Jela Krecic

by None Like Her (retail) (epub)

  ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked obligingly.

  ‘You’re so annoying!’ She punched him on the arm. ‘How are things with Sara, for example? Are you going to finally make a respectable woman of her, are you going to ruin your lives with children?’

  Ronja understood Matjaž’s expression upon hearing that sentence, and was visibly moved. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’ She patted him on the shoulder.

  ‘It’s OK, it was a year ago now,’ he said quietly, looking around to see if anyone was listening.

  ‘A year,’ Ronja said, to herself more than anything.

  ‘Yeah, one year,’ confirmed Matjaž, with rather a gloomy face. He surprised even himself at how bothered he was in the present by the question that Ronja had taken from the past, from a time when he and Sara had still been a couple. He swept his hand over his face and said, ‘No, I’m OK, you know, for a minute there you just stirred up time – and maybe reality, too – so I just got confused.’

  ‘I get that,’ she answered. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘She found someone else.’

  ‘Really?’ Ronja asked. ‘It rarely happens just like that, out of nowhere. You were such a good, close couple for so many years, after all.’

  ‘I know what you want. You want me to bad-mouth myself, say how I fucked it up … I’m not saying that I don’t take my share of the blame, a large share.’ He fell silent and tried to speak more clearly – for his own sake, too. ‘Above all I just never felt like we ought to be settling down, that anything ought to change. Our lifestyle had always come first; children were never at the forefront. Suddenly our aims had become opposites. And good-looking women, God knows, you always know how to procure a replacement,’ he said, barely disguising his bitterness.

  ‘Maybe that’s true, but only when we feel that you’ve given up on us, probably for good and probably many times before,’ she replied matter-of-factly.

  ‘And don’t forget about when we’ve disappointed you many a time, too,’ Matjaž said, half remorsefully, half sarcastically.

  ‘Love isn’t permanent and everlasting, Matjaž,’ Ronja sighed. ‘Maybe it is, if it’s totally abstract and allows us to hold on to our expectations, not be launched into a concrete relationship, into the life of a couple, into our innermost feelings. Concrete love has boundaries. Mine are being put to the test at the moment, too. Somewhere, disappointments big and small, sufferings big and small, they build up, even if the woman tries to forget about them. Then at some point you look back and you don’t see any spectacular wounds, no big explosions; you just feel as if the love has gone, or maybe the fundamental part of it, at least – the part that had been prepared to put that man above all others.’

  ‘Are you OK, Ronja?’ Matjaž looked at her worriedly, as it seemed that she was speaking from experience.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, of course,’ said Ronja, as if coming out of a trance. She smiled and apologized. ‘I’m not going to bore you with the details. All I’ll say is that children are a test for every couple.’

  ‘See, now you understand why I was never too keen on those little people,’ he laughed. Her expression softened, too.

  ‘We’d better leave your slow rate of maturing to one side,’ she continued. ‘I’d rather you told me whether there’s a new Miss Matjaž on the scene.’

  ‘No, Miss Matjaž is still hiding and it doesn’t seem like she wants to come out.’

  ‘They never do, until all of a sudden they’re right there,’ she concluded.

  ‘I think I’m past that now,’ Matjaž remarked knowingly.

  ‘Of course you are,’ Ronja backed him up, unconvincingly.

  ‘Don’t take the piss, or I’m going to say something mean about Igor.’

  ‘Go for it, I’ll join in; you cannot imagine how shameless that child is,’ she added cheekily.

  Gabi, who had just sat down, heard that last sentence and became wound up. ‘How can you say such a thing about your own child, who’s still only tiny and can’t defend himself at all?’

  ‘Because he’s shameless,’ Matjaž explained to her.

  ‘But little children don’t know anything, they don’t do it on purpose!’ Gabi protested.

  ‘Neither do I,’ Ronja said, trying to calm her down.

  ‘Yes, but children sense these vibrations, they sense it all, and if you talk about them like that they’ll, they’ll … When I have children, I’m only going to say the nicest of things to them,’ Gabi continued stubbornly.

  ‘Of course you are,’ Ronja said to her patronizingly.

