MILORAD PAVICH
BUILDERS
One year in the late 18th century a Turkish ferryman on the River Drina, having just boiled
some chicken eggs in horse urine to make them keep longer, though quite bewildered,
dutifully counted no fewer than 800 Serbian builders and stonemasons crossing into Serbia
from Osat, and all 800 were called John. He duly informed his superiors of this phenomenon.
The builders then moved on in a wave of constructional fever and flooded the battlefield
which had just seen the end of the Austro-Turkish War. In an unbelievable swelling frenzy,
they were joined along the banks of the Danube by builders from Karlovtsi, Zemun, Sremska
Mitrovitsa, Novi Sad, Osiyek, Panchevo, Ruma, from foreign parts and from the black plain -
all sensing great building opportunities ahead. These "hingineers," "carpenters,"
"Bauk?nstler," "Bauhauptm?nner," "joiners," "builders," and "stonemasons" spent the day
buying mules, watching carefully to see whether the animals exhibited all five senses while
grazing and drinking - otherwise they were no use - and spent the night dreaming that they
stood on the edge of a vanished sea which in their fantasies still foamed and rolled in black
plowed waves from north to south of the Pannonian Plain, breaking against the cliffs of
Belgrade.
In unprecedented fervor and the shortest possible time, they raised or renovated the
monastery of Mesich, the guesthouses of Vrdnik monastery, new churches at Krnyeshevtsi,
Stara Pazova, Chortanovtsi in the Frushka Gora mountains, and at Bukovats, and they
completed the cathedral at Karlovtsi, a belfry at Beshka, a chapel at Erdevik, and the church
of St. Nikolai at Irig. These Serbs from the plain and from Bosnia, along with numerous
Czechs, Germans, and Tsintsars, started drawing up contracts all over the place, signing them
shakily with a cross, in Cyrillic or the Latin alphabet. These 800 Johns from over the Drina, or
other builders with family names like Stanarevich, Laushevich, Vlasich, Aksentiyevich,
Dmitriyevich, Lanerich, Georgiyevich, Wagner, Meizinger, Hangster, Hintenmeier, Bauer,
Eben, Hask, Kindl, Blomberg, and Haker - drove their boats carrying wood and stone and
their horses carrying lead, sand and quicklime. They dreamed of their distant wives, not as
marriage and home-keeping had made them, but as they had once been. And they suffered
silently since they could not weep in their dreams. They offered their building skills to
landowners from the plain and traders from Serbia who controlled the caravan routes
between East and West, and they proudly quoted their titles and references. Sporting
moustaches after the Constantinople, Viennese, or Budapest fashion, they undertook
incredible building projects in the two empires of Austria and Turkey, accepting payment in
imperial ducats stamped with the head of Joseph II and his mother, old tsekins and new
'Napoleons,' silver forints, and silver-plated perpers. They took Egyptian dinars, aspers with
normally grooved sides or with the silver grooves filed away, and occasionally even ancient
folars from Kotor. They would sink them in 'Tamnjanika' wine to see if they were genuine,
and continue building. They built without ceasing. Sometimes they were so tired they would
forget themselves completely, and from their past they remembered only the smells....
Dreaming in five languages and crossing themselves in two different ways according to
their faith, they built new Orthodox churches in Bachevci, Kupinovo, Mirkovtsi, Jakovo,
Mihalyevats, Bezhanija near Zemun, and Dobrintsi. They washed their beards in the nosebags
of their own cattle and preferred to build north of the 'salt-line' which ran along the Belgrade
plateau dividing the northern salt earth left after the retreat of the Pannonian Sea from the
southern fertile dark soil which had never seen sea nor salt. Above the saline subsoil they
completed Serbian churches in the Danube and Sava basins, eating and drinking with their
eyes closed so that the edifices would stay up and they erected new bell towers or
reconstructed churches in Shid and in the monasteries of Jasak and Kuvezhdin.
Soon afterwards, hired by the Metropolitan of Karlovtsi, they set off for the fertile land
south of the Sava and Danube rivers, south of the salt boundary. While observing the fasts of
the Serbian, Greek, and Lutheran churches, they rebuilt or put up new churches like Krivaya,
St. Roman at Razhan, Pambukovitsa, Rayinovats, and Cheliye. Slapping their horses on the
hindquarters as if slapping women on the buttocks, they went through the Serbian Revolution
of 1804 with adz and trowel, for the Serbian traders in pigs, wool, grain, and wax who paid
for that revolution, also paid for the reconstruction of the monasteries of Krchmar,
Bogovaja, and Ratsa on the Drina, Volyavtsa and Klisura on the Moravitsa, and Moravtsi
below Mount Rudnik. Feeding their horses on salt and flour, these builders and carpenters
repaired ancient monasteries damaged in the Turkish onslaughts - Manasiya, Ravanitsa,
Preobrazhenye, and Nikolye, while others were taken on to build palaces for the rich
aristocracy.
And all this new building bore the marks of ancient Greek architecture with pillars and
friezes, and Empire facades in the palaces of the Serviyski family in Turkish Kanyizha, the
Charnoyeviches in Orosin, the Tekeli family in Arad, the Stratomiroviches in Kulpin, the
Odeskalki family in Ilok, the Eltsov family in Vukovar, the Hadiks in Futog, the
Grazalkoviches in Sombor, and the Martsibanyi family in Kamenitsa. At the same time,
military buildings began taking on a similar appearance - in the headquarters of Austrian
border command posts at Petrovaradin, Titel, Zemun, Panchevo, and Vrshats. These new
builders carried compasses decked with the flags of their guild and abandoned the fussy
tabernacles, over-decorated cartouches, and heavy karnize of their grandfathers and
great-grandfathers.... Their rulers and plumb lines gave birth to simple Attic pillars with oval
scrolls and, soon after, Empire portals with classic tympanums in the municipality buildings
in Karlovtsi, Temishvar, and Kikinda; and even on the Empire facade of the spa in Melentsi
and the local government building in Bashaid.
But they did not all achieve equal renown. At the dawn of the new 19th century, the
village of Martintsi, in the face of other centers of building skill, produced a mason
descended from many generations of excellent left-handed constructors. This was Dimitriye
Shuvakovich. After 1808, together with his stonemasons, he put up all sorts of edifices at the
whim of wealthy merchants and craftsmen in Banovtsi, Klenak, Adashevats, Beshenovo,
Divosh, Vizich, Grgurevtsi, Ledintsi, Neshtin, and Yamina. His motto was and remained:
If you want to live long and happily on this earth, do not spare your efforts!
