by Evald Flisar
‘I assume that’s something in Romany. Or at least a language that’s not on the school curriculum. So don’t be offended if I don’t know what you’re trying to say. Or perhaps I do. Possibly, you’re trying to tell me in a roundabout way that we must seek the causes of your peculiarities – and the troublesome presence of this corpse – in the fact that you have different blood in your veins and grew up in a different environment. Of course, someone will immediately accuse me of racism or chauvinism, so let’s avoid that for now. Perhaps we can reach the agreement we seek along a different path. What do you say? Will you help me?’
Janek said nothing.
‘Of course not. I’ll have to do it on my own. It’s a good job that I’ve already done half the work.’ He once more pulled the papers from his pocket and went through them. ‘I won’t use the word Roma. I’ll use the word gypsy, which is widely used in this area. Even the priest uses it. Here I have notes on the priest’s opinion regarding the characteristics of the minority that you belong to. May I read it out?’
Janek said nothing.
‘“The gypsy does not control his own nature, he constantly undermines himself and his principles. But he does this spontaneously, without evil intent. If he promises to come tomorrow to help with the harvest the promise is a serious one. But the next day it might happen that he doesn’t come. If anyone accused him of lying they would be unjust, for when he swore he would come his intention was firm. But since the previous day much has changed. The sun has gone down, the moon has sailed across the sky, the sun has risen again, the wind has blown. And the gypsy thinks with the weather, he moves in the way that nature moves. His forebears’ traditions reach back a thousand years, controlling him and his blood. His actions are dependent on coincidence, on the moment. There is nothing in the world that the gypsy clings to or completes.”’
He folded the paper and returned it to his pocket.
‘With one exception. Murder.’
Janek sat calmly on the floor and said not a word.
‘Believe it or not,’ continued the judge, ‘I also visited one of your professors. I’m nothing if not thorough! It’s in my blood. He told me a great deal about you, much more than I’d expected. “Professor, this university stinks, I don’t want to be documented.” That was what you said to him when you came to your exam and refused to answer any of his questions. He didn’t drive you away, as I would have done if you’d tried anything that stupid with me. He was even friendly towards you. Do you remember his words? Of course not, how could you, if your head was already full of different ideas?’
Once more, he looked through the papers he drew from his pocket.
‘“You’re a very independent young man, a very rebellious young man, and I like that, I must admit … but a slightly more realistic view of the world would serve you better. You’ll have to eat, you’ll have a family … do you intend to leave university? What will you do, chop firewood, make bricks, sell newspapers? Climb over this barrier and when your future is guaranteed you can concern yourself with such thoughts as much as you like. Don’t let your feelings lead you to make the wrong decision.”’
He replaced the papers in his pocket.
‘That’s what your professor said. But you went your own way. The uncut umbilical cord drew you back. The call of your blood was stronger than your desire to flee from this archaic world, to grow up, to become one of us, to avoid the darkness and embrace the light. Why? Everyone was friendly towards you, everyone wanted to help you, in three years you’d be able to go around doing my job, asking the kind of questions that I must now ask you. We investigating judges are the advanced guard of a civilised society; we are entrusted with the task of cutting through the dark layer of concealment and silence beneath which flows a sick, parallel life, and to bring all that hides in the murky underground to the surface, the light, the sun. You were on the way, you had a goal. What pulled you back? What would the world be like if we all dwelled in the darkness in which you sought refuge?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Janek. ‘Better?’
‘Your Ljubljana friend, who signs her letters, “always your Daria”, reduced the concept of eternity to a more manageable timescale. In the interview I conducted with her she showed clearly that she regretted all the energy she invested in your relationship. But the relationship was an intense one, at least from her point of view, of that there’s no doubt. From your side, perhaps a little less. In short, we’re back where we should perhaps have stopped.’
Again he pulled out a letter from the pile: ‘“Your face is unusual, striking. I’m sure you must have been ugly when you were younger, for somewhere behind your current expression lie those features and they even sometimes leap to the foreground. Some kind of suffering gave you a disguise. That disguise is good-looking, people say, but there is hatred lurking beneath, violent hatred. That’s the impression I get. Your face is more frightening than handsome. It fills me with horror. Because it is cruel. Maybe that’s why women chase you. Have you thought of that? Do you feel hatred inside?”’
Janek got up and took a step towards the judge. ‘That letter was addressed to me. Where did you get it?’
‘So, you’re speaking at last.’
‘My personal things can be seized only with a warrant. Do you have one?’
‘I’m an investigating judge, I can write one.’
‘You can’t. Even after only two years of study you learn what is in accordance with the law and what isn’t. Besides which, I burned all my letters – where did you get something that no longer exists?’
‘A great mystery, eh? Even greater than the murder we are investigating. But it will be easier for the two of us together, don’t you think? We’ll get to the bottom of things more quickly.’
‘Some things don’t have a bottom.’
‘You mean things in the past?’ The judge drew the papers from his pocket once more. ‘“If I knew your past very closely I could tell you why you are probably not responsible for some of your actions. You’re ruled by your instincts, you live in the past, where your reason cannot reach. Your reason is limited and explicit. But the past you carry inside you is very strong. You are not aware that you react now as you reacted in the past … You were created by events. Nothing is as important for someone’s state of mind as what he experienced in childhood.”’
