Peter Kosinski From Stockholm, Sweden Dear Diatribe; Alfred’s head weighs the pillow at my right.

Its impression replaces that of my wife’s who lye there last. I just stare at the one eye he has left for us to see. Its wide open I’ve never gawked at men’s faces like this before. As if I am his lover adoring him while he sleeps. How can I lye in bed pining over him while I can hear my wife showering in the next room? I feel preternaturally drawn to this one. Tribe Title?: Stop A Head Anyone could be. His pull is indefinable. Damn! I act a fool. All this nonsense justifies the decision I have made. He had to go. There was no choice in this. Our lives couldn’t be

the same with him in it. This type of relationship has been the

downfall many a man. You go in thinking he could enrich you and make you a more respectable person. To begin with he’s a lot older than I am. In bed he is still wearing the clothes from when he was alive; string tie, a shirt and a jacket. No one can tell if he was wearing pants. From the stiffness of his pose and the tone of his skin, it is clear he has been dead for a long time. He is cold and unresponsive. In the presence of this, I’m all a flutter. The wife is more excited than I am. She is getting ready as the men are coming to take Alfred’s head off to a safe place. It is the only part of him she ever saw. This is the best thing for him! Everyone will know what I did soon, and I’m not a bit ashamed, I just fear the reaction. It is public knowledge that we were together; it will become public knowledge what I did with him. You might say this was foolish or even disrespectful to Alfred. I hope that no one who knew the situation would call it criminal in any way. Not if you understood. I believe Alfred himself would respect my decisions. He will pass on to a better

place, where people will care for him more than I do. It was a man with two degrees which name him “doctor”, a mentor to both my wife and I, who set us up. sore at me for letting him go. Now, it’s time that I go. Geeta is hungry and says she wants to go for breakfast. Armed men should be here any minute. There has been a guard in the hallway all night because we had him in here with us. A Swede in a smart uniform stands sentry. Not police of course, but someone to make sure we don’t get in any trouble from nosey visitors. It’s time for me to manufacture some motivation. I should get off of my <adjective> ass and get ready. Geeta is out of the shower; she is dressed nicely and is looking at him for one last time. She would like to get him back from these men when we are at home in the states. She would keep his head on display in our house. The world that he puts me in makes me fear doom. It’s not that disposing of Alfie’s noggin is going to take away all we did with him last night and here this morning. I have been teetering on the edges of something like this I hope he’s not

for a while now. What happens when someone like me crosses that line? What if a harmless kook becomes this legitimate? Your eccentricity moves from charming to dangerous and people will stop you. Geeta beckons; I should preen for visitors and be off to breakfast. There’s a nice buffet downstairs and I have some surprises for her. I will pick up on this Diatribe later today on the train.

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