For the noble lord Serviyski, one of his most distinguished clients, Shuvakovich offered
to construct an artificial cave containing the stone statue of a Greek god, while for another
esteemed gentleman, Lord Nikolich of Rudna, Shuvakovich built a small palace, and beside it
a fashionable park with imitation classic marble urns along its paths.
- And what are these urns for? - his client asked Shuvakovich.
- For the collection of tears.
- Tears? - said Nikolich, astounded, and sacked Shuvakovich on the spot.
Go to Lunch
LUNCH
Lord Nikolich of Rudna was a knight of the Golden Fleece, rector of the Serbian schools in
Osek and a court judge in the Torontal and Srem bishopric. During the war with the French
and Turks, he gave the Austrian Empire interest-free loans, and for the sum of 52,028 forints
bought the Rudna wasteland. In private life, Nikolich was a sensitive man - who got drunk as
soon as he saw a glass and grew fat at the thought of more than two dishes on the table. He
had no male heirs, but one daughter by the name of Attilia, whom he sent to school as though
she were a boy. It is worth mentioning that Attilia's maternal grandfather had been the famous
pedagogue Miriewsky, an educational reformer in Austria and Russia.
The young Miss Nikolich flew into her fifteenth year with a copy of Orfelin's Eternal
Calendar under her arm and the impression that time was at a standstill. She liked watching
birds flying through a snowstorm, had spotted eyes and breasts like snakes' eggs, and had
already learned to slip a ring onto her left hand in no time at all without using her right. She
wore dresses in the Viennese style, high-waisted and strewn with tiny embroidered herbs,
while her bosom, according to the current fashion, was covered with only a transparent veil,
so that her two fly-like nipples were quite visible.
- How stupid those two hens are. They always need a cock to wake them up - she would
remark in surprise, as if seeing them for the first time. Then she would fasten her sharp
spotted eyes upon her father.
- It's no great pity you dismissed Shuvakovich. It's only a pity you did so ahead of time.
Come over to this window. What do you see? A forest, naturally. And what did I say should
be seen through this window? The palace in which I am to live when I marry. Now come and
look through this other window. Tell me, what do you see?
On the veil covering Attilia's breasts two small embroidered butterflies seemed to
flutter. Between them, on a golden chain, hung a valuable gift from her father - a Geneva
watch dotted with jewels and with a compass on the back.
- You see nothing - Attilia continued to berate her father - and I told you, didn't I, what
ought to be seen through this window? The church in which I am to be married. And where is
Shuvakovich now? Fired! It seems I have to finish all your jobs for you. Go off and send
Yagoda to me.
And so it was that Yagoda, the coachman, was ordered by Miss Attilia to find a better
builder than the banished Shuvakovich.
- Go and find me a better John among all those other Johns - she commanded him and
Yagoda, as always, silently obeyed.
When he entered the service of the Nikolich family, the first lesson Yagoda learned was
to hold his tongue. This was achieved by making him spend one day with his mouth full of
water, and the next with his mouth full of plum brandy, and so on for a whole week.
- One is speechless differently with a mouth full of brandy than with a mouth full of
water - observed the master of the house.
One of the 800 builders who had crossed the river from Osat was working in the
neighborhood. As soon as Yagoda brought him over, the young Miss Nikolich asked him
who was the greatest builder among the Johns.
- Is it the one who worked for the Stratimiroviches?
- No - came the answer - There are two who are the best. One is called John the
Damascene, named after John of Damascus, who built in men's hearts. That is why he is called
Damascene. The other is John the Ladder, named after the holy father who built ladders to
the sky. Damascene puts up the handsomest houses, while the other is best at erecting
churches.
- Bring them both to me! - ordered Nikolich. - One shall build a palace for my daughter,
and the other shall build the church in which she is to be wed.
The following Wednesday, Yagoda brought both Johns to lunch at the Nikolich house.
They were sat down in the dining-room and before them were put plates of 'cheeky paprika
stew' and prunes that had been dried in pipe tobacco. The prunes smelled pleasantly of the
tobacco. With the meal they were given a sealed bottle of absinthe wine from Fenek
Monastery. Over lunch they agreed to bring drawings to Lord Nikolich within a month - the
elder John for the church, and the younger John, the one they called "Damascene," for the
palace.
- I pay each year in advance, but everything must be finished at the same time - said
Nikolich - The church is worth nothing without the palace, and the palace is of no use without
the church. They must both be finished on time. And that time is the wedding.... Now, Attilia
already has a fianc?. He is Lieutenant Alexander, a fine-lookin young gentleman from a good
family. His father was a general in the pay of the Russians, but they are our people. At present
he is in the service of some prelate in Upper Austria.
One of the builders was an old, frightened little man with short arms, who so feared to
speak that his lips burst like a fish bubble when he was called upon to utter something. When
he realised that he was being asked to put up a church for the wedding of the young Miss
Nikolich, he inquired anxiously how old she was.
- She still plays word games with other children - said Nikolich to soothe him - She has
just entered her fifteenth year.
The old man frowned at these words and started some quick calculations, writing on the
palm of his hand. The other, younger builder did not even say that much. Only when Nikolich
mentioned that the church and the palace were to be erected next to the existing house did
Damascene wave his forefinger from left to right in a sign of disagreement. We will build at
the place where only one wind blows - was the old masterbuilder John's explanation of
Damascene's gesture.
Damascene was handsome and left-handed, with strong calves and a firm black beard
fastened into a tail with a gold clasp. Round each wrist he wore a white scarf, such as
swordsmen wear. When swordsmen attacked with saber or knife, their scarves would unfurl
and blind their opponents who would then not know where their attackers' blades were and
from which direction they could expect a thrust. But the young Damascene was carrying
neither saber nor knife. He had left them in the entrance hall, though he constantly looked
around him in fearful apprehension. He barely uttered a word the whole time, but his hands
were never still. At lunch he had fashioned a boat out of a bread-crust and a pipe-cleaner and
presented it to their young hostess who joined them after the meal.
To her father's consternation and the utter bewilderment of their guests, Attilia had used
this visit to paint eyes with eyelashes on her little breasts. Rather too wide-set, but compelling
with their bright green irises, the eyes had fixed upon each guest at the same time through the
covering veil. It was in this atmosphere of embarrassed confusion that Damascene spoke for
the first time, handing the boat to Attilia.
