Poet Gedas

I found Gedas in darkness prostrated on the corner of the sofa. The fan was spinning aphetically and there was no air in the room. Some Russian pop song was turned up loud. There were two empty bottles of vodka resting on the carpet. Closing the door silently I heard Gedas amiss the refrain.

I came back in a trice to clear out Gedas’s pockets.

– Gedas, are you awake?

– … U reki dva berega*.

– Got it.

Gedas’s clothes were all around the room, probably he got into the mood and did a little strip for him-self. Every single time he gets drunk, he dies from desire to show everyone his (as he once refered)  enormously large penis. This time Gedas was wearing washed-out underwear and socks of different colours. The wallet wasn’t in the trousers. Nether I found it in the inside pocket of his jacket. His shirt were ripped. It was obvious that this time Gedas performed Superman’s act.

– Geeeeeedai! Where is your wallet?

– Go away, you devil…

– Gedai, there is your book launch in two hours, are you planning to participate?

Gedas mumbled something to the revetment of the sofa, burped loudly and tried to get up.

– Help me, for fuck sake…

– Tell me, where is your wallet?

– In-my-butt.

– Gedas, I want a new dress.

He made a meaningful pause and asked in concern:

– Have you ever seen my enormously/…

– …/I have, Gedas, I have, for the matter of fact – a couple of times, and it wasn’t just me. Would you like some coffee?

– Coffee, coffee… black coffee, coffee beans gathered by black skinned slaves with their black breasts, they gathered black beans with their black hands… black coffee.

He continued in similar manner for ten more minutes’ whiles I was crawling on my

knees looking for his wallet.

– …what are you looking for, – he asked in obnoxious fucks’ voice, stopped for a second and continued, – cuuuuuuunt?

Then he laughed at his own joke, burped once again and took the wallet out of his pants.

– I told you it’s in-my-butt… how much do you need?

– Three hundred.

– Three?

– Hundred.

– For a dress?

– For a dress.

– Am I not getting something? Maybe you mistaken me for a Rockefeller, or have the prices gone up in charity shops?

– Gedas, why do you have to humiliate me every single time before giving me money?

– Because you do the fuck all.

– Do I?

– Yes.

– And the assistant job is nothing?

– You are a lousy assistant, darling: you suck at blow-jobs and typing.

– You are such a jerk.

– Oh, you are such a jerk, – he imitated devil knows what and sucker punched me, – and you are getting older. Everyone is sick of you, even you. You’re turning into one of those old sentimental tarts. A whitened shirt only proves that no one has fucked you in a very long time.

Gedas stood up from the sofa and began marching across the room. Still on my knees I watched his rather filthy underwear and impudently big wallet that he stuck back knowing, that I won’t touch it as long as it stays there.

– See. You WANT it, but you too afraid to take it. Have you heard anything I just said? Obviously, it’s a waste of time. You are getting a free lecture, universities queue and pay for, so I could pay

for your dresses and you, you are not listening! I offered you to have a closer look – you refused, feel sorry. Maybe one day you will learn your lesson. What time is it?

– Six o’clock.

– When is the book launch party?

– At seven.

– Where is my shirt?

– Underneath your feet.

– Alright. And there are buttons?

– Maybe IN-YOUR-BUTT?

– Darling, – he exhaled, – I will sack you and there will be no more dresses, who will look at such an office mouse? I see you are still not quite getting it: I AM the best thing that happened in YOUR life.

– I do not want to be an office mouse.

– And you aren’t, you are an office rat. Where are my trousers?

– Your book is a piece of shit.

– Well if so, I wouldn’t advice to read it again. And the jacket?

– On the back of the chair.

Gedas disappeared in the corridor for a moment and came back carrying a pair of muddy shoes, he sat down on the chair and putting the right shoe on continued.

– You see, dar-ling, you are all I hate in women. Passive, fragile, sensitive, unloved old tart. Look at your-self: you are down on your knees like Magdalena, there is a great chance that you will soon ask for forgiveness for who you are. Stomach just feels weird. Are there any bottles of vodka left?

– Yes.

– One, two bottles?

– Two.

– Very good, – he rubbed his hands together like an old shark, – OK, go on, get

ready, otherwise we gonna be late.

* the river has two banks.

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