Rasa Aškinytė

Noir Press, 2017

Translated by Jura Avizienis. Cover design by Le Dinh Han

1. Here We Go Again…, Or, Usually Things Are Simpler Than They Appear

My name is Tom. No, my name is Blanca*. My name is Blanca.  I’m 35, although I was 30 not too long ago.  Years don’t always follow in chronological order.  Is there anything you can do about it?  Can you make time obey you?  Of course you can’t.  Nobody can.  Nobody even bothers to give it an honest try.  So we travel together: time on its course, and I on mine.

I have a sister.  And that’s a lot.  Not everyone has a sister.  I’d like a brother too, but I don’t have one.  My sister is so much older that I sometimes think of her as my mom.  I once asked her if she was.  My sister didn’t say a word, but my mom said “You’re mad.”  That’s how she answers every other question I ask, and that’s why I try to ask less questions.

Sometimes I talk funny, and even look funny.  My sister says it’s nothing: sooner or later this happens to everyone.  My sister’s right.  But mom never says “you’re mad” to her.  And mom is right.  Everyone‘s always right, except me.  And that’s OK.

I forgot to mention one more thing: I don’t actually exist.

Sofoklis, 2016

Translated by Jura Avizienis. Cover design by Zigmas Butautis

I. THE PERIOD.  Me

Down Below.

No, absolutely not.  Such behavior is totally unacceptable.

It’s three o’clock now, and I’m lying on the rug, immobile.  I know it’s bad to be inactive.  I should walk around a bit.  But I can’t walk if I’m lying on the ground.  I could when I was little.  Not anymore.  But it should be the other way around.  Lots of things should be the other way around, but they’re not.  That’s why I’m looking out the window.  It’s a shame the window’s so dirty.  It’s a shame I didn’t clean it when I was still able to walk.

You know what she did?  You’ll never guess.

I can’t stand the sight of that grimy window anymore, so I get up and clean it.  I take my time.  I don’t understand how vertical things, things that nobody ever touches, can get so dirty.

I clean it and lie down again.  I lie there, unable to move.

I have neither arms nor legs.  Maybe I do, but they’re not mine because I can’t move any of them.  All I have is a head and a back.  I’m certain of this, because I’ve been lying here for a long time; my back aches, and I reflect.  I still have lips that I lick from time to time.  It’s not because they’re dry.  I just want to make sure they’re still there.  I once read a story about a person who had no lips.  That’s just the way he was born.  He said he was miserable his whole life.  That doesn’t surprise me in the least: of course it’s important to have lips.  If you take my lips, you might as well take all of me.  I don’t want to be divided up. 

But she divided me up.  She divided me into the prior-to-then me and the me that was born the moment I saw her.

Kronta, 2009

Translated by Jura Avizienis. Pictures by Paulius Juodišius

Available only in video version

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkNvBM9oEh4

Part I. There Are Whales in Our Pond!

One ordinary  summer morning, the most ordinary summer morning, on the shore of the most ordinary pond, the most ordinary story took place.

Two friends, Bigger and Littler, were paddling around the pond in search of a bite to eat. The most ordinary Pike swam past them as she did any other morning.  But on that day, maybe because it was such a clear day, or maybe because Pike was more curious than usual, she spotted the two friends.

“It’s a miracle! There are whales in our pond!” said the Pike.  “But they seem to be a special, smaller type of whale.”

“Are we whales? The Littler friend asked his Bigger friend.

“No, we’re frogs.”The Bigger one answered.

“Say what you may, but I know a frog when I see one.  And you don’t look anything like a frog,” said the Pike.  “Whales, I’ve only seen in books.  But I’m not mistaken.  You are whales.”