Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights

Mariella Mehr

manuel sat on my bed, talked about god and the world and his painting. i listened, and suddenly it was no longer manuel who spoke, but rather a grotesque, motley faun, a paul klee faun, painted cubist with a malicious face, a lie in the eyes. i blinked to shake the image. in vain. an evil, intelligent, calculating faun, the only human part his long, beautiful hands. a faun who lives at someone else’s expense, the expense of gullible women. a faun who knows at all times how to present himself in the best light. now he was a faun who had scented blood. i studied this cubist masterpiece in front of me. cold emanated off it and greed. in the incredibly blue almond eyes blue sparks glowed just so. by observing his hands i was able to rest. the greed hid behind a brittle, oldfogey preachervoice. he informed me of intimacies, talked at length about his imagined harem of broads, much that was improbable, loveless, calculating. my fear escaped manuel’s notice. another illusion gone. the kiss at midnight was a remnant of a time long past. it made me sad.

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