‘You’ve no idea … ’
‘That’s true, so help me. I don’t want to accuse you unfairly. It’s a terrible thing when someone goes to prison for something he hasn’t done.’
‘She seemed beautiful to me. Daria in Ljubljana. Whenever I looked at her I felt satisfied. I always had the feeling that I had won some kind of victory. That something good had happened.’
‘I understand … ’
‘She spoke to me in a simple way, without emphasis. As if we’d known each other for a long time. I got the feeling she was honest, that I could trust her. I needed that. I was alone. The city was very foreign.’
‘A common feeling.’
‘She visited me and spent whole afternoons. As soon as she came she stripped naked and walked about the room, lay in various poses, reading or talking with me. And the whole time I was forced to look at her nakedness. I was agitated, but after a week had passed, I got used to it. And then she said I had to get used to my own nakedness, and to her seeing me naked.’
‘And?’
‘Again, we spent whole afternoons sitting around in the room. Naked. And we watched each other. Then she said the time had come for … And so we … and stopped immediately.’
‘Couldn’t you do it?’
‘I wanted to, desperately, but something … I crawled into a corner and started trembling. Out of fear, out of horror. I liked her, but … she wasn’t the right one.’
‘Not the right one?’
‘No.’
‘She wasn’t it, the first one. The first and only one. The one in the past. From which you cannot escape. Who drags you back and pushes an axe in
to your hand so that you can chop down a centuries-old chestnut tree. And then a knife to stab the man who was in your way … Why was he in your way?’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
The judge found another letter and read out: ‘“There’s only one way. Your strange behaviour, your loathing arises from fear of sexuality. Why, I don’t know. So I suggest we try. We make love. Perhaps with me you’ll find that your fear, which you first experienced with your mother, is unjustified.”’
Janek slowly sank to his knees.
‘Are we getting close?’ asked the judge, leaning over him.
‘On the evening of some morning or other, the wind once more smells of distant places,’ recited Janek, staring into the distance. ‘But I did not reach even the lower branches of the green chestnuts, and to this isolated house of God I have come to pray, although the altar is so empty, there are no saints, no angels, no virgin with a spotless halo, only a confessional; I kneel before it and wait at least for the small shadow from the wood to slide towards my grille, for me to admit: I have sinned, for I did not believe that the roots of the green chestnut trees are centuries-old; because I did not believe that the grass mates, loves and leaves like people, but never dies, only sleeps in the winter; and I did not believe that the sun can split into two smaller spheres, which sparkle in the emptiness and, somewhere out there, shine on. The shadow will never reach my grille, for all eternity I am confessing only to myself beneath the cupola of the chestnuts, and again on the evening of some morning or other, when the wind once more smells of distant places, only he has the sky in his eyes and the grass and the woods, only he perhaps knows that my green refuge is not a white figure with a scythe on its shoulder.’
The judge lit a cigarette.
‘My dear Janek Hudorovec, since time is precious and since it is a sin for us to argue on this heavenly day, and since this case is crystal clear, I’d advise you to come to an understanding with me. What do you say?’
Janek said nothing, so the judge raised his voice.
‘I arrived at nine and now it’s two. I know everything about you, from the top of your head to your little toe. Let’s come to an agreement: either you answer the questions or these two gentlemen will put you in the car and take you to prison. Whoever ends up there will have a hard time, as sure as I’m an investigating judge.’
‘I’ve said all there is to say.’
‘You told a story that even your own father wouldn’t believe.’
‘He certainly wouldn’t.’
‘I’ll tell you what you did. First, you came here intending to slaughter him.’
‘I made my plan ten years ago, when he pulled my ear.’
‘Second, you quarrelled.’
‘We pulled each other’s hair and stuck our tongues out.’
‘Third, during your quarrel you smashed everything in sight.’
‘With an axe.’
‘Fourth, you attacked him with a knife and plunged it into his heart!’
‘I banged it into his chest with a hammer.’
‘When he was dead, you pulled the knife out to fit with your little story! And then you crouched over the body all night, just to convince us – who you think are blind – that everything is just as it should be. Is that how it was?’
Janek said nothing; he was slumped on the floor, weak and flabby.
‘Of course it was. But I want you to tell me yourself. To my face: Yes, I killed him.’
Janek said nothing.
‘For the last time: answer, or I’ll have to get rough!’ He grabbed Janek by the shoulder. ‘Come on lad!’
‘Have you ever looked into the mirror?’ Janek asked, staring into the judge’s eyes.
The judge moved back in astonishment. ‘Looked into – the what?’
‘I did so last night. I wanted to see. Sadly, too late. For it happened that … I didn’t see myself. I didn’t see my face. I saw a large black stone. It glittered like, it glittered like … ’ He desperately sought a simile, but couldn’t find one, so he called out in agony: ‘Arrrgh! It glittered … glit … gli … ’ he began to choke, gasped and was then silent for a moment. ‘There above it, in the sky, I saw two planets. Close together. And now I know. Most people live on one, I on the other.’