- This is for you, pretty miss - he said, to which she responded:
- If you want to be sure whether a woman is pretty or not, you must wait to see her
smile, yawn or speak. And you certainly won't know if she's pretty until she sits down to eat in
front of you. That's why I don't like it when people watch me eating. My borzoi doesn't like it
either....
Then she took the little boat, went up to the pipe-stand, selected a long-stemmed pipe,
already filled with tobacco, and held it out to Damascene.
- The tobacco has been stored in prunes and has a little of their smell - she said.
Damascene put out his hand for the pipe, but Attilia did not let go of it. Instead, she turned
slowly and pulled him on the other end of the long pipe-stem into the music-room.
They found themselves in a large room with open windows. As soon as they were inside,
an enormous hound threw itself at Damascene, but fortunately it was still tied to a well-bitten
leather cushion. Attilia swiftly went up to a piano and strummed a chord. At this the dog
calmed down and curled up on the cushion. The piano stood in the middle of the room like a
huge lacquered carriage with two coach-lamps. It had half-chewed legs and large black keys.
The small white keys were made of ivory. Attilia sat down and began to play. Her playing
made the room reverberate and the sounds mixed together rising to unimaginable heights,
after which they drummed downwards towards the floor. Damascene applauded, the hound
started to whine again, and Attilia suddenly broke off:
- Do you really think that I am playing this? - she said mockingly to Damascene - Not
for a moment! I use these sounds to water the flowers in the garden under the window. They
grow better that way.... There are songs the flowers particularly like. Just as we have our
favorite songs. Then there are others, rarely heard and very precious, which love us in their
turn. Some of these songs we have never heard, nor will we ever hear them, for there are far
more songs in the world that love us than those that we ourselves love. It's the same with
books, paintings, or houses. Really, what can we say about houses? Quite simply, some
houses have the gift of loving us, and others don't. Houses are actually a permanent
correspondence between their builders and the people who live in them. People's houses are
like big, beautiful or ugly letters. Life in them can resemble business correspondence, letters
between two enemies, full of hate, letters between master and servant, between prisoner and
jailer, or ... love letters. For houses have a sex, just like us. Some houses are female, others are
male. And that's the whole point. So, I want you to build me a house that's like a love letter. I
know it is not given to everyone to kindle the fire of love. Some are not able to. But you can. I
know you can.
And just how do you know that, young miss? - asked Damascene and hung a
prune-scented smoke ring on the muzzle of the hound, who sneezed.
- How do I know? Well, just you listen, young sir! I first started to think when I was six.
Those thoughts were strong and real, like ropes. They were so long they stretched to
Thessalonica and so taut they kept my ears pinned against my head. And with them came rich
fantasies and feelings. And there was so much whirling round in my head that I was forced to
forget much of it. I forgot, not pounds and kilograms, but tons, every day. It was then I
realised that I could have children, that I would have children. And I set to work at once to
practise. That same day - it was a Thursday afternoon - I gave birth in my thoughts to a little
boy of three and I began to tend to him and love him.
Love is something that can be learned and practised, you know. Love is also something
you must steal. If you don't steal from yourself a little strength and time for love each day,
there will be no love. I breastfeed my small son in my dreams and I notice he has a scar on his
forearm like a closed eye. I wash his hair in wine, and in my imagination I kiss his ear until it's
fit to burst, so that he'll remember me. I play word games with him, I show him how my
compass works, and together we run backwards beside some pretty stretch of water or we
build sandcastles on the banks of the Tisa.... He grows faster than I do and I see him looking
older than me already. In my thoughts, I send him to school, first to Karlovtsi to the Serbian
Latin school, then to Vienna to the military engineering academy to become a skilled
constructor and build the finest houses.... I haven't seen him since that time, and I loved him
very much. I picture him today, somewhere out there in the wide world and I long for him.
For my child....
- That's a nice story, Miss Attilia, but what about the answer to my question? Where is
your house in all this, and where do I fit in? Is your one-time imaginary child to build this
palace for you?
- Yes - replied Attilia, moving away from the piano. With a sudden movement, she
turned back the sleeve of Damascene's shirt. There, on his forearm, was a scar resembling a
closed eye.
Proceed to the First Fork
FIRST FORK
Choose the order in which you will read the next two chapters. To read The Third Church first, choose
the word "church." To read The Palace first, choose the word "palace." Naturally, you can ignore these
instructions and read the chapters in whatever way you like or are used to.
CHURCH PALACE
THE THIRD CHURCH
Exactly on the Feast of St. Andrew the First-Called, masterbuilder John, nicknamed "The
Ladder," brought to Lord Nikolich of Rudna the drawings for the new Church of the
Presentation of the Holy Mother of God in the Temple. This was to be built on the Nikolich
estate by the River Tisa and was to be officially registered as the property of Miss Attilia. The
builder himself chose the most suitable site for the church at the place where, as he explained,
only one wind blew. When he spread out his plans in the dining-room, they covered the whole
table. The temple was to have seven windows, and seats near the altar for the Nikolich family
with their coat-of-arms on the backs.
Nikolich studied the drawings and suddenly said:
- John, these are plans for three churches, all as identical as peas in a
pod, but I commissioned only one church.
- Yes, the plans are for three churches, but you, Lord Nikolich, will
only pay for one. This first church you see, drawn in green, will be in your
garden within your sight but it won't be built: it will grow by itself.
- Don't you sell pregnant storks to me, John! Whoever heard of a church growing by
itself?
- It's true. And we'll agree here and now that it's possible, Lord Nikolich. Tomorrow I
shall send over three gardeners and they will plant a box hedge in your garden precisely
according to these plans. The hedge will grow at approximately the same rate as I shall build
the second church, in stone, marked in yellow on my drawings, on your estate near the river
Tisa. Every week, my gardeners will shape and trim the hedge according to the plans, and you
will be able to follow from your window the progress my builders and stonemasons are
making on the second church by the Tisa. You will see everything through your window -
when the portals are raised, when the altar is set in place, and when the cupola is erected. Let
us only make a start, with God's help, and everything will happen exactly as planned and on
time....
- That's all well and good. But tell me, John, what of the third church which is drawn in
purple ink on the plans?
- Ah, that's a secret which you will only uncover when the building work is finished. For
there can be no successful construction without a secret and no real church without a miracle.
So they parted, and John began to build the church of the Presentation of the Holy
Mother of God in the Temple, while through the window Nikolich showed Attilia the box
hedge growing into a three-naved church which one could enter like a flower garden through
its broad opening. Every day Attilia walked through this natural temple, sometimes stopping
at the place in front of the floral altar where she would be married, and one Monday evening
she spotted the Evening Star in the first open window of the new church. The box hedge
church steadily climbed upwards towards the heavens.
