Fingerprints: Tales from Somewhere

By Kata Kiss

These stories are about mothers and fathers, lovers and goblins, sons and daughters. Meet Angel, Mary, Billy, Martha and George. These characters are set free in a fantasy world.

You have to break up with Jay, leave Annabel, bring home Daniel and love Evie.

On the train or a plane, in a laundromat or in a courthouse, there are magic potions, a statue, a missing gun, the dodo and the grumpy goblin.

Have conversations with strange working girls, with drunk film makers, or even with your consciousness.

These stories from somewhere, these fingerprints of the author, will leave you with compassion, love and laughter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Nov 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781925959741

Kata Kiss

Kata is originally from Budapest, but she is enjoying her life in beautiful Sydney for more than two decades. Living at the beach was her dream always. After retiring from SBS Radio in 2017 her other childhood dream came true when she published her first book in English.‘As a journalist/broadcaster for 18 years I told so many stories about real people, real lives. Now I have the pleasure to create characters and set them free in a fantasy world.’She worked as a radio and television presenter from her early childhood but choose to be a teacher. She later worked as a marketing manager, copywriter, and as a producer in her old country. She even sang in a band for a couple of years.Her first book Fingerprints – Tales from Somewhere - was released in 2019.Her second book a collection of new short stories Snippets - Doing Things Differently - is released in 2021.

Book preview

FINGERPRINTS

Tales from Somewhere

Kata Kiss

This is an IndieMosh book

brought to you by MoshPit Publishing

an imprint of Mosher’s Business Support Pty Ltd

PO BOX 147

Hazelbrook NSW 2779

https://www.indiemosh.com.au

Copyright 2019 © Kata Kiss

All rights reserved

Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author and publisher.

Disclaimer

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional.

The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.

To Jack, my partner in crime

and to my inspirations, our children:

Rita, Daniel, Sophie, Eva, Jesse, Joanna and Max.

Special thanks to Piros.

"When we flee our vulnerability,

we lose our capacity for feeling emotion."

Gábor Máté

THE CLOWN

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our spectacular

The trumpets are blaring and the drums are crunching. The noise is overwhelming. The curtains open and you step into a painted world.

The lights are sharp – they blind you for a couple of seconds – but soon you can see the red faces around you.

Black holes appear in the red faces – open mouths and intense, expectant eyes.

The sand of the ring crackles under your feet and you can smell the horses and the tigers who were just here.

You are wearing a red nose. Your hair is green, your jacket is chequered, your shorts are striped, your socks are purple … and your shoes are over­sized.

Your face is pale yellow and there are black dots around your eyes.

Can they see the hope in my eyes?

Red lipstick covers your mouth. Your smile is painted – it’s not yours.

You start walking towards the audience. You open your arms and wink at them.

They stare back at you.

Stopping in the middle of the ring, you look up and around.

Maybe today I will succeed?

You want them to cry with you tonight.

Try it now!

Slowly you place your left leg in front and tangle it with the right one.

Now!

You fall …

Look at them, they are laughing!

You are crying.

They are still laughing.

You stand up, shake the sand off your pants.

I want to be a bird. I want to fly.

You are flapping with your arms, jumping around, but you fall on your stomach.

Why are they laughing?

This is horrible!

I cannot fly!

The black holes grow larger in the red faces. Tongues fall out as they laugh.

But I want them to cry with me!

You make a handstand, but you fall over again. Somebody pours cold water on you. They kick you on your ass and take away your violin.

The audience laughs while you cry.

My tears are real!

You are whining in the middle of the ring. Huge guffaws echo everywhere. Mayhem!

You can see them: the lazy housewife, the naughty schoolkid, the cheating husband and the mayor – all there sitting in the deluxe tent seats. The mayor’s big belly shakes from laughing.

Startled fear shows in your eyes.

They betrayed me.

No one feels how you feel.

I am tired.

Everybody is clapping. They are cheering, but you have failed.

With dismay you hang your head and see pearls in the dust.

Your tears.

You throw them to the audience, but still they laugh. Saliva drops as red tongues tremble.

You take off your green wig, wipe your sweaty face, tear off your clothes and kick off your shoes. Naked and bald, you run from the ring.

I am a clown and a buffoon. Nothing more. I don’t exist outside this ring.

People can only see me when the circus comes to town.

But you didn’t see the little boy in the third row. The one hanging his head and quietly crying.

ANGEL

Early autumn came. They arrived in the southern Italian town late in the day. At this time of the year there were more locals on the cobbled streets than tourists, but the cafes and restaurants were still open.

The retired Australian couple’s European roots ensured they visited the old continent every year. After Hungary and Scotland, Italy was their third destination. The school year had started and the tourist season had finished. An Indian summer was knocking on the door.

In this Italian town, famous for its abbey, piazza, Roman bridge and stunning cliff-studded coastline, their accommodation was in a four-century old house with a sea-view roof terrace: three levels of massively-built stone history.

On the roof terrace they could hear the noise from the main piazza, just three minutes away. Sometimes they could hear the locals singing, praising the sun: O Sole Mio.

Most days they sat quietly on that piazza, eating pasta or pizza, drinking coffee, enjoying a glass of wine (her)