Vesna’s expression betrayed her dislike for the tale. Worried that the unhappy ending of the story would upset her nephew she decided to find another one, but just then someone knocked on the door.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she persuaded the boy to get up from her lap, and as she put the book on the bookshelf she recalled how much the story had frightened her as a child when her grandmother had read it to her. Those Germans, she thought, rewriting the story like that. Vesna had been translating the story from German to Serbian as she read.
Because she was a bit of a bookworm, Vesna was Queen Draga’s favourite servant.
There were two more knocks, this time more insistent. Pulling a shawl over her shoulders, she hurried to the door, her nephew trailing at her heels as usual. Outside was none other than Radovan, the palace pastry chef, bowing deeply in greeting. He was wearing a pressed suit and his hair was neatly combed. The Radovan who cornered Dragan in the stairwell to tell him about the debauches at The Acorn was nothing like the man now standing before Vesna with the solemnity of a mansion butler.
Cordially, she invited him in.
Though it was a struggle, Dragan managed to put on the clothes that Celal had tossed on the bed. His stomach was growling but he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Celal approaching with a bowl of soup.
“Albanian soup. Chicken, flour, yoghurt. You name it, it’s in there. Normally it has garlic, too, but we wouldn’t want to meet Vesna with garlic on our breath now, would we? Did you know that garlic is quite good for you? I sent a few petitions to the Ministry of Agriculture saying, ‘Dear Minister, we should all eat garlic so that the people of our nation will be strong and vigorous.’ I also wrote an anonymous newspaper article about it but all for naught. Still, it’s always best not to eat garlic before meeting a woman for the first time, especially if she’s the kind that can capture your heart with the ferocity of a vampire.”
Celal sat on the edge of the bed and started feeding the young lieutenant with a crudely carved wooden spoon, filling it with large pieces of chicken and thick yoghurt broth with each scoop. Dragan was so hungry that he didn’t mind the hot soup splashing onto his moustache as he slurped it down. Celal went on:
“Still, it would be wrong to call Vesna a vampire. Then again, for you, every woman is a vampire. You’re a melancholic man, Dragan. People who don’t know how to channel their power, their strength, become melancholic. And when that happens, you fall for every woman who walks into your life. For God’s sake, don’t chew with your mouth open!”
Because he was so concentrated on the soup, Dragan had heard little of what Celal was saying, but those last words sank in. Realizing the strangeness of the situation, Dragan picked up the spoon and, after carefully balancing the bowl on the mattress, quietly continued eating. Celal smiled.
“It tastes good, doesn’t it? All it needs is some garlic… You see, lieutenant, the only solution for people who are born with a tendency to be melancholic is to keep themselves busy. If they don’t, they fall in love as a way to cast off their depression, but when everything collapses they slip back into depression. So what do they do? They fall in love again. It’s an endless cycle. Their depression is unlike other people’s depression, just as their love is unlike others’ love. Unfortunately, heavyhearted people are unsuited to most work. In fact, melancholic people aren’t good for much at all. Even when they do find something to keep themselves busy, it still comes to nothing.”
Leaping up from the bed and nearly toppling over the bowl of soup in the process, Celal walked over to a coat that was hanging from a nail in the wall and took a book out of its pocket.
Rapidly Celal flipped through the pages like he’d read it a hundred of times. When he paused and cocked an eyebrow, Dragan surmised that he’d found what he was looking for.
“Since you’re so prone to melancholy, do you think you can truly do it justice, Red Whiskers?” Celal asked.
He was fond of coming up with nicknames but, although he did so at every opportunity and believed they really hit the mark, none of them ever stuck.
Celal had been through a lot in his young life, and after leaving the attic flat on Skadar Street that day he would be tested by many more challenges in the years to come. But when death drew near he would be hounded by one regret, like a thirst that can never be slaked: the fact that no one ever retold his anecdotes and that his nicknames never stuck.
