Matjaž was still driving, slightly resignedly. He began to wonder if this conversation would ever end. ‘Why are you bringing up Urša again? When have I ever mentioned anything about her? Just because her dad’s a pilot it doesn’t mean … I know you like planes. But a girl is not her dad, even less so an aeroplane, you know’ he said wearily. ‘She’s available to everyone because she makes herself available … yeah, available to men. No, look, I’d prefer a woman who thinks for herself … well, at work she draws, I mean, she designs graphs … Jeez, I’m not saying it directly implies that she doesn’t know how to think, but this Urša in particular doesn’t know …’ Matjaž drove anxiously around Ljubljana, cursing everyone who lived beyond Bežigrad. ‘I’m not every man … Well, OK, I am every man, but a special everyman … OK, that everyman who would like to feel like a special everyman – you happy now … ? You’re going to start with that now, are you? Fine, I don’t have any particular criteria, but Urša is pushing it … I’m just going to pick her up now …’
At last he pulled into Bratovševa Square. ‘Seriously, enough now. Do you want her phone number so you can get in touch with her dad and ask him to take you for a little ride …’ He looked down the street, trying to catch sight of the pilot’s daughter. ‘No, I won’t … I have no idea if she understands the concept of buoyancy in air. Even I think flying is witchcraft … Yeah, every one of those one hundred thousand flights a day is a total miracle … Jeez, don’t start talking flight theory with me, please …’ Matjaž gave only a perfunctory ear to the principles of aviation. ‘OK so buoyancy is the scientific explanation for how planes fly, but then it’s still a small miracle every time … No, I’m not a mystic. I really have to go now, she’s here waiting for me …’ He drove up to Urša, who was waving at him eagerly. Matjaž waved back absentmindedly, still agonizing over how to end the conversation. ‘Aleksander, I promise you I won’t have a good time.’ Meanwhile Urša had got into the car, and she gave Matjaž a friendly tap. ‘No I’m not putting her on the phone, are you crazy? Seriously, bye now … Yes, I’ll miss you too!’
‘Was that your jealous sweetheart?’ Urša asked, with a provocative look on her face.
‘You probably could say that, yes,’ he replied. He turned the car around and barely noticed that Urša had gone quiet.
‘So, where now?’ he asked her.
‘How should I know?’ she replied quite bluntly.
‘Aren’t you and Sandra friends?’
‘Not really,’ she replied coldly.
‘Well, where does she live?’ Unease had taken hold of Matjaž.
‘I have no idea …’
‘Have you got her number?’
‘Yes, of course.’
It took a lot of effort for him to keep his cool. ‘Could you call her then, please, and ask where we should pick her up?’
Urša called her. ‘Aha, aha, aha, OK, we’ll be there in … how long will it take to get to Tabor?’ she turned to Matjaž.
‘Are you having a laugh? You can’t be serious. I just came from that direction. You lot are so unorganized!’ Matjaž fumed.
‘Well, how long? She’s asking.’
‘Tell her to start tottering down now,’ Matjaž replied coldly, already determined that he’d never be designated driver ever again.
Urša relayed the message and listened to Sandra’s response. ‘No, she wants you to be more specific,’ she said, summarizing her colleague’s words.
‘Five minutes.’
The process began again. Urša passed on Sandra’s message to the driver once more, ‘That’s not going to work, she needs at least ten.’
‘Ten!’ Matjaž was becoming angry. ‘But we agreed on a time!’
Once again Urša relayed her colleague’s situation, ‘She’s got to dry her hair!’
‘Her hair can dry on the way,’ the driver said firmly.
Urša listened carefully, first to one then to the other, and then said, ‘No it can’t, because it’s incredibly unruly.’
‘If she’s not down in ten minutes, we’re going without her and then she’ll have well-behaved hair in Ljubljana!’ Matjaž concluded.
After keeping them waiting for fifteen minutes, the neatly preened Sandra got into the car and warmly greeted her fellow passengers.
Urša smiled in return, while Matjaž offered only a stern look.
