Sunday, August the 29th, 2004

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Dispatches From the Nib of Van Dongelbraacke

Lo! In that year of torrential rainfall and storm clouds I set out from the city carrying with me nought but a few rags. I saw cows grazing, I heard horses whinnying. At the edges of farmyards I hid behind hedges. My appearance was not one to encourage some cherry-cheeked farmer's wife to invite me in for a dish of scrambled eggs. For days on end I ate nothing but berries, or scraps of leftover cake from countryside wedding parties abandoned in panic after visitations from extraterrestrial beings dressed up in glistening metallic space-clothing and armed with laser guns. Everywhere I went I saw evidence of burned-out barnyards and terrified geese. After roaming aimlessly for about three months, I came to a city by the sea. I sat on a milestone and gazed at the unfamiliar skyline. Some of the masts of ships docked in the harbour were taller than the buildings. I fed a handful of crumbs to the goose that had been accompanying me for the last few days, and patted its eternally bobbing head. “Let us march into that city and be bold!” I announced to the goose, pointlessly, for it did not understand a word of human language, being a goose. Nevertheless, it followed me as I hoisted my bag of rags on to my back and strode towards the customs post on the edge of the city. The weather was still tempestuous. I cannot count the number of puddles I squelched through, nor how many squalls set that little goose a-jitter. The customs post, when at last we lumbered up to it, was deserted, but for a man of great illness lying sprawled on a pallet, whose moans took only moments to irritate me. Indeed, the sound of human whining, after months of solitude, set my teeth on edge to such an extent that I bid the goose stifle him as best it could. The goose sat on the sick man's head while I rifled through the filing cabinets. It was at this precise moment that the press photographer bounded through the door and took snaps of the scene which will be familiar to you. Startled by camera flashes, the goose fled. I backed against the wall, ragged and, I must confess, wild-eyed. The sick man was transmogrified. Only now did I become aware of his police uniform, as he and the photographer exchanged a glance that conveyed some terrible significance. That is why I am writing to you from a prison cell. Thus far I have fed my interrogators a pack of lies, but I do not know how much longer I can hold out. Please, please, my darling, try as best you can to smuggle in a package of sellotape, soap, bleach, some pins, a map and a bale of plastic sheeting so that I can make good my escape!

Source : Letters From Prison by Joost Van Dongelbraacke