Kirjad Inglile Page #5

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the pervert's head

- Got what he wanted.

And then you hid the pistol in my trunk,

so I would get blamed. - Idiot!

Maybe you'll need the

bullet for yourself?

Go to Milan, find your wife...

everybody knows how she's

earning a living there.

And your made-up daughter -

what was her name again?

- Leave my daughter alone!

Angel, that was it.

Angels are in heaven.

Your Angel is in heaven too.

You just don't get it.

You're lying! I heard her voice!

- Heard her voice?

I did. I heard crying.

- You heard an angel crying.

Attention! Eyes to the front!

Yes? - Is that Jeremia Juunas Kirotaja?

- Yes.

You attended a session of mine,

remember, in psycho neurology.

You had a memory problem,

some child's voice

or crying that you

couldn't quite recollect.

After the session I

took a sperm sample

from you I must have

forgotten to tell you.

I got the results back from the lab.

Your sperm has quite normal

characteristics, you should be a donor.

You should have a photo taken -

naturally it's all anonymous.

You get a code and

your sperm can be

stored in our bank.

Can you hear me? -Yes.

What day is good?

Bring a photo with you.

Come tomorrow morning.

I'm on night duty anyway.

Or come in the evening.

Shall I wait for you then?

- Yes.

Do you know what, sperm

donor' is in Esperanto?

- No.

Spermodonanto - beautiful, isn't it?

- Yes.

Spermodonanto, don't you

go disappearing now.

- Yes.

Colonel! Company lined up

for the end of training.

Eighty soldiers present.

Second Lieutenant Felt reporting.

Greetings, company!

Greetings, Colonel!

You're writing.

Is her name Angel?

- I don't know.

And there's no one to ask.

I asked Laabus. She said Angel is your

sick fantasy, that you're a sick person.

That your wife is afraid of

you, because you've gone

over to the Arab side and

all Arabs are terrorists

and who knows what evil plan

you have for your wife.

Would you ever write to me too?

- It is as it is with this.

In other words, you'll never write to me

I don't know. They broke in the church.

Dear Angel, Sometimes,

and especially now,

when I'm going to the

mountains again,

I feel that I'm dreaming it all or I'm

raving like the dying, or I am dead.

Because I should be dead.

I was declared dead once.

I don't know if anyone

has the right to come

back- to a place where

they're not expected.

Probably not.

You're a stranger, and wrong,

and that's how it stays.

So I'm writing a dead man's letters.

One day they will reach

you even if I don't.

How they get there I don't

know, but they will.

I hear your crying again and again

like that time on the telephone.

And I think it's weird how

somethings stay with you,

and haunt you more and more

however much time passes,

they're corrosive,

pushing deeper and deeper into you.

I don't know where the end is,

where it will all lead.

Attached to one voice...

as if spellbound by it...

LETTERS TO ANGEL

To Simona

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