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    The Penguin and The Bird
    The Penguin and The Bird
    The Penguin and The Bird
    Ebook126 pages1 hour

    The Penguin and The Bird

    By Julian Gallo

    ()

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    About this ebook

    New York City, 1979. Nadja — a new immigrant from Poland, thirty years old, recently divorced, and down to her last dollar — wonders how she’s going to make ends meet and care for her children. He is a thirteen year old boy, sitting alone in his bedroom listening to The Kinks, trying to draw comic books, write short stories, and noodles on his guitar as he broods over an unrequited love. Ten years later their paths cross and an unlikely relationship begins to flourish. Sixteen years her junior, the narrator tries to make sense of the situation he now finds himself in, falling in love with a much older woman. Meanwhile Nadja is coping with the difficulties in her life — her divorce, her growing children, her abject poverty, her failed relationships, her memories of communist Poland — and now she has another issue to deal with: a man sixteen years her junior who is seemingly falling in love with her. Her conflicted feelings over him only complicates matters even more. Sometimes the heart wants what it wants. This odd love story, based on an obscure folk tale, mirrors the situation they now both find themselves, with no clear answers, no clear meaning to any of it. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNew Horizons Editions
    Release dateApr 2, 2018
    ISBN9781386122333
    The Penguin and The Bird
    Author

    Julian Gallo

    Julian Gallo lives and works in New York City. His poetry has appeared in over 40 journals throughout the Unites States, Canada and Europe. He is the author of 9 poetry books, "Standing on Lorimer Street Awaiting Crucifixion" (Alpha Beat Press 1996), "The Terror of Your Cunt is the Beauty of Your Face" (Black Spring Press 1999), "Street Gospel Mystical Intellectual Survival Codes" (Budget Press 2000), "Scrape That Violin More Darkly Then Hover Like Smoke in the Air" (Black Spring Press 2001), "Existential Labyrinths" (Black Spring Press 2003), "My Arrival is Marked by Illuminating Stains" (Beat Corrida, 2007), "Window Shopping For a New Crown of Thorns" (Beat Corrida, 2007), "A Symphony of Olives" (Propaganda Press 2009) and "Divertimiento" (Propaganda Press 2009). He is also the author of 6 novels, "November Rust (Beat Corrida, 2007), "Naderia" (Beat Corrida, 2011), "Be Still and Know That I Am" (Beat Corrida, 2011), "Mediterraneo" (Beat Corrida, 2012), "Europa" (Beat Corrida, 2013), the short story collection "Rapid Eye Movements" (Beat Corrida 2014) and "Rhombus Denied" (Beat Corrida, 2015)

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      Book preview

      The Penguin and The Bird - Julian Gallo

      It's that little souvenir, of a colorful year

      Which makes me smile inside

      So I cynically, cynically say, the world is that way

      Surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise

      ‘Here’s Where The Story Ends’ — The Sundays

      Her Mother’s Violin

      Early Autumn, 1979

      1

      The train is pulling out of the station just as she descends the stairs to the platform.

      It will be at least another ten to fifteen minutes before the next one arrives.

      She navigates her way through the sea of pissed off and annoyed faces, many of whom had the subway doors close in their faces at the very last moment.

      She loosens her scarf, clutches her handbag tight against her side.

      There are more than a few sketchy characters around and she doesn’t want to take any chances. She moves towards the center of the platform where there are more people, more light.

      She glances down the track for an oncoming train.

      Nothing.

      She sighs, looks at her watch, eyes those around her to be sure that she’s safe.

      2

      He gets up to flip the record over then returns to his desk.

      He reads over what he had just written and doesn’t care for it.

      He contemplates tearing it out of the notebook but whenever you tear a page out of those black and white marble composition notebooks, all the pages start coming out and the book falls apart.

      He doesn’t like to use a spiral. He’s anal like that.

      So he takes a black magic marker, crosses out the paragraph, starts again.

      This time it’s a little better and the words flow.

      His mother pokes her head through the door to tell him that dinner is ready.

      He doesn’t want to stop.

      He’s on a roll.

      However he must.

      He puts the pencil down and turns off the stereo, heads into the kitchen.

      3

      The platform is getting more crowded.

