9.08

For the first time in two months I have decided to set out a new passage of thought on these pages. To be honest, I feel rather bereft having left out so many an opportunity to picture an impression or two on paper. Recently, Anki has verily been of much disturbance and evidently reduced efficacy. I might even sense disappointment at the notion of all those nights I have spent duly studying the characters, words, and constructions.

The prospect of two day-offs laid out in front of me, sedated by Ghostly Kisses, might as well represent the consolation I might have been looking throughout this month which I can only describe in terms of emotional drainage. To such extent I find myself disconnected with reality that the fact the calendar has shed the morbid ships page for three camouflaged operators demonstrating the perfection of AS “VAL” has completely escaped my attention.

Walking through the thick of ‘The Remains of the Day’, I can’t help but pick up gems of expression the Japanese genius has generously lavished his book with. Just look at the quality of these primitive expressions, and you will undoubtedly feel the favourable effect of this week’s novel.

I am lonely – namely, the simplest explication I can give to my growing despondency and weakness. I have indulged myself to enjoy a cigarette or two almost every day, given up exercising, long forgotten about what comprises a good sleep and, to my utter shame, have found myself waning in face of holing up with a book on the lap. K has found a successor, which he has already taken to the trip that will see the newcomer through to his retirement – the story in itself pleasingly wistful of my own becoming. It puzzles me to sometimes drift from everyday activities and my private time to the possible origins of our recent mental separation with K, although I cannot go as far as to say I have been agonising over the issue with diligence it probably deserves in terms of honing my social skills. The other day, I believe it took place in the wake of this week, I was walking downstairs and joining the line for the evening roll-call, although having written this I have stated to doubt the verity of that environment, which essentially is of no crucial importance anyway, the main thing being the fact of my joining the line for the millionth time. Judge me presumptuous, but I felt so complacent about standing chest-to-chest with those lowly people that it did not even give me crimps as froze me with disquiet from those disturbing, animalistic mugs around my personality. Truly enough, you can say that throughout my story one has much difficulty in finding kind words appointed to people, my evaluations of these comrades rather being a parade of top-model freaks. Abhorrently enough, K fell in the same category as all others – hence I have up until now withdrawn from pondering the issue, the outlet being presumably unfairly painful to the part of me that respects K. It was that I couldn’t help but seeing him in the light of his overly pretentious stance and artificially aspiring ambitions that yielded my disdain. Every so often that I look at him, I am engrossed in phrasing names called up by… resent? I guess so, because contrapuntal to that novelty of judgement I have grown despondent for my future, wary and fearful of what is waiting for me on the other side of the fence. Contrasted to his readiness and perspective, humongous thinking, my puny and mercantile wit humiliates all the time I invested in myself and those who I pretended to love. I am afraid, truly hesitant to acknowledge the responsibility and dangers that will flounce out the cupboards as soon as I thud into an armchair of a refined coffeehouse. I’m afraid I have failed to learn the lesson of this place, failed to give it proper thought and concentration, just as well as I regularly now fail to exercise. Lack of perspective – there you have it. Not only it, but also my over-indulgence in structuralised education and scheduled approach to it. The burnout is obvious, given that All I have now left from the aforementioned practice are inconsistent studying sessions tailing away into chaos. Which doesn’t show any evident drawbacks so far! More so, the ease with which I am now pecking out these words strikes me as unprecedented. I am glad I have freed myself from some sort of burden today and am now freely expressing my sentiments towards whatever is writhing around me.

How vain I am, how hollow. Look at these dusted-off expressions you were using back in January or March, and tell me if there is any worth in your stance at all. Well, that is exactly why I am writing this, oblivious to whatever practice that might be at my door.

The evening felt mellow over my peculiarly caramelised skin, the tan giving way to my usual shade smack where the hem of my uniform is. R’s boots feel softer and cosier than mine, I’m glad we swapped this morning, even though to no avail, given that the inspector paid me only as much attention as to invite me to open up my jacket to demonstrate the marking printed on the inner side. The sun was blazing, the sweat long gone down my spine, the uniform giving off a faint smell of military soap, smelted from the tissue by heat. Standing there on the parade ground, all tensed-up in face of ugly mangled colonels and majors whose profession is feasting on others’ failures, felt almost artificially opposed to that day’s conclusion, when I enjoyed solitude in company of waning summer leaves and the darkness around lamplights that betrayed time’s relentless pace.

Crumbed concrete under my resin soles embellished my promenade with soothing, even, and concise footsteps of mine, the light smell of freshness surrounding every bit of air around my head, the light from the bulbs gently ruffling my shadow. I reached the gate of the watch, ringed the doorbell. Some insect crossed my sight. “What’s up?”, - came the answer. “I’m here at S’s behest”. “Fine, wait”.

