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Argentinian Pitbull /by Sandro Naveriani/
Size: 130x195 mm
Number of pages: 180 Paperback, "Siesta" |
ARGENTINIAN PITBULL will send you to the magic
realism of southern American fiction as well as to the detectives of Arthur Conan Doyle and films by Quentin Tarantino. Totally unexpected turn-outs and depth, thrilling suspense, way too
cinematic dialogues and architectonic of the texts makes this book easy, smooth and enjoyable to read.
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ARGENTINIAN PITBULL
by SANDRO NAVERIANI Extract -----------
48 Calibers... Oh, God...
He came in my room without knocking and put a 48 caliber gun against my forehead. "I have to kill you," he said. "Why?" He put the gun away and sat in the armchair, "I knew you'd ask that," Implied sadly. "I am very sorry Sir, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but you have to understand. You walked in my room, without knocking and told me you want to kill me. I'm sure you'd ask the same question in my position. I mean it's a logical question, isn't it? And I think that if you really had intention of killing me nothing would stop you" "Nothing would stop me? How do you know what would stop me? You know nothing! You can only talk, like others. Everything you ever think of is yourselves, you don't care about others. Do you know what it's like when you can't do your job? It's been a year since I did my job properly... Everyone cries, bursts into tears, all I get is desperate 'why? What did I ever do to you? What would happen to my kids? To my grandma?' nothing but whining... this is all I get... I can't work in this condition. I was strong, I had an Ice cold heart, I had no pity. Now look at me, I'm about to cry like a little girl… and you're telling me that nothing would stop me?" "Sir, please calm down. Pull yourself together and talk to me, I listen and maybe even give you an advice… you have to share your feelings. Calm down and talk to me, please. I honestly want to help you. "I can't... I can't stop crying… I can't live like this anymore." "Drink a glass of water, calm down and tell me everything." "I am 48 years old; I've been working as a hit man since I was 25. I was perfect, I never failed. But about a year ago strange dreams started to appear, beautiful and colorful dreams, and every time I woke up I cried. Ever since I couldn't kill anyone, every time I'd go to do my job and subject would start crying, I couldn't do it… my soul got heavy. So I decided to get another job, but you know how hard it is to find one in this economy… a week ago I finally found something, but they told me they've already hired someone else… but if by any chance the guy will refuse to work there, they'll hire me. Do you know why this is happening to me? Because I am a sinner and my soul is heavy." "Sir, if I may, I'll tell you one legend, which I think you need to hear. May I?" "It has no sense, legend is unreal, and we live in a very real world." "Just let me tell you…" "Okay, I'm listening." "Once upon a time, the evilest person in the world died. He had murdered a lot of people and committed the worst crimes, but at the end of his days he cried a lot and regretted everything he ever did. When the time of judgment came for him, he stood between heaven and hell and waited for the verdict, which of course had to be very harsh. When the devil and the angel placed his sins and virtues on a scale, sins beat his goodness. But the angel took the sheet which was wet by the regret tears and put on the scale and all ended in his favor. This is how the evilest person was saved." "It's very good legend, however I don't intend to die any time soon. I'd like to live as a normal, good person." "I understand that, sir. But I can't get what can I do for you, do you blame me for something?" "No, of course not, everything is my fault; this is what I deserve, because I am a murderer…" "Don't blame yourself, Sir. You're a very good person…" "Please, stop making fun of me." "I'm not. Yes, I believe that you are a very good person and it wasn't your fault that you killed people." "It was my fault!" "No! Stop blaming yourself!" "Then whose fault is it?" "Well, I can't tell you exactly, but it could be your parents… probably your father was a