      The train is late.

      There’s an announcement but no one understands it, least of all her, whose English is rudimentary at best.

      She looks down the platform again but more people are standing in front of her now and she can’t get close enough to the edge of the platform to see whether or not there’s a train approaching. Nearly every head is turned to the right, towards the tunnel, looking out for any sign of those two bright headlights heading their way.

      The numerous watch checks, sighs, and exasperated expressions indicate that there isn’t one in site.

      There’s another announcement. The commuters strain to make sense of it. No one can.

      She opens her coat, removes her scarf, stuffs it in her coat pocket.

      She looks at her watch. She’s been waiting twenty minutes. She worries the babysitter is going to worry, that her children are going to worry.

      4

      His mother asks him whether or not he’s going out for the evening.

      He tells her that he isn’t, that no one is around. He’s going to stay home and write.

      She asks him what he’s writing.

      Nothing, he says. Just a story. He’s not sure what it’s about yet.

      His mother asks him, jokingly, if he’s going to use the typewriter and keep them up all hours of the night.

      He says no, he’s writing it longhand in one of his notebooks.

      Just keep the music down, she tells him.

      He gets up from the table, goes back to his room, tries to pick up where he left off.

      He can no longer remember what his idea was. He pushes the book aside in frustration, puts another record on the turntable, starts reading one of his comic books. Maybe he’ll make one of his own, he thinks, then rummages through his desk drawer to see if he has any loose paper.

      He does, though just a couple of sheets.

      He sharpens his pencil, begins to draw.

      Again he has no idea what it’s going to be but he feels inspired nevertheless.

      5

      It’s getting too crowded.

      She pushes her way through the mass of people, makes her way towards the back of the platform where she sees a little more free space.

      It’s been more than a half hour and there’s still no sign of a train.

      It’s after six. Normally she’s home by five-thirty the latest.

      There’s a line for the one pay phone on the platform. No chance to call home. She hopes they don’t worry too much. She asks a woman next to her if she knows what the delay is. She merely shrugs, turns away, a signal that she doesn’t want to be bothered.

      Finally, a train pulls into the station but it’s not her line. She scrambles to get out of the way as a wave of people simultaneously push their way on and off the train. Some words are exchanged among them. Some nearly get physical. The conductor makes matters worse by berating the passengers who hold the doors so they can squeeze on, find whatever inch of space to plant their feet. The doors open and close, open and close, the conductor grows increasingly agitated. Finally the doors close and the train pulls out of the station.

      There’s more room now.

      She moves closer to the edge of the platform, checks to see if another train is coming.

      None are.

      6

      He’s trying to come up with a superhero of some kind but he’s not having any luck.

      There are a few false starts, many erasures, a lot of torn and crumpled sheets.

      Side One of the album he’s listening to ends and he gets up to flip the record over.

      His mother pokes her head through the door, asks him to turn it down, they can’t hear the TV. His father cracks a joke that what he’s listening to sounds like a traffic jam. He turns it down, returns to his desk.

      He thinks that he should map out a story for his new comic book before attempting to draw it.

      He tries to think up some characters. He comes up with a few but he wants to make his hero something different.

      He’s stuck.

      He sits there, stares at the paper, listens to Ray Davies sing about the sunset over Waterloo Station.

      7

      Another train pulls into the station and again it’s not her line.

      She wonders what’s going on.

      This train is not as crowded as the one that came in before it and more people get on. The crowd lessens but there are still quite a few waiting for her line.

      She looks at her watch. Six-thirty eight.

      There’s another announcement but it’s garbled, echoes around the station, indecipherable. She digs a dime out of her pocket, walks back down the platform towards the pay phone. There’s still a line but it’s much shorter than it was before. She’ll still have to wait. She’s hot, tired, annoyed.

      She takes off her coat, drapes it over her arm.

      The man in front of her on line turns to look at her, gives her the once over.

      She lowers her head, blushes.

      She just wants to go home.

      8

      It takes about a half hour before he realizes he can’t draw.

      His comic book looks like shit and he’s frustrated.

      He stares at it for a moment before tearing it to shreds and tossing it in the wastebasket.

      He picks up the comic book he was reading, lies

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