girl

Herta Müller- Black Park, an excerpt
Blue-eyed wrinkled girl, where are you going on so much asphalt so early in the morning? Year after year through the black park.
When you said summer is coming you didn't think of summer. And what you are saying about fall as if this city were not made of stone, as if a single leaf ever wilted on it.
Your friends have shadows in their hair and watch how said you are and get used to it and resign themselves to it. That's the way you are. What can be done when whatever we say we talk about loss. Is there any hope when the fear in the wine glasses helps with fear and when the bottle gets emptier and emptier.
When laughter becomes guffawing, when they bend with laughter, when they die with laughter, is there any hope? And yet we are so young.
And a dictator has been overthrown again, and the Mafia has killed someone again, and a terrorist is dying in Italy.
You can't drink away your fear, girl. You are sipping from this glass like all those women who don't have a life, who don't fit in with all that trash. Not even their own.
Your friends say, things will go badly for you, girl.
Your eyes are empty. Your feeling is empty and stale. It's a pity about you, girl, it's a pity.