Jela Krecic

by None Like Her (retail) (epub)

  ‘Well, you know how we have these esteemed institutions where they help alcoholics, druggies and pillheads find the meaning of life after substances?’

  Ronja nodded encouragingly, and Matjaž continued, ‘Well, on the other hand there is a whole range of repressed people who don’t even dare go outside because they’re so scared of interaction. And who could blame them! Being sociable is a real effort. Few people realize that our ancestors invented alcohol precisely because of that repression; it abates all the awkwardness and tension, and allows something resembling a public sphere to even exist. So I’d just send people like that to a clinic, where they could slowly get used to alcohol.’

  ‘Under medical supervision, obviously,’ Ronja joined in.

  ‘Of course. Under very strict medical supervision. And the clinics could provide a basic alcohol education, too – for example, the basics of drinking beer, wine, spirits.’

  ‘The pros and cons of each?’

  ‘That’s it, so that people know exactly what they’re dealing with. There’d be sociologists who would also explain to them that, let’s say, beers go well with football matches; top chefs would add that red wine goes with red meat; cultural historians would inform them that spirits are a key feature of old Hollywood films, perfect for stressful situations like crime or formal dinners.’

  ‘Excellent idea!’ said Ronja, enjoying herself. ‘I imagine that the supply of alcohol would take place behind closed doors at first, i.e. inside the hospital, and then at some point the patients would be sent outside.’

  Matjaž burst out laughing, and when he’d calmed down slightly he added, ‘Exactly, to begin with the patients would be sent out in a group for a Saturday night visit, supervised by a doctor. They’d try to identify the correct drink by themselves and administer the right amount, with the doctors and other people keeping an eye on them.’

  ‘They could take notes’, Ronja interjected, ‘then they could tell each one what they did right and wrong, and advise them accordingly.’

  ‘And if someone gets a good enough mark on, let’s say, three of these supervised nights out, then the next Friday they could go out by themselves, without supervision. When they returned to the hospital they’d be examined thoroughly again, they’d speak to the doctor and the psychiatrist. Then they’d get new instructions afterwards,’ said Matjaž, elaborating on his project.

  ‘They’d resit until the experts deemed them able to go out into the world by themselves and be independent enough to drink without supervision.’ With that they both burst out laughing. ‘Ha ha, yes, the aim of this clinic would be to make sure you know how to drink by yourself, unsupervised.’

  When they’d exhausted themselves laughing they sat silently for a while, sipping their drinks.

  ‘But that hurts,’ said Ronja eventually, her sentence confusing Matjaž slightly and causing him to look slightly surprised.

  She explained, ‘I mean, for a woman, who after childbirth is in one way or another only half the woman she was, a total slave to her baby, that kind of cold and detached attitude from a partner almost kills you.’

  Matjaž didn’t say anything, but then asked, ‘And what will you do?’

  ‘I won’t be running, that’s for sure!’ she said decisively.

  They laughed and raised their glasses to toast this grand idea.

  ‘What about you?’ she eventually asked.

  ‘I’m not going to run either!’ he said, and again they laughed and again they drank.

  ‘No seriously, what are you going to do with yourself, with work, with women?’

  ‘I have no idea. I’m just going to keep on having a good time.’

  ‘Quiet desperation, then,’ Ronja remarked wryly.

  ‘It’s better than loud desperation,’ Matjaž smiled.

  ‘There’s no point trying to have a serious conversation with you,’ she sighed.

  ‘Why do we have to have a serious conversation?’ Matjaž asked, raising his voice slightly. ‘I know myself. I know what I’m capable of and what I’m not. I don’t see why I have to dedicate too much time to myself, and even less so why others should dedicate themselves to me.’

  Ronja smiled at this self-reflexivity. ‘I get it, I just wanted to make you feel better.’

  Matjaž looked at her seriously. ‘You have done Ronja, really.’ He took hold of her hand. Then his hand led itself away, and stroked her beautiful dark hair. ‘You’ve no idea how long it’s been since I felt this good around a woman, even if I’ve been attracted to them.’

