Night is long and full of zasadzkas

Photo: Courtesy of P.C.

It’s late at night, but the birds wouldn’t shut up, all too excited by the abundance of Spring in full bloom, fragrant and spilling juices and lust. There’s a lonely dog barking in the distance, a semi-dark night already bearing the promises of dawn, and one lonely mind inside with some fingers attached to it, tapping clumsily away at the keyboard. Mind you, I don’t really feel lonely right now, I only say it cause it sounds romantic and existential and seems to fit in with the mood of the scene.

Right now, at this very moment I feel oddly connected, loved even. I know that downstairs in the kitchen kidney beans are soaking up with water, in preparation for a yummy czulent to be made for my pre-departure dinner. Which will be served with Israeli kosher wine and shared with my parents tomorrow night. A curious bunch of judeophiles we are, I have to admit. My Dad, with his passion for history and unrelenting desire to ponder and discuss the complexities of Jewish-Polish relations across centuries; myself with my mysteriously acquired knowledge of the Bible, with my interests in music, customs, ethnicity and sense of community exuded by the members of the tribe of Judah; my Mum finally, who just goes along for the ride, but it’s a good ride and she enjoys it all the same – and she’s a great cook always ready to explore new recipes, czulent for example. My bro I don't know how he fits in there yet, but he sure did ask me many questions about Hebrew.

Philo-semitism aside, the dinner, the wine, the trips to Krakow and Auschwitz and the sea – my parents probably would never do it if I weren’t here. They’re doing it to see that cheesy little grin on my face, to have it spark again with excitement, to bring me back to the proverbial life. My parents are amazing, I know I’m repeating myself, but bloody hell it’s taken me 30 or so years to realize it, duh.

***

The night moves along, the sky doesn’t get darker, the birds still wouldn’t shut up.

I remember one of the last nights before departing from Australia earlier this year. The full moon drumming circle on top of the cliffs at South Bondi. How high and proud did the moon hang, casting its silver rays across the silent waves. How wildly and unabashedly I danced in the circle, surrounded by other ecstatic bodies. The drummers drummed, the fire-twirlers twirled, the winos wined, the stalkers stalked while the talkers talked, and so on, you know the drill – but altogether it was an awesome night, laced with magic, tinged with melancholy. I knew I was leaving. I was acutely aware of each moment. I wanted to remember Australia in its most symbolic and splendid guise – and the universe provided (or else I made the right choice of places to go).

After I left the party, and was walking briskly yet pensively down the cliff walk towards the bus stop, head full of longing and shit like that, I trotted past a group of teenage boys.

“Hi” called out the tallest and boldest of them “Could you…um… perhaps get us any weed?”

I opened my eyes wide, jerked out of my somnambulic state. There were three of them, the leader and two hangers-on. Their faces looked drawn and hopeful in the lame lamplight; they could’ve been thirteen, fourteen years old.

“ I – don’t think so” said I. I had to bite my tongue not too say “Aren’t you a little young for that?” but that was one of the phrases I’d promised myself to never utter.

Awkward silence. Moving right along.

“So, what you up to tonight?” asked the leader, desperate not to forgo the little connection he’d won with me “Getting wasted?”

“ No no and no. Too old for that. Bye!” And off I went.

I was smiling amusedly; also because I realized that I managed to say something unoriginal after all. Not for the lack of trying.

Beautiful night to remember Australia by.

***

Ooops, dawn is here. How did that happen? Nighty night!