A Heap of Feathers on Národní Street

Translated a short story I wrote in 2020 for my Czech creative writing seminar:

I just came out of Máj onto Národní. I’m trying to reach tram stop number 17 – National Theatre. Hopefully, I'll meet my friends from my planet there, and we will be able to see our homeland again. I set out an hour and a half ago, and yet I still haven’t moved from the spot. I always take three steps, and then a strong wind rises. I try with all my might to move my right foot and take another step, but can’t do it. Finally, with immense effort, I manage to move my foot and… once again, feather by feather, I gather the parts of my right leg. The wind has blown it all away. First the toes, the ankles, the shinbone, and above all, it's always laborious with the knee because if I make the slightest mistake, I won’t be able to move my leg. In contrast, the thigh and hip which are a piece of cake. After less than half an hour of work, I’m standing in the same place again, trying to gather courage. I’ll try for the sixth time! To my surprise, this time the wind didn’t pick up, and I stride forward like Franc Josef (at least I think that’s what people here say).

I walk around a hundred twenty steps with joy. I see someone approaching me. It’s a man in a suit. A white man in a suit about fifty years old. I read in encyclopedias about the human race that this type of human being is the most dangerous of all and it's better to avoid him. I freeze in fear. I just smile and try to show everyone that I’m friendly and not looking for trouble. The man isn’t looking at me. I feel a little relieved. Suddenly, though, I notice that he’s still coming closer. He’s staring at a mobile phone – or whatever they call it – and not noticing anything happening around him. Feathers begin to sprout on my forehead, and I don’t know what to do. The man gets closer and closer, and suddenly he walks right through me. I collapse. After less than an hour, I gather myself and resolutely move on. No one noticed anything.

No one saw what happened to me. No one noticed how that man hurt me. And what’s most interesting is that no one noticed that I’m made of feathers. Just when I was starting to think that my race is invisible to humans, I caught sight of a man. I had seen him earlier that same day. He was wearing torn clothing, had a scarred face, and had been walking around the street all day asking people for spare change for food. I was sure he was a human, yet others didn’t see him either. They didn’t see him just as they didn’t see me. But he saw me. He had been watching me the whole time. Now, as I spotted him, he smiled slyly at me. Then he sighed and pressed his lips together. A tear glimmered in his eye, and he quickly turned away – probably so I wouldn’t see it drop.

It occurred to me that maybe he could help me. He sees what I’m going through here, and hopefully, he might assist me. After some time, I manage to cross to the other side of the street. I smile so he knows I have friendly intentions, but I know it’s not necessary. He knows me; he understands me, I can feel it. I approach him and greet him with “A good day to you, Sir” (I read that this is the most respectful form of greeting). He is looking away from me. He hasn’t even moved. “Good day.” I say again. After a moment of loud coughing, he spits. I try to explain my situation to him. “Can you please help me? You are my only hope. My friends will be flying home shortly, and if I don’t reach them in time, I’ll never be able to go back home!” He doesn’t look at me. Suddenly, he turns around and says, “Get lost, I can’t see you.” I look at him with sad confusion in my eyes. “You can see me; you are the only one who sees me!” I reply. He looks at me for a long time and grits his teeth. He pulls out half -smoked cigarette and a lighter, scanning me from my ankles to my head. “Disappear, or I’ll set you ablaze!” I step a little closer to him and gaze at him intently. I know he understands me; I can feel he wants to help me. Suddenly, he quickly puts away the cigarette and lighter, extends his hand, and with all his strength swipes at me. “Good luck,” he hisses. His voice seems to tremble slightly. He strides quickly towards Wenceslas Square. Once again, I am just a heap of feathers on Národní Street.

I wait for a moment before I begin to piece myself back together. After more than seven hours, I finally made it to the tram stop. I waited seven minutes for the tram. When it finally arrived, I realized that my hands were not strong enough to press the button to open the door. Through the window, I begged people on the tram to open it for me – no one noticed me – everyone was busy.