Dragan ate the last spoonful of soup and then lightly bit the spoon, pondering over the way he found the faint taste of wood so pleasant. After a pause just long enough for his earlier question to fade from Dragan’s mind, Celal started reading aloud from the book:
“You’re like a lighthouse shining beside the sea of humanity, motionless. All you can see is your own reflection in the water. You’re alone, so you think it’s a vast, magnificent panorama. You haven’t sounded the depths. You simply believe in the beauty of God’s creation. But I have spent all this time in the water, diving deep into the howling ocean of life, deeper than anyone. While you were admiring the surface, I saw the shipwrecks, the drowned bodies, the monsters of the deep.”
Dragan sat up, ignoring his aching ribs. A gleam came into his eyes, brought on by both pain and the words he’d just heard. A tear ran down his cheek, washing a bit of chicken from his moustache, which he then started chewing pensively. Still feeling dizzy, he swayed ever so slightly.
Holding on to the table by the bed to steady himself, he murmured, “Alfred deee Mussey.”
“Say his name again.”
“Alfred deee Mussey.”
“I know that you studied French but you have to get the accent right.” Imitating Dragan’s accent, he asked, “Which of Alfred deee Mussey’s plays was that from?”
“Lorenzaccio, captain.”
“Good. Maybe you’re not as stupid as you’d like to be, or perhaps it’s the effect of the soup… I have seen that soup drive soldiers who had wet themselves out of fear to fight for another hour. And not just a few soldiers, but a total of ninety-two. I cooked up the cauldron of soup myself. They tried to write me off as crazy. Crazy! If it had been up to the commanders, they would’ve shot those men for being deserters. But with my soup I saved the country ninety-two bullets and ninety-two brave men. True, I put garlic in that cauldron of soup, whole cloves as big as your thumb. Those piss-pants went on to fight roaring like lions, till they were hacking down the enemy with nothing but their bayonets. If I’d left it up to the commanders, we would have killed those chicken-hearted troops ourselves and we, not the enemy, would have fired those ninety-two bullets. Sure, they died, but they died as heroes.”
One of Dragan’s long eyelashes got in his eye. As he rubbed at it, he asked, “Which battle was that, captain?”
“It was a drill, Dragan. Which battle, ha! What is modern science all about? It’s about arriving at material truths through experience.”
As restless as if a watch inside him had suddenly sprung its gears, Celal started pacing the room, punctuating each sentence he spoke with a sigh.
“Very good, Dragan, very good. The book tells the story of Lorenzo, who killed Alessandro de’ Medici, the Duke of Florence. That’s narrow-minded dukes for you. So full of themselves!”
Tapping the cover of the book, which he’d placed on the table, he leant towards Dragan and said, “Vesna is going to be here in a few minutes. She’s going to ask something of you and you’re going to agree to it. She’s touched by melancholy, just like you. But women’s melancholy is different from men’s. While men try to shake off their depression with love, women close themselves off to it and dedicate themselves to others. As for Vesna, she’s devoted to her mother and especially Queen Draga. You two will get along well. You, young lieutenant, are going to rise up in the ranks. And not only that, my dear Petrovic, you will be a saint just like Saint Peter. We’re going to sculpt your melancholy into a work of art. Both your patriotism and love will be rewarded. You will cast off your depression, and you will h
elp Vesna break free from hers as well. Instead of being devoted to the Queen, she will be dedicated to you and her country. But there are three things you mustn’t forget.”
As if he were following orders, Dragan rose to his feet and, even though he was still holding the soup bowl, he stood at attention.
“Primo, when the time comes, you are going to say this quote from Alfred de Musset: ‘How glorious it is—and also so painful—to be an exception.’ You like that, don’t you? People who are afflicted with melancholy always think they are exceptions. The truth of the matter, however, is that there are no exceptions in life. There’s at least two of everything. But I digress, that’s a topic for another time… Secundo, you will make it seem that you are opposed to the coup. Wait, hear me out. Those who lie for the sake of their country speak the truth. That’s a nice saying, isn’t it? You are going to worm your way into the good graces of the King and Queen. Tertio, wait for news from me.”
