‘Death will take them in the morning if they stay there like that,’ agreed the spirits. ‘They’re honest peasants, and there’s no doubt they’ll go to Heaven, but it would be better if they could live a little longer!’
The prisoners lay trembling on the bricks, oblivious to the sighs and whispers all around them.
The spirits turned to the cat. ‘What are you smirking at?’ they demanded.
‘All they have to do is stand up,’ answered Muri, stretching lazily. ‘They just have to walk ten or fifteen paces and look outside. They’ve only got themselves to blame!’
The morning sun threw the smashed cupola into sharp relief. A moment later its rays fell on the wall opposite the low windows, and the roar of gunfire started up again. The spirits, who had curled up wherever they could find a spot, began chattering simultaneously and scurrying about like insects. The prisoners kept their noses pressed into the fragments of brick.
Muri left the church and headed towards a house that had just been demolished by a missile and was therefore no longer a target. The cat ran along the warm boards of the collapsed roof, which lay in a heap in front of the house, then deftly jumped onto the dusty windowsill and lay there like a miniature sphinx. There was no point trying to leave the city for the time being so he remained there, a witness to the war. He took it all in – the scraps of lead and iron flying through the air, the soldiers and civilians running about in every direction and the vast hordes of divine and demonic creatures swooping and colliding overhead.
What was happening in the sky was truly an impressive sight to behold. All over the city, the souls of those who had been blown up or shot were floating upwards. Christian souls, writhed in bluish smoke, were seized immediately by angels and held aloft as they were carried into the clouds; dead Muslims were met by peris, which shone with an equally blinding light. Although these maidens twittered frivolously, in contrast to the solemn angels, they handled every trembling soul competently, supporting them in their slender girlish hands. They had divided the sky up between them – the peris ascended in the east, in the luxuriant glow of the dawn, whereas the angels gathering the Orthodox and Catholic souls favoured the west. The war was generating as much activity in the air as on the ground. Entire flocks of demons also contributed to the spectacle, gnashing their teeth, snapping their wings and generally creating pandemonium.
Without batting an eye, the little cat stayed where he was and waited for night to fall. Eventually the warriors and their victims were exhausted. The cannons had overheated to such an extent that they refused to spit out any more missiles. Smoke was coming from the tank engines, and even the Kalashnikovs begged for mercy. Apart from the snipers’ rifles, which knew no rest, everything seemed to cry, ‘Enough!’ The generals were obliged to obey. The angels and peris finished their work and simultaneously took wing, back to their stratospheric domains, and yet another hopeless night came crashing down over the unfortunate city. The spirits collapsed listlessly onto the remaining trees and roofs. The people had collapsed some time before them. Now the only sign of life was the exhaust fumes coming from the armoured troop carriers that had managed to escape destruction.
A fluffy female cat found Muri on the windowsill and decided to introduce herself. Muri jumped up to meet her. They spent a long time walking up and down the boards, sniffing each other and rubbing their heads together.
Trembling with desire, the female cat knew that this handsome striped stranger was here to stay. She calmed down only once a new litter of offspring had been conceived. Then, her wise eyes half-closed with contentment, she began to speak.
‘You’re staying with me now, Tiger. Where else are you going to go? We can live splendidly in the streets of this city for the rest of the summer. There are already plenty of mice and rats here, and believe me, in the current circumstances they’re bound to multiply! People have left cellars full of food and grain. As far as the dogs are concerned, there’s enough human flesh lying in the streets to keep them fed morning, noon and night – and while this carnage continues, it’s in no danger of running out!’
‘Surely you understand what my blanket means to me, don’t you?’ Muri replied. ‘You must know how important it is for me to visit my garden every morning then to come back to my bowl of milk…’
‘I know, I know,’ the female cat answered sadly. She had already sensed his yearning and the strength of his resolve.
‘So why are you trying to convince me to stay? Your rats and dogs mean nothing to me.’
And with that, Muri set off into the night.