The judge stared at him for some moments, then he straightened up. ‘It’s clear that you are very confused.’
‘My head is as clear as a crystal.’
‘Crystals are not clear, they are cloudy.’ He went over to the priest. ‘Father, please repeat what you told me earlier.’
The priest hesitated. ‘It doesn’t seem … it doesn’t seem exactly necessary.’
‘I decide what is necessary and what is not. Did this young man turn vehemently against you and accuse you of peddling old wives’ tales?’
‘That is not important.’
‘During questioning, you told me,’ continued the judge, ‘and it is written down, Father, that Hudorovec had undergone a change. He wounded you with his gross ingratitude. He slipped from your heart. If I am asking you to repeat that, why are you hesitating?’
The priest said nothing.
At this point, the judge moved over to a figure that had been hiding in the furthest corner:
‘Aranka Hudorovec.’
‘Sir Judge!’ Aranka raised her tear-stricken face.
‘Are you going to answer my questions?’
Aranka nodded.
‘How long have you been having sexual relations with your son?’
‘Oh, Sir Judge, I don’t remember.’
‘Ten years! You told me already, I have it written down.’
‘Ten?’
‘What about with the deceased, Geder? How long?’
Aranka’s tears flowed freely. ‘With Lojz? With Lojz, five years.’
‘You hid your relationship with Geder from your son?’
‘I did.’
‘Why?’
‘I was afraid he’d do something to him!’
‘That your son might harm Geder?’
Aranka nodded.
‘The day before yesterday you came here. You found them quarrelling. You son attacked Geder with a chair. Is that correct?’
Aranka nodded silently.
‘And what did you do yesterday?’
‘Yesterday?’ Aranka raised her head.
‘You told him you’d been sleeping with Geder!’
Aranka bowed her head. ‘I did.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m with child!’ she shrieked. She put her hands on her stomach and then pointed to Geder’s corpse. ‘With him! He’s the father!’
Janek jumped up. ‘She’s lying! It’s not true!’
With pleading eyes he turned to his mother. ‘Mum?’
‘It’s true, son,’ whimpered Aranka.
The investigating judge approached Janek. ‘So now we know why you stabbed him.’
‘With that … that … frog-breeder?’
Janek tried to throw himself at his mother, but the police officers restrained him. ‘With that … dead slime? Nooo! Say it isn’t true!’
Aranka shouted in despair: ‘It’s true, Janek, forgive me!’
With a sudden violent jerk Janek was free of the two police officers and standing in the middle of the room. He picked up the chestnut-leaf crown and put it on his head. He spun round. He raised his arms and shouted: ‘Melalo! I’m ready! Let the golden toad come! Let him spray me with grey saliva! Let him close my eyes! Play and I will dance! I will dance three wild dances!’
He waited. Nothing happened.
There was complete silence in the room.
Janek bent over, then slid to the floor, groaning. Then he grabbed the crown and started to beat it like a madman, foaming at the mouth, making gargling noises. He only stopped when he was out of breath.
Aranka ran to him with a shriek and clung to him but Janek pushed her to the floor. ‘Get away from me!’ He went closer to the body and looked at it for some time
. Then he looked at his mother, whose eyes were downcast. Finally, he sank on the floor next to Geder’s corpse.
The judge slowly approached him. ‘Well, Janek? Will you tell us?’
‘I killed him,’ replied Janek, quietly.
‘You killed him,’ said the judge after a short pause. ‘Now please tell everyone here present what you did. Get up!’
Janek obeyed him mechanically. The judge turned him to face Aranka and then the priest. ‘Say it.’
‘I killed him,’ said Janek again.
‘Once more.’
‘I killed him,’ yelled Janek, as if out of his mind.
The judge gestured to the police officers. They took positions on either side of Janek, and led him out. He did not resist. He did not look at anyone, not even his mother. The judge reached for his hat, briefcase and jacket.
He gave a friendly smile. ‘Everything’s in order.’
He raised his hat and went out the door.
Light …
Why was that, actually? That he never saw anyone … Daria, for example? He saw her, but was unaware that he was seeing her. He did not sense it.
And now he remembered clearly.
Shades. Her walk.
That walk … He could find no words for it.
But he remembered clearly. An even, light, thoughtful walk … And her face. Her grey eyes. Sparse eyebrows. Eyelashes. Her forehead, which she would crease. Smooth hair that hung straight down. Cut. And her face was pale, always pale. Except when she blushed … That happened rarely.
She knew how to control herself.
If they walked together, she always took his hand. That was her habit. And her V-neck jumpers … Her bones protruded below her neck. Her breastbone. And breasts … she had large breasts. But otherwise, she was petite. And why did this woman now feel close to him?
He hears the priest’s voice. His monotone, muffled voice.
And perhaps his features shine through the mist, his wide, rounded forehead, his sharp nose, his double chin, the paleness of his face. And his walk. He liked walking around the room when he spoke. With his hands behind his back. He stopped here or there, and then walked again.