I always liked the view of the watch that particular gate offers you – if you didn’t know what that house was about you could’ve mistaken it for a highly-refined military-styled inn where you could have a bath in gunpowder cream or fancy a pancake or two stylized as grenades. Oil-flavoured beer, sweet ramrods, staff dressed in genuine military uniform, with the hierarchical system in tune with the ranks. Maybe I’d had then devised a perspective plan had I given it further push, but the sight of the lieutenant returned me to the stillness of the night. Someone was welding a watchtower some fifty yards from us, precipitously hanging solely on handrails. “Hello”, - the relaxed tone of his voice commanded my fullest attention, because I hadn’t heard him using it for almost two weeks. “Good evening, comrade lieutenant”, said I while passing him the pack of cigarettes through the space between strained barbed wire of the fence. “I’ve forgotten the keys, so…” – he said apologetically, and so I thought that he wasn’t in the mood to have a little chat. The next moment the lighter in his hands made a promising hushing noise, and I invitingly inquired if we were allowed to smoke there. “Who gives a fuck?”, - said he, offering me the cigarette first, then filling the air with smoke himself. The welder had pointed the light towards us, a powerful beam that made me move aside to cover the eyes with the gate’s frame. “I was exceptionally exasperated by the inattentiveness he appoints you, in the light of the recent problem regarding the distribution of boot-campers”, - I put out feelers. The following silence let me expect his face – well, this time, at least, he made use of his scheduled sleep, so he wouldn’t be as irritated the following day as he had taken the habit to. I dissolved the thought in “Well, now we have 26 new privates in our company”. He drew on his cigarette and uttered under his breath: “I don’t care, really”. I said: “I think we can make it, sir”. He gave a wan smile and, staring into the space behind my back, pronounced: “I’m leaving, you know?” I wouldn’t dramatize the moment by pretending to be shocked or pushed off balance or simply confused by that expression, because I had long seen all the precursor if there was one to his imminent farewell to the company. “I’m glad it’s turned out this way, sir. I presume now you’ll be justly rewarded with co-workers respecting your rights and time”. “Ah, well, we’ll see…” – he trailed off, dousing the conversation with his signature tack burring expression that kills your every will to live, sometimes lighting up with “… I’ll still make you a private first class…” or “…make sure I have your credentials…”, and with my perfunctory support he carried the conversation trough two more cigarettes and then fell silent. He was calm, I could see, even tranquil, and, honestly, I was glad he had finally come to terms with the milieu he had been more and more often finding himself in. He is a good man, even now that we are staying in touch occasionally when one of us wishes to reminisce on the old crazy army times, a good man unworthy of the people who I would call bastards back in the day, now categorized merely as incompatible to my lieutenant. There is one distinct trait of his, which I came to liking from the very first day of our acquaintanceship, and that is his handshake. Ever so firm, sure, unyielding, every time I feel its strength on my skin, I only feel awe and power thrusting through my body, enlivening the day for hours upfront. So, this time, receiving his hand through the gap between lines of barbed wire once again, I strutted back, occasionally scuffing the uneven ground.

While the road was darkening by every second before me, inviting me with its feline beauty, I looked back, I looked back at the silhouette of my friend, no matter how corrupted and despondent, a friend, snappy dressed in his immaculately tailored uniform, with a PM holster sternly weighing his belt to earth, a friend with crooked, disturbingly crooked teeth, but… He saved me, you know, reader? I never think about it, though, if only when alone, enjoying a cup of ground coffee, having a conversation with a friend or listening to music through the headphones. I still couldn’t part my gaze from his fading figure, now devoured by white brick walls of the building. I hopelessly shot a glance back one again, only to find not an image but a thump in my chest, a sodding sensation behind the breastbone, throwing sand to my eyes and the back of the throat. I couldn’t believe he was leaving me. That moment it felt like I lost the last straw that bound me and the world of the living, and now I what? Have to cope with this madness on my own? I could see that the new lieutenant, although his personality known to me, albeit weak, but still dignified, wouldn’t make it to secure a firm relationship between ourselves. While I was walking back under the tree shadows and the dying light of the sky, memories from February and January started to glimpse through the fog of oblivion. The highly irritating conversations about cars, bonsai, languages and psychology, led by us while I was struggling to fit my Anki practice in the occasional silences; his calling me names, so frequent back in the day that I felt wounded even before I saw him in the morning; his readiness to buy me something to eat, the eagerness with which he helped me with the Internet and the phone; his oversights when I most needed them, at times of difficulty or overload; his not disturbing me, which was a rare quality, when I would practice Anki or watch a film… The list proved most limitless, replete with amiss memories and disconnected sentences, mostly emotions, of course. Mostly emotions. Acceptance – the main character here, yes. In December I felt grateful, holy, in the way that the apostles would look at the Christ when he would tell them they were then freed of all sins. In January I experienced sheer pain, stress, panic, mixed with perturbing cold and disdain all round me caused by my too early an ascent. In February – extreme overload, massive amounts of conversations with the most unpleasant of people, squiggling little incomprehensible phrases on little pieces of paper with Genki printed on it. March, which I hardly remember at all – I only recall the 15ht of March – when we were on Patrol duty with S, oh, yes.

The days were becoming warmer, making us suffocate in our winter coats which we, because of the crude military regulations, had to wear if not pretending to break the law. Fortunately, on the day long anticipated, standing on the parade-ground during the posting, I fled so far away in my dreams of the oncoming day that I missed the point where the major approached me to hear the sacred introduction you are supposed to make when a higher rank approaches you. Few decorations, sullen look, an infatuation of servicemen, faint mawkish smell of cheap unisex perfume reminiscent of toilet spray – these were my thoughts while he squinted to tell me I should pay more attention to my words. I was far away among the naked twigs in the distance. I could make use of my imagination and blatantly lie in your face by describing the eloquence which I took advantage of back then, but… I just thought “Fuck off” and kept silent.

P.S. I feel so lonely from the fact that one day, presumably, Monday, I’ll have finished with Remains of the day and so will leave this precise English style for something less refined.