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.

 

 

n e xt

 

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