‘Oh yeah, Liza just rang me to ask if we could pick her up because her car’s packed in,’ Sandra said.
‘Where does this Liza live?’ asked Matjaž, trying to suppress his anger.
‘In Vič, near where the Faculty of Physics is, or whichever faculty it is,’ explained the new passenger.
‘It’s a good job she lives in Vič!’ Matjaž grumbled, to himself more than anyone.
‘Why?’ asked Sandra.
‘Because it’s on the way to the motorway,’ whispered Urša, by now acquainted with the driver’s psychological state.
Soon yet another person had squeezed into the car. Liza greeted everyone, but Matjaž was never sure if she was genuine or not so he didn’t get too involved with her.
‘What a nightmare,’ she began. ‘It was still working yesterday but now that’s it, finito. If you hadn’t have come for me I’d probably have missed the party of the year,’ she said in a voice that, again, barely concealed ironic undertones.
‘You’re welcome,’ Matjaž retorted.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Liza enquired.
‘He’s got womanitis,’ smiled Sandra. Urša smiled, too, and Liza just rolled her eyes wearily.
‘Which poor devil is on duty today, then?’ asked Sandra.
‘Tadej,’ Urša replied.
‘Yeah, but how’s he going to be on duty?’ said Liza, involving herself in the conversation.
‘How do you mean?’ Urša asked naïvely.
‘He agreed with Ksenja that he’d be at the editorial office until eight, then he’s coming to hers and he’ll add any extra news online – I overheard their conversation today,’ Liza explained.
‘That crafty fox!’ smiled Sandra.
‘Why? I think it’s nice that he wants to celebrate with his colleagues,’ said Urša.
‘And the rest!’ Liza shouted.
‘You’re clearly still very new here,’ surmised Sandra.
‘I’ve been here for half a year already!’ protested Urša, looking scornfully at the other two.
‘Well, exactly,’ said Liza cynically.
‘What Liza is trying to say’, Sandra translated, ‘is that if you’d been with us longer you would know, firstly, that in doing this Tadej is pandering to the boss, as he’ll cover two work duties at once, and secondly, that if anything comes up he’ll immediately find one of us to do his work for him.’
‘He won’t find me!’ claimed Urša. ‘I’m getting drunk today.’
‘Really?’ Sandra looked at her.
‘On what? Beetroot juice?’ smiled Liza.
‘No, on pure unadulterated alcohol. I’ll be in line for a detox tomorrow, though,’ replied the raw-vegetable fanatic in all seriousness.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Matjaž heard Liza mutter to herself from behind him.
They drove in silence for a while. Matjaž was enjoying the Van Morrison on his playlist, when Urša started up again.
‘What’s Kristjan like, then? Sometimes it seems like he’s a bit of a show-off, and I find him the most difficult out of everyone.’
‘He really is good, diligent, hard-working,’ Sandra answered.
‘And ambitious,’ Liza couldn’t resist commenting.
‘What’s wrong with ambitions, Liza? As if we’re not ambitious,’ Sandra protested.
‘Yes, of course we are. We really are the ideal workforce, prepared to sacrifice the best years of our lives for our great calling, our journalistic calling. To sacrifice ourselves for pocket money, and then be satisfied when Ksenja gives us a pat on the back – even more so when she promises to put our names on the longlist for ass
ignments.’
‘So what makes Kristjan stand out, then?’ Urša asked with interest.
‘Kristjan steps up. He brings ideas, he works hard and writes well, and he’s also got a sense for technology …’ Sandra replied.
‘And he’s not ashamed to make a point of it, and he’s not ashamed to go back and forth to Ksenja, or whoever’s in charge, to do a little, or a lot, of ass-kissing.’ Liza added once again.
‘Is that right?’ Urša pondered. Somewhat worriedly she said, ‘I didn’t realize until recently that none of you were actually permanently employed, that you were all freelance.’
‘Well, not all of us are in that boat,’ said Liza pointedly.
