Cauldron Anthology Issue 9: They Who Were Spurned cauldron9finalproof | Page 15

Lady With The Lion Head
Nazli K arabi yi ko g lu

I went out, set the wine-house on fire and came back. Without moving a muscle for hours,
I drank. I didn’t hear the songs, or get startled by the fake champagne bottles popping. Although I
didn’t want it, baritone old man’s songs looking back on his youth got smeared all over me. My hands
just didn’t seem right anywhere at the table. I tried to look worn out, beaten. Still they stared at me
from their end of the table. They had this painted looks what some says beauty, necklaces, earrings,
tiny skirts… They knew what they demonstrated as they moved their legs around had value. I, was
broke, but I had a beard. A mustache. Skills that lured them without having an idea about the sum in
my pocket. A tie with diamond shaped colours. I had in me the pain of the house I got kicked from.
That’s why I was there. To shrink more, to quail more. To be able to stop and wait a bit more.

Wine-house had tile walls. Cheap, slippery, with grease and sticky filth filled in between. They
turned black from white, unprotected, stood tall only because of their regulars’ familiar cries. The
pain peed on constantly was everyone’s; the remnants of finding what was right in life when left alone
with yourself in the bathrooms. Reminisces green in grouts, incandescent nostalgia. Same old songs,
same old bard. He mastered touching the hearts of teary-eyed losers, making them homesick first by
hitting with sad ballads then dance by folk. When their shirts stuck their backs with sweat, he hand-
ed them cheap napkins, white pieces all around them. Waiters serving tea over black collared men,
staring at the boobs of the girls they like, taking it as tip, therefore justified.

I saw her dress. It didn’t fit her. The tighter the dress, the more she poured out towards me.
Her looks said she didn’t belong there. I got up and walked over her. I leaned over the sticky counte
though it was disgusting, I bore it. Her hair twirled around her head, as thick as a lion’s mane. There
was something rebellious in the way her honey-coloured frizzed Her tiny pink aquiline nose spread
around her miniature face. She was about to roar. Beat me off of her side with her claw. I was going to
roll over and cover my head with my hands and bleed, in silence.

She stood up on her giant feet. She pulled her skirt down. I expected a stretch followed by a
yawn like a big cat would do. She walked towards a man who winked at her from across the room.
She was going to sit with him, and laugh all night. She smiled with her neck bent to a side, her hands
on the table pushing out her waist. Her mane flew on her back. I saw the growing rage in her squint-
ed eyes, and her mouth shut. She slammed the bottle on the table, and walked all the way back to her
seat. I knew her, yet I wasn’t capable of approaching her, saying my name, telling her how they kicked
me out, spilling all my confessions. The hair that came out of her nose joined the others where they
turn yellow around her neck, I couldn’t gather them all in my hand, and pull, bite their roots and
15
Cauldron Anthology