

## Intro

My name is Joe. I was born in a town called Lud, in Israel, next to the water tower. When I was a kid, I used to make swords from car antennas, to duel other kids. It was a great adventure. As is turned out, the rest of my life has been a big adventure too...

I like to write stories and snippets about this funny, crazy and sometimes sad thing called "life" and how people choose to live it. This book is a collection that touches different places and times.

A book is a cup of coffee. The first sips should give you a hint of the flavor, then, as you keep reading, you get a full rush of appreciation, followed by a sustained high as you drink it up.

Come inside, dear reader, and allow me to pour you a cup of bitter-sweet Joe!

When you are done with the cup of coffee, feel free to email me at: vfrllcnn@gmail.com

Or check me out on:  
Facebook  
Medium

LinkedIn  
Twitter  
Instagram

I am always very glad to hear back from my readers, so please keep it coming!

The water tower, Lud, Israel. Photo by the author.

Cover image:

Ezra Comeau Jeffrey

Editing:

Zachariah Wahrer

Inspiration:

Zohar, Ronen, Pavel, Photina, Natasha, the kids, and everybody else. You know who and why you are.

p.s. This book contains some poetry. If you are reading it on a very small screen, it is more enjoyable to orient it horizontally, rather than vertically.

## Legal Notes

Copyright 2018, Joe Marjesua.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner's trademark. The information in this book is distributed on an "as is" basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

## Table of Contents

Lost in Space

Weekend

Kingdom Come

Love Spells

My Generation

Emptiness

Riga Doom

Basinger Haiku

Inheritance

Angelic

A Kitchen Poem

Joe and the Chipmunks

Prayer for the Rain

If Not Now

The Rise and the Fall

My Sister in Pigtails

A Sample Set of One

Towers

Like Our Fathers

The Last Temptation

# 

#  **Lost in Space**

A medical autobiography

A photo by Greg Rakozy in Unsplash.

It was a late afternoon. Joe opened a book called - _The International Statistical Classification of Diseases and Related Health Problems_ that he found on his wife's desk. It was a big book with a strange name. He studied the first few pages and learned that he was looking at the 11th edition, which meant that it was quite a best seller. Upon googling the title, he saw that it was better known simply as the _ICD_. The World Health Organization published the ICD and it was used by all the doctors worldwide for diagnosing medical conditions.

In other words – it was a sort of a dictionary of the language of medical reporting. Joe knew that Mitzi was using it in her studies to become a registered nurse. _How fancy!_ he thought. _So many digits and codes on those pages. Myriads of broken human lives behind each combination of digits. Just like astronomical tables, with digits representing star phases._

Before too long, he could not resist and started looking for familiar codes that he remembered from his medical history. It was kind of like playing "Where is Waldo", trying to spot pieces of his own life in that big volume.

...

When he was a kid in Israel, Joe had a fascination with space exploration. He read tons of science fiction and went to astronomy classes heavy with math; understanding everything the instructor explained about black holes, galaxies, and pulsars. He knew when he grew up he wanted to move to the US and work for NASA, maybe fly to Mars one day.

But, when he started learning how to drive, he was told that he had 401.9 which is ICD speak for "Essential, Primary Hypertension" and that he needed to start taking medications. He proceeded to do that, passing out on the carpet the very first night after taking a beta blocker. He was rather young then, but it was clear that Mars was not in the cards anymore.

A few months later, Joe found out that along with the lovely high blood pressure, he also had 753.13 " Polycystic Kidney, Adult Type". He was somewhat excited, because now he could be just like his mommy, whom he adored. Joe was very disappointed, however, when she slapped him hard on the face, started crying, and said he was a fool.

...

When he was 21, a college junior, studying and serving in the army, he often drank "a bottle a day to keep the doctor away" with his roommate. By then, his fascination had turned from space to women. At some point, he had the misfortune of falling for his high school friend's girl. And if that was not bad enough, his friend had the nerve to die on them just as the whole thing occurred. Finding himself in such a bizarre love triangle with a dead guy and his crazy girlfriend made Joe do very stupid things with booze.

Soon enough, he had his first serious case of _594.2_ "Ureteric Kidney Stones". The stones felt like he had a large ball of fire made by Satan living in his lower stomach. But then again, it didn't hurt nearly as much as being told by the girl in question (Sylvia) that she wished that it was Joe who died and not her former boyfriend.

After pissing blood for 2 days and feeling like he was being cut in half with a chainsaw, Joe decided to go easy on the booze for a while. Without the alcoholic haze, he felt that Sylvia was a lot less essential in his life. Her allure evaporated, and he was glad to cast off the mental burden and sail to happier, sunnier shores.

...

These were the early days of innocence. The best was yet to come. Eventually, he moved to the US, got married, and had kids. But by the time he turned 40, he'd already had a 00868, 50300, and 50360 "Kidney Transplant". Weeks of dread, hovering between life and death, surrounded by nightmares and agony in a rundown little hospital ICU in the middle of Siberia. Ultimately the adventure ended in total victory for him.

He went to Siberia because the United Network for Organ Sharing (UNOS) believed in fair play. They did not put people on the transplant list before they were on dialysis. Unlike UNOS, when it came to his own health, Joe did not believe in fair play. He believed in survival, so he bought himself a kidney in Russia. He did not want to be like his mommy anymore because he saw her beautiful body ruined and her spirit broken in dialysis, waiting desperately for seven long years for her turn to get a kidney. When his time came, Joe spent his hard-earned money well and simply bought one.

And then, shortly after coming back to the US, there was a rather ironic 10061 "Incision and Drainage of Abscess — Simple or Single". Apparently, unlike their colleagues in Siberia, the doctors in a fancy Harvard teaching hospital did not know how to remove stitches without forgetting some inside the patient.

Soon afterwards, some new exciting ICD codes came into his life and made him sleepless, just as he was starting a snazzy new Seattle job. It hasn't even been two months. He just moved into town and settled in a funky little downtown apartment, when he realized that his recent chest pains were a case of I25.10 "Arterial Sclerotic Disease of Native Coronary Artery w/o Angina Pectoris".

A rat salad of other ICD codes followed. Then, to make things even more exciting, Joe got fired and thrown out of the apartment. He decided to return to Boston. He still shivered when he remembered his journey back, crawling slowly and painfully down the freeway with the contents of his apartment in the back of his Acura TL.

Sad, beaten, humiliated, and barely breathing. Choking on large doses of heart disease and stress. Eventually, he had a head on collision accident in upstate New York and totaled the Acura. Yet somehow made it back home safe in one piece, to deal with the heart issues.

What could have been _V89.2 "Person injured in unspecified motor-vehicle accident", t_ urned out to be a much simpler Z _04.1 "Encounter for examination and observation following transport accident"._

...

Joe snapped back to the present. Bygones were bygones. He survived all those ICD codes. They were just a thing that happened to him in the past. It took many years, but nightmares no longer tormented him. Life was good.

Joe knew he would not fly to Mars. Nevertheless, in some bizarre way, he still felt like an astronaut. His life was drifting towards a distant monolith orbiting Jupiter. A monolith containing a star gate inside. Just like Dave Bowman in the movie _2001: A Space Odyssey_ , he was out there in deep space and he could see new stars born and pulsars changing colors in the distance.

And then the realization hit him: _His real and only ICD diagnosis was simply_ X52.XXXA "Prolonged Stay in Weightless Environment". All the other codes were just his imagination playing tricks on him. This realization made him calm and confident. Joe closed the book and put it back on his wife's desk. Then he got up and went for a swim.

#  **Weekend**

A photo by Gregory Pappas on Unsplash.

The woman sleeps in darkened bedroom...

With children pacified,  
it's just her fleeting moment of delight

Too beat for love,  
she hugs the pillow and a smile of joy alights

reflecting on her freckled nose and cheeks

she is alight with weekend glowing dreams,

and deeds not yet accomplished!

#  **Kingdom Come**

A photo by Nikolay Vorobyev on Unsplash.

I have seen the power and the glory

of the kingdom whose time has come.

_The long columns of marching soldiers in green,  
the rockets, the row after row of tanks,  
the airplanes above,  
_ _the red pointed star._

_The black limousines,_ _  
_ _the mustaches._

_  
__The cry of hearts who would not grow older!_

I left, they stayed.

#  **Love Spells**

A practical guide to wizardry

A photo by Susan Kirsch on Unsplash.

The year 1990 was magical. The gates of the Soviet Union blew open and over 200,000 people immigrated to Israel. These new immigrants needed to live somewhere, so the real estate market experienced an unbelievable boom. Things got so expensive that families of five often shared a single crowded room. Immigrant students had an advantage; they could live cheaply in university dorms.

And so, it came to be that a messy old dorm in the Ahuza neighborhood in Haifa, became a heaven for the "Russians" who studied in the Technion and Haifa University. At least half of those Russians were girls, many of whom were blond haired, blue-eyed angels, the likes of which were never seen in Israel. Their existence was whispered among the stunned "native Israeli" male student population. They were flawless. Besides their heavenly beauty, they were cultured and humble. They treated men the way men liked to be treated and they usually knew their way around a bedroom.

The local girls suddenly had some very tough competition. The spoiled, and sexually-clueless brunettes and dark-haired Israeli beauties folded their tails between their legs and settled for the few remaining suckers who did not know about the "paradise in Ahuza". Joe, who came to Israel as a child, enjoyed the rare privilege of being one of the few Israeli Russian speakers in the Technion. His local friends wanted to be introduced to an angel who was willing to date an "uncouth Israeli", and his new Russian friends really appreciated the friendship with a local who knew the ropes. It was nice for him to be right in the middle of it all and have such a flourishing social life.

One of Joe's new friends was a strawberry blond dude named Pavel. He immigrated only a few months earlier, but he was cool already, being a black belt in karate and a talented computer hacker. Pavel knew how to throw a party, and he always had interesting friends and sexy girls hanging out around him. Joe recognized a kindred spirit, and they spent a lot of quality time together...

Pavel, like Joe, was a student at the Technion, but unlike him, he was lucky enough to be a resident at the paradise. His dorm room was designed for four, but through some bureaucratic miracle, he only had two roommates, and both were swank. They utilized the resulting free space well. Everybody pitched their shekels together and bought a large comfortable bed with a firm mattress, made it up with silk sheets, and installed red strobe lights and a good stereo system. As a final little touch of luxury, they set up a little mirror in the ceiling. They surrounded the bed with several closets and stretched sheets between them for maximum privacy. This little piece of heaven was called the "Sexodrome". It was a shared area for the room's tenants and a few carefully selected "friends of the house" to enjoy. Usually, the "joy" was limited to three-hour time-slots, but occasional "all night passes" could be granted in return for serious favors or bribery.

Pavel's roommates quickly became Joe's brethren. One was Oleg, who liked mambo music and brought back girls who liked ballroom dancing. He and his athletic partners gave the Sexodrome a lot of wear and tear, and on several occasions, he had to borrow a toolkit to repair the bed... The other roommate was so legendary he was not really considered human in certain Haifan circles. Only a few mortals knew his name and it was whispered that it is Alexei. The whole dorm knew he was a demigod, a cupid like creature who went by the nickname "Coach."

Coach "smelled" and "picked" every "flower" that grew in their little local flower patch. Short and tall, skinny and fat, blonde, brunette, dark and red-headed. Word had it, that he had them all. Russian girls, Israeli girls, American, Brazilian, French, Swedish, and any other tourist that happened along. There was even a rumor that girls from nearby Arab villages came to visit him late at night. He commanded an animal magnetism in his personality that made girls tremble and touch their hair when he smiled.

However, deep down, inside he was a kind person and as humble as they came. For a persona of such authoritas and dignitas he was surprisingly accessible to the "common" folk. He loved to play chess, and anyone could knock on the door and play a game together. When not playing chess, he was always reading and programming, except when girls made appointments and came to visit.

...