  ‘Gabi, you’ll be taking back those words in no time at all,’ Ksenja spoke up as she brought a dish full of čevapčiči to the table. ‘Here we are, the fruits of Roko’s labour are here! Bon appétit!’ Gabi didn’t dare to question the pitfalls of motherhood in front of her boss, and was not bold enough to claim that she was going to be the best young mum in the world.

  ‘They’re amazing, Roko!’ called Gabi with her mouth full, and everyone loudly agreed.

  ‘Have you all got everything?’ asked Ksenja. They nodded. ‘Well, then allow me to make one small toast.’ She stopped for a moment and said solemnly, ‘My dear colleagues! It’s a great honour to work with you, to collaborate with you, to hear your ideas and develop them with you from one day to the next.’ Matjaž and Ronja gave each other a knowing look. ‘And to show how much I value each and every one of you and our collective, I invited you here and I’d like to say thank you to each of you, all together, above all for coming here! Enjoy yourselves, make yourselves at home – I think, if I’ve understood correctly, you’ve sorted out the bedrooms. Thank you, and cheers!’ The group clapped, slightly embarrassed. Matjaž could have sworn that he saw Liza rolling her eyes during Ksenja’s speech. After that awkward moment, and a sufficient amount of beer, the guests began to relax.

  In this relaxed context, Gabi and Andrej began to bicker about whether or not the snooze function on a phone was actually useful or not. ‘There is nothing sweeter than being awake, but knowing that you still have a few more minutes to sleep,’ said Andrej, explaining the beauty of the mobile function. But the uncompromising Gabi resisted, ‘No, that goes entirely against the teachings of Christianity – an alarm clock is there to wake you. You have to bite the bullet and admit to yourself: it’s time to get up!’

  ‘Explain to me just one thing, please, Gabi,’ Kristjan intervened. ‘What has that logic got to do with Christianity? It seems more Spartan to me.’

  ‘Christianity is conscious of what commitments and responsibilities are!’

  ‘Just like Spartanism,’ Kristjan persisted.

  ‘It’s about a sense of asceticism,’ Gabi tried to explain.

  ‘Oh, we’re at asceticism already? But, again, denial is absolutely not unique to the Christian faith.’

  ‘Fine, then let’s leave religion to one side and say only that the snooze function is for wimps!’ Gabi said animatedly, for the whole table to hear.

  ‘Excuse me?’ an outraged Liza overheard.

  ‘Nothing. Gabi and I are just debating the phenomenon of the snooze function,’ Andrej explained to her.

  ‘And you’re prepared to derive and explain entire personalities based on the way that someone wakes up?’ Liza asked sternly.

  ‘You’re all typical snoozers, no sense of accountability to anyone!’ Gabi burst out.

  ‘But at the end of the day we all get up at the same time,’ Andrej said, attempting to pacify her, while Liza merely snorted and carried on talking to her co-workers.

  The girls had set upon on another burning issue, ‘I don’t know, when I got my first Mercator bag – the big reusable one you get so you don’t have to buy more carrier bags – I was over the moon,’ Sandra said.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Urša interrupted. ‘They’re so handy. Especially because you can carry them on your shoulder.’

  ‘Anyway,’ resumed Sandra, ‘for that and many other reasons …’

  ‘Becau
se they’re so roomy!’ Urša couldn’t resist, making Ksenja laugh and Liza look up to the sky resignedly.

  ‘If I may add,’ Sandra said, already slightly impatiently, ‘at first they seemed a great idea and everyone looked after their own bag and wouldn’t lend it to anyone for love nor money. But then something strange started to happen. Those kinds of bags started to multiply and now everyone’s got loads of them and can’t wait to “accidently” leave one at a friend’s house when they take over a six-pack of beer.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Liza agreed. ‘Even if you inadvertently leave one of those bags with someone, they give it back to you. And that seemingly friendly gesture belies a growing resentment towards the Mercator carrier bag.’

  ‘I think the problem is that all supermarket chains have these bags now,’ explained Urša. The girls looked at her in confusion, willing her to explain. ‘The bags have multiplied! Something that started out in the name of the environment is now flooding it,’ she concluded smartly, and the others had to agree.