Naturally, Attilia and her father would occasionally go to the Tisa and the site on the
estate where the second church was rising in marble and stone. And they were just as
interested to visit the other building, Attilia's palace, which Damascene was erecting. Yet
Damascene was rarely to be seen at the building site - as if he were hiding from something.
Despite this, the Nikolich family was happy because the palace was progressing even faster
than the churches.
But then events took an unexpected turn.
Yagoda came to his master one morning and said:
- The box hedge has stopped growing!
- I don't give a hoot! - said Nikolich abruptly - I neither ordered nor paid for a church
made of box hedge.
Nonetheless, he quickly decided to go and check matters out for himself on the spot. So
he set off for the Tisa to see when he would be able to take possession of the finished church
and have it consecrated. When he arrived at the site, however, he found the church had one
door and one window fewer than before. Furthermore, there was no sign of the builders or
the stonemasons.
- This shirt is really starting to come apart at the seams! - he thought and took action in
his accustomed and time-honored fashion. He did not summon John the Ladder, builder of
the church, to explain matters. Instead, he commanded Yagoda to bring to him at all costs
the other John, his rival, Damascene. He could not conceive of two builders, professional
competitors, who were not, outside their craft, sworn enemies, too. John the Damascene
appeared on the second day with a bound head. He was hurt. He was still bleeding a little
under the bandage.
What has happened to the church? - asked Nikolich excitedly.
- You can see for yourself. They've stopped building.
- What do you mean stopped building? Why?
- Something is preventing John from finishing the church - said Damascene. The box
hedge has stopped growing.
- The box hedge, the box hedge, that's all I hear! I don't give a damn about the box
hedge - said Nikolich - I paid John to build in stone and that's what he should be doing -
building in stone. Can't they add on the missing bits?
- My lord, it's no problem for John to continue building in stone, but if the box hedge
doesn't grow, that means the third church, the one drawn in purple ink on the plans, isn't
growing either. And the stone church can only be built here at the same rate as work on the
third church....
- Well, what do we do now?
- You must have sinned, my Lord. You must have owed something to somebody, or
short-changed someone. When you remember what you did wrong and who you were unjust
to, show repentance and put matters right. Return the debt, then John can complete your
church.
- For God's sake, Damascene, where is John building the third church?
- In Heaven. John always builds the third church in Heaven.
(If you have not read The Palace, proceed to that chapter. If you have, go on to the Second Fork.)
THE PALACE
According to their agreement, exactly on the Feast of St. Andrew the First-Called, in the
afternoon, the builder called John Damascene, brought to Lord Nikolich of Rudna the plans
for the palace, which was to be built on the Nikolich estate near the River Tisa, at a suitable
spot where only one wind blew. Bent over the drawings in the dining-room of the Nikolich
family were Attilia, her father and Damascene, wearing his white scarves, and having left his
sword and knife in the entrance hall. According to the plans the palace was to have four
pillars in front, which would support the frieze, then a large hall with an open fireplace, and
two particularly attractive rooms were a large square dining-room and a bedchamber.
- You've designed that very well, my child - said Attilia to John Damascene and went
into the room with the piano and the borzoi. At the door, she turned and added:
- We'll see if you live up to our expectations. And you know, my son, what those
expectations are. I told you last time. A house like a love letter.
Then she showed the palm of her left hand with two rings whose stones were turned
inward and she flashed the stones at him like two blue eyes. As if casting a spell....
Thereafter, every Saturday, Attilia would order Yagoda to harness the horses and, with
or without her father, she would go off to the river Tisa. The palace was coming on well. But
Damascene was scarcely ever at the building-site. The walls had already risen higher than a
man with upstretched arms, and Attilia had not managed more than once or twice to
exchange a few words with her stonemason. It was as if he was avoiding them. On one
occasion, however, matters took an about turn. Damascene called Lord Nikolich to come
quickly to the Tisa. While digging the foundations for the palace, he had uncovered a female
marble statue in the soil. Her hair and eyes were green, and her body brown, almost black.
With a bent forefinger, the girl seemed to be beckoning to someone. Damascene suggested to
Nikolich that the statue be placed in the entrance hall of the palace.
- What, an ugly object like that!? - said Nikolich, barely giving the statue a glance.
Then Damascene took a hammer and knocked off the statue's arm. A red liquid spurted
out, like water full of iron. And the stone revealed veins, muscles and bones like in a living
being, but all executed in pure marble... When she heard what had happened, Attilia felt like
murdering her father, but it was too late. Damascene had already removed the statue from
the estate. This incident seemed to be a harbinger of misfortune. Attilia never again managed
to meet "her child," John Damascene, by the Tisa. And not long after Yagoda brought
unbelievably bad news. The coachman erupted in words:
- Now it's all clear. No wonder Damascene constantly carried a saber with him. They say
he had many affairs with women and that the abandoned lovers, fianc?s and husbands swore
revenge and tried to kill him. Though to be fair, he did put a roof on the palace these past
days, and even furnished it, but the very first night he wanted to sleep there, he was attacked
and wounded. The unknown attacker crept silently up to his bed and would have killed him,
but for a quite unexpected mistake, if you can call it that. Before the attack, the attacker had
not eaten, in the way duellists avoid eating on the eve of a duel. But for this very reason, there
in the dark, the stranger's stomach suddenly rumbled very loudly. This awakened the
Damascene from sleep at the last moment and saved his life. He dodged the saber thrust,
grabbed his knife and in the short struggle that followed received a blow to the head, but
succeeded in cutting off the attacker's forefinger. The intruder ran off minus a finger, and they
found John lying bleeding on his pillow....
At this news Attilia and her father rushed off immediately to the Tisa, but Damascene
was gone. The unplastered palace stood in the huge park and round it stood Damascene's
workmen.
- Where's Damascene? - asked Attilia, frightened.
- Where's Damascene? - asked Nikolich, furious.
- They've taken him away. He's wounded. He told us to come and find you to be paid.
We've completed the work of three years in twelve months, and you only paid us a year in
advance.
At these words, Nikolich lost his senses.
- Now you listen to me carefully and you can spit in my mouth if I lie! You'll get no
money until the building is finished!
Then he went home. In situations such as these Lord Nikolich never saw fit to talk to the
person whose conduct had displeased him. He did not seek out his wounded builder John the
Damascene, but instead summoned his rival John the Ladder, the churchbuilder, and asked
him to explain in detail who Damascene was and what kind of a man.
