THE TOWN AND THE SAINTS
Tsotne Tskhvediani’s debut short story collection The Town and The Saints deals with Georgians’ everyday lives in rural province towns. Like everyone else, these characters are waiting to get jobs, dream about fame and try to escape the difficulties around them. But their only prospects are a depressing dreariness and despair. They cannot take a wider view of their lives. They hope for a better future but that hope is never realized. It is hard to say whether it is love or hate, sadness or happiness, life or death that dominates the desolation which pervades the town. Each story and its characters are deeply moving, so that every reader will be affected and will be able to analyse the way life develops in abandoned and forgotten towns. The Golden Town, one of the stories from the collection won BSP award as the best story of 2014 and the same year was selected for annual anthology BEST EUROPEAN FICTION published by Dalkey Archive Press in USA.
‘In principle I would make this book required reading for members of parliament, for ministers and governors, and see that they read it. Whereas political meetings attended by thousands of people and television programmes have been unable to change anything, a ‘Molotov cocktail’ hurled with such good aim by a writer may be more effective.’
Shota Iatashvili, poet, literary critic, Radio Liberty
Translated into English by George Sikharulidze
THE GOLDEN TOWN
“Ma’am, there’s nothing I can do to help you. According to the state, this child does not legally exist. You have to listen to what I’m saying. Do you understand? He does not show up anywhere in our records. Therefore, you count as the mother of three— your family is not big enough to qualify for aid. The only possibility I see is to somehow set the child up with some relatives and get him a birth certificate.”
The social worker had such a sad face and tired voice as she explained all this to my mother that you would have felt sorry for her. She was probably around twenty, with curly red hair. She didn’t look like the others. When Mom passed her some beautifully cut and peeled apple slices, she readily helped herself. The other social workers would never accept anything Mom offered.
“You are already struggling enough,” they would say. At these times I would feel very embarrassed. I liked this girl, who took the apple without even thinking. My mother was happy too.
“Please have more,” she insisted. “This blessed gold mine will be built and save us. We won’t always have these dark days,” she said, sadly.
“God willing, ma’am.“ replied the redhead.
“In this blessed earth, there is gold everywhere, my child. If used with kindness and generosity, there is enough for everyone.”
“God willing, ma’am.“ replied the redhead.
“Mooom, why do I not exist?? Did I die?”
In one arm, Mother held Niaco, who was sobbing quietly. With her free hand, she was preparing food.
“Gigo, at least you stop crying. Of course you did not die. You exist.”
“You see me, right?” Gigo asked doubtfully.
“That’s enough. You exist and that’s it!” Mom answered, getting angry.
Gigo sat at a low stool by the stove. Time to time he would steal furtive glances towards Mother. It was obvious he still had a thousand questions to ask. Then he was talking to himself, but you could not distinguish what he was saying. Suddenly he turned to me and asked... (See PDF)
In case of using the information, please, indicate the source.