  ‘And then there’s a whole cycle of guilt,’ Liza continued. ‘If you forget one of these bags you feel guilty, because then you buy one of the non-degradable ones. If you go to Spar with a Mercator bag you automatically feel guilty, as if there’s going to be a group of cashiers thinking that you’re not a faithful customer and treating you differently to the regular clients. And, of course, it’s the same if you take a Spar bag to Lidl.’

  ‘Yes, although the red Mercator one really is very obvious,’ said Ksenja, involving herself in the debate. Naturally, no one disagreed with her statement.

  ‘You can’t win with carrier bags, that’s the point,’ Sandra summed up the problem.

  ‘It’s so typical, though, isn’t it – something that is meant to solve an eco crisis just creates another one. Weren’t we quite happy with normal carrier bags, which we could then use for rubbish or whatever?’ Liza reflected nostalgically.

  ‘Do you know what, that’s not a bad topic at all,’ Ksenja declared at the end.

  ‘Sorry?’ Urša asked, startled.

  ‘For our newspaper. We could research how many of these bags there are, how they’re flooding Slovenia and how no one really knows what to do with them. They’re accumulating in households and at some point we’re going to have to get rid of them.’

  The members of the editorial office fell silent at once. If they’d known that their complaints about ineffective eco schemes would have landed them with new work, they’d rather have talked about the weather.

  Kristjan, who had been keeping one ear tuned to what the group including his superior was doing and saying, finally chipped in, ‘I can get started on that. I’d build on what Liza was talking about, about general ecological culpability, and go even further. We’ve got all this sorting of rubbish, where each individual is now responsible for the environment, and if you don’t sort it correctly, you’re practically responsible for the downfall of humanity.’

  ‘Are you saying that you don’t sort your rubbish, either?’ Gabi asked, getting wound up again.

  ‘It’s not about that, Gabi!’ Kristjan tried to explain to her.

  ‘So what is it about, then? If everyone in their small habitat saw to their own sorting, there would be so much less pollution on a global scale.’

  ‘Not technically, no,’ Andrej spoke up, although he was busy with a game of poker started by Ronja, Matjaž and Tadej. ‘There’s the same amount of rubbish as before, if not more, now that it’s sorted.’

  ‘Yeah, but if it’s sorted, it’s easier to recycle,’ Gabi argued.

  ‘I don’t know. The sorting also happened before – and someone was paid for it, too.’ Andrej persisted.

  ‘Exactly, and now we pay them a higher collection fee to sort it ourselves,’ added Kristjan.

  ‘I’m not having anyone tell me that the collective effort is null and void, that it doesn’t count for anything,’ Gabi said, not wanting to back down.

  ‘Yeah, but at the end you ask yourself, what are we doing? If every mortal starts sorting rubbish, what does it mean for factories, factory waste, industrial waste? How much does that sorting actually make a difference in relation to global traffic –’

  ‘You’re all typical cynics!’ Gabi despaired.

  ‘Does it not seem like a handy government weapon to you?’ Kristjan asked, not wanting to leave it alone.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ Gabi cried hysterically.

  Ksenja tried to calm her. ‘Gabi, don’t get angry just because someone doesn’t agree with you.’ But the angry Christian just folded her arms and looked ahead angrily.

  ‘Finish what you were saying, Kristjan, I’m intrigued,’ Ksenja encouraged him.

  ‘It’s very simple, really. The government is no longer here to help the individual, it’s no longer a safety net, or a pillar, it’s just a load of cops keeping watch over whether people are taking enough responsibility for their health, their education and now the environment, too – because of course, for every mistake in each one of those sectors, they can issue heavy fines,’ Tadej told everyone, passionately.

  ‘Yeah, in Ljubljana the fine for not sorting your rubbish is 800 euros,’ Liza added.

  ‘Interesting,’ Ksenja remarked, thinking to herself. ‘Yeah, this would make a good story,’ she went on.

  Sandra, who was beginning to tire of the serious conversation, turned to Andrej. ‘Did you bring your guitar with you?’

  ‘Everything for you, beautiful,’ he smiled, showing her his instrument.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Urša asked eagerly, and focused on her beer.