Popping open the silver lid of his watch, Celal checked the time. Then he walked backwards with measured steps, drew his sword and placed the tip against Dragan’s neck, drawing a few drops of blood that trickled down the length of the blade. The bowl fell from Dragan’s hand, clattering onto the floor, and a few droplets of the lieutenant’s blood dripped onto the splattered soup.
Celal smiled.
Radovan came into the room, closing the door behind him.
After Vesna nodded in consent, he handed a small box to the child. “It’s raspberry cake. I put in two almond biscuits as well, but save those for later. I made them for the King and Queen last night, and they loved them. The Queen summoned me and said, ‘Radovan, during these bitter times, you manage to sweeten life up.’” After her nephew ran off to the kitchen, Vesna sat down on the divan. Speaking as if delivering a report, Radovan said, “The lieutenant who lives in the attic flat seems to be a good candidate for a guardsman. I’ve been keeping an eye on him since he moved in. Not once has he lost his composure, even when I told him the most impertinent of tales. He’s a quiet, introverted man. He may look like a bit of a weakling but our contacts in the secret police said that he got good marks at the military academy. He’s tough, despite his refinement, and he’s a good, open-minded patriot. He shuns radical ideas and he is fond of reading.”
Vesna adjusted the shawl on her shoulders and motioned for Radovan to sit down. Chin cupped in her hand, she thought for a few moments and said, “Radovan, the Queen trusts you. Did you know that your cakes are the only thing that she doesn’t have her food taster try first? That’s how much she trusts you. Everyone in the palace is on edge. Something’s going on. Do you remember that Apis was at the head of the procession when the King and Queen got married? But these days he goes around calling the Queen filthy names. You see, they can’t remove him from his post because they fear that the army will revolt. That’s why they decided to change the guards, every single one of them. Well, I suppose you know about that already, what am I going on about? I’m so tired, Radovan. If you say he’s a good candidate, so be it. But I should meet this lieutenant first. If he’s as good as you say, let’s take him on as a guard.”
“Actually, there’s more. You mentioned that your nephew needs a tutor. The lieutenant speaks fluent French and he also dabbles in history. He could give French and history lessons to your nephew. But, of course, you should decide after speaking with him.”
Vesna’s face lit up.
“His mother did leave his education in my hands… When can I meet this lieutenant?”
“Now, if you’d like. He should be at home, according to the note a doctor sent to his unit. We could wish him well and talk about the lessons.” Radovan checked his watch. “With your permission, let’s go now while your nephew is in the kitchen.”
“This country of ours must really be in trouble if a pastry chef and a servant are choosing the palace guards.”
For the first time since he had come into the room Radovan’s features softened. Leaning down, he said in hushed tones, “Apis is the head of military intelligence and you are the head of the Queen’s intelligence network. I can say this, my dear Vesna Jevric, because I know both of you. If I were still a gambling man, I’d put all my money on you.”
Vesna laughed and got to her feet.
“Very well, then, let’s go now. I can tell that you are eager to introduce us.”
As they walked towards the door, Radovan said, “There’s one more thing. Apis’s men gave the lieutenant a rather severe beating. That’s why the physician went to see him. At first I was hesitant about taking him on as a guard, but when I found out about that all my doubts vanished. His loyalties are certain to lie with you. It’s good that we’re going to see him now, before Apis’s men get their hands on him again.”
“What’s the lieutenant’s name?”
“Dragan. Dragan Petrovic.”
Dragan hadn’t yet noticed that his blood was trickling down the blade of the sword pressed against his throat. He merely stood there, mouth agape, staring at Celal, who was still smiling. There was a roaring in his ears and his vision was blurry. He gave up on trying to make sense of what was happening.
Dragan was like a piece of wood being tossed hither and thither on a raging sea. He was like the leg of a table that was now nothing more than a stick of firewood, or perhaps the tiny rudder of a forgotten toy boat that had broken into pieces. His meaningless, piteous life had taken a preposterous turn and he was helpless in the face of it all.
When Radovan and Vesna reached the top of the stairs, they found the door ajar. Radovan nudged it open with his foot.