  ‘On no account must you say things like that, my dear Watson, because I’m going to believe you,’ she said softly.

  ‘You’re just going to have to accept that men still like you, even though you don’t run,’ he persisted.

  That sentence was painful for Ronja and she lowered her head, which Matjaž was gently stroking. Then she looked at him with a clear, open expression, almost free of pain. He stroked her face with the same openness and warmth, and so the kiss that followed seemed as natural to them as a summer breeze comforting warm bodies on a beach. Without saying a word they held hands and headed to bed. Indoors, Ksenja had already designated them her husband’s small study, where two inflatable yoga mats were laid out proudly on the floor, along with the sleeping bags they’d brought themselves. Matjaž and Ronja lay down next to one another and carried on kissing. Together they slowly undressed and carried on sharing kisses, those fleeting but fundamental signs of intimacy. Then she started giggling.

  ‘Ronja, if you’re not sure …’ said Matjaž sincerely.

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ she laughed. ‘I was just thinking to myself that I feel like a virgin. I don’t know how this goes any more …’

  Matjaž slowly stroked her naked body and said, ‘When I was first in this situation, when it was my first time, I thought to myself while it was all happening, “This is it. I am having sex.” And I swear I felt more satisfaction upon that realization than I did with the act itself.’

  Ronja laughed, wholeheartedly and passionately, like her laughter had now acclimatized to the evening. She stroked his hair and snuggled up close to him, kissing his neck.

  ‘Happy the man who loves Ronja,’ said Matjaž, softened by her gentle touch.

  ‘Careful what you wish for, maybe Ronja’s love comes with urine.’ She laughed uncontrollably again.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ Matjaž laughed back.

  Ronja thought for a moment and then burst out laughing again. Her laugh reverberated so perfectly that he automatically kissed her on the lips, while her palm calmly and commandingly travelled around his body. ‘It happened ten years ago, when I met my then-future husband. I went on a date with him, not expecting anything; I was indifferent, even. I liked feeling desired, but I resisted being in a relationship. I’d just moved into a rented flat at the time, and I felt so good on my own; I was content, maybe for the first time in my life, and I wasn’t looking for a man. So the feeling that he stirred in me was almost too much. I went on a date to break it off with him, to basically convince myself that it wasn’t worth changing everything again just for one stupid guy. Anyhow, we had such a good time on the date, we really clicked. He was good fun and really handsome. When he took me home he went to kiss me, but I just hugged him even though I wanted that kiss more than anything. I was still convinced that I wasn’t going to let him get close. So I went to bed. During the night I got up to go to the toilet. But I must’ve still been dreaming, because I mistook my wicker chair for the toilet seat, sat down and, well, it happened. I woke up right in the middle of it, totally confused and in a mild state of panic, not knowing what was going on, where I was, what was happening to me.’

  Matjaž looked at her confused. She quickly rolled her eyes – there was no point mincing her words over the situation, which to this day she still found embarrassing. ‘I wet myself in the chair!’ she shrieked.

  ‘And so … what does that mean?’ he asked her calmly, like an experienced psychoan
alyst.

  ‘Well, at the time, of course, it wasn’t clear to me what it meant, at least not consciously, but then as things developed it became apparent what it was all about.’

  ‘Well, obviously you got together, but what does that have to do with you weeing on a chair?’ asked Matjaž.

  ‘Is it not obvious? At first I fiercely resisted a new relationship, but then I literally let go.’ Matjaž burst out laughing and gave her an even bigger kiss on the cheek, caressing her shoulders.

