"Klekomensharif"
Y. Misdaq

Albania, it was beautiful in spring. So was everywhere. But Klekomensharif Beit-Allum had been around the world many times, only a few places had made him feel as peaceful as Tirana. Klekomensharif was talking to his wife on his satellite phone from a high hill in the countryside. "Klekomensharif to Maria, Klekomensharif to Maria, do you read me?" He said in an operator's voice, Maria loved his impression of a telephone operator, she wouldn't speak to him unless he performed it 4 times daily. Tirana to Italia was a pretty sizeable distance, at a pretty sizeable cost, but just to hear his ugly wife's beautiful voice again made Klekomensharif feel warm.

There could be 3 reasons why Klekomensharif decided to continuously travel the world and avoid any physical contact with his Italian wife Maria, Klekomensharif puzzled over them daily.

1- She was ugly.
2- She was so beautiful, that he was intimidated by her beauty.
3- She was ugly.

Klekomensharif never once cheated on Maria, yet he never once kissed her on the lips either, he agreed to a traditional Christian marriage to appease her religious parents, but his refusal to kiss her in front of the wedding-guests caused much suspicion as to his motives. It was confusing to Maria's father, Alessandro, he assumed that Klekomensharif had married her for the money, and not the love. Yet he constantly had to remember that they were living in the poorest neighbourhood of one of the poorest areas in Italia, Reggio Calabria. Night after night, Maria would lie on her bed, just as she had done throughout her lonely teenage years, chatting away to this strange man, with a wide smile on the beautiful face society puked at. He sent her money, he sounded sincere, he looked very strange, but he was always radiant. Radiant was the word for him. Radiant.

By 1995 Maria had torn down her Jason Priestley life-size poster, in fact not one of her posters or magazine cut-outs from Beverly Hills 90210 had remained, all she had in her small matchbox of a room were print-outs of e-mails from Klekomensharif saying such beautiful things as, "You are everything, and everything is you." So she was there, in her bedroom, and happy, and her father? He was confused.

*

"Life's supposed to get easier the older you get, but I don't get it!" Alessandro would say more or less the same thing to his friends every night at the bar. His tone was a mixture of resignation and ongoing confusion about Klekomensharif's motives.

"It's a nuisance! Crazy man! We never asked where he's from? We know nothing of this crazy man!" This was 'Carlo, he was slightly more emotional than Alessandro.

"He's a spy! But why? Why does he spy? And why does he smell so nice?" This was 'Luca, the former chess champion.

"He does smell nice." admitted Alessandro, nodding his head.

"He is homosexual, it's like they say in Paris, once a gay, forever he is gay! Homosexual, and also a gay-man!" This was Robert, a sly French immigrant who hanged around 'Luca.

"It's a...… He's a mobile telephone, he gives you disease in your ears! Like a rat, he crawls out at nighttime, and takes the memories from you; from your ears he takes it! Like a spider, he crawls. Yet like a saint, does he not smell of roses? He is a mobile telephone!" This was a drunk man sitting at the end of the bar. He was drunk.

*

"What d'you want to discuss today?" Klekomensharif asked her. "People!" Shouted an excited Maria. "Sub-category" he enthusiastically demanded. "People who are scared of things." Klekomensharif thought about it for a second, Maria knew his thinking sound; it was like silence with a kind presence. "Okay, I think this..." he would always begin like that, "People who are scared of things are lacking a certain knowledge of themselves. That is to say that they do not realise life is limited, and there are more exciting times to come not only as young men, but as people growing older… and even after we die!" Maria was silent as she usually was, thinking over his bold statement. "I think, you're right. I was going to say that it's normal to be scared, and it is, especially if you don't understand something. Yet, if we understand more, there's less to fear. I'm not scared of anything anymore! I might go to Bulgaria this week!" Klekomensharif smiled. When they had met she was a young girl with a fear of roads, slowly the world was beginning to unfold for her. Klekomensharif prayed that she would one day see all that he had seen in his strange lifetime.

*

Maria went out for a walk on a hot day. She went to buy herself fruits, she felt like a peach, and wanted to spend the money Klekomensharif had sent her as a gesture of thanks. She bought her peach and found a nice spot just away from the busy market. There she sat on the green, the sun shining on her, making her think of God and how God would view her at this moment in time.