One of the people who loved to come and play chess with Coach was a tall shy guy from Minsk — Dmitry. Joe liked Dmitry, and called him "Big D." They were lab partners on a bunch of projects at the Technion. Dmitry was a virgin, or at least that's what everyone suspected. Of course, according to him, he had a mysterious girlfriend that he was "doing" every night at her apartment in Hadar. But they all knew it was just bravado. The poor guy was too shy to get anywhere.

Pavel and the whole gang from the paradise room liked Dmitry too and did not hold his virginity against him. In fact, occasionally, when they were done dating this or that charming young lady, they would try to send her Dmitry's way. But usually, the poor slob would mumble something about "her being too ugly or stupid, or both," and that, "his girlfriend in Hadar was better." They even had a bizarre report from a lovely vixen named Ella, whom they sent on a date with Dmitry. Apparently, he picked her up in his car, drove silently all the way to his apartment, sat there staring at her for 20 minutes without talking or doing anything, then just as silently drove her back home... Ella was furious and almost killed them all for introducing her to this idiot.

Just as they were getting ready to give up on Dmitry and declare him "hopeless", a miracle happened. All the while they were trying to fix him up with friendly, easily accessible girls. But the one that finally roped him in was a little redhead called Masha. Masha was as bossy as they come. She was not particularly good looking, and truth be told, was a bit on the plump and homely side. Whatever she was lacking in the looks department, she made up by sheer obnoxiousness.

Dmitry loved Masha and Masha loved Masha. That made a healthy "love score" of 2:0 as far as she was concerned. Dmitry was her new toy, to drive her around, take her to the cinema and shopping, and to ogle admiringly.

There was only one problem with this lovely arrangement. Joe was a practical guy, so he spotted it first, filtering it out of Dmitry's love-stricken drivel. Masha was not putting out.

"So, how many times a night are you guys doing it?" he asked.

"Oh, Masha? Masha and I are crazy about each other. With the girl from Hadar we were doing it every night, but Masha and I — we decided that twice a week is enough to fulfill the physical aspects of our love," mumbled the poor idiot.

"So how is it?" asked Joe.

"Well, we haven't done it yet," Dmitry replied. "Masha is having her period, and she has serious cramps."

"Hmmm..." said Joe, smelling a rat. "How long has her period been going on?"

"Over two weeks now. It's a really bad one," said Dmitry with a serious face.

Joe burst out in hysterical laughter. "You do know, my sweet young boy, that a typical period only lasts 3–4 days?" he said solemnly.

"Of course I do," said Dmitry, with the same serious face. "My girlfriend in Hadar never even got hers..." he added.

_And that's because she does not exist,_ thought Joe, smiling kindly at poor Dmitry. Everything was clear now, they knew exactly what was going on. Masha "got herself a sucker" and was dragging him around by the tip of his Mojo stick. This was a typical Russian girls' ploy for guys they did not consider "real" men, or worthy of serious romantic investment — "give a little, take a lot". This usually involved kissing, fondling and an occasional hummer if it could not be avoided. But nothing more. Ever... Sometimes the excuse was virginity (fake or real), sometimes illness or period. The poor sucker would be used as a taxi service and a walking wallet. A love-stricken puppy like Dmitry could be strung along for months, till a better one came along, or the abuser got bored.

...

Dmitry soon began to suspect that he was being had. Making out with Masha was nice, but he badly wanted what everybody else from the paradise seemed to get so easily from their girlfriends.

Every time he broached the subject with her, Masha formed a sad little grimace and complained about the length and severity of her period. He tried to tell her that it's impossible to have week long periods.

She smiled contemptuously and shook her head. "What do you know about periods, my big, adorable oaf?"

Dmitry tried to be firm. But when he sent his hand "down there" to check what was really going on, he got slapped firmly and decisively and Masha's tongue quickly darted back into his mouth. After a month of this torture, Dmitry decided it was time to take it to the expert.

...

Coach had just come out of the shower and was drying his long curly hair with a small towel when there was a knock on the door. Dmitry stood there lost and helpless.

"Hey there, Big D!" Coach said. "Are you alright?"

But "Big D" was not "all right", and it was obvious that something serious was bothering him. Coach was a good friend and he knew just what to do. He silently walked to the table and set up the chess board. They sat and played for a while, making opening moves and trading first pieces. Then, Coach broke the silence.

"So, is Masha better than the girl from Hadar?"

"She would be great, if only she put out", answered Dmitry.

"What do you mean — doesn't she?" retorted Coach.

"Well, she seems to have this never-ending period whenever we see each other. All we do is tongue and hump," Dmitry said quietly.

"She must be a Russian virgin then," Coach explained.

"And what is that?"

"A Russian virgin is a girl who is dating guys but wants to get married as a virgin. So, no penetration, using any excuse she can find. Which means — no love for you, my dear innocent boy!"

Dmitry was shocked. "Really?" He groaned. "But I love her, and she loves me!" He looked really pained as he said it. "I'm sure that she just suffers from never ending periods and bad nerves."

Coach snickered and put Dmitry's queen in a desperate position with a well-executed pincer attack. "If you want to get between Masha's legs, you have to recite a series of spells and incantations. You'll eventually get what you want," Coach said, nodding in affirmation. "Do not stare at me like a lost baby duckling looking for his mommy!" he continued and grinned broadly at Dmitry. "These incantations always work, in some form."

"Well then, teach me the incantations! I want to learn these love spells of yours." begged Dmitry, surrendering his queen.

Coach laughed and folded the chess board. This was becoming interesting and there was no place for chess. It was time to begin.

"My dear boy, let me give you a short background." he started. "Since the dawn of time mankind–and notice, I am using the word "mankind" and not "humankind"–has faced the severe problem of the "chastity belt." Smarter men than us have struggled with it throughout the ages." Coach paused, then continued.

"Notice that I am not talking about some stupid iron pants that medieval knights made their wives wear. I am talking about the scourge of girls crossing their legs for various reasons. Sometimes because of society and religion that prohibit intercourse during illnesses or menstrual periods or simply sex before marriage. Other times, these are women who want to date or live together but not to put out just yet. And so – the legs stayed crossed." As coach spoke, Dmitry listened with fascination and his jaw dropped further and further.

"We, men have always been, as we are now - horny bastards. Solutions had to be found! Depending on geography and culture, the following four solutions have emerged: in Europe, where women's lips are luscious, "fellacio," or "the blowjob," as we call it here, was always in favor. Africa, where the breasts are large and warm, favors the "breast of love," or simply "tit-fucking". The Middle East, our dear Muslim brethren, are rather anal in everything they do, so it comes as no surprise that they solve this vexing problem from behind too. And finally, the Chinese and their ilk — let's just say that their women have small and delicate feet, with heavenly soles which they know how to use expertly."

When Coach stopped for a moment, Dmitry swallowed hard and whispered, "So I should tell Masha to give me a blowjob?"

Coach laughed and slapped the table with delight. "Wow! You have all the finesse of a garbage truck. I can see why you have so much success with women. The way I would present it if I wanted to be successful in my quest," (and it was very clear to Dmitry, Pavel, Oleg and Joe, who came in while those two were talking, that Coach has always been successful in his quests), "I would start by giving the girl a little admiring peck on the lips, smile and say : 'My dear, you have such lovely lips. They would look amazing on the tip of my...'" Everybody laughed.

"But what if she says the thought of giving me a blowjob makes her want to throw up?" Dmitry asked in horror. Everybody in the room knew that this was exactly what he must have been hearing from Masha.

"No problem," Coach replied. "You give her another peck and say: 'Baby, your little tush is precious. It would look even better with a little something sticking in it...'"

Wild laughter filled the room, and Dmitry turned purple in embarrassment. Finally, he moaned and blurted, "What if she says that I am a pervert, and that it hurts, and that in no way will she let me do her like that?"

"No problem again," continued Coach. "Then you simply give her one final peck, and without giving her any chance to refuse–depending on whether her breasts or the soles of her feet turn you on–you say: 'Darling, points well taken! Lie down and let me come between your lovely breasts / the precious soles of your feet...'"

Now the room was simply shaking with laughter. Even Dmitry felt encouraged. They all worked on him for another half an hour to build up his courage, then sent him off to talk to Masha.

Later that night, he came back with his tail between his legs. Joe, Coach, and Pavel were sitting right where he left them, discussing the merits of cognac vs. scotch when he staggered in.

Dmitry's face was ashen. They quickly went to his side, pulled a bottle out of a drawer and poured him a little liquid remedy for courage. Dmitry shook his head, drank the vodka straight up, and broke down in hysterical sobs.

"So, what happened?" tried Joe cautiously.

"She broke up with me, Masha broke up with me!" groaned Dmitry. "I met her like always, by the central library. We went to buy her that skirt in Ziv she told me about the other day. Then we went to my place. We had a salad and started making out on the couch. I tried to make my way down there, but she said that her period was just winding down and we can't do it yet. So, I decided to use the spells on her, just like we practiced. She listened to me carefully, and at first it looked like she was enjoying it." Dmitry paused and poured himself another shot. "By the time I got to the "breast of love" part she was actually smiling." He gulped down the second shot.

"So, what happened?" Joe and Pavel both shouted.

Coach nodded looking thoughtful, then said: "She suddenly started crying and broke up with you."

"How the hell did you know?" asked Dmitry, trying to control his sobs.

"Who cares? Just dump the bitch and go back to the girl in Hadar!" said Pavel.

"Don't you understand?" Joe exclaimed. "There is no girl in Hadar!"

Dmitry shook his head in disgusted affirmation and Pavel made a sheepish grin, pretending he was a hole in the wall.

Coach got up, and hugged Dmitry. "Do you really like this girl?"

"Yes, I dooooo..." whined poor Dmitry.

"No worries. I will take care of everything. But you will be stuck with her for the next few years or you might even have to marry her. You do understand that? Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes, I dooooo..." sobbed the poor idiot. "I love her!

"OK, leave it to me. She is from Agricultural Engineering, right?"

"Yes. And she always has lunch at the cafeteria in the Student Union building around 1 PM".

Coach snickered. "Consider it done. Better go buy a large pack of condoms. Her period will be over very soon!"

Pavel and Joe laughed hysterically, but Dmitry shook his head in disbelief and kept sobbing.

...

Masha was just getting started on her soup when a tall, hazel eyed, charming devil of a guy sat down across from her at the table. She tried a timid smile and nervously pursed her lips, avoiding his direct gaze, but Coach would allow none of these little tricks.

He cleared his throat and spoke to her, looking deep into her eyes. "You, my dear, must be Masha?"

On hearing this, she dropped her spoon into the soup and froze for a moment. Then, she steadied herself and whispered a surprised confirmation.

"A little more plump and homely than our dear 'D' described, but not completely without charm."

Masha made a move to get up, but Coach just smiled and continued looking directly into her eyes. Without realizing quite what she was doing, she sank back onto the chair.

"How is your period?" Coach continued.

Masha turned red with indignation. She was furious, but something about Coach's mannerisms made her sit there and stare at him like a rabbit looking into the eyes of a boa constrictor.

"My name is Alexei, I am D's friend. You know, Dmitry - your boyfriend. The boys and I call him 'D'. I like D. He is upset, so, I am upset. But I suspect that you are upset too. Aren't you, Masha?" he asked.

"Yes, I am, actually. How did you know?" she spat back, shaking her head.

"You broke up with him yesterday. Why was that, Masha? Is it because you are a virgin? You like fooling around and you want sex, but you are afraid that if you go too far, nobody will want you later?" Coach raised his eyebrows and looked even more charming. "Must be hard being one of a few homely girls in this dorm, where all your friends are gorgeous..."

Masha's head was dizzy now. She mumbled something and stared into the soup.

"You think that if you get married as a virgin, it will somehow compensate for your ugliness and get you a good-looking husband," Coach said savagely and pretended he was busy with his food. Masha groaned but said nothing. She did not try to get up and leave anymore.

