By Marek Hłasko
"Blowtorch of a singular . . . matchless and prescient."—Publishers Weekly
"Spokesman if you happen to have been indignant and beat . . . turbulent, temperamental, and tortured."—The manhattan Times
"A self-taught author with an uncanny reward for narrative and discussion . . . a born insurgent and troublemaker of giant charm."—Roman Polanski
In this novel of breathtaking stress and sweltering love, determined associates at the fringe of the law—one of them difficult and gutsy, the opposite small and scared—travel to the southern Israeli urban of Eilat to discover paintings. There, Dov Ben Dov, the good-looking local Israeli with a name for inflicting difficulty, and Israel, his sidekick, stick with Ben Dov's lately married more youthful brother, Little Dov, who has adequate hassle of his personal. neighborhood toughs are encroaching on Little Dov's enterprise, and he enlists his older brother to force them away. It doesn't aid appealing German widow named Ursula is rooming round the corner. What follows is a narrative of ardour, deception, violence, and betrayal, all conveyed in hardboiled prose equivalent to Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler, with a cinematic type that will make Humphrey Bogart and Marlon Brando eco-friendly with envy.
Marek Hlasko, referred to as the James Dean of jap Europe, was once exiled from Communist Poland and spent his lifestyles wandering the globe. He died in 1969 of an overdose of alcohol and dozing drugs in Wiesbaden, Germany.
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Extra resources for All Backs Were Turned
But Tani takes care of her feet. Exactly how Mr. Slavia asked her to. Sometimes it looks like she's sleeping. He's underneath her. The big leather couch had been lifted up and equipped with steps. Mr. Slavia spends close to an hour licking her feet. As for the rest, he does it in his hand, all alone. Each time she hears him moaning, Tani feels some- THE CHERRY PRINT TIGHTS thing move underneath her stomach. She has be careful not to squeeze her thighs together because he told her not to. She wonders if Joshua has fallen asleep on the other side of the partition, in his bowl of semolina.
Slavia to serve as intermediary between her and the former jockey who lives alone on the other side of the pier. Who the fishermen found, half-burned, floating in the open sea, his chest, or what was left of it, wrapped in a harness. An odd character the inquiry will say. It had been necessary to amputate it after a bad fall. He'd refused all artificial limbs. And on the end of his wooden leg, he had himself nailed a horseshoe. As he grew older, he'd become mad. He thought he was a horse. Came to prowl in the projects at night.
When she happened to speak, her voice was almost childish. Each day she went over the space of the missing part of her life. The accident didn't matter much to her. However, she rarely made a fire. She simply put newspaper under her clothes. Surrounded her legs with it, 45 PALLAKSCH, PALLAKSCH her enormous legs. She never stopped this continuous monologue, turned towards the old bitch that followed her everywhere. Both seemed to be tormented by an incessant activity, their mouths constantly open; as soon as night fell, chewing, grinding, kneading food, gulping spectacular amounts of products, hour after hour where they were shut up.