  ‘There was nothing as dramatic as that with Sara,’ Matjaž said, recalling his story frankly and continuing to stroke Ronja. ‘There wasn’t any drama between us in general. The most important thing for me was the domestic calm, which I felt from the moment I met her. I remember on our first holiday to Hvar, we had little need to talk about banalities such as how the food was, or about swimming or love-making. We were already in unspoken agreement. Those were good times. Maybe the best times; calm, and so gentle … That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to talk to her, though. Over dinner we’d speak for hours, deep in discussion about politics, about our parents, our friends, past loves and adventures. We spoke about school and university, anecdotes and aspirations.’ He stopped for a moment, and then continued, not releasing Ronja from his affectionate hold. ‘That’s what I’d call being completely at ease. I wasn’t used to that feeling around women, around anyone, at least not so … I think that’s because I never really liked myself all that much. Maybe it sounds clichéd if I say that my ability to be sociable is tied to the fact that I’m not all that good on my own. But with her, being by myself was no longer too much for me. With her I felt good, safe, although that probably sounds incredibly lame.’ He paused again briefly, and said thoughtfully, ‘Being at ease, Ronja, that’s the key. And it’s so rare. Don’t you think? Don’t you think, Ronja, that’s what you and I have, that we know how to do that? Be at ease, I mean?’

  He didn’t get a reply. He looked at the naked Ronja, who to the soft rhythm of his palms and words had fallen asleep. He kissed her on the cheek and, relaxed and contented himself, fell asleep beside her.

  When he woke up, Ronja’s smiling face was looking at him, while her hand stroked his head.

  He smiled. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  ‘And, what’s the situation?’

  ‘Some of the girls have gone, others are waiting for their taxi service. I think it’s time to slowly get going.’

  ‘God, you’re right, I’ve got the burden of those hungover hens,’ he said, clutching his head.

  ‘You’ll cope yet, dear Watson. With that charm, with those eyes.’ She looked at him melancholically.

  ‘Sherlock, my dear, are we going to have to succumb to amnesia as well?’ His own sentence pained him.

  ‘No, we’re not.’ Ronja hugged him tightly.

  ‘What are we going to do, then? It’s going to be hard to forget about last night,’ Matjaž said, looking into her eyes.

  She returned a sad gaze. ‘You mean me falling asleep while you were talking.’

  ‘Which was just the most beautiful thing.’ He looked at her with affection, and leaned in to kiss her.

  ‘Don’t, dear Watson.’ She pulled back and he was sure that she was on the brink of tears.

  ‘What is it, Sherlock?’ Do you not see a future for us?’ He looked at her melancholically.

  Ronja’s lips stretched out into a wide smile. ‘Of course I see one, that’s the problem.’ She hung her head, swallowed and looked at him again. In her eyes he saw all of her openness, peppered with anguish. ‘I see it all too well! And that’s why we mustn’t repeat this, otherwise there really will be no going back …’

  He could see restraint in her expression, even courage; now her eyes reflected only that kind of sadness that usually accompanies the parting of lovers.

  Now Matjaž sensed tears, but he understood why. He offered her his hand. They shook hands as friends and smiled at each other, just about managing to hide the bitterness.

  ‘Well, stay wise, my dear Watson!’ she said, giving him a melancholy smile towards which two tears were now travelling.

  ‘I think we all know who has the wisdom in this relationship, my dear Sherlock.’ He looked at her encouragingly.

  ‘OK, well, good luck then!’ she said, pulling herself together somewhat.

  ‘You too,’ he said, raising his hand to signal goodbye.

  Then Ronja left, and Matjaž burst into tears.

  That Saturday evening, Matjaž didn’t want to talk to Aleksander, but he had got in touch anyway, under the pretence of Karla having left her copy of Global in Matjaž’s flat. His curiosity was torturing him.

  ‘And what’s that Urša like?’ his friend asked, looking at him with inquisitive eyes.

  ‘Crazy enough. You’d like her …’ Matjaž said sarcastically.

  ‘So nothing happened, then?’ asked Aleksander, still probing.

  ‘Many things happened: drugs, alcohol, orgies …’ Matjaž said, purposely exaggerating.

  ‘What?’ Aleksander’s eyes lit up. ‘Tell me everything. I’ve waited all year for this! Is Sandra as much of a pest as I expected? No, actually, Liza is worse – those know-it-alls usually are.’ He didn’t wait for his friend’s reply, but tried to interpret his stony look. ‘No, no … Don’t tell me … Ksenja, your boss! Of course, mature women, that’s it, that’s it. It’s what I’m always telling you! And? Were the girls up for it? I bet Gabi was the driving force behind the worst behaviour. Or that Andrej – still waters run deep, right? Or maybe I’m wrong, maybe Ronja was the ringleader. I told you – young mothers, they’re full of oestrogen. It was her, admit it, admit it!’ he shrieked, not realizing that the mention of Ronja’s name caused Matjaž to flinch.

