The terrorist

by Ana Brnardić


The terrorist

It is exactly 18:00 hours in Minneapolis.

In the suspects waiting room I sit next to a plump black lady.

She tried to smuggle "food, snakes and insects" into the USA.

I am, on the other hand, a poor bride hunting for a husband.

Mr Kai peers down at me. 

He opens my bag brimming with dowry.

A white manuscript sticks out suspiciously.

He wants to know why I have 200 pages typed in some strange language.

That is a fascinating reconstruction of the life

of our Lord the Saviour - I say to myself.

I shiver and perspire.

I accept the role of a terrorist-bride.

An hour later someone unlocks the door.

Suddenly everything smells of palm oil.

My feet sink into the airport carpet.

I discard the iron prosthesis of my homeland

as I slide into a pink mercy.

© translated by Damir and Majda Šodan

Terorist

Točno je 18 sati u Minneapolisu.

U dvorani za osumnjičene ja i punašna crnkinja.

Ona unosi „hranu, zmije i insekte“ u SAD.

A ja sam siromašna udavača.

Gospodin Kai gleda me odozdo u oči.

Otvara moju torbu punu miraza.

U njoj se bijeli sumnjivi rukopis.

Želi znati što će mi 200 papira natipkanih na čudnom jeziku.

To je fascinantna rekonstrukcija života

Našega Spasitelja, kažem u sebi.

Drhtim, znojim se.

Prihvaćam ulogu nevjeste-terorista.

Nakon sat vremena otključavaju vrata.

Posvuda miris palmina ulja.

Stopala propadaju do gležnja u aerodromski tapison.

Odbacujem željezne proteze iz domovine i

tonem u ružičastu milost.

© Ana Brnardić