De Amerikaanse schrijver, muzikant en songwriter Willy Vlautin werd geboren op 7 november 1967 in Reno, Nevada. Zie ook alle tags voor Willy Vlautin op dit blog.
Uit: The Night Always Comes
“Kenny had his hands around her ankle and began pulling her from the bed. A small lamp on the dresser was the only light in the room and he stood over her in his Superman T-shirt and pajama bottoms. It was winter and a portable radiant heater in the middle of the room gave off little warmth, and his breath came out in small disappearing clouds.
Lynette woke suddenly and looked at the clock on the nightstand: three a.m. “I get to sleep for fifteen more minutes. So please don’t touch me or say anything until then.” She was thirty years old and got out of bed in ten-year-old sweats and wool socks, shut off the light on the dresser, and got back under the covers.
In the darkness his breathing grew louder.
“Go back upstairs,” she cried.
He began to whimper.
“Please,” she begged, but he didn’t stop. It only became worse, so she turned on the bedside lamp next to the alarm clock and looked at him. “Jesus, don’t start crying. It’s too early and I’m exhausted and you know I’m mean when I’m exhausted. But even so you come down here every morning when you know you’re not supposed to. Every morning it’s the same thing.”
His face was red and tears ran from his eyes.
“Come on, stop it. I’m too tired for you to cry. You have to let me sleep.” She pulled the sheet, the two blankets, and comforter over her head. From underneath she said, “You know the rules. You have to wait until the alarm goes off. That’s the rule. When the alarm goes off, you can come down. Not before. I’ve told you a million times. Just wait at the top of the stairs. Wait until you hear the alarm. We’ve talked about this over and over. Don’t you remember?”
Her brother shook his head.
“You remember, I can tell just by your breathing.”
Kenny shook his head but began to smile. He grabbed at her leg through the bedding.
She pulled the covers back. “Jesus, alright, okay, you win. But I’ll only get up if you brush your teeth.”
He shook his head.
“Your breath could kill somebody. Even in the cold I can smell it. Put on the clean sweats I set out, brush your teeth, and let me get ready for work. Okay?”
He shook his head.
“In five seconds I’m gonna get mad again.” She pointed to the stairs and finally her brother headed for them. She stayed in bed and watched as he walked away. He was thirty-two years old and gaining more weight each year. His body had become a pear. He was five feet ten inches tall and waddled when he walked. He had thinning brown hair and a growing bald spot on the crown of his head. He had monthly seizures and couldn’t talk but for the sounds that came out almost like words. The doctors said that he had the mind of a three-year-old. Sometimes that seemed too low and other times too high.”
De Duitse dichter, schrijver en vertaler Werner Söllner werd geboren op 10 november 1951 in Arad, Roemenië. Zie ook alle tags voor Werner Söllner op dit blog.
Kafka in het Münsterland
Alle kleine genieën en ook ik,
zoals wij, bijna onzichtbaar, onze gezichten
door de gangpaden dragen, achter de grijze
deuren verdwijnen, altijd elkaar bijna
belemmerend en verlegen om een excuus
voor een leven op het land. Een paar meter,
min of meer, garen op een spoel, niet
geschikt om mee te spelen. En de zorgzame vader
die ons laat begaan als we toevallig
rollen uit het stof van de ene hoek in het stof
van een andere: kleingeld, waarmee de wereld
betaald voor haar kleinste zonden. Moet hij
of moet hij ons uiteindelijk niet verwijderen
uit het huishouden, de Odradeks met losse
eindjes, die allemaal zus of zo, maar ook alleen
maar zus of zo met elkaar samenhangen, alleen
weet niemand de reden en de gevolgen?
Vertaald door Frans Roumen
Zie voor meer schrijvers van de 7e november ook mijn blog van 7 november 2020 en eveneens mijn blog van 7 november 2018 en ook mijn blog van 7 november 2017 en ook mijn blog van 7 november 2015 deel 2.