THE UNFORGIVEN
The dry rays of the noon sun burn the sand of the
small desert town – if we could so name these two rows of symmetrical
buildings behind God’s back. From the first poor houses on, the buildings
string according to their importance: the carpentry, the forge, the store,
the watering place, the horse stables, the post office, the sheriff's
office and at the end – the saloon – the central object of civilization
where all the life from this side of the desert was taking place – if we
could so name this malicious lethargy that ties up its legs at the floor of
the saloon. “Redsun Four” was the place to congregate for all the human
rabble on the other side of the river Albalonga, on whose right bank the
previous famous miners’ colony Gringo Mal has been decaying for decades.
Since the rare mineral parodium lost its high price due to its use in the
now old-fashioned models for interplanetary flights, Jago 2055A, the colony
began to decay, and the most stubborn who remained find the sources for
their existence in offering shelter for the biggest galactic gangs –
traffickers, weapons dealers, anarchists and narcobarons. They have found
their peace here, retelling their big adventures, quarrelling and fighting
with each other to keep their state of mind for the next big event. And it
seemed that the parameters of this simple provincial peace would last for
long, when as a thunder from the desert sun came He. All who had not
managed to survive that doggy noon probably could not remember where he
came from. Suddenly the dry desert dust uncovers the big silhouette of the
stranger and his shiny Mustang, cyber model 9285, super deluxe. While he
was stepping across the low oak doorstep of the saloon, those several eyes
from the surrounding windows knew that he was a man carrying Death in his
bag. Although unknown, his white teeth and his deep eyes spoke of his high
origin. His sharp look spoke that he had left God a long time ago and
claimed that somebody would resolve the eternal theme dilemma soon.
– What is description? – was the most surprising question
that the curious eyes on the table awakened by his presence could expect
from that throat that not even three swallows of whiskey could wet.
– It is modality that lies on the sole threshold of the
discursive and perceptive chronotop (Bakhtin)! – was the quick answer
rushly spoken out by the minor cannabis dealer, cursing the moment when he
left the comfortable position of colonial administrator for a small profit,
at the same time thanking God because he had not allowed his entire memory
to be destroyed, gained in his several millennia-long life at the last
hibernation procedure.
– Say more, you son of a bitch, You think I am going to
deprive the Devil of the pleasure to cook your nasty soul in three
old-fashioned "Zepter's" because of one sentence proclaimed by heart! –
rang the loud voice of the malevolent intellect, cruelly calmed in his
godless persuasion.
– But the discursive as well as the rhetorical dimension of
the description in the structuralistic treatment remain neglected – the
minor dealer began to speak in a clear voice, happy because his silicon
chip was functioning perfectly. His sixth sense was already telling him
that he was going to satisfy that intelligent gangster in everything (he
may be the Devil himself), and, if something unpredictable happened, he was
going to drive his customers from the High Senate of the Galactic
University with light tripping cannabis for some more time. – They concider
descriptive sentences, as well as narrative ones, according their
referential value, where they show lesser or greater uselessness. They
conclude this due to the fact that the descriptive sequences withdrew from
the planned diegetic strategy of the narrative sentences and their
producing of the of the cause-and-effect chain of the narrative and they
remain on the pure mimesis of the existing reality. So, belonging to the
ornamental sphere of discourse (Genette, 1966), they go out from the net of
relations with the other elements and become an obstacle for the semantic
growth of the text. The more useless they are the more they become an
alternative semantic praxis of the narrative text, which, behind the
esthetic value, assured with the narration, gives the text a feeling of
realisticity (Barthes, 1968).
– C’mon put those silicon jokes aside – The Unknown was
thundering, firmly decided to send his interlocutor-victim two meters
underground – and think with your own head! What is your attitude toward
all of that?
– Well, I think – the minor dealer slowed down his panted
speech, resloved to cheat the awful psychopath using a simpler level of
expression – that they have no right to base their reflections on one type
of narrative praxis, unifying and universalizating their attitudes drawn
from it. We shouldn’t forget that there is another narrative praxis, where
descriptions lose their informative value to perspective value – it is not
important anymore what is described but who and how describes it. In that
sense the descriptions are not non-focalized sequences (Genette, 1972), but
carry first degree focalization (Mikke Ball, 1977).
– You know more than you need, my friend – suddenly, The
Unknown gave up his peaceful, seemingly uninterested listening (which
cannot be said for the others), put his Ultraviolet Peacemaker 44 into the
third eye of the dealer and killed him in cold blood – so die with a simple
old technique – deus ex machina!
While the unclosed RAM memory of the small dealer flipped
from file to file, before the last electric strike made it silent, echoing
in the deaf silence: “what is dialogue? what is character? what is plot?
what is a great theme for a laureat of a competition for short story? what
is epilogue? what is the meaning of writing? what is the meaning of
life?...” The Stranger opened the two-wing door of the saloon a bit, threw
a glance at the red desert sun, and throwing the lightstick of the just-lit
cigarette casually behind his back, he slowly left the planet.
– You should only sell them grass, Amigo! And not by stealing
the high theoretical knowledge to put into question the existence of the
sole artistic text!
The big reddish mushroom, failing to reach him, lighted off
behind his back.
Translated by the author, proof-read by Jeff Bieley
