every one of us. Yes, if you ask my honest opinion, the Carney boy was beyond saving by medical means. I believe, and believe fervently, that God intervened to spare his life.”
Those words had had more of an impact on Caitlin and on her future than Dr Starkey could have realised. He had looked at Caitlin with his wise, compassionate eyes and knew what was going on in her head. But he could hardly have guessed the full consequence of his words. Like the stone-man’s wedges they opened a crack in the monolithic relationship between Caitlin and her father.
“Why don’t you talk to Father Padraig?” Dr Starkey had suggested. “He is better versed in these matters than I am.”
Caitlin had deferred talking to Padraig. Looking ahead like a traveller on a long road, she could see the priest at a parting of the ways, waiting for her, watching her approach. The sun was low behind him, and his thin body cast a monstrous shadow across her path. She could not see what lay along either of the roads at whose branching the priest stood, but she knew she would have to choose the one or the other.
҂
A month after Joe-Joe Carney’s miraculous recovery Caitlin met Padraig in the village. She had not seen him for several days, not since he had come to the house for a meal. He had had his hair cut short and he looked different. He seemed taller, and his thin face even more emaciated. In his black priestly garb he appeared even paler than usual.
“Hello, Caitlin,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Padraig.”
“No,” Padraig said right away. “Something is troubling you. What is it?”
“What makes you think that something is troubling me?”
“I can see it in your eyes. They look disturbed. And I think you have been avoiding me of late.”
“Padraig, that’s not true. You had dinner at our house not so long ago.”
“Yes, but I invited myself, Caitlin.” Padraig looked into her eyes for a moment; they were more disturbed now. “I feel like a stranger in Finn MacLir’s house. Even an unwelcome stranger.”
“No, Padraig. Never unwelcome. And never a stranger.”
“Are you talking for yourself, Caitlin, or for both of you?”
excerpt
Look after him as you would a younger brother; keep him out of this affair with
Bevan. I don’t want any implications for him, or you, or any of my boys,” Ibrahim
stresses once more.
“I know, my uncle; he has been always looked after, since day one. Haven’t I
done well in that respect, so far?”
“Yes, you have, Talal. I appreciate that very much. That boy is my dearest
son; if anything happened to him it would be devastating for Mara and me,”
Ibrahim’s eyes get teary.
Talal notices this and tries to assure him that nothing will ever happen to
Hakim as long as he’s around. After all, he thinks of him as his younger brother
in the same way that he thinks of his little brother in Falluza. Talal promises
nothing will ever happen to Hakim. Then his mind turns to Falluza and he asks if
there’s any news from his sister and brother. He asks Ibrahim what has happened
with his old house.
“As far as I know, nothing has been done with the house, but your brother
and sister are well and they live with your grandfather. Life there is slowly getting
back to normal; don’t forget Falluza is the place where the most serious
resistance to the Americans started and that’s why it’s the last place to be rebuilt.
That is how things work here; nobody cares to start rebuilding Falluza when
there’re so many other places that have priority. In any case, things are slowly
getting back to normal, even in Falluza.”
“I would like to go visit my siblings, tomorrow, or the next day perhaps.”
“Don’t forget, you don’t go anywhere without Rassan or Abdul or both of them.
Security is still a problem here. When you are in the market-place please advise Emily
to wear a headscarf and be presentable to our customs.” Ibrahim cautions him.
“I know, my uncle, thank you for your concern. Is security a big problem
still? After all these years, is there still a lot of infighting and disagreement?”
“Yes, so many years have gone by since the war ended, yet we still have
problems with security; on the other hand, don’t forget we have always had
problems and sectarianism in this country. Saddam with his iron fist controlled
the people for years, but he used fear. This is the price of democracy, my dear
boy. When you let people be free, it means you allow them to tell you how they
feel; they’re allowed to do as they like within the boundaries of the law, of course.
Yet, that is freedom, and it is as hard to deal with as it was to deal with the whims
and tyranny of Saddam Hussein.”
At about 11 Emily and Talal go upstairs to sleep for the night.
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 