by Daša Drndic
The trees have no needles, it is a deciduous forest, so a deciduous mountain, thin, sparse as Selena’s hair, bald with holes as well. A low mountain near the city.
On the mountain Printz asks his father: Why did you take that little dog away from me?
You had a cow, says Rikard.
On the mountain they decide: We won’t buy a grave. We’ll move Tina’s urn to her hometown. When the roads reopen, when the war is over. That is what they decide.
Which war? asks Printz.
Rikard looks at Printz and says: You’ll have me cremated too. You’ll move me back to MY hometown.
Printz nods and says: Okay.
Perhaps Printz would like to say: Your hometown is in another country now. Your hometown was attacked by people from this town here while we watched. My hometown was attacked by people from this town here and we said nothing and watched. We stayed here because it would have been complicated to leave because Ernestina was dying. Did it have to be like that. Father? Rikard Dvorsky. Did it have to be like that? Perhaps that is what Printz would have liked to say. Perhaps he would have added: When it all began, you said: I don’t think it will be too bad and you sent me to Bali. Perhaps that is what Printz would have liked to say. But he did not.
That is what Printz is like.
So, when Rikard says: You’ll have me cremated too. You’ll move me back to my hometown, Printz says: Don’t worry, I know all there is to know about urns.
Rikard asks: What urns?
They are obviously talking slowly. Because they are walking. They are walking along mountain paths with no aromas. It is an unimpressive mountain and they are sorry they came.
Printz knows, there are all kinds of urns. There are big ones, double, for married couples, made of mahogany or teak. They are expensive. They are urns for when both die, husband and wife, mother and father, at the same time, but that rarely happens. Oh yes, there are all kinds of urns, Printz has seen. There are some made of hand-crafted glass, they are beautiful, as though they come from Murano: cobalt blue with an elegantly shaped lid the color of amber, opaquely transparent, just enough for the white dust inside to be seen. There are some made of alabaster, shaped like a pyramid, as though they contained the remains of tiny pharaohs. Urns are made of marble, of /various metals, ceramic, wooden, with floral arrangements or with engravings on the front, visible side. On the back there is usually nothing, on the back, urns are smooth. Urns are little statues and they can be made in the shape of a book, in the shape of an open or closed book, according to taste. Some urns are replicas of various pagodas, and some are for pets, those ones are small, even smaller than urns for people which are usually about thirty centimeters high. Pets are smaller than their owners unless they are horses or cows. In the matter of urns, people have let their imaginations run wild and Printz wonders whether somewhere there is perhaps some kind of museum of urns, empty or full, no matter.
The choice of urns is unbelievably wide. You can get them on hire purchase, says Printz.
Printz knows that urns exist in order to protect the living from the dead. He does not want to say that to Rikard. When they are poured into urns, the dead no longer have anything, neither body nor soul. Printz would like to see a soul, he does not know how. He will work on it. That is what he decides as he walks on the mountain over rotting leaves because it is still autumn. All that remain in urns are gold teeth if the deceased had any and they were not stolen. Then urns are gold inside and they twinkle like Disney films, they are full of magic dust. Like Tinkerbell from Peter Pan. Printz adores Tinkerbell from Peter Pan, because she is mischievous, she can be bad. Printz would like that, he would very much like to be bad sometimes.
When widespread diseases rage, people are burned. When they are infectious diseases. Printz knows that. On the mountain, Printz becomes mellow and calls himself Pupi. Pupi, says Printz, people are burned when there are wars and widespread disease, but ghosts are calm, they don’t travel, they don’t hover, they are silent, oh yes, ghosts are silent. Printz knows how good the silence of ghosts is, he knows it very well, and he is glad that they burned Tina.
I’m glad that we burned Tina, he says.
It would have been a big coffin, too heavy to be moved to her hometown, especially in wartime. In wartime, it is best for the dead to stay put.
When we get back to the city, I’ll have my teeth out, says Rikard.
