Hourglass

Hourglass “ ...Hence, I sift piece by piece -- true, very slowly, but sooner
or later I will be emptied, won ’ t I?! “
I am an hourglass.
And who will invert me then when emptied?
I look around. Everybody is in deep sleep. Kofi Annan-Iashvili
heavily sibilant in sleep -- like the hissing of a snake. Only
Buratino * was awake. But I do not rely on him. He will not
turn me over. He will not take the trouble. He is kind of a
wooden... Not ade,..quate. Quite not ade,..goose!** Ha-ha-ha!
A window pane placed in an iron-barred frame was half
painted in white. Bright moon light bursting from the window
shamelessly mingled with the hardly flickering colorless
feedback of a twenty-five-watt electric bulb that emitted fairly
thin light. Instead of a regular wooden door in our ward there
was a metal grating concocted and welded of iron rods, painted
in white and embedded in a solid iron frame--deadbolted
with a shiny Chinese door lock.
“ Is there anybody on earth more serene and innocuous than
we are? What ’ s the use of these iron rods and latches?! ” I say
from my glass container and stare, wondering and pondering,
to boot, as to how many granules are there left in my
upper half.
Suddenly, my mind opened widely as I realized we are under
protection! Not to be kidnapped by Dark forces! That is exactly
what these metal rods and latches are for. We are rare
creatures stuck together. Most uniquely. Perhaps the last hope
and buttress of the world.
Besides a dim light from the hallway, a chlorine smell was lavishly
and indefatigably present.
Now I gaze at Buratino against the backdrop of the moon (his
bed is just in front of me resting against the window, at an
angle), and I think again, how many granules are there left
until my essence being fully discharged of sand? The point is,
that sand is pouring below me not with the same speed, every
now and then accelerating and at the same time seeming to
spend the whole hour on one single sand granule to drop.
On top of that, only one single granule could perhaps be the
whole Galaxy, or a single Universe.
Buratino sat on the bed in his ‘ Turkish way ’ , with closed eyes
and legs tucked up beneath him. With one hand he tightly
held the head rod of the bed, painted in white, as a skipper
would hold the wheel of a rambling ship in rough seas, and
with the other hand ’ s forefinger he tenderly tested the tip of
his nose like somebody might check the tip of a newly sharpened
pencil when one wants to test whether its sharpened
well enough or not.
* Wooden puppet, the main character of the book The Golden
Key, or the Adventures of Buratino (1936) by Aleksey Tolstoy.
** Pun involving the Georgian words kvati (quate - goose)
and bati (duck) and last syllables of the English word adequate.
I believe that Buratino ’ s nose by now is pretty much sharpened.
All of a sudden he opened his eyes and asked me:
” Are you wondering why my name is Buratino? ”
“ That ’ s rubbish. ” I was a bit perplexed.
“ You have your monicker because of what you are! It is the
same as if an enema asked --why am I called an enema? What
else should it be called? A Synchrophasotron? ”
All at once Buratino ’ s demeanor changed and he smiled!