junkie and mother was a whore. They were fighting and abusing you all the time, so you grew up damaged." "No, both of my parents were good people and they took a very good care of me." "Well, Then maybe your uncle raped you while watching lions and antelopes on TV?" "I have no uncle." "Then I guess tramway ran over your basset and killed it." "No." "Well, in that case, if there was no pervert uncle or a dead basset, I think only one to blame for your sins in the god himself." "The God?" "Yes" "What do you mean?" "God created men, gave them everything, food, home, love, earth, taught them everything, told them to love each other, to respect everyone including himself, you know 10 commandments or whatever. And in those commandments he told us 'thou not shell kill.' You know how little kids are, right? If you tell them not to say 'Casablanca' they would run around shouting 'Casablanca' all day long. Men are like kids, whatever you tell them, they do opposite. That is why Kane killed his brother. And who knows, was Kane the first killer? But it's irrelevant; whoever the first killer was, he or she was a victim, just like you. What I want to say, is that if God tells us not to kill than why he even invented murder? Why didn't make people immortal till they get 80 years old? Because it suited him!" "But why?" "I don't know, but it's all around us. Every day I get news that someone was killed. You must've killed at least 48 of your own. Everyday someone gets murdered, then investigation starts, gas chambers, lethal injections, electric chairs and in the best case scenario life imprisonment." "What are you trying to say?" "What I'm trying to say, is that you are weapon of God and he is a killer not you. You're just a victim used by him. Haven't you ever thought about that?" "No…" "Well, now you know, think about it and make yourself free. You're innocent." "Police wouldn't believe this." "Because they read commandments written by the murderer. Anyway, don't think about that anymore." "And what should I do about the job? The one which was already taken by some other guy." "What was your plan?" "I wanted to kill that guy." "Well, that's exactly what you should do." "So you're telling me to kill him?" "Yes, go to him and tell him, that he is standing in your way and nothing will help him, neither questions, nor tears must stop you, look him in the eyes and pull the trigger. It won't be hard for you, trust me, since you know it's not your fault. Let him meet the guy who is to blame for his death." "You were right when you told me to share my feelings. I feel so much better." "Nice! Now have one more drink… now get up, go and take the guy out. You're starting new life from now on, peaceful and normal life. You see how helpful is sharing?! Now go and do what you have to do. Remember you're innocent, everything is God's fault." Oh, God! He didn't say anything; he got up and put the 48 caliber gun against my forehead. 48 calibers… oh, God. You are the guy, he said. |
Additional information
A Calm Swim /by Irakli Charkviani/
An Unfinished Story /by Gela Chkvanava/
Antonio and David /by Jemal Karchkhadze/
Argentinian Pitbull /by Sandro Naveriani/
Buy Our Souls /by Zurab Lezhava/
Caucasian Chronicles /by Mamuka Kherkheulidze/
Cinderella's Night /by Kote Jandieri/
Count-out Rhyme /by Tamta Melashvili/
Dagny or a Love Feast /by Zurab Karumidze/
Flight from the USSR /by Dato Turashvili/
Four Lands and Four Pillars /by Natalie Davitashvili/
Grandma, Ray and America /by Mariam Bekauri/
Herself /by Nestan Kvinikadze/
Kazakhstan’s Sorrow /by Tsotne Chikovani/
Memphis /by Teona Dolenjashvili/
Mosquito in the City /by Erlom Akhvlediani/
Music in the Wind /by Rezo Cheishvili/
November Rain /by Nugzar Shataidze/
Of Old Hearts And Sword /by Aka Morchiladze/
Tamro /by Beso Khvedelidze/
The Children of Nightfall /by Ana Kordzaia-Samadashvili/
The City of Man /by Guram Megrelishvili/
The First Robe /by Guram Dochanashvili/
The Inflatable Angel /by Zaza Burchuladze/
The Iron Theatre /by Otar Chiladze/
The Literature Express /by Lasha Bugadze/
The Moonlit Garden /by Naira Gelashvili/
The Naked King /by Rati Ratiani/
The New Book /by David Kartvelishvili/
The White Bridge /by Rezo Gabriadze/
War Game /by Basa Janikashvili/
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