PRELUDE:

If you walked into, 29 years old, Ingmar Lebosky’s second floor, walk up, you would notice right away that there was a rope hanging from the ceiling in this sparsely furnished living room of a Brooklyn apartment. At first you would not look at anything else but the rope because it would make you feel as if, whomever lived here, was planning to use it to end it all; and you would be right. The sight of the rope in the middle of the room would be disturbing. You would then look around and also notice bunches of Newspapers stacked in various corners of the room. That too would intrigue you. You would also realize that the old blue wallpaper with tiny printed daisies is almost disappearing behind hundreds of articles cut and taped to each wall and that, without a doubt, would arouse your curiosity.

Ingmar or “Ing” as he is often called, gets out of his small bed resting in a corner of the small bedroom. He is dressed in a flowery pajama. His head of brownish unruly hair stands up straight toward the ceiling as if he stocked his finger in an electrical outlet. He looks at the old alarm clock, which failed to perform; he shakes it but to no avail.

He reaches for his glasses hoping they are still exactly where he left them the night before. He walks to the window and pushes the curtain slightly away: it is raining heavily this morning in Brooklyn. He looks to the left at what looks like …a chicken coop? He walks to the makeshift kitchen, runs the hot water faucet and refreshes his coffee by adding running water to his cup. He turns off the faucet, reaches for stale bread from the counter and dips it into his coffee. The bread disintegrates into the watery coffee, and he goes fishing for it with a spoon.

Looloo, Ing’s white pet hen emerges from the coop after a good night sleep. She casually walks over to Ing and pecks at his feet. She seems to be the only other sign of life in the apartment. Breakfast time. Ing walks to the freezer and removes a chocolate ice cream on a stick. It’s Looloo’s favorite treat. She flaps her wings and flutters toward Ing who kneels down and lets her peck at the chocolate shell on the floor.

“Mornin’ Loo. Got you Chocolate. Your favorite, right?” Ing says. Looloo would confirm that if she could talk.

Ing stands up, brings the ice cream to his lips and finishes it. He looks at the rope. He walks over to it and circles around it. He pulls on it testing its stability and strength. He fiddles with it and makes a noose. Taking his time he slips it over his head and stares at Looloo who twitches her head in jerky movements, as chickens do. She looks up at her human friend with justified anxiety.

Damn! Is he going to do it? Looloo looks at him as if expecting an answer. Ing looks at her with compassion.

“Not just yet, Loo,” Ing says and removes the noose from his neck. “But don’t worry. When the time comes, Algezira will take good care of you, you know that.”

He sits at his desk, crowded with books and laptops. He finds a pen and paper and writes a letter to Marvink, his first cousin. Marvink lives in Bonaparte, Iowa, which has a population of 444 residents. This is where Ingmar was born – in a town known as “ the smallest Main Street Community” in the U.S.A.

Hey Marvink,

How’s everyone back home? Do you remember the young girl I saw on a train years ago, the one I told you about, the one who cried? Well, I know you won’ t believe it but I saw her on the subway in New York. I really did. I swear it was she! At first I could not believe it. I was looking at her and I was shaking inside.

I wanted to talk to her so badly, but Marvink… I didn’t have the guts. I just didn’t. She must have recognized me too because when she left the train she handed me a piece of paper that said: Liz. 18 years, Marv, 18 years have gone by since I last saw her on that train back home, 18 years! — isn’t that incredible? I believe you’re blessed in this life when you know what you want; but if you lack the courage to go after it… then I also believe that the time has come to look beyond- where the great mystery lies. I did not have the guts to go talk to her when I had the chance. I am not very proud of who I am and I can’t live with myself. The only way for me to find peace is to end it. You’ve been a great first cuz, Marvink, yes you have. Please say hello to everyone back home. All my books go to you and my blue and white sweater is yours. I know you were always fond of it. Be well. Oh — by the way, little Ambroisie says hello. I spoke to her a couple of days ago in Los Angeles. She is doing well, and she asked about you.

Ing