"Now let's talk of dear Dmitry," continued Coach. "He is a very decent looking guy. He is athletic. He is a good student and I am sure he will be successful in his career. I know his parents. They are nice people. He is Russian and so are you. Do you think with your big ass and pimples you can do better?"

Masha gasped, remaining rooted to her chair.

"You have my poor friend wrapped around your finger. He will marry you in a month, even if you keep abusing him. But you need to let him have some. At this point, it will make your relationship stronger. Your virginity has served its purpose my dear! Time for your period to be over. You want sex just as bad as he does. So why play games?"

Masha smiled weakly and started nodding. They continued sitting together for another half an hour, talking about life and mutual friends. By the time they finished their lunches, Masha forgave Coach the insults, and they got up from the table as friends.

...

Later that afternoon, Coach, Pavel and Joe were watching basketball in the room when Dmitry burst in.

"Coach, you genius! You wizard, you! She came to see me and kissed me and told me we are a couple again and made an appointment to meet me here around 10PM". Dmitry was waving his hands, his eyes shining with happiness and excitement.

"Of course, she did," murmured Coach and smiled. He bent to Dmitry's ear and whispered in it for a minute. Dmitry bowed, nodded and left.

"'C'mon, boys," Coach announced. We have two hours to finish watching basketball, have dinner and find other accommodations. I am gifting this night at the Sexodrome to Dmitry and Masha. We better also pass a message to Oleg not to show his face here tonight. Those two need all the privacy they can get!"

And so, it came to pass the next morning, that Masha's long period was finally over and "D" grew three inches taller in his shoes. Everybody knew now that he had a girlfriend that put out, and he was a real man.

As for the Sexodrome: Oleg had to borrow the toolkit again to repair the bed. Masha's plump tush proved to be too much for the sensitive springs and some screws flew off.

Six months later, they were all invited to Masha and Dmitry's wedding. Happy and drunk, they all recited the love spells together, Masha included.

#  **My Generation**

A photo by Todd Quackenbush on Unsplash.

I was thinking about my generation.  
We were raised so desperately to believe,  
that we are better than all those that came before us.

Now I understand that we were just scared children,  
desperate for a U-turn - a run to a Rabbi or a Priest  
with our tail between our legs.

We're just an immature, insecure society,  
that wants God to tell them that it's OK to be atheists.

But God is strangely silent,  
as Gods typically are...

#  **Emptiness**

A photo by Vincent Camacho in Unsplash.

You can fill your body with electrolytes  
you can be a shadow in a world of light,  
you can feel what others surely felt before  
you can puke your guts all over, crying "never more!"

But the emptiness will get you son  
the emptiness inside your head...  
That hollow heart that never heals  
is yours until the end.

#  **Riga Doom**

Gaming, reimagined

Chain-gun (weapon number 4) is basically a large machine gun. Very good against large crowds of small monsters or single large one. From the Doom Wiki

Latvia is an EU member country in the Baltic region of Northern Europe. Its capital is Riga. In 1940 Latvia briefly became a Soviet Republic; in 1941 through 1944 it was occupied by Nazi Germany. From 1944 till 1991 it was Soviet again. From the Wikipedia

A photo by  Sascha Israel on  Unsplash.

The first day in Riga was finally over. Joe was unwinding in a little internet cafe in the old city enjoying the nightly calm. He was doing email and watching nearby kids play a Doom death-match. His feet were aching from all the walking today. He was having trouble concentrating. The day's emotions were overwhelming. He spent the morning showing his wife and son where he'd been born, nearly forty years ago. It was exciting for everyone and his son kept asking questions. They went through all the special places he remembered from childhood, vivid and unchanged in the memory palace of his mind, comparing them to the present.

First, they visited the apartment where he grew up. Joe told them about each room and what things he used to do there. Then, they went downstairs to the yard where he played soccer when he was his son's age. Next, the cafe where he often had lunch with his grandfather who picked him up from school. They stopped at the university where his mother used to work. Finally, they found his favorite childhood toy store, and he bought his son a radio-controlled car.

He intentionally did not take them anywhere associated with his father. It was supposed to be a good trip. He did not want to remember anything about that man...

They ate a delicious seafood lunch at the big central market. When his wife asked him about the weird structure they were in, Joe explained that it had been a Zeppelin hangar, and that there were four of them interconnected. His son thought that was very cool to be inside the belly of a giant Zeppelin parking spot.

After lunch, they went to his favorite park where he used to ride scooters with his friends, right until his mother took him away to live in Israel. The scooter rentals were gone, and instead the pavilion had a video game arcade with old machines from the 1980s. The place was a dump. The beautiful old fountain in the center of a pond that he remembered so fondly was dry and filthy. Still, Joe did not want to leave, so to kill some time they spent half an hour playing space invaders.

Then they left and went to see Joe's elementary school that was only a few streets away. Everything was still the same. The large carpeted stairways. The high ceiling classrooms. He told the janitor that this was the school where he studied in first grade and showed him where his friend and he used to hide in the little custodial closet downstairs. The guy laughed and said that he remembered Joe. But Joe knew it was untrue, a little white lie uttered to get a tip from a sentimental tourist.

...

Now that he was married and had a son, it was strange for Joe to return to his birthplace. Thirty years have gone by. He was a grownup. He built a life for himself in Israel, and then uprooted it and did it all over again in the US. Riga was two worlds away. A blip on a map. A tiny dot between Russia and Germany.

For most Americans, Latvia was an out-of-the-way, barely known country just like the other two Baltic republics – Lithuania and Estonia. Not a typical tourist destination, but rather an odd and exotic place. A lady from work went "ooh" and "aah" when he told her he was going to stop in Riga. She said that her mother, a church elder, visited it last year with her group and had nothing but praises.

"There are really sweet, wholesome people living there," she said, and Joe nodded politely, not wanting to make any comments. In his memory palace, Riga was mostly empty landscape without any inhabitants, just like a shooting game after a full walk-through. It wasn't a place where real people lived and went to work every day. Real people who went on holidays, laughed, raised children. His Riga had none of that. It was just like a Doom level played well - all the monsters and fellow players were gone, leaving only bare streets and buildings. Basically, it was a very large interactive museum.

As he thought more of Riga, his mouth filled with the sweet and sour taste of black bread and smoked sprat fish. Further down in his mind, the red and yellow trams of his childhood were still running, and his grandfather was alive. They were walking together down the narrow cobblestone alleys, and he was telling little Joe about Julius Caesar and Nicola Tesla.

His sweet grandfather — painfully dragging his body with the help of two canes. He was partially paralyzed by war wounds and everything else that happened to their family afterwards, but he was still alive and laughing in the Riga of Joe's mind. Joe remembered looking into those kind, wise eyes as he spoke to him and feeling so happy. He was always very happy when he was with his grandfather. This part always hurt, and Joe felt a lump form in his throat, so he quickly forced himself to return to the present.

...

After leaving the school, they walked past the "Revolution Museum", now called "The Museum of The Occupation of Latvia." The famous riflemen monument was still outside, and Joe thought that they must be confused by the name change. That's probably why their eyes pointed downwards a bit, as if ashamed that they guarded the wrong museum all these years.

Inside, the museum was full of self-serving, handpicked exhibits expressing nothing but righteous Latvian indignation. Lots of documents and pictures that showed how in 1940 the evil Soviets abused the helpless locals. The message was clear \- due to the trauma of Soviet mistreatment, the Latvians had no choice but to collaborate with the Nazis. And because they did not want to anger their new Nazi masters who were protecting them, they innocently stood by while those Nazis killed all the Latvian Jews. The key message was that it was the Nazis who killed the Jews here. Not the locals "God forbid".

"What a bunch of crap!" thought Joe. This was like the "Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy" museum. His wife and son did not say anything because they were Americans, and Americans followed the "Animal House" movie principle. Just like John Belushi in that movie - they _did not know much about history, nor too much biology_ either. Joe doubted they really understood the absurdity of the museum or why he got so angry there. He never told them about his family, or rather, why he didn't really have one. Deep down, he was feeling more and more uncomfortable. He was an alien here, even though his passport said this is his city of birth. It started earlier in the airport when they landed...

The Riflemen monument. Photo by author.

The border policeman had wanted to know who he was, why did he bring his family here, how long was he planning to stay, was he really born in Riga, and did he by any chance plan to claim back his Latvian citizenship.

He could have said: "My name is S.E. We came for tourism. We will only stay a few days. Yes, I was born here."

And if he felt ironic he could have added: "In fact, my family lived here for three hundred years, until someone from _your grandparents' generation_ murdered all of them. Yes, all of them except _my grandparents_ , who joined the Soviet army to fight the Nazis."

Regardless, he would have finished with: "No, I am not interested in citizenship, thank you!"

But something angry and defiant inside made him say instead: My name is Joe Marjesua. I am of Moroccan ancestry. I was not born here. The name and birthplace in the passport are a mistake."

The policeman was horrified, but Joe just plowed right head: "I was really born in Israel, in a town called Lud, in the Memshalti neighborhood, close to the water tower. I steal cars for a living."

At that point the policeman attempted to say something, but Joe, who was really "in the zone", just made a break through to the finish line:

"I have 11 brothers and we all like cars, so we steal them. I came to see what cars I like in Riga. Just to check the place out. You know... My brothers will join me next week and we'll see what we can see."

The policeman failed to appreciate the humor and delivered a stern lecture about manners in a mix of English and Latvian which Joe pretended not to understand. Then he said: "I could deny you entry because you are so obviously disrespectful, but you are an American and I don't need the fuss." The policeman reluctantly stamped their passports and waved them in.

In the taxi, Joe's wife yelled at him for a good five minutes, but he just shrugged. As she was complaining bitterly about his eccentricity and cynicism, "If you are going to be an asshole like always, why did you drag me and our son here in the first place?!" he was trying to make up his mind whether she was right. Nobody forced him to come here, and perhaps there was no need to be so rude to the policeman.

The cynicism was something he inherited from his mother, and it was not usually appreciated by those around him. But then again, the more Joe thought about it, the more he realized that he was in the right and his wife was wrong. It was none of anybody's business if he wanted a Latvian citizenship or not. He certainly had every right to claim it if he wanted to. That policeman was a jerk sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

However, the thought of himself as Latvian made him shake his head.

"No... I don't think so... Thanks," he whispered, giving his wife a reconciliatory smile. He then told her a joke about Albert Einstein, a pacifist "Jewish genius" who was so gifted that he had sex with both his cousin, Elsa, and her daughter simultaneously, while inventing complex equations and playing the violin.

Probably, if old Albert had visited Berlin in 1950, after the war, he would have been asked similar questions from some fat, ex-Nazi border policeman in Tegel airport. There were still no porn stars in Albert's time, so he could not say that he is one, despite his obvious talents.

Albert might have been tempted to tell the policeman: "I was born in Princeton, New Jersey, next to a blackboard, with a chalk in my hand and a pipe in my mouth! I teach music and play the violin for a living. I am not a Physicist."

And if the guy objected, Albert could have continued: "I never lived in Germany and my name is Frank, not Albert. I don't have a Nobel prize and I never headed the Prussian Academy of Science."

Joe's wife just did not get any of his sick humor, so he sighed and gave up.

Before too long, more crazy thoughts inside Joe's head led him to physics, and his mind filled with special relativity and black hole theories. Those theories told him that there was a personal "emotional black hole" above Riga, and his soul was caught in it.

Einstein said that the speed of light was constant. Joe disagreed. It was variable, and it changed all the time, from zero to infinity, depending on where you found yourself geographically and emotionally. He felt that the speed of light was close to zero for him in Riga just then.

Joe's head was throbbing, He was feeling nauseous. His wife was telling him something, but he wasn't listening.

...

