L E S L I E K A P L A N
_______________________________MISS NOBODY KNOWS
Translated by Serge Gavronsky
The métro passed over the bridge. The young woman stopped to look at it. She held a full plastic bag from which she took out a notebook and a pen. She walked into a café, leaned on the counter, and ordered a glass of wine.
She opened the notebook, turned a couple of pages, wrote down the date, then:
The tracking principle.
How is an exhaust tank built.
The metal. What it is.
The formula for wine.
What is the meaning of H2O.
She crossed that out, started again:
What does H2O really mean.
Skin. What is it made of.
She stopped, drank her wine, appeared to be thinking, continued:
What is water made of, salt water, the sea.
Why we cry.
She stopped again, a dreamy look, started over:
Why amperes. Why Ampere.
Why operations.
She suddenly seemed worn out. She reread, drew a line across the page, and closed the notebook.
The barman looked at her. She said, more to herself:
-- I write down questions.
I must write them down, that's all.
A client offered her a drink. She accepted. He nicely asked her name, she shrugged her shoulders and answered in a low voice, I don't have a house. Then she looked at him leaning her head to the side, and she began singing a blues, the words were clear, one understood everything, Nobody knows the trouble I see, Nobody knows my sorrow.
The barman winked at her and said Miss Nobody Knows.
She continued to sing without smiling.
On a bench. Takes out her notebook, writes down the date and then, without stopping, without looking up:
-- Grass growing. Color.
Different lights in the sky.
Mist.
Why flies.
Animal brain.
Stopped, goes on:
Silence. The noise of silence.
Crosses that out and writes:
How one listens to silence.
Once more crosses that out, bewildered, stops there, with her pen in the air.
Writes:
Does silence form a whole.
Closes the notebook.
Sitting at a cafe:
-- Where do cities come from.
Why cement.
Stones.
Why meanness.
Crosses that out, corrects:
Why is there always meanness.
Why always.
Why always.
Why always.
Puts her left hand on top of her writing hand.
Then:
The origin of names.
First names.
Who is that woman, there.
Smirks, gets up, abruptly. Leaves very quickly, her open notebook still in her hand.
One morning.
-- Stars, galaxies.
Sleep.
Why one should sleep.
Why one shouldn't sleep.
What is night made of.
Nightfall.
Darkness.
What's the purpose of fear.
What's the purpose of children.
Do children exist.
[ page 1 of 3 ]