Monsera Banosera
by Ovidiu Bufnilă
“Carula
maragula”! whistled Farfatostacul Ivoriu scratching his bluish wounds and staring
to Combelonian de Adamville who had opened his wings in menace.
“Zarza con dio!”
Combelonian yielded shaking his plated mane and throwing flashes out of his
steel claws.
“Shit!”
Bebe
Bebino cried madly scratching between his legs and leaving the cinema hall like
a bolt.
It’s cool to wander under bridges with this strong
spring air and to walk among all these plants ant trees. This Mother Nature is
so funny and she does all this so right and she doesn’t give a damn about the
slyboots script-writers, narrow-minded and with pockets full of money. How big
is the sky.
What’s the trick?
Don’t mind about godzilas, titans and the peacock cops
who are going to and fro in all the cheap movies. Don’t give a damn about the
hidden government or about the stinky
generals who are dying to pick you up and to throw you away to the first line.
Fuck the scabby landlady with her railway siren-like
voice.
“That
old hag!” Bebe Bebino cried picking up his nose and climbing down on a rain pipe that streched on the marble stairs
climbing from the genovese lighthouse to the subway hole.
Aga Muerte Ortadoglu hanged on one of the putrid
beams. He swinged in the wind blow. His bluish tongue kept the rhythm of an
electric saw mincing all into small pieces. The boots stained with blood were
swallowed. Aga Muerte Ortadoglu had lost everything to the stock exchange and
he decided to help the “cardboard” journalists and to take the bloody creditors
a peg or two.
“You’re
tough, man!” Bebe bebino shouted spitting angrily. “You’re playing dead,huh. You’re gone, ain’t you? You pissed on the
country! You don’ give a damn about the Big Parents anymore! Are you fucking
with me? You ain’t pay me taxes anymore? You ain’t get monhtly a pack of energy
from the men in black? Are you fucking with me? You’re gone in the worm holes?
You carrion, I saw your face on the TV! I know you, Aga Muerte Ortadoglu!”
Aga Muerte Ortadoglu didn’t answer.
What’s the trick?
Do it like this, for the sake of doing it. Laugh on
the patriots who make politics in the street corner. Tell bye, bye, adios,
adios to the sanitaries on duty and to the
country’s whores pregnant with the national sexual excitement. Sneak into the chaos. Frighten
half of the people at the evening news. What a wack’o!
Aga Muerte Ortadoglu was swinging in the wind blow like
a bell tongue and he didn’t give a damn about Bebe Bebino and his godzilas and
his titans or his street guards, fat , bald and eager to get some money.
“Is
this wind or breeze?” Bebe Bebino, bewildered, asked Monsera Banosera who was warming her white
flesh to the sun.
Monsera Banosera?
She was reading right in the ass of the mad wind. She
was finding tiny things in the pile of ants and in the rat’s urine. She read in
the stars.
Monsera Banosera?
She knew by heart Lenin’s life. She took his trace. It
was a matter of days to reach him.
“Is this wind or breeze?” Bebe Bebino asked
her wiping his nose and losing his dizzy look in the bushes, among plants.
“You
are handsome”, whispered Monsera Banosera
watching him languishly and seeking for his energetical matrix.
“Aga
Muerte Ortadoglu is dead, dead?” Bebe Bebino asked and burst into tears.
“He’s
very dead, honey!” said Monsera Banosera bursting into laugh and picking
up a morning rancid star in the sky.
“He’s
dead”.
“Yeah,
what did you think, stud?Where do you think you are?”
“At
the cinema!”
“Love,
I bet you’ve been again to Paradise, right?”
“Yeap”.
”I bet nothing’s changed”.
“Yeap”.
“There
was also a news journal?”
“Yeap”.
“Our
country is the first, right?”
“You
bet it is”.
Well, didn’t we discover the atom? Didn’t we discover
the gun powder? And the insuline, goodness? And the immortality, shitness!
“Shitness”? Monsera Banosera
asked astonishedly.
What?
I wonder if Monsera Banosera, who waits to find God,
knows that our language is music of the musics?Doesn’t this fat woman know that
the whole Universe is vibration and incantation?
“Mad
flag!”
“Waggish
mower!”
“Bonjourists
like tourists!”
“Patriots
like dolts!”
“Parliament,
parliament...”
“You`re
a big incompetent!”
What a big laughter. And I fooled around with the stars lady. With the big mistress of the
informational universal fields caught
in the cuantic metaphorical whirlpool.
“The
cuantic metaphorical whirlpool?” Monsera Banosera asked gently. “Oh, my love, this is far too much”.
“Modestym,
modestym?” yielded Bebe Bebino jumping on a leg.
Sometimes you
feel like leaving your corpse stay still, you feel like running away. Break the
rules. Jump over the barriers. Forget about yourself. Fool around. Deny
yourself. Spit all over you. Rebel among the rebels.
“And a
bullet in your ass!” shouted Monsera Banosera shaking her white fleshes. “A bullet right in your little ass, dirty
with liver stains, you asshole and anti-national punk! You jerk, you’re coming
to lament to me and make a big fuss about it like it was an appearance, like it
was cinema! It’s not, honey!”
“You
mean Aga Muerte Ortadoglu is really dead” asked Bebe Bebino doubtedly and
fearfully.
“Dead”.
“And
me?Have I really got out the cinema?”
“That’s
right!” Monsera Banosera whispered letting her huge nipples out.
“Am
I immortal?”
“Yeah, you’re a tax payer, ha, ha, ha!”
“What
are you telling me, Monsera Banosera?”
“I
found your trace! I’ve been smelling you
for a thousand years! ‘Cause I know you’re all alone! You go to the
cinema to fill out your time, that even you
created, love, out of the Great Nothing! Your world is the Big Cinema! The Big Country is the cinema!”
“You
mad woman, and what would be you?” asked the man hiding under Bebe Bebino’s identity.
“Zarza con dio” shouted Combelonian de Adamville splitting
the milky chest of the fortune –teller Monsera Banosera and sending flashes out
of his steel claws, almost ready to turn a new page in the strange agitated
history of the Universe of the universes, kidnapping one of the lonely judges,
just good to enter the mad house.
Translated by Ioana Bostan