Three teenage boys came running past her, two of them were teasing the other one who was trying to catch up with them. The two boys, Silvio and Gigi, had his underwear and were laughing at him. Kallon had his hands cupped over his private parts, shouting at the two bullies. "Give them back you two bullies!" One of the two boys scrunched up Kallons' underwear and threw it towards Maria. As they arrived in front of her lap, a gush of wind sent the smell of the underwear in her direction. Maria could tell instantly that the poor boy Kallon had been swimming near the local waterfall, and that these other children had stolen his underwear whilst he was still in the water. She felt sorry for Kallon, standing up and offering them back to him, she said, "Don't worry kid, you'll forget about this one day." Kallon was embarrassed and snatched them out of Maria's hands quickly. "Give them back to me you ugly cow!" shouted Kallon, so loud that all the passers-by noticed and turned around. Maria ignored him and sat back down again. Looking at her peach for a few more seconds, she smiled and took another bite out of it; it was a joyous bite, a bite of feeling. Kallon still stood in front of her, staring. He felt a pain. It was his shame. It was prodding him in his anguished belly, making his face cringe with sympathy and embarrassment. She was so beautiful to carry on eating her peach. 'How could she be so beautiful?' Kallon thought to himself. "I am sorry Ms. I was embarrassed, I didn't mean to be rude. I am sorry Ms. I'm so sorry for being rude to you." Maria looked up calmly and could see he was going red, even though his skin was very dark. Maria remembered going red. She walked forward to where Kallon was standing, on the grey concrete pavement, and put her hand on his cheek, "You'll be okay kid." Kallon smiled and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her warm hand. As he slowly opened his eyes and saw her smiling at him, he couldn't help but say the first thing that came to his young mind. "You're beautiful".

*

Klekomensharif was trekking up the alps, making mental notes of ideas for books and camera angles, trying his hardest, as he always did, to not think of the guilt that consumed him daily. He began humming a tune, a triumphant, brilliant tune. A melody for life. As he walked he developed the tune into a six-minute piece, he had assigned all the instruments, and was beginning to create the lyrics. Klekomensharif had written many songs before; they were all stored in his head. If he were ever to get into a studio with all the instruments and voices he required, he might well have been celebrated as the most talented musician since Beethoven. He began to recite the lyrics as they came to him; he sung his soul in Italian, Albanian and Mandarin.

I apologize to you.
Mine is a subtle insanity.
Mine is devoid of self-love.
Mine is consumed by you and your absence.
My mind is in love with you,
Only my fingers and maturity cannot yet meet you.
My maturity has yet to know how to meet you.
Forgive it. Forgive it as an extension of me.
Can you forgive the time it takes?
Forgive it, I ask you softly.

*

It took many more years of soul-searching and travelling for Klekomensharif to control the dominance of vanity and outer-beauty. He did come to see Maria the way Kallon had seen her that hot day. Maria's father Alessandro was very pleased. He allowed Maria to move out with her husband. It was a difficult thing for him to do, but seeing as though they were in the same neighbourhood he felt it was only natural to let go of his beautiful daughter. In time Alessandro and Klekomensharif even managed to talk about their different religions without arguing. It was the part of the day Alessandro looked forward to the most.

*

"It is perhaps, not since Beethoven that we as a race have been privileged to witness such new sounds and forms of music. Something amazing has happened in the last twenty years, and we have all been here to listen to it with our own ears. We have been the lucky ones. I remember when I was a little girl in Tehran, we witnessed a solar-eclipse, and the mathematicians said it would be the only one for a long time. I remember thinking at the time; probably not even my children's children will see the next solar-eclipse. So here we are, having been so blessed by the gifts of one mans creative genius. It is with great honour that I present this award to Klekomensharif Beit-Allum!" The audience clapped with more passion than their hands could handle. The outdoor setting only emphasised that applause more. The audience wanted to clap for him. It was a warm night tonight. The old man slowly got up from his chair and made his way towards the front. The people around him were smiling at his aura, as he walked past, with red faces of admiration and wishes of proximity, they loved Klekomensharif. As he reached the microphone he cleared his human throat and spoke from the heart. "When I was a young man, I was in love. As I grew older, I was in a different kind of love. As I grew older still, I saw the love coming from the eyes of my children. As an old man now, I can only tell you that love made the music you are honouring, and love itself was made. Love was made. I dedicate this award to my late wife who inspired me so much. Thank you for this honour good people of Samarkand, and to all the millions of people who are watching around planet Earth tonight…" Half a million people admired. Everyone admired.

By Y. Misdaq
© 2003 Y. Misdaq & Nefisa.co.uk All rights reserved.