Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

The Lover

godly women and well known whores, gentle ones and fiery, vindictive ones, chatterboxes, quiet ones, amorous ones, the naïve and the downright criminal. Eugen the monk, nearly asleep in the shade, felt in the distance the misty breath of a beloved to be. It was a vibration wetting the air around his ears, a slight pulse of begging blood. And in this gentle breeze, from within the narrow passageways of arteries and cartilage, his entire, lifeless population would awaken. Billions of invisible beings went to war, the meek and the brave, as one army, like a river of fire. Eugen was leaning on the chair’s long back, with his chin to a shoulder, but his real life was gushing like a

swollen tongue among jars of honey, next to potted daisies, among colorful sleeves under the insatiable, summer sun. He was like a starved reptile, like a hot chocolate sperm whale in a crazy dash, among the mindless heads in the Flower Market. And this passive man’s desire, strong and swift, could penetrate all human flesh. When the desire reached the rising mist of the chosen woman, the small market shuddered discreetly, while the distant rustling of crimped linens was heard under flowerpots. Eugen’s desire would break through, melting the flowers and withering the buds of the innocent

51