Celal was standing in a dramatic pose, blood dripping down the blade of his sword, which was still pressed against Dragan’s throat. Vesna screamed.
As Radovan charged at him, Celal murmured, “Right on time.”
At that moment Dragan did the most sensible thing, given the situation in which he found himself: he fainted.
10
The Death of a Corpse
“I WAS EXPECTING to get arrested but I never thought that I’d be here for two whole days, Colonel. For a moment I was worried that the uprising would start devouring its own children before it even got started, just like Saturn, which would have upset me, naturally. Not out of concern for myself, you understand, but because it would’ve been a sign that the uprising had failed. History shows that uprisings start with a spirit of solidarity, but custom dictates that once they have achieved success they devour their children. An uprising that breaks with custom cannot be a true uprising. Nothing good can be expected of an uprising that doesn’t lead to revolution…
“At least that’s what I learnt at the military academy in France.
“In any case, I see now that you don’t think I was planning to overthrow you and, in fact, you weren’t planning on devouring me. And you were right on both counts. Primo, I don’t think that I would be very tasty. Secundo, I don’t have my sights set on anyone’s position. Tertio, it would have been a bit perfidious given that I’d just succeeded in setting the lieutenant on the path to becoming a guard at the palace.”
Apis sat there listening to Celal, looking at him disdainfully. “I wonder if it’s really a good idea to bring in the new king from France,” he said. “I can only hope that he’s not a rubbish-spouting babbler like you. Fuck off, captain. And your Saturn and Jupiter, too, for that matter. Don’t go around shouting your head off, someone will hear you. What did you think you were doing, spouting off about plans for an uprising like a blathering pimp from Paris in the courtyard of the damn military prison!” Grabbing Celal by the arm and standing on tiptoes, Apis pushed his nose close to his face and growled, “Captain, watch yourself. Watch yourself very closely. Everyone’s expendable, especially uppity types like you. With a single look I can fuck you over so bad that you’ll think you’ve been buggered by a porcupine. Pray for two things. Pray that the French end of the uprising holds together and that Karageorgevic comes through. We need him.”
&nbs
p; After settling back on his heels, Apis loosed his grip on Celal’s arm and then let go completely. As he headed towards the exit of the military prison with Celal in tow, two soldiers at the gate saluted him. After hesitating for a moment, the soldier on the right broke his salute and opened the gate. Apis and Celal stepped into a gleaming carriage waiting outside.
“Colonel, what’s the second thing I should pray for?”
“Isn’t that enough, Celal Bey? Are you really serious about being part of the Serbian army? To all appearances you’ve done well in taking on your role. You can speak openly here. The driver can’t hear us.”
“That’s all fine but what’s the second issue? If the soldiers on patrol are loyal to the King and Queen, we won’t get all of the intelligence we need because they won’t talk to anyone from the resistance.”
The ends of Apis’s moustache quivered ever so slightly as he exhaled through his nose.
“I was going to say that you should pray for sunny weather. Everyone knows that fine weather puts me in good spirits. Just like everyone else, the soldiers at the prison are loyal to me and our mission, not to that whore or her errand-boy king. If they’re going to stay loyal, they have to see me being hard on new recruits like you.”
“I think we’re clear on that. Even I was convinced. But how are you going to convince Vesna that I’ve been dismissed?”
“That’s easy. You wounded a low-ranking lieutenant, a crime that falls under the military’s jurisdiction. Since I’m the head of military intelligence, there are various measures I can take. Demotion, a salary cut, an official warning, and so on. They all fit the bill. And after the superb show you put on we had no trouble getting the lieutenant signed on as a guard. He started work the very next day. Well done, Celal Bey. You found the right man for the job, convinced him to take it on, and secured Vesna’s trust in him, meaning the Queen’s trust. But that’s the end of it. Of course, you understand that we cannot let it be known that a Turk was involved in the uprising. You did your job. When our mutual friend sent you to us, I had a lot of doubts but he held up his end of the deal. And so will we.”
The Peace Machine Page 9