Deus ex machina
Perfect purity is possible if you turn your life into a line of poetry written with a splash of blood. (Yukio Mishima)
_ Anerríphthô kúbos.
_Pardon me ?
My friend was lying on the floor.
_ Anerríphthô kúbos.
Le sort en est jeté
I was having nausea.
_Your pale face betrays you. Don’t you share my thrust for purity ?
We had killed him.
_ Poor guy, I suggested
I looked down. Her translucid hair were deployed on the cushion. She then sang :
« Il pleut des gouttes de neige
Sur le sang
Des gorgées bleues
Un coupe-papier »
Her French was high-pitched, metallic. Suddenly, she paused. He look became hazy.
_Nous avons laissé peu de traces, mais…
_ Genêthếtô phỗs.
If they come to arrest us, truth will be, I replied to her, with diffidence.
I was ready to make up for her, for our crimes. We had never lived according to the world’s expectations, but I was the one engulfed in reality. I loved walking, driving cars in Plano, drinking White Russians. The summer lightened my mood. The hair of my girlfriend always made me happy. Our friend too loved life. His sin ? Imperfection. We invited him to diner. Tuna salad. The finish of the event was her scheme. Search the Kalòs kagathós Καλὸς κἀγαθός. the decent man, and you will find the murderer.
She resumed her frenzy :
_ Eleuthería ế Thánatos !
Ελευθερία ή Θάνατος !
La liberté ou la mort !
La terre regorge d’imperfections. La beauté a besoin de purification. Autòs épha.
C’est lui qui l’a dit.
_Who said that ?
_God. He taught us to see beauty in murder.
_In the pieces of art.
_That is the same. Our friend’s execution was a must. For art’s sake ! His hands, his look… How he muttered Greek. Have you never looked at him ? His vulgar mouth…
_Do art never makes exceptions ?
_Exceptions are lambs waiting to be butchered.
_Will we stay friends ? You will get remorses, one day, will you ?
_You washed his wound. You killed, too.
Greek had a soothing effect. Indeed, like her, I expiated my sin shouting Greek :
My lord, pity on us !
Then, I looked away. The window had no bars. Suicide would soon be in everyone’s mouth. We would be free. Our poor friend had been wrongly abandoned to death in the midst of our craze for beauty.
_I shall go, I said, and I tried to kiss her radiant cheek
_Mế mou háptou.
Μή μου ἅπτου.
Ne me touche pas ! She replied
All of a sudden, for once, I saw a human look in her cat-like pupils :
_ You know, dear ?
Apò mêkhanễ̃s Theós.
Ἀπὸ μηχανῆς Θεός
Deus ex machina.
The last words were hers
„ Kúrie, poû hupágeis ?
La terre durcit sous les yeux de tes fils
Où te rends-tu Seigneur
Avec ce bâton de marcheur ?
La perfection est notre armée
En déroute devant le monde
Personne ne peut nous sauver
A quoi sert que je te réponde ? «
She was humming again. Her calm, deep voice, still follows me as of today.
« Where are you going, my Lord ? ». I have shouted this sentence in my car, alone, numerous times, in the years following our murder.
« Darling, we will meet again. We have to finish this conversation. I will devote my life to dispel your aesthetic sense ».