After being miserable for a while, he decided to "grab the bull by the horns". He sent his wife and son to the local mall to see a movie and do some shopping. Then, he walked over to the train station and flicked his finger to a sleepy looking Russian taxi driver who had an old Citroen. When he got in, he quietly whispered, "Rumbula forest." The guy shook his head and took off without a word.

Driving out of the city, they passed the Zeppelin hangars his son liked so much earlier today. They were at Rumbula in less than twenty minutes. The place was only 10 kilometers from the city outskirts, and the monument was visible from the road.

Joe motioned to the driver to stop and got out. "Wait here," he said and started walking. Among the trees and bushes, between the piles of trash, grew many weeds and mushrooms. It looked like any other typical side of a road.

And then suddenly as he kept walking there were holes everywhere. Huge craters scattered across the forest floor. They were the remains of a giant killing field dug in 1941–42 for Latvia's Jews and their miserable Czech brethren, none of whom were lucky enough to receive quick "treatment" in Auschwitz. All of them were brought as "overflow cargo" to this little hellish place, to be "finished off" slowly and painfully using machine guns, right here in the forest. Most were buried alive, stacked like sardines in a can when the bullets ran out. Disposed of, like the human garbage everybody considered them to be, in 1941-1942 Latvia.

Joe knew the truth about Latvians in the war years. They were the ones doing most of the killing, with the Germans simply watching and enjoying the show. Whatever that museum had to say was horseshit. Righteous, self-serving horseshit for idiots who did not know any better. This killing ground was Latvian. And Joe was standing ankle deep in it.

Tears swelled in Joe's eyes. He fell to the ground and started crawling, not feeling himself worthy to trample this hallowed ground. Crawling and rolling around in the dirt like a worm, prostrating himself, kissing it. Joe was oblivious of his new clothes he was ruining, or the choked words and guttural sounds coming out of his mouth.

Finally, quiet, mournful sentences came together slowly. His head was bobbing from side to side in agony.

Joe repeated, again and again, a psalm from the daily prayers, a lament: "This is the gateway to God, to Paradise. Only the righteous shall enter it! Only the righteous."

Choked, hysterical sobbing, transforming into rage and feelings of helplessness and shame burst out of him.

Rumbula forest. Photo by author.

_If only I was here with my friends from the Israeli army back when this was happening,_ thought Joe, _with our M16's and a few grenades and a flamethrower for a good measure, all those people would have been alive today!_

But they were not there, and everyone was killed like cattle, running helplessly to their deaths, to the lewd jeers and laughter of cruel people who lost their soul and their humanity.

His heart was bursting, and he was in agony. It was more than one's mind could grasp. There was no bull to grab by its horns here. There was just cruelty and madness.

Joe must have spent over an hour mourning before he finally limped out of the hellish forest, filthy, crestfallen, his spirit broken. The driver kept quiet, and they drove back in silence.

When they got to the train station, Joe took $300 out of his pocket. The Russian bowed politely and started mumbling something about disliking Latvians who treated him like garbage and would not give him Latvian citizenship. Joe said nothing.

The driver then asked Joe, "How many family members did you lose in that forest?"

Joe got out of the old Citroen and spat on the pavement. "Go fuck yourself! It's none of your business!"

...

It was late as Joe sat in the internet cafe. His family was fast asleep in the nearby hotel. The kids across from him were still playing their death-match. The speakers were quite loud and the whole room reverberated with gunshots and explosions.

They were tall, strong, blue-eyed teenagers. They spoke Latvian interlaced with some Russian. Russian was the "Lingua Franca" of gamers worldwide. Joe found this amusing, considering how much effort Latvians expended daily in proving to the outside world that they did not know a single word of Russian. The boys laughed as they played and drank beer from tall glasses. The chilly midnight air made him cringe. Or perhaps it was the happy laughter nearby?

These kids were expert gamers. They were using weapon number 4–his favorite in Doom, too – the chain gun. It was really the best tool for the job. The shotgun did not pack enough punch, the rocket launcher was not accurate, the plasma load in the plasma rifle always ran out too quickly, and as for the BFG, it was only good for killing "Hell Bosses."

Joe was in full agreement with the boys — any serious Doomer used a chain gun as his main working tool. "Like grandfathers, like grandkids," he thought to himself, face twisting in an ugly smile. Apparently, big machine guns were a Latvian tradition. Joe began to feel sick...

The blood of his murdered family started screaming at him through the wet forest floor. Pulsating, heavy crimson blood bursting out of that hellish forest. Past the ever-watchful trees, across the midnight air, and into his pounding heart. Joe saw their pale lifeless faces, staring at him reproachfully: The older women who never got to be grandmothers and hold a child to their chest; their husbands, who spoke German as a native language for generations and tried to reason with the polite German officer at the entrance to the forest; the little children who did not understand anything until it was too late; the cousins who were taken to Rumbula by truck straight from the meat packing plant, still wearing bloody aprons as they were shot.

"When shall we have our revenge?" they demanded. "Why did you come to be with our murderers?"

Joe's breath became heavier. The smiling kids drinking their beers and gaming so innocently made Joe very sick.

"Are you going to just sit there and watch them kill us again?" the voices continued.

The deathmatch was reaching its climax. The chain guns were rattling nonstop. Joe had the urge to take cover and crawl under the table, to improve his position, like he was taught in the army.

"Fuck this! I can't do this shit..." he exclaimed to himself quietly. It was time to leave. He would change their flight tomorrow and catch the first one out. There was nothing for him and his family in Riga. This was not his hometown, certainly not his homeland. Israel was. It was time to escape, while he still had his sanity. He quickly paid for his coffee, and walked out, fighting the urge to run.

#  **Basinger Haiku**

" _The world is immutable.  
No matter how hard you try to divide it in half,  
it will divide you in half right back."_

-Yona Wallach

A photo by Robert Dickow in Unsplash.

"I love Keith Jarrett," Joe said. "I would give my right arm to be at the Koln concert! Whenever I listen to him play piano, I feel like there is still hope for this crazy world of ours. Keith Jarret is God! Surely he is..." Then he added, "Also, I would give my left arm if Kim Basinger was there with me. She is so beautiful. So, so unbelievably beautiful! Like an angel. Alec Baldwin is a moron for treating her the lousy way he did when they were married."

...

Suddenly, he was in a prime seat, right next to the stage in the Cologne opera house. It was 1975, the music was heavenly. He felt as if he was right inside that black Steinway Grand. "By God! This was it! It was the Koln concert!" he realized.

Hardly believing his luck, he turned to the right. Kim Basinger, looking not a day older than 25, was right next to him. She was smiling innocently and looking directly into his eyes. Joe's jaw dropped, and he felt a dryness in his mouth. All his wishes finally came true!

Then, he felt that something was wrong. It took him another second, but he knew it, even before he looked at himself. His hands were gone. He could not applaud Keith or hug Kim because he was armless.

...

"Hmmm... On second thought," Joe announced, "I'd rather just listen to the CD and fantasize about Kim. Honestly, that should be enough." He smiled timidly to no one in particular, hoping that somebody up there was listening. But he was still armless. It was too late. After a while, the music stopped, and Keith got off the stage. A few moments later, Kim left too, smiling apologetically. The opera house was empty now, and Joe just sat there, staring at the stage, wondering what to do next.

#  **Inheritance**

A photo by Jenn Evelyn Ann in Unsplash.

I got the lousy vision from my father,  
along with his large "Santa belly"  
and his long and slightly crooked, hairy legs.

The rotting kidneys came from my mother,  
as well as her awkwardness with strangers  
and her nasty temperament that drove us nuts!

My mom's father — sweet grandpa Abraham  
gave me my male pattern baldness,  
although I had a crazy 'fro like Angela Davis first.

That other, so called grandpa, what's his name?  
Santa's father... He gave me nothing. No love,  
no memory, no family, no nothin'.

And it's better that way, actually.  
I shudder when I think about him.

God forbid that I should be like him!

...

I inherited my two daughters' golden laugh,  
and my son's twinkling smile in the sunlight.  
Their sweet voices above the noises of the crowd.  
Their touch. Their smell. I inherited unconditional love.

_I inherited all of that and it's more than enough for me!  
_

This is my inheritance...

You cannot levitate fish above the water.  
You cannot turn water into wine.  
But you can love!

Love deeply with your heart and mind.  
It is we, the loving meek, who shall inherit this earth...

#  **Angelic**

Dedicated to Gaby T.

A photo by Sommi in Unsplash.

_I have a friend  
who's name is that of an angel.  
It's cool, because I've always wanted a girl  
with the poetic name of an angel!

Since I was a child  
I dreamt about a girl who has the name of an angel,  
and a smile of an angel,  
even if her teeth are not quite perfect...  
_

...

_  
She'd have everything I need  
to fall madly in love with, to lose my senses,  
to walk dazed and confused in her saintly city,  
mumbling silently to myself — her angelic name.

She could cause me to throw up  
after merely two glasses  
of some cheap Californian wine,  
and crawl mournfully on the carpet in front of her TV  
_

...

Really, what does a man need  
to save and redeem himself?!  
Just a girl. A poetic girl with the name of an angel,  
and the innocent smile of an angel,  
and teeth that, well... are not quite perfect.

...

I had a friend whose name is that of an angel.  
Turns out that others have gotten to her before me,  
and she saved them already,  
with that innocent angelic smile.  
So she couldn't save me unfortunately,  
even if she wanted to...

#  **A Kitchen Poem**

A photo by Jim Digritz in Unsplash.

And if I die tomorrow  
what will remain of me?  
A mug, a spoon, an empty spot,  
and four more plates to fill...

Two cats that don't like petting,  
a little pack with meds,  
a banged-up Acura TL,  
and parents, in Israel.

My mother crying silently,  
my wife who's scared of tears,  
Adi, my son, with yellow belt -  
and two more girls unspent.

Don't let me die tomorrow!  
I still have ways to go -  
the garbage bag is growing,  
and dishes need to glow...

#  **Joe and the Chipmunks**

A short story about animals

A photo by Qijin Xu in Unsplash.

It was a dark and stormy afternoon. Joe was in his underwear in the unheated laundry room downstairs, trying to straighten up the mess from last week. Piles of wet towels, wrinkled trousers, and dirty socks assailed him from all directions. It was very cold. The hairs on his naked, frog-like legs, felt like icicles. The tip of his nose was frozen.

"Why the hell did we ever decide to move to Massachusetts? I could have been on my porch back home in California right now, relaxing in the warm evening breeze with a stiff drink in my hand. Instead I am freezing, and all my pants are dirty. Grrrr, I hate living in this miserable place!" he grumbled, bending down to pick up a pile of unruly socks. Just then, the doorbell rang, and he remembered Mitzi was supposed to come by.

"Oh shit!" he muttered under his breath, frantically jumping on one foot, trying to keep his balance. He grabbed a pair of dirty pants from one of the piles on the floor and put it on. Then he quickly ran upstairs, still barefoot.

As he opened the door, the cold air and the drizzle hit him square in the face and he winced. Mitzi was standing there, looking her usual self, staring at him contemptuously. Joe swallowed hard and tried to smile.

Her full name was Miriam Simpson and she was his recently estranged wife. Her professional resume said that she was a "promising plus size print model and a lounge singer." That same resume also claimed that she was 5'11", 36–28–38 and wore a size 7 dress. It described her as having blue eyes, blonde hair, and having a beautiful jazzy voice. However, that resume was somewhat dated, since she was now a good size 10 and there was nothing endearing about her current facial expression. She looked like what they used to call "rode hard and put away wet".

Mitzi knew about her current, less-than-stellar looks, and she knew that Joe was aware of them too, which made her boil inside. At that moment she was ready to kick his teeth in and slap that friendly idiotic face of his.

_He is such a pig_ she thought. _Some nerve he has, to stand in the doorway, wearing dirty wrinkled pants and no shirt. The whole neighborhood could see him like this, and me next to him, and he doesn't not care..._ _And that big, frog like belly of his protruding in all directions is embarrassing._ _Why did I ever spend twelve years of my life with that slob?_ _Why did I have a kid with him?_ Rage built up inside her, grasping her by the throat.