The streets were full of corpses that remained where they had fallen. Dogs – those contemptible scavengers, the hyenas of war – tore voraciously into the human flesh, gulping it down. These dogs were frightened of every noise at night – whenever they heard anything they would drool nervously, and their teeth would chatter with fear. Even the silent padding of feline paws terrified them, and the slightest rustle was enough to send them running to hide in the first sheltered corner they could find. The rumble of an engine was enough to scare these cowardly marauders off for good. An old lorry appeared as the scornful cat was hurrying down the street. Its sides were folded back and it was loaded with bleeding human remains: torsos, arms, legs and heads. The driver’s job was very simple –whenever his headlights fell on yet another body, he would climb out and use special hooks to drag the remains to the lorry and toss them into the back. The lorry drove past Muri, and the cat noticed that the mysterious driver was enormous – a real-life Hercules. The giant twirled his moustache and began singing in Serbian:
I finished my business in Mansar,
Then I came to Sarajevo.
I’ll have no trouble finding work here,
So I shall fill my pockets.
When I get paid,
What’s to stop me heading for Austria?
Yes, over the snowy mountains,
And back on the road again!
‘Now there’s a great song!’ Muri exclaimed approvingly, following this Slavic Charon with his eyes.
After asking a few spirits he met whether there were any neighbourhoods left in Sarajevo that hadn’t yet been ravaged by the war, the cat heard that there were houses still standing in the Jewish quarter, on the southern outskirts of the city. He began heading in that direction, and sure enough, some distance from the centre, he came to a district of large, detached houses that appeared to have suffered no damage.
‘Don’t bother making yourself comfortable!’ squeaked a tiny spirit as it flew over the cat. ‘This will all be destroyed tomorrow. So if you thought you’d be safe out here, you’d better think again!’
This feeling seemed to be shared by others. Despite the imaginary calm, many house spirits were already sitting on the porches of their houses, trembling, whimpering and mournfully lamenting their fate. It was obvious that up to this point their lives here had been quite privileged. The houses were two or even three storeys high, with attics and garages too. Muri sniffed and looked around before heading for one of the smaller houses. An ancient house spirit sat on the porch, already grieving for his former life.
‘You’ve chosen a good master,’ he said, pausing between sobs. ‘But if it’s food and shelter you’re after, you’d better take it while you can. After this evening he’s abandoning me and all his worldly goods.’
The front door was open, and the cat walked boldly into the small kitchen. On a stool by the table sat a crooked old man, whose nose was close to succeeding in its attempt to touch his upper lip. Miaowing amicably, Muri rubbed against his legs and glanced into the corridor, where he saw a cart modestly laden with baggage. It proved easy enough to arouse the old man’s compassion, and a saucer of milk was swiftly produced.
The old man launched straight into a monologue.
‘They killed my cat, and now you turn up out of the blue! All right, here’s a piece of kosher meat for you. It won’t be long before the shooting begins here too and everything will be des
troyed, so we have no choice but to run. Oh, Rabbi Benjamin was the wisest man! When I was just a boy he said to me, “Jacob, always keep your cart ready and take good care of your legs – you never know when you might need them!”’
The old man lit a beautiful pipe made of cherry wood. Filling the air around him with smoke, Jacob raised a finger and Muri adopted his most attentive face.
‘When I was a boy, my parents fled from Budapest to Bavaria. Then in 1937 we had to abandon it all again – the shop, the books, the house, everything. I remember it well. My legs certainly came in handy then! We stopped in Geneva, Zagreb, and finally Sarajevo. Now it’s time to leave this place too. The rabbi – may God rest his soul! – said to me, “Remember, Jacob, however many belongings you accumulate, however weary you may be, make sure you’re always ready! Do what you can to avoid incurring the wrath of God, and that means taking good care of your legs. They will save you time and again.”’
Muri was hanging off his every word, and the old man readily continued.
‘The rabbi said to me, “Promise the fools everything, charm them with tales of wherever you’re taking them, but just make sure that you don’t succumb to any illusions yourself. Remember the bitter truth, and accept it for what it is. The truth, the only truth, is that we are destined to spend our pitiful lives running!”’
