Dispatches from an American Picaresque
Belén Fernández
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(...) Amelia and I, meanwhile, spent this time in a room drinking tea with the Syrian border guards, who did not have anything else to do besides contemplate the 100-plus framed photographs of President Assad that adorned the walls. At one point I attempted to initiate an intelligent political discussion to pass the time (“So, what’s up with the dude in the pictures?”), but I was politely informed by Sivan that such questions could land us all in jail. After that, our sole form of entertainment was a certain border guard who would, in drill sergeant tone, bark random English words such as, “Hardware, software!”, glare at us menacingly for a few moments, and then erupt into hysterical laughter. He later progressed to repeating the phrase, “They is coming, they is coming!” in reference to a group of dogs that apparently came every night to copulate outside the customs office. The authorization for our visas fi- nally arrived from Damascus, and, following some ceremonious proceedings, Amelia and I triumphantly entered the country (though I almost invalidated this triumph by falling into a manhole in the parking lot) (...) Born in Washington, D.C., BELÉN FERNÁNDEZ grew up in Austin, Texas. While attending Columbia University, she spent a year in Italy drinking cheap Italian wine while ostensibly studying at the University of Rome. After graduating from Columbia in 2003 with a degree in political science, she promptly fled the country and assumed gainful employment at an avocado packing plant in southern Spain. She has since taken up semi-permanent residence in Turkey, where she regularly observes important political, social, and cultural phenomena, in addition to hitch-hiking a lot. Fernández’ previous published works include a short story and a horrible little poem entitled “My Grandmother Weeps From Her Rocking Chair.” |
