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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 17 | volume III | October-November, 2000



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 17October-November, 2000
Prose

Very Short Stories

Beds


/4
p. 1
Roberto Carvelli

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Make unmake remake

Even beds have their movements, a sort of gymnastics. Their 1,2 and 3, their position of departure which is specific for every house. Beds eternally in a mess, sheets wrinkled by heat, by love. Orderly, open like wallets. And beds and bed-covers, plush animals, a small zoo that some of your girlfriends show off like a defence of first days.

The bed one

That’s the first bed. It comes after the kids’ pillow and lasts for five years. That’s a short bed and it’s a shame to give it away since it’s pretty. It’s all of brass, with high barred sides closing it from four sides. Sometimes, with an added blanket, it will become a playground for an unconscious game of shelter: to hide inside and defend one’s self from the cold, protecting one’s self. Underneath the blankets, among opaque brass tubes going grey in places, there’s shadow. With mild yellow light which passes over the white of the canvas, one can play shadows. Sometimes the still small foot will strike against the tubes and the pain will produce the short shiver of the first pleasures. It’s a bed of unserious illnesses, the bed of five days in bed and no school at a time when halls are neither a habit nor a pleasure. It’s a bed of bowls of pasta, of porridge, of sours soups, of thermometers shaken down in large movements. Of the smell of knees as if attacked with small pox. The sheets are linen, with double-sewn angles to pull them close by laces you can chew on, savouring the clean taste. It’s a bed of you being small and others having different ones. A bed of yours to count before you can get a long bed yourself. It’s a bed of brass. With bars.

The first bed

That’s the bed that comes next. The bed of now you’ve grown. A big bed and you drowning in it. It’s a bed in a marine style, deep brown with brass joints and drawers underneath it, of which Mom leaves you one: the others will be used for the linen. Discussions, then resignation and in what you’ve got left you organise a Universe for yourself. You put into it certain things that you care a lot for: toys, books like Jose the Merry Optimist, comics, colouring pencils. Once you’ll even hide a






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