‘I knew it,’ Matjaž said, breaking his long silence. ‘I knew this car would turn into a site of class war. That’s right, dear Urša, your driver for today has a permanent job, but don’t think that doesn’t mean he can’t complain about work, about his colleagues and his boss. Yep, isn’t life unfair!’
‘She didn’t mean it like that,’ said Sandra, trying to ease the situation.
‘Of course she did, and in her own way she’s right. But I’m not going to apologize to you all for having gained a permanent post before the crisis, after many long years of part-time work!’ protested the man among the women.
‘No one’s asking you to!’ Sandra spoke up again.
‘But you could bear in mind, however, whenever you assign us a job or criticize what we’ve done, that we’re not as well paid as you are,’ Liza piped up again.
‘Are you serious?’ Matjaž got angry.
‘Of course. It’s not ethical – it’s not fair!’ spouted Urša.
‘This debate stops right now, you cackling hens!’ Matjaž lost his temper and barely kept track of what was happening on the motorway. ‘Have you any idea how pitiful my salary is? Or how many things I do without even telling you – I just correct your stupid mistakes. Urša, you did that table for Andrej about Slovene holidays, which took you a whole month. I mean, come on. Liza, what was with that long video and the piece on the toilets of Ljubljana bars or whatever it was? And Sandra – how many times have I done the Goodnight Melody feature and similar shit instead of you? If it’s a class war you’re after, look for it somewhere else, not with badly paid colleagues who slave away with you, help you and – if we’re being damn straight – save your names in front of the boss …’ He let out a deep sigh. ‘You’ve obviously forgotten about all the times I’ve spoken to her and that dumbass deputy about your situation.’
His speech obviously had an impact, as even Liza kept quiet. After a long silence, she said, ‘Fine, that wasn’t right. I’m a bit tense. I’ve got PMS. We shouldn’t take it out on you,’ she said.
‘Liza apologizing’, mumbled Sandra, ‘that’s a first.’
‘What I want to know is, when do you women ever not have PMS?’ said Matjaž, diverting the conversation.
The question caused serious uproar in the car. Above all it was Urša who had an awful lot to say on the dilemmas of the female sex. Sandra also joined her, primarily pointing out what women have to go through with their hair, legs, hands and nails, as well as the face with its eyes, eyebrows, cheekbones and lips, and their woman’s skin, too, an incredibly sensitive organ. And of course then there was the diferentia specia – menstruation. No man could possibly imagine what menstruation signified; there were so many inconveniences that came with it – and the pain, Urša said. To that Matjaž remarked that there was one thing worse than menstruation itself – and that was putting up with a menstrual woman. This raised a few laughs, and then Urša reached an important conclusion. ‘I think there’s one battle that’s even more important than the class war – the battle of the sexes!’
‘Yes, and my next beer will be the most well-earned drink of my life,’ Matjaž swore.
‘That’s exactly what I’m talking about!’ Urša attested. ‘As soon as a woman says anything about the disadvantages of her gender, a man is already dying for a beer.’
‘That’s one of the world’s hidden truths,’ laughed Sandra.
‘And even truer is that while one sex complains and the other drinks beer, someone in the middle is making a profit,’ said Liza, summing up the situation.
At that point they exited the motorway. ‘Well, my dear feminists, I’ve done my bit, I’ve driven you as far as their explanation went, then they said one of you knows this area.’
‘What?’ Sandra was surprised.
‘How should I know where Ksenja’s summer house is? Someone was boasting about how they knew exactly how to get there,’ he said.
‘But how should we know?’ Sandra flapped.
‘I ought to know,’ Urša admitted apologetically.
‘But?’ the driver enquired gently.
‘Well, I’d have known if we’d gone via the old road, but I’ve never come this way before,’ she apologized.
‘I’ll call her,’ Liza announced. Meanwhile Matjaž pulled over and lit a cigarette, from which he took a drag so strong it was as if they were on the brink of a third world war. When Liza had finished talking, she said, ‘I’ve got it!’