Printz is captivated by Rikard’s teeth. Rikard has his own teeth and he is old. Old people do not usually have their own teeth. Rikard does not have a prosthesis, even a small one, he does not even have a small bridge, and he had white coffee with stale breadcrumbs soaked in it for breakfast until they moved into the Villa Nora. He ate a lot of polenta. Rikard adores polenta. In the Villa Nora the breakfasts changed, every morning oranges were squeezed. Now Rikard’s teeth are starting to decay and that bothers him. He wants to remove that unpleasantness at once, at a stroke. That is what Printz’s father Rikard is like. Hasty. Printz will have his teeth out as well, that is what he decides, he will have his teeth out when Rikard dies because he will not have the money for dentists, he knows that already, as he walks on the mountain. Printz does not like mountains.
Printz says again I’m glad that we had Tina burned — he likes the way it sounds, that he, Printz, is glad. In Bali, cremations are beautiful, festive, with a lot of color, he would like to describe that to his father. His father is called Rikard. That is a stern name, strong. Printz would like to have that: sternness and strength in his name.
In Bali cremations are wonderful, says Printz to Rikard.
We could have bought a more expensive urn, Rikard replies to the mountain air in front of him. Rikard does not want to look at Printz. Rikard is not interested in how things are in Bali: That tin urn will be corroded over time and it will get little holes in it. It’s very light.
Printz: In Bali they build a high tower made of wood and bamboo and place their dead in it, then they set fire to the tower then after forty-two days they build a new tower and put dolls big dolls life-sized brightly colored dolls into it and set it on fire again and then they scatter the ash over the water around Bali there’s a lot of water because Bali is an island.
Rikard: If holes develop in the urn, Ernestina could seep out, like sand.
Printz: In Bali there is no word for heaven the main city is called Denpasar and Bali is a heavenly island. There are heavenly ducks there.
Rikard: She would trickle out, white, because the ash of the dead is white.
Printz: Like Unra milk.
In Bali I ate roast duck, in Bali they put the duck into a leaf they pick from a banana tree that’s a huge leaf very green dark green then they roast it with herbs and roots and they call it bebek betutu that roast duck that’s what they call it bebek betutu it’s served at ceremonial dinners after canapés of caviar and little tomatoes after champagne I was wearing a white dinner suit like Suharto.
Rikard is tired, he does not want to walk anymore. I need the toilet, he says.
Printz is not sure that Rikard hears what he is saying. Printz thinks that his voice carries, that he speaks loudly, that he speaks clearly. Maybe my voice is not coming out, wonders Printz, perhaps I swallow my voice and it travels downward, into my stomach? That is why he asks Rikard: What did I just say? Repeat what I just said.
I need the toilet, says Rikard. Cremations are wonderful in Bali, that’s what you said.
Rikard is an old fox, a wily old fox. Now he is a bit mournful, momentarily mournful, yes, he is mournful as he walks along this mountain where they should never have come. Ernestina has gone, yes, but what is Printz thinking, what? Why he, Rikard, knows all there is to know about Bali, he knows it all. He knows about the ducks and the temples and the cremations. They sent Printz there on his instruction, he told them Printz is reliable, he told them, don’t worry, it’s all under control. What is this Prin
tz thinking, what? In Denpasar he sells his dinner suit, his special one, white like Suharto’s, he sells his official car and hands money to the poor. In Bali there are a lot of poor people. They find him on the beach in the moonlight building sand replicas of Balinese temples and saying leave me alone, I’m a sculptor, I’m a sculptor. So he gives the order, Rikard gives the order that Printz Dvorsky be sent a letter thank you, you will receive a pension, he gives the order that he should be moved, he says make sure it is humane. Rikard knows that Printz ate bebek betutu in Bali at a dinner at Suharto’s and that he lost state papers.
In Bali there’s a temple, it’s an old temple, nine centuries old, high on Mount Agung and it is called Mother Temple. That is what Printz says. As he talks, Printz hears a fairy tale and becomes emotional. Printz is glad that Tina is not lying in a dovecote because dovecotes are for doves to lay their eggs in and coo. Printz does not like doves.
