Special Feature: The Stories of Sandor Jaszberenyi

Sándor Jászberényi

I was born a feral beast.

At the time of my birth, I tore my mother apart. It wasn’t on purpose. I think the circumstances caused it. There was a lot of blood in the hospital room.

My father, who gutted animals as part of his occupation, couldn’t bear to look.

He needed two dark beers and two shots of liquor to quiet the horror inside him.

Sándor Jászberényi: Banana Split

With the leftover beer I washed down two pills. I took Xanax to help me sleep. The first few weeks it worked, but as time passed, I had to take more and more.

Sándor Jászberényi: Somewhere on the Border

The Gaza border crossing was out in the desert. Low brown hills rose on the horizon, the air above them appearing to quiver with the wind-blown sands. On the Palestinian side there stood a lone café, built with one side open.

Sándor Jászberényi: The Majestic Clouds

Around noon the black clouds appear seemingly from nowhere. Majestic clouds, thick and dark. They hang in the center of the sky like mirages. They appear contemplative, reaching toward the horizon, their color not much different from tar.

Sándor Jászberényi: The Devil is a Black Dog

The moon rose high above the town, illuminating the clouds, the apartment buildings, and the hills beyond in a red glow. The air was cool, like it was every evening in the hills.

Sándor Jászberényi: Professional Killers

We were lying among the trees in the yard. The sweet smell of fruit was everywhere. Bees and wasps buzzed above our heads. The sun dug its way through the leaves and warmed us through our clothing; it was a good feeling.

Sandor Jaszberenyi: The Blake Precept

I was in Abeche, Chad. I was supposed to fly to ‘Djamena, but two days before my departure the Habub descended. It came savagely from above Darfur, and under the orders of the UN, all flights were cancelled for safety reasons.