- Like the sainted father of Damascus, whose name he shares, your builder John uses
holy mathematics, which differs from the earthly sort. At least as much as Origen's world of
linguistics differs from our earthly grammar...
- Could you be a bit more concrete about this Damascene? - Nikolich interrupted his
masterbuilder at this point.
- As you wish. Damascene has one great skill. He knows how to sleep. He rises before
dawn, sees to his horses, inspects the building site and has a bite to eat. Then, leaning against
the house he is building, he dozes off for a few moments, on his feet. The second time, after
lunch, asleep again, he runs around his memories, crouching in the shadow of some wall. The
third time, after dinner, he stretches out and slumbers away his share of the night.... Oh, I
almost forgot - said the builder concluding his account - Damascene asked me to tell you that
he won't be building for you anymore and he sends you this box.
When Lord Nikolich of Rudna opened the box, in it lay a bloody forefinger.
(If you have not read the chapter The Third Church, do so now. If you have, go on to the Second Fork)
SECOND FORK
Choose the order in which you wish to read the following two chapters - starting either with The
Bedchamber or The Dining-Room. Your choice will decide how you wish the story to end.
BEDCHAMBER DINING-ROOM
THE BEDCHAMBER
The borzoi took advantage of those moments when Attilia was not watering the flowers
with music to chew the piano leg. So it was this morning. Attilia was not playing. She was
crying and writing a letter on the piano-lid. From time to time the animal would interrupt his
lazy work to gaze at his mistress with concern.
Dear Masterbuilder John,
As you know, my father dismissed Damascene and his workers without
paying them. He said he would not pay them for an unfinished building. As if it
were their fault. And he won't pay you either, for "the box hedge isn't growing" -
as he puts it.
My conscience pains me in this matter because it is all my father's fault. Who
knows where he gets to and what he did wrong? So I am sending a recompense
for the expenses you have had, as well as money for the Damascene and his
workers to pay for their labors on the palace. But only you are able to find them
on various building-sites and repay my father's debt to them with this money. My
coachman and I couldn't trace them when we looked. If any money is left over,
use it to build a church for somebody for whom a box hedge church wants to
grow.
I am sorry that everything concerning my future wedding has ended so
miserably. But look up in the sky at night: there are stars and above them in space
a huge all-embracing thought....
Yours, as a daughter
Attilia
When the money and letter had been dispatched, Attilia started walking her father's
hounds for them to tear their nails. It was spring. The garden round her father's house, which
had long since been landscaped, gave off certain scents in the morning; other plants (specially
chosen for the purpose) exuded a particular freshness in the heat of noon, while the night
flowers responded to the moonlight with waves of sweet aroma.
Attilia wept into the tear-collecting urns, placed along the paths laid by the unhappy
Shuvakovich. Time went by, the months passed. Attilia resolved to let her hair grow. She
waited for the new moon, trimmed her hair and put the locks under a stone lest the birds take
them to feather their nests.
Then she sat and waited for her hair to grow. She felt lonely. Her fianc?, Alexander, was
fighting far away, the builders John the Damascene and John the Ladder were God alone
knows where, and she did not get along with her father. She scolded him whenever he looked
like her late mother, and he seemed particularly to take on the appearance of his deceased
wife Maria on Sundays and holy days....
One morning Yagoda ran excitedly to his master, bringing him important news:
- The box hedge is growing! It's started growing again!
It was true. The green temple of John the masterbuilder was once more stretching its
way, slowly but surely, up towards the sky.
- That means that the other stone church by the Tisa must be growing, too - concluded
Nikolich, and hastened with his daughter to the river.
When they arrived, however, disappointment was in store. The half-finished church was
in a sorry state. The stone walls had collapsed down to the foundations, and these could
scarcely be glimpsed amid the brushwood, weeds, and overgrown vineyards where there had
once been a building site.
Hopping mad, Nikolich felt like kicking the hound who was fidgeting around his legs,
but remembering that the borzoi could bite faster than his leg could land the blow, he
stopped himself just in time. He got back into the carriage and returned home.
Attilia did not accompany him. She sat on the riverbank and sang softly:
Oh, Tisa, quiet water,
Freedom of my heart,
You drops that falter,
A stream of bliss thou art
Arabian gold
Sails down the middle stream,
From the heart cajoled
Is the name of love supreme....
In the early evening she went into the unfinished palace. Beneath the colonnaded facade
she came upon a large map of the whole area along the Tisa made of glazed bricks. The
baked earth painted in dazzling colors showed the immediate surroundings - Ada, the palace
on the Tisa, with forests, hills and small towns in the distance.
The scale in miles was given at the bottom of the map. In the top corner was a painted
brightly-colored globe, pierced with arrows showing the four points of the compass.
On an open window-sill in the entrance hall with the large fireplace lay the keys to the
rooms. A little further away stood Damascene's pair of large wooden builder's compasses.
- Look, he left something behind!
It was clearly some sort of message from him and it cheered her up.
The bedchamber was unlocked and Attilia went in. From Damascene's drawings she
know that the bedchamber was at the very center of the palace. Yet she had not expected that
it would be so enormous, circular, with a spacious round bed in the middle. She threw herself
onto the bed and cried.
It was getting dark. She decided to spend the night in the palace. She led the hound
inside and gave orders for supper to be brought to her in bed. She ate with gusto as one
always does after shedding tears and stared at the strange room around her. Her hair sparked
continuously and absurd snippets of conversations held long before ran through her mind, all
mixed up. There were two kinds of silence around her: the small silence of the palace and the
endless silence of the night outside - which unsettled the borzoi in her room.... Then she
looked out of the windows, of which there were three. One window gave onto the river Tisa,
invisible in the dark though the freshness and smell of its waters came into the room. From
the Tisa there also came, every now and then, strange screams which frightened her and she
resolved to lock her door. But while the key turned in the lock, the lock refused to accept it.
Were it not for her boundless confidence in Damascene's skill, Attilia would have thought the
lock faulty. As it was, she turned the key again and again, counting each time. It was only at
the thirtieth turn of the key that the lock finally clicked and secured the door. This unnerved
Attilia even more. She did not know whether she would be able to open it again and if not,
she realized with horror, she might remain imprisoned in the palace. But, again, at the
thirtieth turn of the key, the door opened with no trouble. Exhausted from weeping and fear
and staring at the window onto the Tisa, Attilia finally fell asleep.
