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COMING SOON
NOON is a collection of six works written by Efthimis Filippou: Apologiae 4 & 5; Scenes; Various Picks Petros; Rob; Haemata; and Liver.
NOON is available as a limited edition box set (pictured) and eBook.
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Haemata
Fiction by Efthimis Filippou
Translated by Kyriacos Karseras
Book Five of the NOON collection
First English-language edition
-
23 JANUARY 1990
My dear Yorgos,
We all miss you very much and the truth is I can’t wait to get your news. Everything here is just as I described in my last letter.
A few days ago, when I got home from work, I climbed the stairwell steps quickly but when I reached my front door I stopped suddenly to look for my keys. My shoes were quite clean and my shirt wasn’t particularly creased. In my right hand I had my brown leather bag, the one I always take with me to the office. I was feeling quite hungry, and even though I knew I’d be eating soon, this was no consolation. Quite the opposite in fact: it felt as though I had no idea I’d be eating soon. I dropped the bag and started looking for my keys. When I found them in my right trouser pocket I got annoyed because, yet again, I had first put my hand into my left pocket to look, not the right, and this is something that’s been happening quite a lot lately. With my other hand I held a gauze dressing to the right side of my neck. The gauze was a little bloody. My hair was short, shorter than usual. My nose was sweaty there where my glasses rest, and my cheeks and belly were sweaty too. I opened the door and entered the house. I put my bag down and took off my jacket, which I hung on the coat hook behind the door. I reached out my hand just like that and hung it behind the door. My wife came over and kissed my hand. She asked if everything was okay and I said yes. She helped me take off my shirt and dressed me in my pyjamas. Then we went – with me in front and her behind – down the corridor to the kitchen, where the children were sat waiting. We ate and then the children went to their rooms and I read the paper. The gauze dressing at my neck was quite bloody by this point and so my wife decided to fetch me a new one. In the late afternoon I took a bath. That night I went to bed early. In the morning, after I had left, my wife changed the sheets and my pillow because they had blood on them from my wound. That afternoon I came home a little early. My wife didn’t kiss my hand and shouted:
“You said it would heal. It’s been ages. What have you got to say for yourself? What’s your excuse?”
“It’ll heal.”
“When will it heal?”
“It’ll heal, you’ll see. Why would I lie? Just keep that in mind. There’s no good reason why I’d lie. I could say it’ll never heal but that’s just not true. Come on now, please, kiss my hand. Please.”
“I will never kiss your hand again.”
“Please, kiss my hand. There’s no need to go overboard. There’s no good reason why I’d lie. I love you, you and the children.”
“There’s blood on your hand. Can I clean it off before I kiss it?”
“Of course.”
[...]
Fiction by Efthimis Filippou
Translated by Kyriacos Karseras
Book Five of the NOON collection
First English-language edition
-
23 JANUARY 1990
My dear Yorgos,
We all miss you very much and the truth is I can’t wait to get your news. Everything here is just as I described in my last letter.
A few days ago, when I got home from work, I climbed the stairwell steps quickly but when I reached my front door I stopped suddenly to look for my keys. My shoes were quite clean and my shirt wasn’t particularly creased. In my right hand I had my brown leather bag, the one I always take with me to the office. I was feeling quite hungry, and even though I knew I’d be eating soon, this was no consolation. Quite the opposite in fact: it felt as though I had no idea I’d be eating soon. I dropped the bag and started looking for my keys. When I found them in my right trouser pocket I got annoyed because, yet again, I had first put my hand into my left pocket to look, not the right, and this is something that’s been happening quite a lot lately. With my other hand I held a gauze dressing to the right side of my neck. The gauze was a little bloody. My hair was short, shorter than usual. My nose was sweaty there where my glasses rest, and my cheeks and belly were sweaty too. I opened the door and entered the house. I put my bag down and took off my jacket, which I hung on the coat hook behind the door. I reached out my hand just like that and hung it behind the door. My wife came over and kissed my hand. She asked if everything was okay and I said yes. She helped me take off my shirt and dressed me in my pyjamas. Then we went – with me in front and her behind – down the corridor to the kitchen, where the children were sat waiting. We ate and then the children went to their rooms and I read the paper. The gauze dressing at my neck was quite bloody by this point and so my wife decided to fetch me a new one. In the late afternoon I took a bath. That night I went to bed early. In the morning, after I had left, my wife changed the sheets and my pillow because they had blood on them from my wound. That afternoon I came home a little early. My wife didn’t kiss my hand and shouted:
“You said it would heal. It’s been ages. What have you got to say for yourself? What’s your excuse?”
“It’ll heal.”
“When will it heal?”
“It’ll heal, you’ll see. Why would I lie? Just keep that in mind. There’s no good reason why I’d lie. I could say it’ll never heal but that’s just not true. Come on now, please, kiss my hand. Please.”
“I will never kiss your hand again.”
“Please, kiss my hand. There’s no need to go overboard. There’s no good reason why I’d lie. I love you, you and the children.”
“There’s blood on your hand. Can I clean it off before I kiss it?”
“Of course.”
[...]