The Collector of Names

by Miha Mazzini

  Or maybe he did? Those bastards with names were capable of anything. Somehow, Raf could have found out how his nameless schoolfriend had been stealing money from his parent's bar for years, hiding it in his sewn-on pocket and buying his classmates’ friendship. He could see it now: he had been trying to buy a name for himself.

  A name! A name!

  He got up and started walking towards the door.

  "Alfonz!"

  Raf was saying something, calling somebody?

  "Alfonz!"

  Who? One of his own again? Those with names.

  "ALFONZ!"

  He would not stop shouting.

  "HEY!"

  Raf pulled Alfonz's sleeve.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Out."

  "Are you alright? You look a bit strange."

  "Yeah, yeah."

  You just go ahead calling that Alfonz and leave me alone, thought Alfonz. What could be wrong with me? Nothing, I just haven't got a name, he thought and walked out. Apart from Raf, nobody noticed.

  Alfonz stopped in the hall and looked around.

  Earlier, there had been a boy around there, also without a name. Actually, he did have one now. But it was not his.

  He put his hands on his head and took a deep breath.

  His memory of the boy from the cellar was very faint and foggy. The only thing Alfonz knew for certain was that the boy did not open his mouth when he talked.

  Alfonz went outside and looked at the moon. Another name. He walked across the meadow, reciting names. Everybody had one, everybody. And he, who had spent four years (four years!) stealing money from the drawer behind the bar, did not have one. The risks he had taken, the suffering! He had only been able to spend the money on drink or food or to give it away. Nothing that would last. There was no way he could have used the money to buy a pair of jeans, as his mother would start asking him what he had paid for them with. That was why he had been going around in those rags for the past four years in spite of having all that money. Oh, how he hated those corduroy trousers and that bloody shirt! Oh, that was the end, the end! Never again, never!

  He took a knife out of his pocket and opened it. He dragged the blade along the stitches on his thigh and the first holes appeared. Blood started coming out of some of them.

  Enough was enough! He wanted to be like all the others! First he wanted the right clothes and then a name! Yes!

  Faster and faster, with longer and longer sweeps he kept cutting off his trousers. They fell off him piece by piece and each one of them hurt. No wonder, he had been wearing them for such a long time! They had become a part of his body, his skin and what he was doing was not undressing, it was sloughing off. More, an operation! He would cut out his brown corduroy trousers!

  Yes! Yes! Yes!

  Cut! Cut! Cut!

  It had to bleed, that was nothing to worry about. Whenever an infected wound is being cleaned it bleeds, so why should he not be bleeding?

  He would cut off his shirt, too!

  And his y-fronts! He must not forget those! He had to cut off everything old!

  *

  Max was still in one of his rare good moods.

  "Hey," he said to Samo, "didn't Alfonz say something about a birthday?"

  "Yes, tomorrow."

  "It must be tomorrow now."

  "It is."

  "Let's surprise him."

  Raf listened and made a firm decision to stop any practical joke the other two might come up with.

  Surprisingly, it seemed as if Max was not up to one of his usual tricks.

  "Let's do what they do in American films," he said. "Let's turn off the light and wait for Sad Alfonz. When he comes in, we turn on the light and shout SURPRISE! What do you say?"

  "Alright," nodded Samo.

  "Good, I think it'll make him happy. He looked a bit sad earlier, before he went out," agreed Raf. "Even more than usual."

  "We're all agreed than?"

  "Yeah."

  "Yeah."

  "Raf, you're the nearest to the switch, move your chair and turn the light off. Did you understand? We wait and when you hear his steps you turn on the light and we all shout at the top of our voices. Is that clear? Go on, turn it off."

  Raf did as he was told. They sank into a complete, all embracing darkness.

  "He's not a bad guy, that Alfonz, even though he's a bit of a peasant," Max went on being nice in the dark and Raf thought he must be really pissed – he had never seen him like that before.

  "Let's call him," added Max and started shouting.:

  "SAD ALFOOOOOOOOOONZ!!!"

  "SAD ALFOOOOOOOOOONZ!!!"

  "SAD ALFOOOOOOOOOONZ!!!"

  *

  "SAD ALFOOOOOOOOOONZ!!!"

  They're calling somebody again, decided Alfonz, still waving his knife in the air while striding around the meadow in front of the house.

  They are up to something again, those guys with names.

  He stopped and became very sad.

  That was how they had called him once, too. Sad, they used to say he was sad. What else could he be, what with his guilt because of the stolen money eating away at him all the time? During school lessons he would be wondering whether his parents had found him out yet. He imagined the reception he would get. He would be walking home, see the village - would he know immediately that he had been found out? Did everybody in the village already know about his sins? How could he be happy with all that on his mind?

  And anyway, how could anybody without a name ever be happy?

  That was what those shouting in the house were thinking. But what did they know about darkness, woods, fear and the pain of those who were different? What did they know! Nothing! Nothing!

  Shouting, that was the only thing they could do.

  He would show them that even the nameless could be happy. Those pushed away, the outsiders could enter with a smile. Break with the past and change. Start again!

