A Knife

Hudson Review, The, Summer 2003 by Thiel, Diane

I always carry, tight on my belt,

a small African knife I've had for years-

the kind that are commonly seen in the North,

which I bought from an old merchant in Algiers.

I remember, as if it were now, the old dealer

who looked like a Goya oil painting,

standing next to long swords and torn

uniforms-in a hoarse voice, saying,

"This knife, here, which you want to buy-

legend surrounds it. Everyone knows

that those who have owned it, one after another

have all, at some time, killed someone close.

Don Basilio used it to kill

Donna Giulia, his unfaithful wife.

And Count Antonio, one night, secretly

murdered his brother with this knife.

Some Italian sailor-a Greek boatswain.

An African, in a jealous rage, his lover.

Hand to hand, it fell into mine.

I've seen many things, but this brings me terror.

Bend down. Look. Here, hold it. It's light.

And see here, the anchor and coat of arms.

But I would advise you to buy something else.

How much? Seven francs. Since you want it, it's yours."

This dagger now tight in my belt-my strangeness

made me take it off that shelf.

Since there's no one I hate enough to kill,

I fear someday I'll turn it on myself.

[Translated from the Greek ofNikos Kavadias]