"Joey, it's cold. Let me in!" she rasped through tightly clasped teeth.

With a slight bow and a dreamy, almost childlike smile, Joe stepped aside and motioned her into the living room. She put down the travel bag but did not bother to take off her raincoat.

"Just say what you have to say," Mitzi repeated to herself quietly, "and then leave."

Gathering all her strength, she began slowly — "Joey, you know how it's been, right? It's been all bad and messed up for us these last eight years. You know this time it's not gonna be ok anymore. Nothing can make it ok. Not even our son."

As she mentioned their son Joe winced. She continued – "Don't try any of the bullshit you used to pull on me in the past. I don't believe your promises to change... All that crap is beneath me now. I can deal with you being sick all the time, but I can't deal with you being such a condescending asshole. I am really tired, Joey! I can't take this anymore. I need some rest!"

As she was speaking, the tone of her voice seemed to change. The initial sadness turned into an angry, muted agony. The last few words were almost an inaudible wail. "I'm tired Joey, I'm tired!" She started sobbing.

Joe felt foolish standing there in front of her, barefoot in the wrinkled trousers. He tried to say something, but then thought better of it.

After a while, the "I'm tired" mumbling stopped, and Mitzi remained quiet. She was wearing her high heel boots and a long raincoat. She looked out of place, almost alien, in their quiet little living room with the pastel color sofas and little glass cocktail table. She leaned against the wall, slid down and pulled her knees up against her chin as she curled up into a crouching position.

"I'm tired" she whispered, closing her eyes.

"If you're tired, why don't you go upstairs and take a nap?" Joe suggested, without a change of expression or trying to get any closer to her. Not waiting for an answer and not wanting one, he added, "I'm gonna go and change, ok?"

...

When he came back five minutes later, she wasn't crying anymore. Sitting there, crouched against the wall, her tired face held nothing but an indifferent frown. He sat down on the sofa close to her, poured himself a shot of Jack, and without offering one to her, leaned back against the pillows.

"You know Mitz, a funny thing happened to me on my way to throw out the trash today". He paused for dramatic effect and then continued, "Remember those chipmunks I've been leaving food for, on our front stairs? Well, 'Dale,' the goofy one who always runs around in circles whenever he sees me, kinda just stood there and stared at me today. He didn't run away when I came near him. And the other one, 'Chip,' actually took food from my hands!"

Joe smiled a big, disarming smile and looked directly into her eyes. "I think this means something. They've never done that before! I am pretty sure they trust me. They know I care for them! This is _so cool!_ It is the first time since we moved here that somebody actually trusts me..."

She did not meet his gaze but just kept staring blankly at the opposite wall. After a brief silence, she spoke again, almost mechanically. "This is just like you Joey. I came to tell you that I decided to file papers, and you are telling me about some fucking chipmunks! This is your problem Joey. You've never been a human being. Maybe it's better off for you to go live in the forest with the chipmunks..."

Now she was really angry and tearing into him. "Maybe you will meet Bambi in the forest and move in with him? Or Huey, Louie, and Dewey, or the seven dwarfs?! It's all the same to me. Maybe you can grow up and develop some real human emotions by the time you are fifty. Or maybe not. Who cares? I am out. You will hear from the lawyer and get the papers in the mail for your signature. Sayonara my dear!"

She stood up, still leaning against the wall, and wiped the remaining tears from the corner of her eyes. Then she started leaving.

She was almost at the front door when Joe's frozen mask finally broke into an expression of shock and pain. He blinked and put the glass of scotch back on the table.

"Wow! Just like that, babe? Sayonara my ass. I thought you came tonight to talk about moving back in, getting back together. Picking up our son from your mother and raising him together again. Was I in the dark here or what?!"

He stopped for a moment, deciding whether he should say what needed to come next. Then taking a deep breath, he carried on. "It's that silver haired jerk from Newton, isn't it, Mitz? What's his name? The one I saw at the reception a while ago. Stanley. That's right, Stanley! Good old Stanley. Patron of the arts and a stealer of ex-alcoholic wives..."

She did not say anything, but he knew he was on the high ground now. "How are you doing with the golfing crowd, Mitz? I'm sure they all love you at their country club cocktail parties. The former glamour model from Caaa-lee-fornia. Yippee ya yay! Good for you, Mitz! Just remember not to eat too much shrimp on seafood buffet night. That's inappropriate in public, dear. You can stuff your face later, when nobody is watching. And don't start again with the Mai-Tai's, you know how that's gonna end, right?"

Mitzi was feeling uneasy. She dropped her purse to the floor, fidgeting nervously with the big buttons of her raincoat. Her stare was still blank, but her eyes changed from heavenly blue to steely grey.

Joe lifted his pinkie, picking his nose slowly and thoughtfully, before continuing. "You see Mitz, your friends from the club don't know you the way I know you. It's just you and me, _we both know the Mitz_!"

He paused, the continued, louder now. "The clinic in Tarzana. The Warner back-lot where you made a lot of friends. All those lovely colorful pills... It was always pills and cocktails for Mitzi."

He threw his hands up. "The GREAT Miriam Simpson and her Harley Davidson ad! Wearing a thong, too small for your fat ass. Disappearing with your special friends from the ad agency to take rides in their convertible on Pacific Coast Highway at night."

Joe was screaming. "All the I was right there for you. Your faithful little hubby. Piling up your shit on my plate till it started overflowing. Stupid Joseph the Carpenter. Patiently waiting on the set with his toolbox for Virgin Mary. Your dumbass idiot husband, waiting for you to kiss the Holy Spirit goodbye and get back in the family car. Take you home to watch talk shows and sleep."

He picked up and threw his drink glass, sending it smashing against the wall. It shattered, spilling rusty, blood-like liquor drops everywhere.

"Well, they can have you! Stanley and all the rest of them!!! I followed you like a love-sick puppy everywhere you went. I took all the shit you dished at me and I smiled and asked for more! I put you back together whenever you fell apart. I gave you all your fucking space whenever you wanted it."

Joe was so angry he was shaking his fists at her. "Move to Massachusetts to be next to your mom to get help with our son? You bet, when do we go! Buy this fucking house in the boonies? Where do I sign? Then suddenly out of the blue - a trial separation to sort things out? Sure, no problem, love you babe and come back energized. Thank God our son is not here to see this!" he screamed.

Mitzi was gasping with fear now as he was screaming and throwing things. He ignored her and continued. "Well, you sure did come back _energized_. Fucking energized all right. I did all this, for what? For Stanley and his golf club? Is he going to raise our son? Fuck you, Mitzi!"

Joe stood up and kicked the cocktail table hard with his bare foot. The glass top shattered with a loud bang and shards flew all over the room. "Yes, I'd much rather prefer the chipmunks! At least Chip and Dale are human beings. You are not. You are the animal Mitz! Not me."

Joe twisted his foot and it started bleeding where he stepped on broken glass. He ignored the pain and the stains on their beautiful white carpet. He was blind with rage. His was seeing stars and his head was spinning. Suddenly, he clenched his fist and punched the wall really hard, making a hole in the plaster. That made him feel a lot better.

He turned around and went back into the laundry room, ignoring her. His hand and his foot were throbbing. But there was a fresh load ready in the dryer that he needed to fold, and two more loads to wash. His hand and foot would wait. After a while he heard the front door closing and he knew the Mitzi was gone. It was cold again.

As he folded the laundry he laughed to himself. He wasn't angry anymore. And he wasn't worried about Mitzi. She would be back. She always came back, and the bullshit about filing papers was just crap. She loved him and not Stanley. Stanley was just like a few others before him, a temporary distraction. Joe loved her, and she loved Joe like nobody else. They had a son together. She was just mad at him, as she often was, but it would blow over. It always did. It was like that between them. First there was anger. Then there was love. More love than anger. The make-up sex was always amazing. She would be back to him soon now that they both got the anger out of their systems. He knew it. After a while he started humming to himself...

#  **Prayer for the Rain**

A photo on Unsplash by Zenad Nabil.

Perhaps it's time to think of things to come?  
Of sentences, unfinished forthright...  
Of raindrops on the golden tree of life,  
and dying rays of sun in twilight.

To find some humor in the words that never were,  
to reach again above my means and station,  
to swallow grief with every mumbled prayer,  
and yearn for rainbows lost in silence.

Just give me strength to know my place!  
And know not this despair and anger.  
To feel what others surely felt before,  
and never, ever sink down under.

# 

#  **If Not Now**

A photo by Bobby Johnson on Unsplash.

If not now, then when?  
How long can one live with "maybe"?

How long can one yearn

_for what others take for granted?  
_

For what others piss away

without a moment's thought.

To smell the sweet air of liberty;  
To know without a shadow of a doubt  
that you are just like everybody else.  
To stop apologizing. To live!

To choose life.   
To have the courage

to understand this choice.

To have a share in this world.  
This world and not the next...

#  **The Rise and the Fall**

A short story about jealousy

" _A tragic hero's rise is never permanent,  
it is always only towards an ultimate downfall"_

– _Joe's 9th grade teacher, explaining Shakespeare's Macbeth._

Haifa Bay at night. Photo by the author.

The sun was approaching mid-sky on a gloriously clear and bright day. It was Saturday. Joe was standing downstairs by the apartment building's entrance, scratching the stubble on his cheek and contemplating his plans for the afternoon. Last night was hazy in his mind. He had the usual throbbing weekend headache as well as the telltale heartburn in his chest, evidence of the anchovies he'd consumed.

Anchovies usually bespoke of pizza and beer, while beer was usually a precursor for 18-year-old single malts. That explained his temporary amnesia. There was also an itch down below, indicating that perhaps the 18-year-old was not only of the single malt kind. There were many questions begging for an answer, like: "Why was he wearing his army pants when he thought he left the uniform at his mom's in Lud to wash? Was he alone last night or was there somebody waiting for him upstairs, somebody he had to go face soon? What the heck did he actually do last night and why couldn't he remember any of it?"

Undoubtedly, it was all in good fun. The last 24 hours must have been super. If he could only clear the haze and subdue the damnable headache he was sure that sooner or later a smile would appear on his face. He gazed across the big parking lot looking for his Renault 5, but the sun was merciless, and he soon gave up. Only then he noticed that he was holding a large bulging trash bag in his right hand.

Apparently, it was time to do his "daily sun salutations" in front of the overflowing garbage container. Trembling with anticipation, he slowly started approaching the temple of glorious refuse on the far side of the lot. To serve the Gods of cleanliness was something society encouraged wholeheartedly, and Joe was a faithful servant. Besides, what else was there to do with all those empty bottles and cartons piled up in the apartment?

The neighborhood bully, Mr. Fatso, a one-eared orange tabby cat, was sitting in his usual place on top of the garbage bags overflowing from the green trash container. There was a healthy scornful grin of arrogance on his battle-scarred face. Joe's presence meant nothing to this veteran of a hundred ferocious street fights. The tip of his one remaining ear was steady and firm when Joe approached with the garbage in his hands.

The cat hissed and made way, as Joe opened the lid of the container. "You may be a young buck and you think you are hot shit, but me, I forgot more last night than you will ever learn in your whole miserable lifetime", he seemed to indicate as he turned his tail to Joe in contempt.

The smell of festering garbage hit Joe strong in the face. "Ughhh..." was all he could say before waves of nausea engulfed him. He always found that retching was a great way to sober up quickly. Struggling to keep everything inside him, he quickly threw in the trash bag. Then, as he walked back, fragments of memories started reappearing.

Joe was in a bar, in the suburbs no less. His friend Ofer and he were playing pool with two local idiots. They made money off them in a flash. Then they avoided the fight that usually followed such "luck" by showing those guys a bullet and telling them that the M16 that it came from was right outside in the car. That was a lie, the weapon was back at the base in Tel-Aviv of course.