It turned out that Liza didn’t quite have it, at least not straight away. A few kilometres there and back, a bit of driving around in circles, a few additional calls to Ksenja, Tadej, Kristjan and Andrej, a few small disagreements between Liza and Matjaž, some bickering between Sandra and Liza, a desperate call to Gabi and then to Rok, one stop to ask for directions locally, some tears from Urša and half a packet of Matjaž’s cigarettes later, they were eventually on the right track to Ksenja’s village and house.
Gabi and Ksenja were waiting for them in front of a large new-build with a sheltered veranda, which – apart from the rather large swimming pool –attempted to blend in with the architecture of the region. Both smiled at the sight of the four pitiful passengers who stepped out of the car.
‘How wonderful that it’s still possible to get lost in the Karst!’ Ksenja burst out laughing. Matjaž scowled at her.
Ksenja and Gabi poured them all a welcome drink, some sort of homemade wine, a nice gesture about which nobody complained. ‘So how did you get so lost, then? Gabi and Ronja have been here since six, and even Tadej beat you to it.’
‘The Karst is very complex, Ksenja, very complex,’ Sandra reminded her.
‘Yeah, almost as complex as women,’ hissed Matjaž, who chose to join a group of colleagues on the veranda while his fellow passengers started relating to their superior the story of one of the toughest journeys in the world.
‘What happened, Matjaž, did you not have enough women in the car to help you navigate?’ Kristjan grinned.
‘Why didn’t you leave it to Urša to summon the spirits so that they could tell you where to go?’ Tadej teased him. Matjaž gave each of them a dirty look and snorted.
‘Give the man a break,’ said Roko, passing Matjaž a beer. The guys chinked glasses.
‘All I’m going to say is that I’ll drink to men, even if they do take the piss out of their fellow sufferers too much sometimes!’ said Matjaž, raising his glass.
‘Oh really, have you forgotten about your old work colleagues already?’ asked a voice from the darkness.
‘Ronja!’ Matjaž cried, and hugged her immediately. ‘How’s it going, pal? I heard something finally fell out of you!’
‘It’s true, it fell out a good six months ago and we call it Igor.’ She smiled at him sweetly.
‘Wouldn’t you rather have called it – I mean, just off the top of my head – Matjaž?’
‘It’s a nice name, it’s just that I don’t know any decent guys called Matjaž,’ his friend replied seriously.
‘Good, well at least it hasn’t sucked your sense of humour from you.’ He smiled kind-heartedly and sat next to her at the less crowded end of the table.
‘I really hope not,’ she replied.
‘So you’ll survive?’
‘Right now I wouldn’t quite count on it, bu
t I’m getting there,’ she promised.
‘So, if you do survive, when are you coming back?’
‘In a couple of months.’
‘Oof, you played that one well. And women say they’re exploited,’ he teased her again.
‘Careful now, I’m sleep deprived and grumpy,’ she warned. Again they raised their glasses to one another and quenched their raging thirst. The late June evening was almost breathtaking. The sun hadn’t quite set, and in the last remaining light of the evening the everyday sounds of nature were dying down and coming alive again in the form of insects, owls and whatever else it was that inhabited the cypress trees and the nearby oak.
Soon all members of the group were sitting around the table and making polite conversation. Matjaž was smoking and thinking about how perfectly content he was just sat right there. He had always been relaxed around Ronja. They had known each other since secondary school and, although they’d never spent vast amounts of time together, a quiet sort of mutual understanding had been developing between them ever since they were young. They knew how to coexist exceptionally well, whether it be at work or at this kind of social gathering, even though they didn’t usually say much to one another. In the last few months Matjaž had almost stopped doing silence altogether, and now he realized that he missed it. He was also pleased to see Ronja’s bright face, which had gained a sort of sharpness, a depth, that made her seem even more attractive to him than before.
‘Now it’s your turn,’ said Ronja.
‘My turn for what?’ Matjaž looked at her, confused.
‘For you to tell me something. I haven’t seen you in at least a year.’
Jela Krecic Page 16