  With a never-ending smile.

  He went over to the window of one of the rooms, which was in darkness, and had a look at his face in the glass. Whoever he was, he really did look sad. It was time for laughter, like the laughter Max, Samo and Raf were capable of. Mouth wide open in joyfulness.

  He would laugh and join them. They would accept him as one of their own.

  Those who laugh are always popular.

  Looking at himself in the mirror, he took his bottom lip and pulled it with all his strength. Then he cut it off with one single sweep of his knife.

  There, that was better.

  He tried holding his top lip but it kept escaping from his fingers, slimy with blood. He tried a few more times,

  - they were still shouting from time to time in the house; he said: I'm coming, I'm coming, but they probably did not hear him, just the glass in front of him got sprayed with tiny red droplets -

  and then he realised that that was not the way to do it. He would swap hands. He was able to get a good grip on his lip with his right hand, but his left hand was not quite so adept with the knife and he had to create his smile in stages.

  He tried to wipe the drops off the glass with the palm of his hand to see himself better, but all he did was make it even messier. He decided to bend over and look at himself in the corner of the window pane which had no blood on it yet.

  Excellent.

  "SAD ALFOOOOOOOOOONZ!!!"

  "No more, no more," he spat on his image again and added: "I'm coming, I'm coming."

  *

  "He's coming," whispered Max, "get ready."

  Raf too could hear steps in the hall.

  "I'm ready," he said.

  "Shhhhhh" came from the other side of the darkness through which a few shapes were just beginning to become visible.

  The steps halted in front of the door. Raf had his finger on the switch, waiting. Outside the crickets sang, he could hear his heart beating in his ears and his own breathing sounded very loud.

  Hey, he said to himself, this is a pleasant surpr
ise, not an ambush. There is no need to feel worried.

  The door opened a little.

  Alfonz was surprised by the darkness. A ribbon of moonlight stole into the room.

  Then Alfonz opened the door fully. Raf saw the outline of the shadow with a gentle light behind it and there was something strange about it.

  He needed time to think, to take a good look.

  "Come on," hissed Max from the right.

  Raf switched on the light.

  All three shouted simultaneously from the bottom of their lungs just before the light came on fully:

  "SURPRISE!!!!!!"

  *

  Aco was resting at the junction. Below him shone the lights in the campsite: a few lamps, in two rows with tents under them. The receptionist was reading the newspaper.

  Peace and quiet. Normality. A glimpse into another world.

  Maybe he would find something similar at the villa and the boys would call him a senile old lunatic. Let it be so, he said.

  5

  That's what they're like, realised Alfonz with disappointment. You come to them with a smile on your face and they still don't accept you. They scream, shriek and cover their eyes. They move away from you and one of them, that Max, even throws up. That's what they're like. He told them he only changed because of them and they rejected him in spite of that.

  How they had disappointed him! Cut right into his heart.

  That's what they’re like.

  They had hurt him.

  Enough was enough, he would not stand for it any longer. Enough was enough.

  They had no respect for him or his property. They did not even look where they trod, running around like headless chickens. They had knocked his rucksack over. How did they think he would get to his name without his rucksack, without proper tools?

  Everything came out, the pliers, the axe, everything. They trampled on the fuses. What a lovely name those had: 1,5A. What he would not give for a name like that!

  Was it possible that they were just clumsy? No, no, they were evil and wicked!

  All of them.

  He picked up the axe and looked around the dining room.

  There was nobody there. They had left him on his own. Is that how a friend should be treated?

  "Where are you?" he shouted, surprised to see the spray of red droplets filling the air, "Yoo hoo, where are you?"

  They were hiding. His last hope. Maybe they were playing with him, maybe they were not wicked after all?

  "Yoo hoo, where are you?"

  He looked past the table lying on its side and saw Samo, cowering on the floor with his head between his shoulders.

  Slowly Alfonz reached with his hand over the edge of the table, coming closer and closer to the shoulder. But before he touched it a few thick drops fell off his fingers and onto the white T-shirt.

  Samo looked up.

  "Tag, you're it!" said Alfonz in a friendly manner, covering the face in front of him with blood.

  Samo screamed, jumped up, pushed Alfonz away and ran towards the door.

  They're pushing me away, thought Alfonz. They don't want to play, they're shoving me away just as they've been doing for years. The new wave of fury was not like the quickly extinguished flash of the previous ones, this one grabbed him and would not let go of him.

  "Samo, Samo, I'm coming," he said and went out.

  Really, he may be angry but he was fair, too.

  "I know, Samo," he said, "I know, you're not completely bad. There's something good in you too."

  *

  Raf was hiding behind the kitchen door, listening. At first he did not know what the strange bubbling noises were and it was only after Samo's screaming and escape that he realised what Alfonz was saying and that frightened him even more.

  What had happened? Suddenly and without any reason his friend had changed into a madman, who first mutilated himself and was now after them.

  Raf felt nauseous and he had to use all his self-control to stop himself vomiting.

