By Rowan Johnson
Like Yahweh, it is a name almost too sacred to be spoken in jest. Even though it is just a small, roadside motel, Dinu whispers it reverently every time he tells me how great it is: Yawedor. Here we have Bhagavad Gita in every room.
In the morning, Dinu wears shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, and his wife serves chai tea and beetroot juice in the tiny lobby. Later, Dinu prunes the trees and pulls out weeds from the spotless parking lot with his bare hands. He changes into a turban and brown chino pants to mow the grass. Then he packs the mower away neatly and asks, why not bring your wife here from New Haven? Yawedor is a very great hotel. Here we have many cameras, he says, pointing to the roof. The all-seeing eyes of Yawedor.
In the afternoon, Dinu wears an office shirt, tracksuit pants, sandals, and bright purple gloves to trim the hedges. His shirt is inside out and bears the faded logo of the hotel itself. Yawedor, written on his shirt backwards, just like the bright neon sign that shines through the office window like a prism.
In the evening, Dinu wears a dark suit and he opens the gate to show me the spices in the back garden. He says, why don’t you play horseshoes and make some steaks on the grill? Here we have firewood. Here you can listen to music. Here is cardamom, like in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. He leaves and drives a black Cadillac full of Jewish guests in velvet suits and yarmulkes, on their way to a bar mitzvah in New Haven. Shine on, you crazy diamonds. I am left alone at Yawedor.
In the garden, the rain comes and goes. The sun burns down and then is eclipsed by cold clouds. The wind blasts through the trees and suddenly it is still. I forgot to make the steaks, and now the rain has drowned the firewood.
Summer in Connecticut is a Pink Floyd song. Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain. Got to keep my eyes from the circling skies. Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earthbound misfit, I.
They say the all-seeing eye on the Dark Side of the Moon album is about the prophecy of how Yahweh would destroy Babylon. I finish the night with Eclipse, again left with only ambivalence toward humanity, toward the world in general.
Yawedor will be here tomorrow. Maybe Dinu will be also, reminding us of the solemn truth once again: today we are shorter of breath, one day closer to death. There is no dark side of the moon, really. Matter of fact, it’s all dark.