  Andrej left his game of poker to the three keen players at the end of the table, and took up his instrument. Ksenja sat him at the head of the table and sat herself next to Gabi, who stopped sulking at the first sound of the guitar. Andrej’s repertoire was limited to Slovene sixties pop classics, old Yugoslav bands and classic rock. The girls were really enjoying his playing and sang along, and even Ksenja was impressed. It didn’t take long for Tadej to invite Urša to dance, and she started writhing strangely around him. Matjaž, who noticed the soulful undulation of her arms and hips out of the corner of his eye, could have sworn that this mystical movement was an indiscreet romantic advance. But Tadej didn’t stray from his classic repertoire of waltz and polka, so together the two of them formed an interesting dance experiment, which amused Liza the most.

  But even Liza did not remain immune to the sound of the guitar, to the songs. As she put it, they took her back to her youth. She and Sandra occupied a large share of the veranda, inventing technical dance moves with abandon. Soon even Ksenja joined the other dancers. Likewise, Kristjan didn’t hold back for long, skilfully spinning his editor around. Commenting on the situation, to himself more than anything, Roko said, ‘Alcohol is a remedy.’

  ‘Then have a drink and dance with me,’ Gabi winked at him. Roko looked at her, frightened, and tilted his glass back. Obviously Gabi didn’t care. She took the glass out of his hand and led him to where the others were dancing. The image of this dancing couple left most of the guests feeling perturbed. The rather rotund Gabi performed fitful, skilful leaps and turns around her dance partner; repeatedly she went down on her knees and then suddenly jumped, just to confuse him even more. All of this was carried out with her own sense of rhythm, if that’s what you could call it. Eventually Matjaž picked up on Ronja’s pleading glances, indicating that she wanted to join the rest of the hooligans.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s unbearable, how collective euphoria is infecting everyone here?’ Matjaž asked, trying to avoid his dancing duties.

  ‘It won’t work, my friend, those words won’t save you from the collective madness this time,’ she smiled. So Matjaž had to dance, too.

  ‘But why doesn’t Andrej have to dance!’ he complained.

  Ronja replied, ‘Because Andrej is playing for us all!’

  A sarcastic response was waiting on the tip of his tongue, but Ronja had him in such a fi
rm hold that he was out of breath. As Andrej went from the lively ‘classics’ of Plavi orkestar into ‘April u Beogradu’, Ronja followed the example of some of the other couples and put her head on Matjaž’s shoulder, clinging on to him so they swayed softly together.

  His heart ached as he gently held Ronja in an embrace. It was nice to feel a warm female body … but it wasn’t just about the body; he’d had plenty of bodies, maybe too many. It was intimacy he missed. Music entered the ears, became the joint rhythm of two bodies, and two minds could travel wherever they liked. That’s why you were there together, to gift to each other all that space to dream. This is what peace is, he thought – when you’re together so you can sail off in your own direction. But, of course, no peace is eternal. No sooner had he relaxed into Ronja’s embrace than Gabi was barging in between them; Roko had left to relax by his barbecue again.

  Gabi took Matjaž by the hands; she threw him back and forth, expecting him to perform moves under her instruction, but he just tried helplessly to convince his body not to succumb to gravity and the various forces she imposed upon him. After this dizzying dance routine Andrej decided to take a short break, and Matjaž followed suit with a loud cry of approval amid the others’ disappointed voices.

  They sat down, swiftly refreshed themselves with a drop of fine wine and started to sing the praises of Andrej and his treasure trove of hidden talents. Gabi put together a rambling toast: ‘Not only does he maintain our work equipment and always respond to our calls for assistance, but he can strum a guitar beautifully as well.’

  ‘And sing!’ shouted Sandra, clearly already quite merry.

  After that Roko brought more food to the table, which he knowledgeably called sweetmeats. Ksenja explained the source of this meat and listed all of its health benefits, like a true food expert. Her explanation was so full of passion and scientific conviction that she even convinced Urša the sworn vegetarian to try some, as well as Liza, who had recently been flirting with vegetables more than ever. When they’d finished the meat, Ksenja suggested a very special something to help them digest it. It turned out that her homemade herbal liquor was a source of goodness and eternal youth, so nobody resisted and they each took a sip as if it were the elixir of life.