THE WAVE, circle of seven short stories by Nikola Kitanovic
Nikola Kitanovic - page of his short stories. Nikola wrote short stories since he was very young and he writing it as well today. Modern stories, short stories, postmodern stories, after-postmodern stories
1.
I was walking
by the river in the summer heat. I noticed a willow tree and
decided to rest under it. I was sitting and watching the water
flowing. “You see, you should be like a little wave. You show
up in the flow and then softly disappear,” the willow
said.
“And then
what,” I asked.
“Then
another wave comes, then another one and so on, indefinitely.”
I was
startled. “But you are frightening me, and what will happen to
the wave that is me?
The tree
became joyful. “Nothing will happen; your wave is going to
disappear in the flowing water.”
I was shaking
my head and repeating to myself, “That is scary, that is really
scary.
“You should defend your honour by being a
distinguished wave in the river. Moreover, you should provide for
the other waves to appear after you. That is the beauty of this
water,” the willow told me
fatherly.
“I know, but it is still frightening
me.”
And that
is not all. This river’s bed will change, and one day it will
completely dry up. Neither beasts, nor willows, nor people
will remember that here used to be a river.”
I had an impression that this tree really wanted to frighten
me.
2.
I was angry
with the tree; it had spoiled the peace of my walk and my desire
for rest. “What kind of a being are you; when you need sex, you
blossom, then you allure the insects to pass on your pollen from
one flower to another. As if we humans had sex by the use of pubic
lice.”
The tree
burst out laughing. “Many of you are actually having it that
way!”
I laughed.
The tree was right. I calmed down and then I went on, “What
kind of a fool would speak to a willow? You are not a noble and
wise tree, and I am not Buddha. What is the point of this
conversation?” There was silence; only the willow’s
leaves were quietly rustling in the wind. The calmer I was the
more clearly I could hear that the sound of the leaves was in fact
repeating the sentence: What is the point of this conversation?
It is frightening me again, I thought.
3.
“You are
thinking a lot about sex. You haven’t had such contact for years,
and yet you’re dreaming about it so much,” the willow
said, deeply absorbed in thought,
without noticing that her flowers were opening.
“That’s
right, against my will I have lived as an ascetic for years, but
at least I can daydream. I can also imagine, combining a man and a
willow, for example. So I can imagine hundreds of genitals growing
from my body, both male and female, and then I can have an orgy
with myself in my imagination, and for that I need no insects.
The
willow was laughing. She was laughing like a child, like an angel.
I could see that the laugh passed on to the river. I could not
resist and I started laughing, too.
4.
“Look, you
have blossomed all over! What a shame! If you could blush, you
would be blushing right now!” There were a lot of insects
around.
“I’ve got
aroused, and you see, I am a willow. As you say, I am not a
noble tree, so the people don’t notice my flowers, fortunately.
When you like some flowers, you cut them, pick them, give them to
your dear ones, take them to the graveyards for the dead, take
them to the temples for your gods. You offer our chopped organs to
everyone.”
“And now
you’re taking pleasure through the tiny insects.”
The willow
sighed in pleasure. “Yes, they are tiny but numerous; they can
satisfy me. You humans have only one, a bit bigger than an insect,
and you think it’s big enough. You should better go back to your
imagination.
5.
“Why are
you talking about sex, while thinking of immortality?”
I was taken
aback by the question of the tree. “You are a willow in
blossom; I am a man immersed in imagination. You know my state; I
recognise your state, which is a rare kind of eternity.”
We remained silent, without thoughts, breathing the fresh air
and being content.
“I have to
talk to a tree in order to be recognised, and you are neither a
man nor a woman.”
She told me
lazily, “I am a man and a woman.”
“Lucky
you, you are self sufficient.”
She laughed.
“Nobody is self sufficient. I need the water from
this river, the soil to plunge my roots into it, I need the air,
the insects . . . I need a lot of things. Not even gods are self
sufficient; they need all this chaos around us.”
6.
“Your
insect is awake. Look how lively he is sticking up your crotch.
You’re blushing; you’re ashamed!” the willow exclaimed.
“I am
blushing out of excitement and imagination and not for shame—and
why should I be ashamed of a tree?”
“Because I
am your god, your supreme god!”
“I knew
it! My supreme god is neither handsome, nor noble, nor wise. But
my supreme god is constantly horny in my presence—A willow.”
“And you
are my supreme god,” the tree added.
“Of
course, and the two of us can have sex only in imagination.”
I was laughing and the willow was laughing.
7.
“I can see
that you’re writing the words ‘supreme god’ in small letters . . .
perhaps because we are small and unremarkable,” the willow
said, again deep in thought.
“Because
you and I are that wave I was telling you about. There is no
greatness among the gods—just the arousal and nothing.”
“Listen,
that is not a bad start for two unremarkable creatures,”
the willow concluded.