In the morning she was awakened by the Sun. Damascene had placed the room so that
the Sun would awaken Attilia every morning. Around her stretched the strange circular
bedchamber which looked as if it had been drawn with a pair of compasses. Attilia recalled
the compasses she had found and thought:
- If I set up the compasses in the middle of the room, that is, at the center of the palace
and the middle of this bed I am lying on...
Suddenly Attilia let out a shriek, feeling the wooden legs of the compasses exactly
between her own legs.
- The cheek of the man! - she thought instinctively. Pulling herself together, but in fact
intrigued by this discovery, Attilia continued her investigation. She got out of bed to look
through the sun-filled window and what she saw took her breath away. Standing in the garden
beneath the window was the dark-skinned female statue with the green eyes. The stone girl
fixed her glass eyes on Attilia, beckoning to her with the crooked forefinger of her left hand.
Her right arm was missing.
- That's the statue Damascene dug up - Attilia realized and at once concluded that the
bust had been stolen from her father by the builder, who had returned it to the estate as a
message.
- If I imagine the bedchamber to be a circle drawn by a pair of compasses, I can start
from the center of the room in a straight line through this window looking East, where the
statue is beckoning to me. If I continue, how far must I go for something to happen, to
discover perhaps what Damascene's message is. But how far must I go?
Attilia wanted to go down into the garden, but again the lock stopped her. Once more
she had to turn the key thirty times, like the preceding night, to unlock the door. Then it
dawned on her. That number was, in fact, the next sentence in Damascene's wordless letter.
She went out onto the porch to look at the brick map of the Tisa region. She plunged
one point of the builder's compasses into the Tisa, at Ada where the palace was situated, and
traced a circle with a half diameter of thirty miles, using the scale given at the foot of the map.
Then from the center she draw a straight line due East. The circle and the line crossed at the
town called Temishvar. Attilia jumped up cheerfully and called to Yagoda:
- Harness the horses, Yagoda, we're going on a journey! To Temishvar!
When they got there, people directed them to the newly-erected Church of the
Presentation of the Holy Mother of God in the Temple, which she immediately recognized
from the ground plans submitted to her father by John the Ladder. The church was identical
to its box hedge twin, but this time complete, made of stone and marble, with all seven
windows. It was, without a doubt, the temple that master church-builder John had dedicated
to the Holy Mother of God.
Attilia entered.
Come in, come in, Miss Attilia, we've been expecting you - said the priest and sat her
down on a seat near the altar. Above the seat Attilia saw the beautifully carved coat-of-arms
of Nikolich of Rudna, her own coat-of-arms:
The priest brought her a document with a wax seal and a tiny box
made of fur. The document was the deed of property. It designated Attilia
as owner of the church. The fur casket contained two wedding rings.
- A gift from John the builder for you and your fianc? - explained the
priest. The insides of the rings were engraved with the same single letter -
A.
- Which John? - enquired Attilia - There are two!
- Well, there are two rings - rejoined the priest and burst into laughter.
(If you have not read the chapter The Dining-Room, proceed to that chapter. If you have, then this is the end of the story.)
THE DINING-ROOM
- Each new key means one more thing to worry about - Attilia comforted herself, looking
at the unfinished rooms of her palace on the Tisa. She searched for Damascene in vain, not so
that he would complete his task, but to prove to herself that "her child" was capable of
building a fine palace. However, the builder was nowhere to be found. Attilia loved to
wander around the building, daydreaming and gazing at the lovely things Damascene had
prepared for her, but which lay in disarray all over the place. From time to time she imagined
that Damascene had left a message for her somewhere, a letter. She could not believe he had
simply left without a parting word. Though he did have a viable excuse. He was wounded,
after all, but it hurt her that he had paid a single visit to her father's house, still bandaged up,
and not sought her out. He had merely spoken briefly to her father about the other John, and
that was all.
One afternoon, as she dozed on a sofa in the half-completed palace, Attilia was listening
to the sounds around her as she lay in a semi-sleep. The entrance hall was full of different and
as yet unarranged objects prepared for furnishing the palace, and one of the Nikolich servants
was making an inventory of them out loud. He repeated the objects as he wrote them down
on a sheet of paper:
- One sofa, one serving-table, two seats, one settle, one sketch, another sketch, one
sieve, one saltcellar, one sauceboat, one spittoon....
In a flash it dawned on Attilia that all the things in the hall began with the same letter. It
was as if Damascene was playing a word game with her. This did not really tell her anything,
except that he had obviously remembered her father telling him at that first lunch how she
used to play "word games" as a child. Or else, he had recalled that, as a little girl, she had
played the game with "her child." This touched her deeply. So the message was there, but it
was rather strange because not one word could be composed by moving from one 's' to the
next.
Attilia suddenly had an idea. From a drawer she took out the key to the dining-room
and ran to it. She was amazed when she got there. The walls were still bare brick, but the
ceiling was completely finished and painted. It gleamed in its shining plaster and gold leaf.
The scene it represented was a blue sky with the Sun, the Moon and the stars. The Sun looked
the weirdest. It was in the shape of a gold clock whose hands had stopped at 10 to 10. There
was something else extraordinary about the sky: it only had four stars. The lowest hung above
a window in which there lay a little ship, as if encased in a glass prison. It was identical to the
one Damascene had made for Attilia out of the bread-crust and the pipe cleaner that first day
in her father's house.
- I wonder if it means a voyage - thought Attilia - Perhaps Damascene wants to send me
on a journey! Perhaps I have to navigate by the stars so as not to get lost. But that can't be
all...
Then she carefully examined the things placed along the walls. At first glance they
seemed to have been piled up there without any order. She fixed her eyes on them for a
moment and then breathed a sigh of relief as she realized that the objects in the dining-room
began with a different letter from those in the hall. She had better try to work this out. She
began chanting the first letter of the pieces of furniture from right to left of the door, but
nothing happened. Then she tried again, this time from left to right. Her heart beat with joy
when the message unrolled. It sounded quite incredible and incomprehensible, but it was
there. The first letters of the objects spoken in turn could be fitted into three words:
"An arshin equals a hundred miles" - said the objects ranged along the dining-room
walls in the Nikolich palace. And the sentence ended in a window containing a saw.
Damascene had definitely left a message in the house. All she had to do was read it carefully.
- Yagoda - called Attilia cheerfully. She ordered the coachman to measure the distance
between the first and second star on the dining room ceiling.
The coachman was quite astounded, but did as he was told.
- An arshin and a half - he shouted down from the ladder.
