The game of “Summoning Spirits” is still quite popular in Georgia. During the game, the invoked spirit(s) gives signs to the players and confirms its presence. What will happen if one of the summoned spirits does not want to go back and decides to stay and live with the players? The new novel by Zaza Burchuladze narrates such a story. At exactly the same time as the eruption of Iceland’s Eyjafjallajökull volcano filled Europe’s skies with ash causing airlines to cancel flights, a young married couple, Niko and his wife Nino, are holding a spiritual session in a small apartment in Tbilisi, capital city of Georgia. The summoned spirit the couple wants to call up is a renowned mystic of 20th century – Giorgi Gurjiev but as a result of the game Gurjiev appears not only in spirit, but in flesh and blood and is highly communicative. The young hosts are initially confused by the drift of events and are unhappy about the prospect of their new guest staying. However, gradually they realize that Gurjiev’s spirit may bring them great benefits, like helping them get their hands on one million Euros. Yet the young hosts will not escape without dealing with some unpleasant eventualities. In 2011 The Inflatable Angel won the IliaUni literary prize as the best novel of the year.

EXTRACT
Translated into English by Ekaterine Machitidze  

THE NIGHT SÉANCE

There are fewer people believing in ghost evocation, even when they busy themselves with spirit rapping. The Gorozias did not believe that they would get in touch with the soul of Giorgi Gurjiev. Souls are like Hollywood stars. It’s abso-lutely impossible to make contact with them. Nino and Niko Gorozia had no expectation of success right up to the end. And still they had blacked out the kitchen. There was a large square of Whatman paper lying on the table. Someone had drawn a wide circle and studiously written Georgian letters with felt pen. “YES” and “NO” were the words written beneath the circle. There was a saucer lying upside down with an arrow painted with felt pen, too. A short and bold candle was burning on the saucer studded with scarlet dots. The coral red light passed only to the Whatman paper, the saucer with the painted arrow, their hands resting on the table and the faces of the Gorozias. Neither the clock telling that the first hour had already begun, nor the kitchen sink full of dirty dishes could be seen in the darkness. The candle-light did not reach the corner. There was a carcass of a dead fly floating in the café con leche left in a mug with the Nesquik rabbit portrayed on it. The room was stuffy – it was a mixture of nicotine, dishwashing detergent and a dog’s stench smell to-gether. Fuko, a pink-muzzled bull terrier napped in a chair standing at the wall. The neighbor’s TV could be heard in the kitchen. Someone was watching “Profile” with Maia Asatiani hosting another joker. The laughing audience applauded with zeal. Nino always looked younger than she really was. Yes, she was a small fry at Tbilisi City Hall, but even there one can find women looking young for their age. The slightly withered bosom along with the large blue eyes, the nice figure and the absence of cellulite proved her youthful looks. Who would have thought that an iron will was lying hidden behind her continent appearance and melancholic eyes. Niko was not a giant himself. Nevertheless, in contrast to Nino, there was something unbearable and politically incorrect in his size. The chubby cheeks, round lips and the passionless eyes made him look like a depressed psychopath. But his nature was so gentle that one could knead him like dough. Nino had thrust her feet into rubber flippers. She was dressed in jeans shorts and a white, almost transparent shirt. She had just come out of the bathroom and had not dried the short, tousled hair thoroughly. The shampoo scent was slightly brightening up the stuffy air in the room. She was not wearing a bra and the tight nipples were bulging the shirt. Slightly aroused, she just wanted Niko to sneak his hand under the shirt and touch her tit… But Niko was looking down at the saucer with the arrow, thinking about the éclair in the refrigerator that he could not touch. He had been refraining from eat-ing after 6 p.m. for a week. It was racking. The diet was a fixed idea rather than a necessity, for he really had no problem with overweight. The idea to arrange the séance popped into her head that day, while she was poking around the internet. Niko had nothing against the idea. It is not easy for one to disagree with his wife, especially if she’s eager to get in contact with the deceased. He just asked: “Why Gurjiev?” Then he added to himself: “No, say... say...” He wanted to raise a more authoritative dead man, though he failed to remember anyone but the par-rot that he had when he was a boy. One morning, when he took the cloth off the cage, there was a dead bird lying on the bottom. It was still warm. When he took the tiny body, the bird’s head dropped to the side… (See PDF)


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