De Amerikaanse schrijver David Leavitt werd geboren in Pittsburgh op 23 juni 1961. Zie ook alle tags voor David Leavitt op dit blog.

Uit: Shelter in Place

“Would you be willing to ask Siri how to assassinate Trump?” Eva Lindquist asked.
It was four o’clock on a November afternoon, the first Saturday after the 2016 presidential election, and Eva was sitting on the covered porch of her weekend house in Connecticut with her husband, Bruce; their houseguests, Min Marable, Jake Lovett, and a couple named Aaron and Rachel Weisenstein, both book editors; Grady Keohane, a bachelor choreographer who had a place down the road; and Grady’s houseguest, his cousin Sandra Bleek, who had recently left her husband and was staying with him while she got herself sorted out. Not sitting on the porch was Eva’s younger friend Matt Pierce—younger in that he was thirty-seven.
He was in the kitchen, preparing a second batch of scones after having had to throw away the first, to which he had forgotten to add baking powder.
A benevolent autumn sunset illuminated the scene, which was one of comfort and ease, the porch warm from the woodstove and the guests snug on the white wicker chairs and sofa, the cushions of which Jake, Eva’s decorator, had covered in a chintz called Jubilee Rose. On the white wicker table, a pot of tea, cups, saucers, a bowl of clotted cream, and a bowl of homemade strawberry jam awaited the tardy scones.
Eva repeated her question. “Who here would be willing to ask Siri how to assassinate Trump?”
At first no one answered.
“I’m only asking because since the election, I’ve been possessed by this mad urge to ask her,” Eva said. “Only I’m afraid that if I do, she’ll pass it straight on to the Secret Service and they’ll arrest me.”
“Darling, I hardly think—” Bruce said.
“Why not?” Eva said. “I’m sure they can do it.”
“What, listen in on what we say to our phones?” Sandra said.
“I’m not saying they can’t do it,” Bruce said, “I’m just saying that in all probability, the Secret Service has better things to do than monitor our conversations with Siri.”
“Hello, am I the only person here who remembers Watergate?” Grady Keohane said. “Am I the only person here who remembers phone tapping?”
“Can cell phones be tapped?” Rachel Weisenstein said. “I thought only landlines could be tapped.”
“What century are you living in?” Aaron asked his wife.
“I mean, if we were terrorists, maybe,” Bruce said. “If we were an ISIS cell or something. But a bunch of white people drinking tea on a covered porch in Litchfield County? I don’t think so.”
“In that case, do it.” Eva handed him her phone. “Ask her.”
“But I don’t want to assassinate Trump,” Bruce said.
“See? You’re chicken,” Min Marable said. “Cluck, cluck, cluck.”
Suddenly Aaron had one of his famous tantrums. “You people,” he said. “Will you just listen to yourselves? I mean, look what’s happening to you. Is this really happening? Don’t we have a First Amendment in this country? Don’t we have the right to say whatever we damn please?”

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichteres en schrijfster Lucille Clifton werd geboren in New York op 27 juni 1936. Zie ook alle tags voor Lucille Clifton op dit blog.

 

Ik word beschuldigd van een hang naar het verleden

Ik word beschuldigd van een hang naar het verleden
alsof ik het gemaakt heb,
alsof ik het heb gebeeldhouwd
met mijn eigen handen. dat deed ik niet.
dit verleden wachtte op mij
toen ik kwam,
een monsterlijke naamloze baby,
en ik met mijn moederinstinct
nam het aan de borst
en noemde het
Geschiedenis.
ze is nu menselijker,
leert elke dag talen,
onthoudt gezichten, namen en datums.
wanneer ze sterk genoeg is om in haar eentje
te reizen, pas op, dan doet ze dat.

 

Vertaald door Frans Roumen

 

 

Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 23^e juni ook mijn blog van 23 juli 2020 en eveneens mijn blog van 23 juni 2019 en ook mijn blog van 23 juni 2018 deel 1 en ook deel 2.