Ofer was a serious pool pro, and Joe's stumbling game was a way for them to get the unsuspecting suckers lured in.

Later, Ofer took off with a girl from Haifa University and Joe met three other friends. After hanging around for a while they all went to a concert in Ahuza. Then it got hazy in his mind again.

He remembered some tall dude on stage with tons of piercings, very little talent but a cool-looking guitar. He also remembered that he was drinking shots at that point, but everything else was still a mystery.

On his way back through the parking lot, he saw his neighbor Rani Zonnenfeld's white Subaru which he bought a year ago, when he was still pretending that he had an "office supply" business. Everybody knew that Zonnenfeld lived with his mother and his real business was distributing porno tapes to video stores in the lower city. However, it made him feel more dignified to appear to have various other businesses. Neighbors said that this year it was uniforms and janitorial equipment.

No matter the "official" business though, the living room of their little one-bedroom apartment was always piled up with German hardcore porno tapes. Every now and then, the neighborhood would get to know the voice of a "fine" German girl named Angie, who was a very, very friendly person. Zonnenfeld would simply get caught up checking out a new batch of tapes and forget to lower the volume of his large TV. Thus, the whole neighborhood enjoyed a lot of "Teutonic fun" they learned to appreciate.

As Joe got closer to the entrance, out came Zonnenfeld with 2 boxes of tapes in his arms. "Hi Joe," he said with a friendly smile.

"Hi yourself, you loser," Joe answered.

Zonnenfeld passed by, snarling a quiet, "Drop dead, ye student scum," as he went.

_No matter,_ Joe thought. That ugly, fat asshole was not going to upset him on such a fine Saturday. Joe was still mad at him for blocking his Renault with the Subaru just 2 weeks ago. He's been wanting to slash Rani's tires ever since. He was finally beginning to remember what really happened later last night.

Joe quickly ditched his friends at the concert, as soon as he saw Ayelet from the Architectural faculty. Ayelet was smoking hot. Hazel eyes, shoulder-length curly hair, amazing body and thin long fingers with lovely nails always well groomed. She wore very endearing "teacher's pet" glasses and had innocent "good girl" smile. She was smart and beautiful in a casual, nonchalant way.

Joe had been ogling Ayelet ever since he came to the Technion and first noticed her in the central library. She had a tall handsome boyfriend and they were always "lovey, dovey" together. The whole thing was sickening.

Still, Joe knew that she liked him somewhat because when he smiled at her she always smiled back, and they spoke a few times in the past. Last night, Ayelet wore a very short miniskirt that did little to cover her long legs. She also had a sad facial expression. Her GQ poster boy boyfriend was nowhere in sight.

"Hi, sweetheart. Where's Dan?" Joe remembered himself saying. He also recalled making out with her in the bathroom when the concert was almost over, about 50 minutes later. He remembered wondering if there were panties under that miniskirt. What he wanted to forget now was what happened later, when they came out of the bathroom and saw Sylvia and Jake in the crowd... Remembering those two made him shudder and threw him right back into the present.

And in that glorious present, already past the entrance, Joe walked by the mailboxes and into the staircase. No elevator in this crappy building because the cheapo residents did not want to invest money in upgrades, unlike other 1950s buildings in the area. So typical of the whole rotten lot of them _. Haifans were all mutants_ was Joe's impression after living there for a while.

_In Tel-Aviv, people were reasonable, in Haifa they were just cheap. And obnoxious about it too,_ he thought. Well, be that as it may, he needed to get back up to the fourth floor to face whatever was up there behind the steely "Multilock" door of his apartment. It was time for Joe to start climbing up the stairs, performing what he'd come to call his "daily rise" ceremony.

As he climbed, Joe kept remembering. At first, the encounter last night was nothing but good fun. Seeing his high school friend at the concert together with his former girlfriend was of no concern to him. Sylvia was just like Ayelet but not as hot looking. And besides, he was the one who broke up with her to go after that crazy "Spaniard" drug fiend, the snooty daughter of the ambassador. He was also the one who suggested to her that she would be better off dating Jake, as if Joe had the power to decide who was better off dating whom.

Ayelet was sitting on Joe's lap by the time the four of them wound up in a Moroccan restaurant around 2AM. She was nibbling on his ear while Jake was making out with Sylvia nearby over the hummus dishes.

The problem was that they were drinking Arak, and Arak made Joe mean. Ever since he tried it first with his Arab friends in the orange grove in Lud, he knew that Arak made him a fool. A mean, crazy fool.

Somehow Ayelet and her miniskirt were a lot less attractive to him after two Arak shots. Seeing Jake fondle Sylvia, bury his head in her familiar inviting chest, made him burn inside. Watching her stroke Jake's hair really stung. And when Jake insisted that they go to Lookout Hill to look at Haifa Bay at night, Joe felt an agony.

"Haven't the two of you had enough for the day?" he asked, as if it was any of his business. Ayelet looked at him weirdly but chose to remain silent.

Jake took it up a notch. "Yes, we had plenty, but it's never enough for me and Sylvia". Hearing that Sylvia giggled, and Joe cringed. Next, he remembered the four of them taking off from Ahuza in his Renault, driving up to Lookout Hill. He recalled being very unfocused and fuming inside.

Joe knew it was all his fault. There were consequences to choices. He broke up with Sylvia. And in such a primitive, cruel fashion too. But once the daughter of the Spanish ambassador got on the scene things happened very quickly and he was crazy.

That girl was a player from a different league than Sylvia, and he felt so lucky that she chose him despite his obvious inadequacies. Sylvia was very calm and philosophical about it as she let him go.

Joe missed reading his poetry to Sylvia and talking about life for hours and hours together behind the high school gym. There were a lot more friends than lovers back then.

The Spaniard's name was "O," and she was a very simple creature. She just wanted to listen to Modern Talking, smoke stuff and make out nonstop... But man, was she hot! One look from her was all that it took. He was a Pavlovian dog and O was the bell. It was just like that Rolling Stones song from "Sticky Fingers". Mick Jagger was right: "Love was a bitch". Even her name was so sexy! If it wasn't for the pot smoking, which annoyed him, Joe was pretty sure that they would still be together today. Their summer trips to Europe were precious and so was everything else they did together.

Joe was still climbing. It was the second floor now, and here, the smell of nasty Georgian cooking permeated everything. _This was just like some friggin' working class cantina in a Tbilisi slum._

"Ugh... Again!" It was just as bad as the garbage container earlier. Joe was disgusted down to the depth of his intestines. Mr. Shalelashvili, who lived on the left side of the landing with his plump wife Rosa, was nice enough, but Rosa clearly did not know how to cook edible food. Something always stank on the second floor. Privately, Joe always thought that Rosa herself looked like an overflowing garbage bag in her ancient black dress. After more retching, Joe kept climbing, and the memories of the rest of the night began to pour in.

At Lookout Hill, things got disgusting. While Sylvia and Jake were doing their thing on the bench nearby, Ayelet and he were sitting in the car, smoking. She was sobbing and telling him about catching Dan with another girl when she came to visit him unannounced last weekend. Joe was just mumbling "aha" absent mindedly and fuming inside. He kept pushing her hand away from his crotch and at some point, he remembered telling her that his ear was not ice-cream and there was no need to lick it.

Finally, the two on the bench were done and it was time to go home. On their way, Jake smiled arrogantly and said, "Sylvia and I will be married soon".

"Is this true?" Joe asked Sylvia, but she just giggled. "You're full of shit, as usual," Joe snorted in contempt. "You were always a little jerk and took what belonged to others."

Things got very ugly, very quickly, after that. Accusations and scores between the three high-school friends flew, with poor Ayelet sitting in the middle. Trying to pretend she was just a passenger in a taxi where the driver and the passengers were having a drunken fight.

The concluding remark from Joe, before dropping them off at Jake's apartment, was, "I hope a truck runs over you and crushes you, you little prick!"

Joe did not remember what Jake answered, but it made him see flashes of white light behind his eyelids. He was glad that his M16 was locked up at the armory at the base in Tel-Aviv. He took off like a madman, and drove straight into the curb, blinded by anger. The tire exploded, and the rim bent. Then he broke down and started sobbing hysterically...

He remembered Ayelet hugging him and whispering little words of comfort. She hailed a Taxi and they went back to his apartment. He remembered the heavy 5AM climb, drunk and miserable, with the wrong girl, back into his bed. Everything after that was a complete blank. There was nothing further in his thirst-parched, tired, and aching mind. It was as if he, Joe Marjesua, and not his car, who has suffered a wreck last night.

And so, confused and miserable, he kept climbing towards the third floor where Zonnenfeld and his mother lived. It was the place from where Angie's muted screams excited the neighborhood every night.

As he climbed, the picture cleared up in his head. The alcoholic haze vanished. He loved Sylvia. He loved her, and he wanted her back. Dumping her 3 years ago was a huge mistake. She was his soul mate. She listened. She understood. She loved him. And he loved her. She was not his first girl, but she was the one that he could be in perfect harmony with.

It took a chance encounter with her in Haifa for him to understand all this, now that they'd already graduated high-school and donned uniforms. Jake and he were Riflemen 3 and just starting another semester in the Technion, while she was still training to be a tank instructor. He wanted her, loved her, felt lost without her. His world was simply unbearable if she was not part of it, next to him, like they used to be in those earlier days. In fact, the world was not just unbearable. It was also spinning, as he suddenly realized.

Acid crept up his stomach, and his heart started racing. He felt that he was dying, alone, in a sad, cold universe, helplessly adrift. He stopped, tried to straighten up, and with a big heave sent a spray of foul vomit all over Zonnenfeld's door. The resulting momentum sent him flying backwards. He collapsed and rolled down the same flight of stairs he so painfully climbed just a minute ago. Then, the world went black and he stopped worrying about his place in it...

An eternity later, he opened his eyes slowly. The back of his head throbbed where he hit it on the stairs, but his forehead was not hazy anymore. The nausea and cramps were gone too. Above him, he saw the worried face of Rani's mother, Mrs. Zonnenfeld.

"Are you OK?" she asked. And when he weakly waived to her that he was fine, she started her usual monologue. "Poor boy gets drunk again and throw up on my door. Time to grow up maybe. You are soldier, you need be more responsible. Look at my son, Rani. He is a successful businessman. And what are you? Some drunk student playing big boy."

Joe had enough of her. "Yeah right," he said and pretended to be ashamed. _Your son Rani is quite the businessman. With his German video girlfriend Angie, and her willing Doberman Pinscher in a hot threesome_ he muttered to himself. He shook his head took off his t-shirt and wiped the vomit off her door as best he could. Mumbling apologies, and holding his aching back with one hand, he started climbing again.

After a while, she closed the door, sighing heavily.

...

It was time to face Ayelet. Joe found the key in his pocket and slowly opened the door. To his surprise and relief, the apartment was empty. _Thank God for that,_ he thought. _The last thing I need right now is an ugly scene._ Also, he was temporarily broke and did not want to pay for her taxi. On his bed he found a note. It was written in a neat, confident handwriting, used to taking long lecture summaries and drawing architectural sketches. She was in her very best poetic form:

" _Thanks for a _great_ night Joe... Not!!!_

I thought you are a nice guy since your smile is very kind. I thought there was a sweet boy living behind that smile. I am so sad to say that this is not the case. You are not kind nor sweet and you are not classy either. I don't even think you are a good person, really. I don't know what you are.

_Even Dan was kinder than you! Do you think that some fondling in a toilet stall during a rock concert, followed by a weird love-triangle drama you are trying to suck me into is the way to get to my heart?_ _Think again, jerk! I don't know what's going on between you and that fat bitch, but I hope she and her ugly boyfriend drag you down together. You all deserve each other because you are such freaks. As for me, I deserve something better than this, or at least a guy who knows how to handle his liquor better..._

If you see me again in the library, please do not look at me or talk. We do not even live on the same planet. I don't know you and we've never met!