The cat couldn’t bear tobacco smoke but he continued to feign devotion, wrapping himself around the old man’s legs. Jacob proceeded to disclose his innermost secret.
‘I’m taking my fools to Munich. From there I’ll send the more ambitious ones on to America. I can’t promise them paradise, but it’s a start… They’ll be able to make their own way from there!’ The old man gave a wheezing laugh and started coughing, dislodging his pipe. ‘Such is the Lord’s will. From the time of Ezra we have been thrown about the world, here and there…’ He paused and laid his tobacco-stained palm on Muri’s head. ‘Whereas you don’t care where you live, do you? As long as there’s a ready supply of food. When things change you rush about in despair, not knowing what to do… You’re ready to call any house a home. Poor little thing.’
‘Fool!’ snorted Muri, looking into the old man’s eyes with devotion. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about!’
Nevertheless he continued to rub himself up against the old man, emitting the barely audible crackling noise that humans love so much.
‘It’s just a shame I can’t put you on the cart and take you with me,’ Jacob said sadly. ‘I would have liked having you to look after – you remind me so much of my own cat.’
‘If you don’t put me in that basket I’ll climb in myself, you old fool,’ thought Muri. Then he jumped onto Jacob’s lap, calmly curled into a ball, closed his eyes and began to doze. To avoid disturbing the sleeping cat Jacob sat there all night, trying to keep his legs from trembling.
In the morning the old man decided to take the cat with him after all. He was quite astonished when Muri settled down willingly in the bottom of the capacious basket.
‘I assumed you’d try to run away,’muttered Jacob, thoroughly perplexed. Then, without bothering to close the front door, he took up the handles of his cart and began walking towards the gates.
Oh, how the house spirit reacted to his departure! Rocking from side to side, howling and begging him to stay… Naturally, Jacob couldn’t hear any of this. In any case, the street was echoing with the sounds of despair. Fathers, young men, old women, boys and girls all stood in the street, waiting for this modern-day Moses to lead them to their own Promised Land. They carried their belongings in makeshift bundles, carts and suitcases. The frightened children huddled together on the carts, some on the men’s shoulders; none of them dared to utter even a squeak when the grown-ups were making so much noise. The women were already wailing uncontrollably, and their plump cheeks were awash with tears.
‘Where’s Abraham?’ asked Jacob, once everyone had stifled their sobbing and sighing and gathered around him. ‘What’s that old miser up to?’
‘He’s decided to stay, to protect his home,’ people called, their voices choked with emotion. ‘He wants to save his shop… He says he’s not going anywhere.’
The old man’s response was full of sarcasm.
‘Excellent! Sounds like he’s been at the liquid courage. Go and get him, right now.’
‘He won’t come!’ they answered. ‘Abraham would rather die than leave with us.’
‘Has he suddenly decided to start behaving like a child?’ Jacob exploded. ‘Or has his brain stopped working altogether?’
The old man strode decisively to Abraham’s house, dragging his cart with the prescient cat onboard. The crowd trailed after him. Many of them dragged their impressive loads along too, staggering and swaying under the weight.
‘Where do you think you’re taking all of that?’ cried Jacob, turning to his fellow countrymen. ‘Have you all lost your minds? You won’t even make it over the first pass like that. Leave it all here!’
Struck by his decisiveness, some abandoned their burdens; others continued to drag their suitcases along the ground.
‘Leave your old rags behind!’ Jacob insisted. ‘Take only your blankets, your tents, your food and water. You won’t need anything else.’
Someone noticed Muri in Jacob’s basket and shouted, ‘So why are you taking that stray cat?’
‘A cat cannot be compared with a suitcase full of junk!’ Jacob answered curtly. Approaching Abraham’s house, he called, ‘Stop being stupid, you stubborn old fool! Get your things together and come with us, quickly!’
Abraham came out of his house, clutching a gun in his sweaty hands. Traces of foam were visible on his lilac lips. Through the willow walls of the basket Muri could see a smug house spirit hovering behind the armed man. The spirit was literally swelling up with pleasure, revelling in the suicidal stupidity of his master. Abraham lifted the gun and aimed it at Jacob.
