Is he really here - the beams of light intersect, More correctly, a blade of erroneous retribution... I was not quite twenty years, When in the doorway my throat was cut. He grinned openly - not cunningly He made the impression, that he did not deliberately want to fight, (And suddenly) - a knife under the lower rip And away - not pulled out, not to get dirty. Over with the wailing! It is not your fault - I was deceived by the smile und kindness. A ray of the setting sun has evaporated in the doorway And hid behind the dustbin... Thank you however, that I do not stand in the water meadow, And the blade advanced a bit deeper And the handle banged on the glazed tiles, But I fall - already donít remain standing.
© Elisabeth Jelinek. Translation, 2018