P.S. If you don't get your drunk ass back to Nevi'im Street soon, they will tow your pathetic car and it will cost you seven hundred shekels to get it back. Don't say I did not warn you."

_That was so cute,_ Joe thought. She liked him! He was sure of that now. He would definitely go visit her in a week when she cooled down a bit and was ready to face him. Ayelet was a great way to forget about Sylvia and Jake. The best way in fact...

But now he needed some sleep. The car could wait. Ayelet forgot that the municipal tow trucks did not work on a Sabbath. _Hahaha..._ He could take a nap.

...

When he woke up in the late evening, he was energized and ready to go. He fired up the computer and got right back to where he was just a week ago. The theater ticket reservation software program he was working on was good for at least 2,000 shekels, cash in hand, next week. He was in a creative mood, fully rested, and completely alert. The world was simple. He loved Sylvia, Sylvia loved Jake, Jake loved to brag and piss him off, and Joe loved his privacy.

In his "data structures" classes at the Technion, they called it a "linked list with a corrupted pointer in the middle." _Jake was the corrupted pointer. Or maybe Joe was the corrupted pointer?_ He wondered. Only time would tell...

Besides Sylvia, Joe also loved Herbie Hancock and it was time to fire up the stereo. His roommate Oz brought a really great new album when he came back from the US a few weeks ago. Thinking of him, Joe wondered what his roommate, wise "old" Oz would say of all this. A smirk crossed Joe's face. He lit a cigarette and got to work. He was finally at peace with himself. Life was good! He had it all figured out.

And then, just as he was really getting into it, the phone rang. Joe picked up and there was silence on the other end. Then, as he was ready to hang up, he heard a broken, hysterical voice. Sylvia was on the other end of the line.

"Joe, oh Joe, Joe... He's dead! He's dead Joe!!! Jake is dead. Do you understand? He's dead... You motherfucker! Jake is dead. Just like you cursed him last night, so it happened! He was run over by a car. And you cursed him. It was you. Yooouu!" She was howling and sobbing. "I am in the ICU. His parents are on the way from Lud, but he is dead. It's no use, because he's dead!".

And then the line went dead. Sylvia had hung up.

#  **My Sister in Pigtails**

_Dedicated to Olga G.  
_

A photo by Burst on Unsplash.

My sister in pigtails, in a cornfield, by a sea -  
do you know who's your brother?  
It's only me, only me...

Do you know where's our father?  
Do you know if he sees?  
The plight of my mother,  
soon in heaven to be.

Come closer my sister,  
in a cornfield, by the sea.  
I am your big brother,  
but you don't see me.

#  **A Sample Set of One**

A statistical autobiography

The Author and his Family, 1979.

My memories are like a spinning coin or top,  
they flow through me and tell me I should stop.  
They tell me I must always justify  
the misery of facts I can't defy...

They tell me to inject some meaning into prayer words -

because the lazy union workers fumbled,  
in saying God's own praise they stumbled,  
those simple adjectives that nobody quite heard.

That God will surely take you soon, that much I know  
if not tomorrow, in another year or so,  
a cold and rainy winter night will come and frown  
and you'll be gone forever with the break of dawn.

A bitter night of lashing wind and sobbing rain,  
your face will turn away from me forever,  
you'll turn your other cheek towards the never,  
towards a world where there is no more pain...

And if I cry "I beg you, please don't leave me!"  
then life will find a way to fuck me and deceive me.  
Perfection is a simple mathematic sample set -  
what happened not, will surely happen yet!

#  **Towers**

In Memoriam

A photo by Ng on Unsplash.

The second airplane plunged into the tower in slow motion on the TV screen above, as morphine burned through Joe's veins. The ripping, searing pain in his stomach and abdomen did not stop however, so he frantically squeezed the button a few more times. Temporarily satisfied, he leaned back against the pillow for a few minutes of sweet abandon.

The whole thing on TV was probably a drug induced hallucination, so he did not think about it too much. _A prank video on the morning news perhaps? Strange, but who cares?_ He just wanted to lose consciousness and catch a few minutes of sleep before the horrible, unforgiving pain came back.

His neighbor on the right was telling his brother how he came to be in the hospital. "See here, I got a call from the teacher that Danny started stealin' again. So, after we came back from his school I grabbed the little twerp and done pinned him between my thighs. I tells him, 'Son, this is gonna hurt me more than its gonna hurt you!' I took my belt and smacked him real hard a few times. Then, just as I was gettin' into it, the som-of-a-bich twisted away as I was handing him a really big one. Sure 'nuff, I missed him and hit myself really hard on the shin with the buckle. And now I have a fractured leg and fuckin' gangrene. I was right. Damn straight! It did done hurt me more than him in the end."

Just then, the phone next to his bed started ringing. It was Mitzi and she was hysterical as usual. "Turn on your TV!" she screamed in his ear.

Joe shrugged, whispering, "Good morning to you too." He struggled hard to find saliva his throat, dry from the morphine and frequent vomiting. "I have the TV on, what do you want?"

"Joey, don't you see what's going on? The world is ending".

"Who gives a fuck? I will be dead in a few days anyway..."

Mitzi was hysterical now. "You asshole! Why did I marry a sick guy?! All my friends married nice, normal people, but I had to marry an asshole! A sick asshole from Israel with no emotions. People are jumping out of windows. The Twin Towers are on fire. The world is ending, and you are not here to hold my hand."

Joe sighed, too weak to say anything as she continued. "My friend, Joanne, wanted to have dinner last night and I had to tell her I can't, because I had to visit you in the hospital and look at you, all grey and miserable and sick. As if that was not bad enough! And now the world is ending and all you care about it yourself! Like always."

Joe listened to this drivel for a little while longer before hanging up. It was the same argument they'd been having all last year since he started having the fever and pains and told her about it. It was as if Mitzi and he were living in different worlds. She didn't get any of this at all.

His mother warned him a long time ago that a healthy person can never understand a sick one. He just laughed and said, "but mother, I love her". Now he understood, but his mother was far, half a world away. His head was throbbing, and his heart was empty and cold. The pain in his gut and groin was back and his morphine dispenser was empty just like his heart. He had to page the doctor to get more, but he was too weak and depressed to do it just then.

He felt helpless, like a tiny frog in a petri dish: perched on his hospital pillow, panting. He was dying. He knew that. He would die all alone in this ugly joke of a hospital, his body ripped apart by the disease like one of Ripley's crew in the _Alien_ movie. This pathetic body of his that disease has slowly worn down.

Just then, the towers on the screen started collapsing. Joe watched in horror as first the south, and half an hour later, the north, crumbled. Mitzi was calling frantically but he ignored her. The redneck neighbor to the right of him was gasping, but Joe felt strangely quiet and calm now despite the pain. His own internal towers have collapsed about half a year ago. All that was left for him was to periodically press the pain button and fly, far, far away from this miserable place into a great peaceful calm.

#  **Like Our Fathers**

A photo by Bekir Donmez on Unsplash.

Like our fathers before us,  
we leave behind frozen oceans  
as we sail away from the land of the living.

_We bring abstinence to sustenance,  
we decry the reasons why -  
our world is wrapped in purple d_ _ye_ _._

We fail to achieve what we thought we would dream,  
as we fight for the right to believe in our might.

Like our fathers before us,  
we abandon our homes,  
and go naked before him -  
who is ever so watchful...

#  **The Last Temptation**

" _Who can discern his errors?  
Declare me innocent from hidden faults."_

-Psalm 19:12

A photo by Valentin Lacsote on Unsplash.

The two heroes of this little morality tale are called **"Joe"** and **"Jane"**. There was also another person whom we can call "that other guy," but he did not have an active role in the events.

**Jane** was a sophisticated socialite. Her father was an important professor in a rather pompous college of engineering called "the Technion", in Haifa. She was twenty-two, and very proud of herself for listening to progressive music, rather than Boyz II Men and Celine Dion, as was the norm back then. She felt it emphasized her sophistication and mysterious allure. Being a beautiful brunette who did not look a day over sixteen, she was frequently carded for drinks, even in the famously easy-going bars of Tel-Aviv. Jane drove an impressive, but filthy, yellow Beemer. Those who hitched rides with her, often found gum stuck to their pants or skirt when they got out.

**Jane:** "My daddy is such an unusual character. A darling of a man! Every time I ask him for money he gives me twice as much."

Lots of people knew Jane from both the Technion and Haifa University, and the rumor was that she was searching for romantic challenges on her quest for perfect satisfaction.

**Jane:** "That other guy, who I am dating, doesn't satisfy me anymore. It's not exciting. I want to see what else is out there!"

**Joe** , on the other hand, was a just a simple, "modest" engineering student. Simply put, in his own mind he was the symbol of virility, God's gift to some "lucky gal" who did not know yet just how lucky she was. He lived on the fourth floor of an old apartment building in the Ziv neighborhood with a roommate who was a prodigy in the Technion. The roommate's name was Oz and he was a recording Jazz musician, a star athlete and one of the top 10 students in all its illustrious history. Some of that glory had rubbed off on Joe, and he was not afraid to exploit it every way he could.

**Joe:** "I am smart, even Oz says that I am almost as smart as him."

**Joe, to himself:** _Yeah right!_

Joe wrote depressing poetry, listened to the right music at the wrong volume, and knew what to say to a girl to get her interest. When he first met Jane at some party, he was aroused to his depths and started blabbering immediately.

**Joe:** "You and me, sweet darling... Blah, blah, blah, you know how cool I am!"

**Joe, to himself:** _She is so babelicious! I want to hit her sooo desperately..._

**Joe:** "With all due respect–and I am being very modest here–I know I am the man for you, babe! Forget about that other guy, he is a loser. Let's get to know each other and have some fun. You won't regret it, I promise!"

After those brave words from Joe, the die was cast. Jane invited him to hang out at her place. It would be a day to get away from exams, projects, and most importantly, that other guy.

Joe prepared carefully for the hot date. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, and chose sexy, tiger striped briefs. On the way to her house, he stopped by a fancy supermarket and got some groceries. He knew he had to "cook to impress", so he studied hard on Italian cuisine the night before. Joe also wanted to buy her flowers, but after thinking about it more, decided not to, for the fear of sending the wrong message.

**Jane:** "Wow, I can't believe it, you brought everything. You even remembered to buy oregano!"

**Joe, to himself:** _Well, dear, 15 shekels are not a high price for the chance to see your veggie patch..._

**Joe:** "Well, you know, I am a perfectionist when I cook. Blah, blah, blah..."

Jane had just finished drying her hair after a shower. A heavenly scent was permeating the living room. Joe felt his head spinning and moved closer to the open window.

**Joe, to himself:** _Oh my God, she is using Sylvia's shampoo. Grrrr!!! She has no idea how dangerous it is. I could lose control and kiss that hair of hers. Nooo! That would end the date right now._

**Joe:** "You are using a new shampoo?"

**Jane:** "Yep, I decided to try both a new guy and a new shampoo on the same day."

They agreed that the meal could wait and went upstairs to chill out and get to know each other.

**Joe, to himself:** _What a huge room! And the piano is a baby Steinway. Holly molly!_

**Joe:** "You've read all of Nietzsche's works? Wow!" He burped quietly.

**Joe, to himself:** _I hope she did not hear that._

**Joe:** "You play tennis? I used to play too!"

**Joe, to himself:** _Yeah, right, with myself in the bathtub..._

**Jane:** "Yup, I was on the varsity team in high school and so was that other guy. We play all the time."

**Joe:** "You even have a piano! I had 4 teachers in 2 years..."

**Joe, to himself:** _As if it made any difference, I still don't know how to play!_

**Jane:** "Piano lessons since I was five. That other guy is a singer. We often perform together in small gatherings."

**Joe, to himself:** _Well, if he really knew how to "perform" I would not be here right now, would I?_

After Jane put on some music Joe realized that what she called "progressive music" was mostly ambient — the blended noise of chainsaws, air conditioners, lawnmowers, and many toilets being flushed at the same time. A guy called John Cage was responsible for this aural outrage. It was not exactly what Joe considered "elixir for the soul". Frankly, it was boring. He wanted to impress her with his musical taste, so Joe decided to show her the new disc he'd brought along in his backpack.