You talk too much, Pupi, says Rikard. Rikard is anxious, he is not very anxious. Just a little.
Everything is cheerful in Bali. There’s a lot of color. Don’t call me Pupi. That is what Printz says.
Rikard and Printz go back to the hotel as Rikard needs the toilet and because the mountain night is falling and because they both want a bowl of soup. It is deserted.
Printz sometimes has explosions in his head. They are small explosions that do not hurt. When they come, those little explosions sparkle and then Printz becomes Pupi. It is like a light bulb shattering, like an idea shattering. One could say, it is like a little soap bubble bursting, but people often say that. Those explosions are like a soft “p” in Pupi’s head, like a soft “p” crackling and emitting images that sparkle. Then Pupi blinks. Pupi blinks because tiny stories crackle in his head. Like now, as he and Rikard are making their way back to the hotel.
Knut Andersen finds a solution for pigeons. Knut Andersen has a double-barrelled shotgun and he shoots pigeons. He lives on the main square in Oslo, far to the north and he is old. One day he kills 2001 pigeons; he paints 1900 pigeons yellow, 100 in other colors of the rainbow and just one white. The white pigeon is supposed to be the king. Knut Andersen stretches a wire across the central square in Oslo a hundred meters from the ground and hangs the dead stuffed painted pigeons from it, saying: It’s an installation for the new millennium. There are a lot of feathers around Knut Andersen. He is like something from a dream, soft and elusive.
Knut Andersen has a plastic shopping bag like all homeless people. All his property is in his bag. He fills his bag with the remaining dead pigeons. I’ll make pie from my mother’s recipe, he says. Maybe Knut Andersen is Christian’s brother, the one who writes fairy tales?
In the hotel room the air is damp because the radiators are hissing. In the hotel room Printz decides: I’ll have body piercings done and Rikard Dvorsky says: We’re leaving tomorrow.
The key won’t go into the lock. Neither Rikard’s nor Printz’s. The door opposite them in the corridor opens, it is a high door, thick and lacquered, oak. It is an elegant building, all the doors are polished and decorated with small shiny brass plates with famous names on them, locally famous, not globally. The door opposite opens and out comes the family of Herzog Dvorsky, in high spirits. The Rottweiler comes out too, also in high spirits for no reason. In the corridor, in part of the corridor, in the narrow space between the two doors on which is written Dvorsky and then Dvorsky again, there is a crowd. There is no one in the rest of the corridor; in the rest of the building silence reigns. The family of Herzog Dvorsky sings a little song of welcome to Rikard and Printz and it echoes. Everyone hops about. Including the dog. You can make out the words welcome home, welcome home, the tune is unfamiliar, a combination of occasional songs, an improvisation. The gay mood is also an improvisation, Printz realizes at once. Otherwise, in the Dvorsky family English is spoken as a matter of course. So welcome home, welcome home sounds quite natural.
Herzog says: Matilda will explain everything. That is what he says, because Herzog is not a brave man, they all know. Herzog too. Matilda is wearing a dress of Tina’s, barely altered, blue, with little white flowers, a day dress, not a stage one.
We’ve altered the flat, says Matilda. She says it cheerfully.
Printz sees — Matilda’s lips are pursed as she acts cheerfully so he does not want to look at her, he just turns his key between his fingers.
Herzog unlocks the door, he has a new key for the altered flat, a valid key. The dog barks. The children rush to the food, the table is full of food.
Five hundred pickled cabbage rolls and two hundred people to celebrate Herzog’s birth.
Five hundred pickled cabbages and two hundred people, repeats Aunty Hilda for days, so does Rikard, the rooms stink of sauerkraut and it is very crowded. Ernestina sings and cleans silver salvers. Then the festive evening arrives, the cabbages are on the table, the table is covered in cabbages, the drawing room is full of people. Printz does not know what to do with himself. Where’s Maristella? he asks. No one hears. Printz is little and the guests are big and Printz looks at them from below.
I need to go, he says.
No one hears, the din is terrific. Printz shifts from one foot to the other and repeats I need to go and where is Maristella?
