By Lida Prypchan
(The City is Valencia)
One of my fears has been to go to jail – to be imprisoned, even though I am innocent. But as well as being one of my fears, it has been the only answer to my dreams. I know that as a prisoner I could read and write all day and my creativity would flow.
One afternoon around four o’clock, when I was trying to find a lecture on Chinese philosophy, I ran into two girls on a motor scooter, causing them some injuries. I was arrested on the spot, or as they say “detained”. Almost 10 days out of my life were lost. The first day I was furious, the second less so, the third very angry, the fourth indifferent, the fifth desperate, the sixth lethargic, the seventh hysterical, the eighth stunned, the ninth extremely depressed and the tenth just resigned. When I went in to give my statement they look me up and down as if I were a criminal and I felt they were treating me as if they didn’t believe a word I said. Once they wouldn’t even let me go out for coffee. All day long, since the room I was in was so poorly lit and the television was always on, I had no other option but to watch all the shows. I enjoyed the cat and mouse cartoons, the Three Stooges and the Munster Family. I imagined how it would be if I really was in jail and, although starting to get claustrophobia, wouldn’t have any choice other than to do a lot of reading and writing – whereas if free and not in the city jail, I’d spend my days working, unable to devote time to what I found truly fulfilling.
But the city was my jail. Even if it wasn’t I would still have felt like a prisoner. While I sat there I meditated and my thoughts got lost in an endless tune. As I wended my way back I noticed that it was a labyrinth. I felt tied down and suddenly wanted to lose myself and go to some faraway place and rest.
During the ten days that I was a prisoner of the city, I recalled Kavafis’ poem, The City”, which goes like this:
“You said, ‘I will go to another land, I will go to another sea.
Somewhere there must be some other city better than this.
Every effort I make is a bitter sentence,
And my heart is buried like a corpse.
How long will my spirit remain in such apathy?
Wherever I set my sight,
Wherever I look,
I see the black ruins of my life,
Where I spent so many years,
Years ruined, years lost.’
“… You will never find other lands; you will never find other seas.
The city will haunt you forever. You will wander the same streets,
And in the same neighborhoods you will grow old;
You will turn gray within these same walls.
Always you will return to this city. Dare not to dream of another land.
You have no ship, there is no road.
As you have squandered your life here,
In this small corner,
So have you thrown it to waste
Throughout the world.”