**Joe:** "So what do you think, Jane, shall we put on a new album by the Butthole Surfers? It's really great. It's called Piouhgd."

**Jane:** "Are they one of those crazy death metal bands you listen to? All those creeps and druggies that strangle cats on stage, drink their blood, and dance pogo to the sounds of evil distortion?"

**Joe:** "Heh, Heh... No, babe, they are a progressive band from California. You're going to love them!"

**Jane:** "I don't think so, Joe. My dad is taking a nap downstairs and I think it will be way too loud. It also might have a negative influence on the ozone layer..."

Soon the conversation drifted to philosophy, a subject Joe knew nothing about.

**Jane:** "So, you know, my life just floats in front of me and I cannot seem to grasp it with both hands."

**Joe, to himself:** _God, I wish I could grasp you already!_

**Joe:** "Yes, I understand. You know, Confucius said once that if he had all the time in the world, all he would ever do is Name Rectification."

**Joe, to himself:** _Sounds smart, but I have no idea what I just said..._

Three tiring hours of philosophical chit chat about the meaning of life later, Joe slowly got closer to Jane and started caressing her side, while hugging her gently. He knew that this was his opportunity to impress her with his romantic skills.

**Joe, to himself:** _I think she likes it..._

**Joe:** "Mmmmm... You have such sensual lips!"

**Jane:** "My sensual lips are hungry for food right now. Shall we go back to make the Spaghetti Bolognese?"

**Joe, to himself:** _Me so horny, I gonna die!_

**Joe:** "What a great idea, Jane!"

They settled downstairs in the kitchen and started working on the spaghetti. It was what Joe's army drill instructor called "teamwork all the way to Haifa bay." The spaghetti was a huge success.

**Jane:** "Gosh, all of a sudden I am sooo tired..." Jane yawned.

**Joe:** "Me too." Joe faked a yawn to match her.

They returned to her room and lay on the thick carpet for a quick rest. Inevitably, they drifted into, and settled in each other's arms.

**Joe, to himself:** _Is this it?_

**Jane:** "You're sexy, Joe, and I am really tempted, but I promised that other guy I will be faithful to him. I am so sorry! I want to take it slow. I hope you're not mad..."

**Joe, to himself:** _My God, I feel your wonders all over my body right now! I want you sooo bad. I need you... Why does this have to be such a torture?_

Joe decided to try for those sensual lips again. Perhaps she really didn't mean what she said?

**Jane:** "You want me to get up and leave?"  
She had a very sweet angelic smile on her face as she asked that.

**Joe, to himself:** _Do whatever turns you on, you crazy chick!_

**Joe:** "Do whatever turns you on."

This was a big mistake and the wrong thing to say, as it turned her off completely. The whole atmosphere was ruined, and they just lay there, looking at each other.

Joe knew that the proven recipe to rectify situations like this was a drive around the town. So, they headed out for a spin in her yellow Beemer. After about ten minutes, they were sufficiently calm to talk again.

**Joe:** "You must be hating me right now."

**Jane:** "Not at all. You turn me on. I am just not sure that I also like you. I hope you can understand the difference?"

**Joe:** "Of course I do."

**Joe, to himself:** _No idea what the hell she is talking about! Another crazy one. Great. I am not getting anything tonight..._

After some driving and idle conversation, they miraculously found themselves in the parking lot of Joe's apartment building.

**Jane:** "I am really going to hate myself for coming here with you. It's a mistake. Also, I betcha there's no parking. Let me just drop you off and I'll go back home."

There was parking right underneath the building. They sat silently in the car for a while, staring at each other. Joe realized that this was his "make or break" moment and he made sure to use his most charming innocent smile on her. He could see her wavering.

A few minutes later, she sighed and took the keys out of the ignition.

**Joe, to himself:** _God, she has endlessly long legs. I love it!_

**Joe:** "See, I told you there is plenty of parking."

By now, they were hungry again, so they took a short walk to a nearby restaurant, which was open at midnight.

**Joe:** "I eat and eat, and I don't get fat. Thank god for my metabolism and my 3-mile run every morning."

**Joe, to himself:** _Yeah, right! In my dreams..._

Jane just sat in silence looking at him. Joe saw that there was a lot going through her mind. Joe felt like giving up. They should just finish the meal and he could say good bye and walk her to the car.

**Joe, to himself:** _What an amazing looking blonde waitress! If nothing works out tonight, I should come back here for desert and have a chat. The night is still young... Hmm. Actually, this gives me an idea. Let's make our Janie here jealous. Maybe that will work?!_

**Joe:** "The Israeli parliament should declare Bohdan Khmelnitsky's birthday a national holiday. Thanks to him and his brave Cossacks who violated our great-grandmothers, we have so many beautiful, blonde kosher waitresses today..."

**Joe to himself** : _If this doesn't do it, I don't know what will. Last chance._

**Joe:** "But I am not into blondes. They are so cheap looking. This was just a general observation... Your beauty is superior seven-fold because you are so classy!"

Suddenly, Jane shook as if waking up from a dream and smiled ruefully at Joe, finally overcoming some internal struggle. She giggled and started telling him a blonde joke. Joe thanked heaven for his lucky idea and listened to her attentively.

A while later they were done eating and went upstairs to his apartment, where they decided to watch a movie together. To save space in front of the TV, Jane settled playfully into Joe's lap. Joe was very quiet and focused on nibbling her ear.

**Jane: "** Dustin Hoffman is such a great actor. He is simply a giant."

**Joe, to himself:** _Mmmmm... Maybe not everything is lost after all. Dustin Hoffman is not the only giant thing here..._ H _ehehe!!!_

Eventually, they migrated to the battle-scarred couch, which more than one girl in Haifa found to be quite comfortable in Joe and Oz's apartment.

**Jane:** "Your couch is so... so..."

**Joe:** "Comfortable?"

**Jane:** "Oh yesss...."

By then, her resistance had melted down, and soon the feast began. Like two wolves, hungry for prey, lashing at each other. A world away from reality, completely at each other's mercy, captive in wild sexual ecstasy.

**Joe, to himself:** _Oh boy, I hope this is really what she wants. No turning back now!_

**Joe's Conscience:** _I don't think she will ever talk to me again once this is over. Maybe I shouldn't go any further?_

**Joe's Libido:** _Are you crazy? If you don't go any further, she will definitely never speak to you again... Be a man!_

**Joe's Conscience:** _This isn't right. I think she really loves that other guy and she is just confused. What I am doing now is not really what she wanted._

**Joe's Libido:** _I don't think she knows what love means. She just wants sex. And I am here to provide it. Yippie, yay!_

It was all over by 5AM. Jane wanted to go home, and Joe's timid suggestions to stay the night fell on deaf ears. Jane's face looked far from happiness. Joe knew that he was in trouble, but he wasn't sure how bad it was.

**Joe:** "Are you sure you are OK to drive?"

**Jane:** "Yes. I'm fine. Thanks."

But her face looked far from OK. If anything, it was a mask of shock and fatigue. The next day, they ran into each other in the Technion. Joe's lame, "Hello Babe!" was answered with an expression of dissatisfaction and embarrassment. Joe left three reconciliatory messages on her answering machine, which he thought were cute, but never got a call back. Finally, he decided that enough was enough, and there were other flowers in the flower patch. As far as he was concerned, that other guy could have his hysterical girlfriend back!

...

Joe ran into Jane again few months later, on his way to a seminar. He stopped and kissed her on the cheek, they chatted casually for a few minutes. Then he cleared his throat, as if to say something important. She raised her eyes attentively and Joe could have sworn there was a little smile at the corner of her mouth. Various words formed on the edge of his tongue.

**Joe, to himself:** _I really like her, but clearly, she is nuts! I wonder if I really need all the mental baggage right now? I barely survived the mess with Jake and Sylvia a year ago. I am still drinking way too much. This would be yet another mistake. I don't love her. There is only one girl I ever loved and that's Sylvia._

**Joe:** "It's really good seeing you again, Jane!"

**Joe, to himself:** _What I should really do is try to call Sylvia and just talk with her. We lived together for half a year for God's sake! I can't believe she still blames me. We went through so much together after Jake died._

**Jane, to herself:** _He is really cute in a weird kind of way, and he definitely knows what he is doing on that couch of his. Maybe I should give him another chance after all? He is clearly head over heels in love with me..._

**Jane:** "Yes, it's really good seeing you again too, Joe! Did you know I am graduating in two months and moving to England to start my PhD?"

He saw she was waiting for him to say something, and that she had something to say to him too. Joe knew that this was his chance to fix the situation. Jane could still be salvaged. She was only leaving in two months. Two months was a lot of time. But his tongue refused to move, and his mouth stayed closed.

**Jane, to herself:** _But then again, I told him I wanted to take it slow, and he still seduced me. That's not right, no matter how great it was. It's not cool._

**Joe:** "Well, you know, I must run now. I have a seminar that started 10 minutes ago in Fishbach. Coincidentally, your father himself is teaching it."

**Jane, to herself:** _Damn, I wish that other guy was as good as Joe with his fingers and the rest of his package. What a drag! Why do the wrong guys in my life like Joe, always feel so right in bed? I mean – look at him. He is not good looking. That other guy is a prince compared to him. And despite living with Oz he is not very smart and definitely beneath the circles I usually travel in. And yet I could totally have another go at him right now!_

**Jane:** "Yep. Goodbye, Joe! Say 'Hi' to my dad. Or maybe not."

Joe cleared his throat one last time, then turned and left.

...

A few weeks later he was having shots with his buddy "R". Joe told him about his day with Jane a while ago. R laughed his ass off and then gently suggested that Joe did not do the job right. That ridiculous thesis has fallen right off the table once Joe told him how many times Jane vocalized her ultimate satisfaction that night. R was so impressed he wanted to get her number to see if he could do better.

**Joe:** "I don't think we had much of a chance to be honest. There was just too much tension because of that other guy. Besides, she is high society and I am just some guy who lives with Oz and pretends to be smart and cool. The closest friends I hang out with are a bunch of 'fresh off the boat' Russians for God's sake. I don't belong in her world."

**R:** "Stop whining, you did fine and you have nothing to be ashamed of. It was a day you spent well. This is what people do in college, remember? Have crazy irresponsible sex. You nailed the professor's daughter! How great is that?! You should get a medal, you lucky bastard."

**Joe, a bit later:** "All the chicks I get with are way too complex. It's either a threesome with a dead guy, or some philosophy loving high society bitch who can't make up her mind, or some goody goody two shoes on a rebound, or some Russian poetess who screws twenty guys at the same time."

**R:** "Well, you know. If things were easy this game would be boring."

**Joe, after a few more drinks:** "I should just fucking get married! Find somebody nice and simple and get married. Somebody who just loves me for what I am. Somebody without all this baggage."

**R:** "Way too early to start using the big 'M' word buddy. It's the alcohol talking. You will be graduating in half a year. Go back to Tel-Aviv. Life is different over there. Get a hobby. Start writing perhaps. You are way too tense."

**Joe, to himself:** _Honestly, I don't even know what I want anymore... I think I just need to go home and go to sleep. That's what I want. Enough is enough._

###

## Can I Ask A Favor?

Now that you are done drinking this cup of coffee, I would really appreciate it if you could post a short review on your favorite online retailer. I read all the reviews personally so that I can better connect with you, my readers.

Thanks for your support!  
-Joe Marjesua