  Where was Max? Raf had not really noticed him in the panic but he had a vague idea that he had run out. So, was Raf alone in the house?

  Slowly he tiptoed to the window and looked out.

  Alfonz walked right in front of him and Raf nearly screamed.

  He had not seen him, he was looking for Samo.

  Raf looked towards the shed and he thought Samo could be there.

  And that was exactly where Alfonz went.

  *

  Samo grabbed the door handle and flexed his muscles. From the first time he had lifted a weight he had always believed that the strength he was trying to build would come in very handy one day. If all the loose ends in one's life did not get tied up at some point, would there be any sense in it all?

  He had never thought he would need his strength to escape a lunatic. But this was for real, a fight for survival that only the strongest would win. So many times he had said: there is no mercy. They had been sitting in a bar, the sun shining, that strange thing which throws a different light on everything and which now seemed beyond reach; anyway, they had been sitting in a bar and he had said: fight for survival. Stay alive. Without mercy. And now his words had become reality. And they lay heavily on his stomach.

  I mustn't let up, he said to himself.

  I mustn't!

  With both hands he held the door handle on the inside of the shed where he had hidden, feeling his strength spreading upwards from his wrists, elbows, biceps, across his shoulders and into his back. There was no force which could tear those hands away from that handle! Mad Alfonz could hammer on the door all he liked, he would never get in.

  His confidence started to grow slowly, making him more optimistic.

  Maybe Alfonz would not even find him? Did he go somewhere else, to catch somebody else? Max, he was the one who had got them into this shit. Where the hell was Max? And Raf, the clumsy Raf? He had probably fallen somewhere and was now lying there, moaning.

  Strength, strength in his muscles.

  How big they were, bulging in the light of the moon.

  It was too light, too light. He looked back and saw that the back wall of the shed had long ago fallen down and blackberries grew in between the planks of wood. Alfonz was slowly coming nearer through the bushes, seemingly unfazed by the thorns.

  *

  Alfonz said:

  "Samo, I'll be honest with you. You're not all bad, at least you weren't bad to me. But the time of reckoning has come.

  I only want what everybody wants: to know what's good and bad in a friend. When we see what there's more of in you, then we can decide what to do with you.

  When I remember school, the first thing that springs to mind is the day when you kicked me in the changing room. With your right foot, so that foot is bad. Don't shout and deny it now, you should have thought of it then. And that time, when I scored the decisive goal, quite by accident, I can tell you that now - the ball came towards me and I kicked it with all my strength just to get it as far away from me as possible and stop everybody teasing me again. That's how I scored that goal. But that doesn't matter now, what matters is that you shook my hand then. Your right hand was kind to me. I thank it for that. But not the whole of it. Don't think I'd forgotten. Twice, during lessons, you gave me a sign with your middle finger. Come on Samo, now it really is time to let go of that door handle. You won't? Alright then, I won't force you. Anyway, your right hand really was kind to me but not the middle finger. It was vicious. Just like your mouth, which has always grinned, like Max's. And your tongue - well, a third of it was good and two thirds bad, I'd say. Occasionally you did say a kind word to me and I won't forget that.

  Your eyes, well, they always looked at me unkindly. But that's what your eyes are like, it isn't your fault. I haven't got an opinion about your left hand, it... oh, I remember now! Once, when they took us to the cinema, you offered me some crisps with it. Your left hand goes on the good pile than. Left foot... I don't remember anything about it. Let's say
it remains neutral, we don't assign it to either side. Is that OK?

  OK. It's important that you agree. I wouldn't want you to think that I'm biased or accusing you of something you haven't done.

  We haven't got much left. Your chest - no opinion. Stays with the neutral parts. But I can tell you, it would help you now if you'd ever given me a hug. Just look how big your chest is. It would certainly swing the scales onto the good side. But anyway, as it doesn't go onto the bad side either, it doesn't really matter. It was all just hypothetical. I'm not accusing you of anything.

  Your abdomen, together with your stomach and liver. I think they belong on the bad pile. How much of my money they devoured! But I suppose I offered things to you myself. OK, neutral than.

  Hmmm, your prick, balls and arse. For half a year you had to sit next to me instead of Max as a punishment, and you farted non-stop. That's bad manners and counts as bad. Your prick too. You often bragged about it and that's vanity, bad habit. I have no opinion about your balls, they can go on the neutral heap.

  Well, we're finished? It wasn't so bad, was it?"

  Alfonz stepped back and looked at the three heaps in front of him. All three were about the same size.

  "Hmm, a difficult decision," he said to himself, reached for the chest and lifted it. "If you'd ever given me a hug... it would really have made a difference."

  He looked to see if he could split Samo's chest further, but could not find anything much in it, apart from the heart. After a short pause he cut it in half and threw one half on the heap on the left (the good parts) and the other half on the right (the bad parts).

  He did not feel tired at all, in spite of the long time he had spent deciding and making a judgement. Even his right arm did not hurt and there was no blister where his hand held the axe.

  He stood next to the piles thinking, unable to decide. In the end, he picked up all the good bits and, cradling them in his arms, walked off towards the woods.