‘I don’t know which of us is more stupid,’ he barked curtly. ‘You or I… Wait!’ he turned to the crowd. ‘This madman is going to lead you into an abyss! You’re fools to trust him. You’re all going to die, you brainless cretins!’
Jacob began shaking his head.
‘Abraham, Abraham! So you’ve stuck a satellite dish on your roof, you’ve got yourself a good car… But why have you spent years hoarding all this wealth? Why have you counted every dinar? You didn’t even take a wife, in order to save money. You probably thought you’d have plenty of time for that. Of course, you’re not obliged to do anything Rabbi Benjamin and old Gershevich tell you! But what were you thinking, Abraham? Did you believe that the world had changed and that you could forget who you were? Are you happy to keep on burying your head in the sand? Anyway, here we are, waiting humbly with our carts until you deign to come out… I promise I will put you on a plane to America. Just stop being so stubborn!’
‘You’re going to end up in a ditch by the side of the road, you idiots! You cowards!’ cried Abraham, desperately trying to defend himself.
‘Leave your arrogance here with your possessions,’ Jacob appealed to the stubborn disputant. ‘Leave it all before it’s too late. Hurry up and come with us! I’ll take you to a calm place, where you can live to be a hundred… How important are your house and your Mercedes now? What difference does it make how much money you have? Remember who you are!’
‘I spit on your theory!’ shouted Abraham, brandishing his useless weapon. ‘Now clear off! And take your brainless herd with you…’
Puffing fiercely at his pipe, Jacob turned and walked away from Abraham’s house without a backwards glance. Muri looked up in time to see a small, spiteful-looking creature break away from the flock of demons that were soaring in the morning sky, snapping their wings. Opening its mouth in a silent cackle, it swooped down and struck Abraham’s sweat-covered brow with its claw then flew back to join its companions, delighted with the success of its mission.
The city streets ran right up to the foothills of the
mountains, which were striking in their timeless serenity. They were approached by a narrow track, apparently known only to the leader of the group. It was barely wide enough to accommodate his squeaking cart wheels. Abraham was the only member of their community who stayed to guard his doomed shop, though there was little he could do to protect it from an onslaught of good old double-barrelled 120mm mortars. It was already too late for him to catch up with the others now. Even the youngest children remained surprisingly silent, as though their mouths had been sealed with industrial-strength adhesive tape.
‘Here we are, then,’ muttered the old man, holding tightly onto the handles of his cart. ‘What good are our precious cars now? Our new Toyotas, our wonderful Peugeots, even Elohim Sharum’s Lincoln… They might be big and shiny, but they’re all stuck in their garages. Easy pickings for anyone who comes along! But you can take a cart anywhere.’
Behind them the firing began again, missiles and mines filling every district with their sickening screams. But the fugitives kept walking along the path in single file, skirting the bushes, which were pitiful to look at but tenacious and proud, and the stones that had ended their own journey on the slopes. Muri sat calmly in his basket. The old man who had chosen to transport him clenched his pipe furiously between his teeth. He stopped only to fill it with tobacco.
‘No one can cross a boundary that has been set by the Lord Himself,’ he muttered. ‘But wise old Rabbi Benjamin was right! He knew what he was talking about, as sure as my name is Jacob! It’s not our place to ask questions, to try to understand. Therefore we must keep our wits about us and always be ready to move on when the time comes – I, for one, have always kept my wheels oiled!’
The cat listened as the old man wheeled him along, choosing the most meandering and thorny of all possible paths and wisely avoiding the main roads. Only when the men grew tired did he announce a halt. The scrubby, brittle bushes that grew in this remote place were doomed as soon as people dropped their loads to the ground. The fugitives set up their tents and wrapped the children in blankets to protect them from the damp. Jacob was invited to the communal campfire, but like any leader he preferred his own company and chose to build a small fire some distance away. Swiftly and efficiently, as though he’d been doing it all his life, he warmed some coffee in his little kettle, constructed a shelter, unrolled his camel-hair blanket and took the cat out of the basket, placing him on the blanket.
The Way of Muri Page 3