- Which town lies a hundred and fifty miles from here? - asked Attilia urgently.
- In which direction, Miss? We are, as you might say, at Ada. If we go south, who knows
where we might end up - Belgrade, or even further....
- That means we know nothing - thought Attilia and fastened her eyes again on the
clock-shaped Sun. What if we imagine the clock to be a compass? On her chest dangled the
watch-compass on the golden neck chain. She opened it and looked. 10 to 10 is north-west! -
she cried and asked Yagoda: Which town lies a hundred and fifty miles north-west of here?
- Budapest, Miss, what else?
- Go on measuring - Attilia shouted up to him. The distance between the second and
third star on the dining-room ceiling was a little shorter than between the first two - an arshin
and thirty. This meant going 130 miles further than Budapest. On Damascene's map of the
heavens Attilia could now move without a compass, guided just by the stars. The second part
of the path led her almost due West. That was clear from the stars on the dining-room ceiling.
The distance between the third and fourth star was barely more than one arshin, and, if
Attilia's calculations were correct, measured another 100 miles. Again, the star led her due
West. But, the fourth star was not painted the same as the others. It was in the shape of a gold
cross.
- Harness the horses! - Attilia shouted to Yagoda and giggled to herself thinking:
- Surely Damascene's not sending me to a monastery?
The very next day she asked her father's permission to set off on a journey. He gave her
the gold-lacquered coach, with Yagoda as coachman, the hounds and a mounted escort of his
armed huntsmen. He dressed the men in ceremonial uniforms, and he sent a messenger ahead
of them on a fast horse to find lodgings in Budapest. Attilia sat her borzoi from the
music-room beside her in the coach and they set off early the following morning.
She spent the night in Pest, then ate a cake in a pastry-shop in Buda near the Church of
St. Stephen. She bid Yagoda enquire what lay 130 miles west of Budapest.
- Well, what would you expect to find? - asked the pastry-cook, in great surprise.
Everyone knows that - it's Vienna.
- Then it's on to Vienna!
And so young Miss Attilia continued onwards to Vienna, wondering what lay beyond
that city, while it fell to Yagoda to find lodgings for her, his men, the horses and the dogs. In
Vienna, strictly following Damascene's instructions from the dining-room ceiling, Attilia
commanded that they travel on due West. At Sankt P?lten they halted in front of a shop full
of gleaming violins. Above the shop front was a sign in gold letters saying:
Eustachius Stoss
This time Attilia asked the way forward herself.
If we go on from here towards Linz, is there a large monastery on the way - she enquired
of the old violin-maker.
- Of course there is - said the old man. It's on your way, gn?diges Fr?ulein:
Kremsm?nster!
Five days later, Attilia was sitting in an inn in the town of Kremsm?nster, writing a letter
to her father. She wanted to paint for him something of the unforgettable experience she had
had in this town over the previous three days.
Dear Father,
The town of Kremsm?nster lies in a plain, beside the small river Krems.
Although the town itself is not big, it has some very fine houses. Above the town
on side is a hill on which is a large monastery, beautifully decorated. It is
inhabited by Catholic monks, called Benedictines, whose superior is called the
prelate (which corresponds to our archimandrite). The town belongs to the
monastery. We hadn't got within two miles of the monastery when an emissary of
the prelate appeared and later caught up with us. He is the Forstmeister (which
means, chief of the huntsmen). He manages all the land and forests surrounding
the town and monastery, including the animals, fishponds and fishing. He rode,
followed by four hunters with rifles, who were elegantly and richly dressed. When
he approached us, he asked who was in charge of our party, and since Yagoda
rode ahead in his ceremonial uniform, he confirmed that it was he. At that the
emissary doffed his green velvet cap with a white plume, and delivered greetings
from the prelate, with the request that we do not kill the animals and birds. On
hearing this request, Yagoda gave orders that the hunters should not fire their
guns, nor the hounds hunt rabbits, and he guaranteed the Forstmeister his
personal responsibility for the monastery estate on which he assured him there
would be no damage.
He commanded the hunters leading the hounds to tie them up immediately.
I ordered the servants to tether my hound, too, for if they had not been thus
secured, they could have caused great damage, as we had never before seen so
many rabbits and various birds, nor so many herds of deer and chamois.
The Forstmeister, seeing that we were extremely accommodating, bid his
hunters kill two pheasants and bring them to him. This was an easy task as there
were great numbers on the ground and in the trees. The hunters duly brought him
two pheasants, and the Forstmeister presented them to our coachman. He went
on with us for about half a mile, then said goodbye to Yagoda and rode off with
his men into the town, with us following on. When we reached the town, we
separated to our various lodgings.
That same evening the prelate sent two monks to us to invite me and all our
company to lunch with him the next day. The following day we arrived at the
monastery at the agreed time of around eleven o'clock.
The prelate received us very graciously in the antechamber and led us into
his palace, asking us to take a seat. Coffee and brandy were served and whatever
we requested was brought to us. The prelate talked of various things, of the war,
of the country from which we had come, and so time passed until lunch. When
we entered the palace, food was already on the table. The dishes were made of
silver and the table itself marble, about one and a half meters long and two wide.
The marbled streaks were of bright colors running into each other, red, green,
blue, white and yellow. The smooth table edge, as broad as the palm of a hand,
was gilded. In the center of the table stood a large shallow dish, almost an arshin
wide. In the middle of the dish was a pipe which ran down into the central
support beneath the table, and on top of the pipe was affixed a whale cast in solid
silver. It represented the biblical whale which threw the prophet Jonah out of its
abdomen. The whale alone, without the dish, they told us, weighed twenty
pounds. Its scales were made of gold, intermixed with silver. On the inner edge
of the great dish were two joined slender carts, one silver and the other gilded,
on which were placed blue crystal glasses, decorated with gold leaf, and filled
with beer. Later, wine was served from the same glasses.
As soon as we sat down, the prelate touched the dish with his hand, and all
of a sudden two jets of water spouted out of the whale's nostrils. They were thin
like a goose feather and rose to about two arshins high, while similar water jets
gushed from the whale's teeth (two lower jets, as thin as thread, had already
started to pour from the mammal's ears).
The palace ceiling was covered with paintings and gold leaf. The pictures
were taken from various historical events. The walls were cut from stone blocks,
and in one corner where the dining table was, stood a marble receptacle above
which, set in the wall, was a gilded copper pipe with a tap. Cold water flowed
from the tap, from which they filled the glasses and brought them to the table.
