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Authors: Jerzy Peterkiewicz
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build.’
‘Is it against the evil stare of the moon? An eye in another eye?’
‘They are not eyes. Circle is their name. One inside the other.’
‘A big circle and a small circle,’ Amo said and laughed.
‘Yes, the inner circle is just as round as the one outside.’
And he began to speak about his ‘Our father’, the Sky Man, whose image sometimes appeared in the likeness of two circles, although there was yet another, and this third circle could not be understood by man until it became visible and until man broke it with his own weak hands. Amo listened and smiled. His thoughts went in circles, too, trying to catch a few of his father’s words, but I felt how dizzy they were. I was standing near my son, sure that we could never grow separate, because my husband had already put himself beyond Amo’s reach. Yet Amo wanted to learn at least about drawing a small thing like that circle inside.
‘And could I make this one myself, on the wet clay, with a long, sharp nail!’ He showed all his fingers, expecting his father to choose one of them.
‘Yes, you could, Abel.’ The name seemed to spill blood as it opened an old scar in both of us. ‘Because, Abel my son, the inner circle is what has to be filled or emptied inside you.’
‘Is the circle then mine just like a boat, a spear or Damo the dog (‘ He mentioned his dog, though it had been kicked to death by a bison, long ago.
‘Yes, it’s yours. And when the circle coils itself up Our father will dwell in the centre of the coil.’
‘Is the Sky Man no bigger than a snail? I thought he was very very big.’
My husband didn’t answer. He took Amo’s hand and then mine, and joined them together.
‘This is your mother Eve,’ he said to Amo, ‘This is your son Abel,’ he said to me.
And I trembled at the foreknowledge within the warning that his words enclosed, a condemned circle inside a noose of a circle.
There was one more joining of hands on my husband’s departure. The listening bird caused this, unwittingly. With his beak glistening through the feathery palm leaves he must have spied on us for a long while before he dared to drop his disrespectful cry:
‘Aadam and Eeve, Aadam and Eeve.’
And my husband, without looking up at the caller, took both my hands, held them in a firm grip, himself rooted to the earth like a tree. We were poised for the clouds, the plants and the beasts to see us as we were in the beginning, a coupled life, a dance in a still moment, a deathless peace. The bird seemed frightened by what he had done and hid his beak farther in the branches.
‘It’s the listening bird, Adam. He says he’s learnt speech from me.’
‘The parrot!’ My husband let a smile raise his heavy lips, and the smile vanished at once. ‘It’s already named. So much life is named. It saddens me.’
‘The parrot, I remember now. Why didn’t I remember it on that day?’
‘He’s the great liar of the forest. He goes everywhere, listens to what is being said, repeats the words he understands and those he doesn’t understand, and in the end ties them all up into lies with his clever red beak.’
‘But the parrot spoke our true names.’
‘Yes, he said our names.’ And the warm strength of my husband was flowing from his hand into mine in the likeness of begetting which I knew hadn’t been meant for this time.
I complained, of course, about the animals. That was usual on our partings. They were pushing us out, I said, multiplying to please their lust, feeding on our lands, and only sometimes paying a small homage to Adam. Why, why was it said that we owned the earth! They possessed it with their greedy snouts, their hooves, their defiant tails.
Either we killed the beasts, hunting them in the grass and in the trees, or they would hunt us down when we became weak in our children. We needed a new breed of men, ferocious and ruthless.
As usual, Adam answered with silence. And as usual, animals waited
‘Is it against the evil stare of the moon? An eye in another eye?’
‘They are not eyes. Circle is their name. One inside the other.’
‘A big circle and a small circle,’ Amo said and laughed.
‘Yes, the inner circle is just as round as the one outside.’
And he began to speak about his ‘Our father’, the Sky Man, whose image sometimes appeared in the likeness of two circles, although there was yet another, and this third circle could not be understood by man until it became visible and until man broke it with his own weak hands. Amo listened and smiled. His thoughts went in circles, too, trying to catch a few of his father’s words, but I felt how dizzy they were. I was standing near my son, sure that we could never grow separate, because my husband had already put himself beyond Amo’s reach. Yet Amo wanted to learn at least about drawing a small thing like that circle inside.
‘And could I make this one myself, on the wet clay, with a long, sharp nail!’ He showed all his fingers, expecting his father to choose one of them.
‘Yes, you could, Abel.’ The name seemed to spill blood as it opened an old scar in both of us. ‘Because, Abel my son, the inner circle is what has to be filled or emptied inside you.’
‘Is the circle then mine just like a boat, a spear or Damo the dog (‘ He mentioned his dog, though it had been kicked to death by a bison, long ago.
‘Yes, it’s yours. And when the circle coils itself up Our father will dwell in the centre of the coil.’
‘Is the Sky Man no bigger than a snail? I thought he was very very big.’
My husband didn’t answer. He took Amo’s hand and then mine, and joined them together.
‘This is your mother Eve,’ he said to Amo, ‘This is your son Abel,’ he said to me.
And I trembled at the foreknowledge within the warning that his words enclosed, a condemned circle inside a noose of a circle.
There was one more joining of hands on my husband’s departure. The listening bird caused this, unwittingly. With his beak glistening through the feathery palm leaves he must have spied on us for a long while before he dared to drop his disrespectful cry:
‘Aadam and Eeve, Aadam and Eeve.’
And my husband, without looking up at the caller, took both my hands, held them in a firm grip, himself rooted to the earth like a tree. We were poised for the clouds, the plants and the beasts to see us as we were in the beginning, a coupled life, a dance in a still moment, a deathless peace. The bird seemed frightened by what he had done and hid his beak farther in the branches.
‘It’s the listening bird, Adam. He says he’s learnt speech from me.’
‘The parrot!’ My husband let a smile raise his heavy lips, and the smile vanished at once. ‘It’s already named. So much life is named. It saddens me.’
‘The parrot, I remember now. Why didn’t I remember it on that day?’
‘He’s the great liar of the forest. He goes everywhere, listens to what is being said, repeats the words he understands and those he doesn’t understand, and in the end ties them all up into lies with his clever red beak.’
‘But the parrot spoke our true names.’
‘Yes, he said our names.’ And the warm strength of my husband was flowing from his hand into mine in the likeness of begetting which I knew hadn’t been meant for this time.
I complained, of course, about the animals. That was usual on our partings. They were pushing us out, I said, multiplying to please their lust, feeding on our lands, and only sometimes paying a small homage to Adam. Why, why was it said that we owned the earth! They possessed it with their greedy snouts, their hooves, their defiant tails.
Either we killed the beasts, hunting them in the grass and in the trees, or they would hunt us down when we became weak in our children. We needed a new breed of men, ferocious and ruthless.
As usual, Adam answered with silence. And as usual, animals waited
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