  Aleksander left his fantasy there and went on. ‘That Kristjan is suspicious, though, I agree. A man’s ambitions can go too far. I bet that Tadej was all over everyone. He’s probably not that wild, though. It must have been an assortment – some kind of homosexual activity – oof! A big house with a pool – oh God, did you all do it in the pool? Oh my God, oh my God, what a party! That’s it, first in the pool, then outside. Ah, the youth of today, capable of anything. Admit it! Admit it, that’s what happened!’

  And so Aleksander went on, letting his imagination run wild, not at all bothered by the fact that his friend only looked at him blankly. When he’d finished his monologue, he left – without taking the magazine – and repeated one more time, ‘What a party, why can’t I have colleagues like that, man oh man!’

  SARA

  Summer had burst into all its elements: the remote azure of the sky, the light breeze that chased along the scorching, neglected concrete. He had always loved Ljubljana when it was deserted; perfect for a simple, lazy life in the shade. He loved the cafés and bars, which now came alive in the evening thanks to the tourists, the increasingly frequent inhabitants of this quaint city, so big and so small in every way.

  There was sweet tranquillity within him. It had been a long time since he’d felt so at peace, sitting with his three colleagues in the air-conditioned office, looking out at the hot, clear summer sky. He was a staunch advocate of a cloudless sky. True, clouds could sometimes intensify photographs, improve the light, but to him personally, photography aside, a clear sky that precisely framed the view of the city seemed much more meaningful, natural, purifying even. Never had the colonnades of Plečnik’s market been so appealing to him as they were now. Never had the Triple Bridge seemed so truly wonderful as it did in this heat, as its rather deserted whiteness crossed the Ljubljanica river, linking the beautifully restored buildings on each river bank, which looked down with proud indifference on their inhabitants. Never had he wanted so much to go for a walk through Trnovo along the embankment as he did now, when the outline of the bank appeared to have yielded to the river’s tranquil flow, seemingly reconciled to the occasional passer-by. As if the river had only just now made contact with the willows t
hat bowed despondently towards its surface. They reminded him of old ladies at the seaside, hesitating before stepping into the generous waves on their first dip of the year.

  Actually, he thought, it was only during summer that he looked upon his city as a space that extended elsewhere; with its footpaths, river banks, streets and squares, a city that led you somewhere or beckoned you to hide away from the sun in its various sanctuaries. Republic Square seemed magnificent in this sort of weather, patiently framed by the buildings that set the tempo for a mixture of lifestyles that the city-dwellers enjoyed throughout the year: educational, financial, political and, of course, commercial. Now they stood there like magnificent monuments to summer – a time when the only thing that matters is the expanse of space and sky. Even Čopova, the most promiscuous street in the capital, which greedily devoured everything and everybody all year long, was now able to show how it extended and stretched, linking places as well as people; how it was here as part of the city’s network and would also benefit from a little less self-indulgent commerce.

  Only in summer was he aware of the façades, the entrances and the decorative features on the buildings: the National Library, Nebotičnik, the Triglav Insurance building; façades that otherwise usually merged into what he intuitively took in from the city and so always remained like barely noticed backdrop scenery in a theatre of various destinies. But not now. Now he sensed that all these had fates of their own, that they could be beautiful in their own right to those rare eyes that looked upon them in the right way and for whom they were a consolation. They caressed such admirers gently but maintained their distance. There is nothing more beautiful than when buildings appear to be entities in themselves and passers-by merely their more-or-less-attentive observers. Countless corners of the city took on meaning only in summer; the area surrounding the Križanke Theatre and Rimska Street, finally free of students, now offered tranquillity for a quiet and contemplative coffee somewhere – maybe even at Žmavc, now that it was free from the wearying noise of all those young try-hards.