The receptacle was used to wash the glasses later, and the water drained away at
the bottom. The drapes on the doors and windows were luxurious, with gold
fringes, tassels and cords. During lunch songs were played on a church organ.
The floor was made of boards of walnut, inlaid with other woods.
After lunch, we withdrew the prelate's room, where coffee and dessert were
served.
The morning after this visit, the prelate gave me an escort as far as Vienna,
and further if I wished.
- He is a lieutenant, one of my most trusted men - added the prelate - you
know him, he was at lunch with us.
That is how our journey ended, dear Father, in the best possible way, and
who is coming home to you tomorrow but your daughter
Attilia
So Attilia set off back, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the visit to the prelate. His
lieutenant did escort her on a handsome black stallion and in Sankt P?lten offered her
lemonade in a wayside inn. That evening Attilia summoned the lieutenant, who had ridden
alongside the carriage all day long, to sit inside it. Not slowing his horse's gallop for a
moment, he threw the reins to the coachman Yagoda, withdrew his feet from the stirrups,
stretched out along the horse's back, and let himself down onto the running-board of the
coach, leaving his horse to gallop on.
The borzoi growled at first, then started to snuggle up to the lieutenant. The lieutenant
settled back on the seat and took a book out of his sleeve.
- What, pray, is that, Lieutenant? - asked Attilia, laughing.
- Something that you will certainly wish to read and that will, I am sure, surprise you.
- I am not easily surprised, Lieutenant.
- Then read it.
The lieutenant's black-gloved hand with the gold snuffbox in the shape of a ring handed
the book to Attilia. On the cover it read:
THE LIFE OF MAJOR-GENERAL AND CAVALRYMAN
SIMEON, SON OF STEFAN PISHCHEVICH
(the years 1744-1784)
Vienna, 1802
Attilia opened the book, and lieutenant showed her where to start. She read with
increasing amazement. In the book was written, word for word, the following:
... the town of Kremsm?nster lies in a plain, beside the small river Krems. Although the
town itself is not big, it has some very fine houses. Above the town on one side is a hill on which
is a large monastery, beautifully decorated. It is inhabited by Catholic monks, called
Benedictines, whose superior is called the prelate (which corresponds to our archimandrite). The
town belongs to the monastery. We hadn't got within two miles from the monastery when an
emissary of the prelate appeared and later caught up with us. He is the Forstmeister (which
means, chief of the huntsmen). He manages all the land and forests surrounding the town and
monastery, including the animals, fish farms and fishing. He rode, followed by four hunters
with rifles, who were elegantly and richly dressed.
With consternation and horror, Attilia continued reading the description of that visit to
Kremsm?nster in 1744. In exactly the same words, everything that was described in the book
was identical to the letter she had written to her father. The deer, the chamois, the encounter
with the Forstmeister and his hunters, the tying of the hound, how the forstmeister and his
men had shot the pheasants and presented them to the travelers, the sumptuous lunch at the
prelate's palace, the silver dishes and marble table, the whale-shaped fountain with the golden
scales... and finally, the songs played on the church organ. The extract ended with the words:
After lunch, we withdrew to the prelate's room, where dessert and coffee were served.
Attilia sat for a time on the seat covered with velvet the color of her hair. She held the
book in her hands, not saying a word. Everything in the book was the same as what had just
happened in her own life.
- Good Heavens, where did you find this? And who is this Pishchevich? Is he a cousin of
yours? - asked Attilia in astonishment, handing the book back to her fellow-traveler with a
slight shiver.
- Even the number of the pheasants they gave us is the same. I don't know anymore if it
was I who visited the prelate two days ago, or a century ago and if I have just come out of
Kremsm?nster or out of this book.
- Right out of this book, my lovely Miss Attilia - said the lieutenant and continued - You
must have had a lot of admirers in Kremsm?nster....
- Yes, I did. But wait...let me collect myself together. You really have surprised me....
Yes, in Kremsm?nster one young man especially intrigued me.... By the name of Alexander.
- Tell me about it, for you now surprise me. And I, too, am not easily surprised, Miss
Attilia.... Go on, I am ready
- Do you really want to know?
- I'm listening
- And so you should - said Attilia and giggled.
- So, one fine morning, damn me, he comes over, this Alexander, good-looking, dark,
and hairy, sits down on my bed with the flowers and talks to me, while devouring me with his
eyes. Bit by bit. First, my tits. Then my mouth. He makes love to me and goes away. I ask
myself what he wanted of me.... In the afternoon, there he is again, straight and black, soft hair
and a hard ass. He sits on my bed with the flowers, murmurs something like a bubbling
brook, smacks my tits, makes love to me and goes away. I don't know what he wanted or why
he comes.... In the morning, he comes round again, handsome, well-built, shoulders like a
double-door wardrobe. He sits down on my bed with the flowers. He touches me all over,
makes love to me and goes away. And so on, every day. I really don't know what he wanted
of me. What do you think, Lieutenant?
At these words, the lieutenant burst into peals of laughter, embraced Attilia, and said:
- I know what he wanted. He wanted to propose to you, Miss Attilia.
With these words, the lieutenant pulled Attilia over onto his lap and slapped her little
breasts and Attilia whispered ecstatically into his ear:
- Quick, catch me up! I'm going to finish!
A few moments after the climax of their lovemaking, Miss Attilia surrendered her
relaxed self to the swaying of the carriage and, cuddled in her lover's arms, thought:
- I'll find no better Alexander than this one!
From where she lay she could not see the fondling hand of her fianc?. Inside his glove in
place of a forefinger was - a silver thimble.
(If you have not read The Bedchamber, proceed to that chapter. If you have, then this is the end of the story.)
Path of Least Resistance
Watching, a story by Levi Asher
How to Masturbate by Sarah Beech
Bridge, a photograph by Christian Crumlish
Reading Raymond Carver, a story by Alice K. Boatwright
Doctor Diane Writes of Love, a story by Martha Conway
Lesbians, Homosexuals, and My Book Party, a column by
Jonathan Ames
Damascene: A tale for computer and compasses by Milorad Pavic
The Apartmentsitters, a story by Peter Gannon Crumlish
Moving Toward the Light by Christy Sheffield Sanford
Man Leaving by Alice K. Boatwright
Very Short Stories No. 14, a cartoon by Steve Seebol
Babysitting the Rain, a story by David Alexander
Steve Kimock and the Other Ones, interview by Christian
Crumlish and photographs by Susan J. Weiand
Vita Imperfetta, a story in scroll form by Ante Wessels
Virtually Married, a column by Reed Hearne