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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 29 | volume V | November-December, 2002



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 29November-December, 2002
Prose

Business Trip

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p. 1
Aleksandra Ilievska

    – Macedonia?! Where is Macedonia? In Asia perhaps?
    I’m an honest man at heart. Always… all right, not always, but most of the time I try to tell the truth, which is not a virtue on second thoughts. The naked truth can hurt, but if it’s dressed, and even spruced up a bit, the world turns a happier place to live in. But to spruce up a girl to do the chores is improper. To send her to a wedding in her home dress is just the same. Decoration works to the advantage of beauty to some extent. Should you miss the moment to stop, you can kiss beauty goodbye, as my grandpa used to put it. So let’s conclude, it’s the moment that matters.
    – No, Macedonia is in South America. Didn’t you know?
    – It’s impossible?!
    – Yes.
    – No?!
    – Yeah, yeah!
    When a man is fed up with everything, lies as a way out of the hopelessness come up somewhat naturally and as a size and model perfectly fit the new owner. But after the third and last No?! I realized how futile my attempts to be convincing were.
    – Very well, no. It’s in Europe.
    My interlocutor grew silent and puzzled gazing at me without a blink as if trying to find the answer reading my mind. As a kid I frequently tried to do the same. But the instant I thought I was close, I would run out of air. I had to take a deep breath returning to the interstice of the average human achievements. God, I’m so ordinary, I thought. Reading other people’s mind was the first area where I sought to find my own estrangement. Ridiculous from the present point of view. But let’s get back to my interlocutor. He was quiet and suddenly… Ok, now I believe you. But where exactly in South America?
    That was the moment when after the short and harmless turn I should have got back to the main road, which although offered no adventures and escapades was perfectly familiar and I could see its end even when being far from it. In fact, I’m an honest coward preferring the dull safety of the trodden path rather than the unpredictable tangle of the bypass routes. I didn’t turn though. Why? I don’t know. I walked on in the unknown land, pacing as though spell-bound, bereft of strength to return to my car parked on the verge






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