Herzog is very small. Herzog sleeps in a little cot upstairs and does not know that his birth is being celebrated in the drawing room, he does not know. The little cot upstairs has been placed next to Ernestina’s big bed in which Rikard also sleeps. Printz’s bed is not in that room.
Printz goes upstairs, into the room in which Herzog is sleeping in a small cot with rails. Printz is four years old. When he is asked how old are you? he says eight. Printz knows that he is four but he likes being eight because people keep asking him how old are you, Pupi? Printz does not like being called Pupi, he does not like being asked how old he is, he does not like being asked what’s your brother’s name? and people ask that even when they know what his brother’s name is. What’s your brother’s name, they ask, and they know. Printz does not like that.
Printz takes off his trousers, squats and shits in the middle of the room.
A big turd, he says. Good Pupi.
Printz takes his turd and carries it to little Herzog who is sleeping: Here you are, eat it.
Herzog’s face is covered in Printz’s shit. Herzog wakes up and shrieks. Printz wipes his hands on the wall above Herzog’s head and goes down to the kitchen. Some women are milling about the kitchen, his grandmother and Aunty Hilda. Printz says:
Aunty Hilda, Herzog’s eating Pupi’s poo-poo.
Where are the rooms? asks Rikard.
Rikard is standing beside the table of food and turning around on his axis. Where are my rooms?
(Printz’s camp bed is folded up and put away under the window which, like the one in the kitchen, looks out at the street light.) The dining room is a dark room. You cannot see anything out of it, just the other residents’ old balconies. Those balconies are used for storing rubbish and broken washing machines and burned out cookers. They are balconies for rubbish, and high above them peers the framed sky. It is now like a room for dying in.
Where there had been double doors leading into the drawing room and then from the drawing room into the library, through which light came from the city, and noise, there is a wall, a new wall. The wall is pink. On it hangs the young Ernestina in a frame (oil on canvas), also in pink tones. Ernestina smiles even though she is dead.
Behind the wall is Herzog’s extended flat. Herzog has extended his flat by adding Rikard’s drawing room and Rikard’s library. It is clear to everyone. Including Rikard. That is why it is quite stupid that Rikard is asking where are my rooms. What can you do? People ask stupid things.
Printz sings:
Everyone looks at Printz while he is singing. As he sings, Printz smiles a little. Just a little.
Printz appears delighted but he is not
. He is about to start speaking, he knows that, senses it. Words rise in his throat as though he was going to vomit. They will look at him, all of them including Rikard and the Rottweiler, and Herzog will say: cut the crap, Pupi. Nevertheless, Printz says:
Once a learned man brought Diogenes into a richly furnished house and told him: “On no account spit on the floor.” Diogenes had a sudden urge to cough and, not having anywhere to put the phlegm, he hawked it up and spat it into the man’s face. Then he exclaimed enthusiastically: “Your snout is the only place dirty enough for expectoration.” That was good, thinks Printz, satisfied with his little story. That is what he concluded.
Where am I going to sleep? asks Rikard.
Oh, Matilda scampers in Ernestina’s blue and white silk dress so the dress flutters, Oh, Daddy, your bedroom is wonderful! Matilda calls Rikard Daddy because she thinks it sounds cheerful and warm. She thinks it is intimate and elegant.
How do I get to my bedroom, asks Rikard, now you’ve walled me in?
Through the toilet, says Matilda. When she says “through the toilet,” it does not occur to her to repeat “Daddy.”
They all, six of them plus the dog, march off through the bathroom to Rikard’s bedroom, the one with the little white dressing table, white wardrobes and crystal mirrors. They all go to see how wonderful Rikard’s bedroom is.
Where’s my bed? asks Rikard. He asks because the large bed in which Ernestina lay dying is no longer in the room. In the room there is just a small bed, a narrow bed, cut in half. In the room there is in fact half a bed. It is now an incomplete bed. Naturally, the crystal mirror is not there, what would Rikard want with a mirror, especially a crystal one? If he really wants to look at his old face, there is a shaving mirror in the bathroom.