Impossible Stories II

by Zoran Zivkovic

  They raised their clenched fists sharply to the edge of their helmets in salute then quickly dropped their arms to their sides, remaining at attention. We all stood there without moving until I finally realized what was expected of me. I clenched my hand into a fist and saluted in the same way.

  “At ease!” resounded from the same place.

  The girls’ stiff comportment relaxed only a little. They put their hands behind their backs and eased their stance as much as the space in the basins allowed.

  “Please sit down!” came the throaty voice of the girl who had issued the orders. She indicated the seat next to her.

  After I’d taken my place, the girls sat down too, backs as straight as boards. Their hands were placed on their thighs. They looked straight ahead, at each other.

  Their stiffness was of short duration, however. It was interrupted by a new order. “Table!”

  The girl to the right of the door got up at once, turned in her basin—without spilling any water—then took a small folding table from the luggage rack above her. She unfolded it skillfully and placed it in front of me, then sat down again. All this took no more than a few moments.

  “Tablecloth!”

  The girl across from the commander reached towards the storage space under the window and took out a folded orange tablecloth. She shook it open and spread it on the table in front of me. There was no need to adjust its position. Then she added an orange napkin.

  “Utensils!”

  The girl to my right put her hand under her seat and deftly pulled out a small suitcase. She lifted it effortlessly to her knees and opened it. It was full of various eating utensils. She took out a porcelain plate and put it on the tablecloth. Next came a knife and fork, and then she placed a crystal glass before me. Finally, she took a vase with fresh wild flowers out of a special compartment in the suitcase. This done, in a flash the suitcase was back under the seat.

  There was no pause before the commander roared the next order.

  “Food!”

  Jumping up off her seat as though catapulted, the girl who had taken down the table said all in one breath:

  “Infantry cheese in gunpowder eucalyptus sauce, three bayonet olives filled with almond shot, rocket liver commando style!”

  “Beverage!”

  The girl who had spread out the table cloth stood up and burst out:

  “Tank red wine!”

  “Recitation!”

  Standing up quickly, the girl who had set the table said in a gentle, almost purring voice, “On a spring morning the ladybug alights on a dandelion.”

  All three sat down as one. Once again I needed a bit of time to figure out what I was supposed to do. I turned to my left and saluted again with a clenched fist. A brass gong and wooden hammer appeared out of somewhere in the commander’s hands. The gong rang out.

  As though he had been waiting outside the compartment, the conductor marched inside. He was carrying a large tray with a dome-shaped cover, and he had a large white napkin thrown over his arm. He stopped at the table and gave a brief bow. Then he bent over slightly and took hold of the handle on the top of the cover. Just as he was raising it we entered a tunnel.

  This time the darkness was not complete. A bit of light came in from the corridor, under the three-quarters-closed curtain. Even so, I didn’t see what was under the cover, because the conductor’s bulky figure blocked most of the faint light.

  He, however, didn’t seem bothered by the darkness. He put the cover on the empty seat across from me and served my food with skillful movements. Then he filled my glass from a small wine bottle that was also on the tray.

  I felt for the knife and fork. I had just managed to get hold of something soft on the plate, when the recitation began. I stopped the fork halfway to my mouth.

  The poem was short. Some sort of haiku. The sun that has just risen illuminates a yellow flower. Enchanted, the ladybug settles down on it. The gentle breeze ripples the water of a nearby lake. The conductor spoke three verses with great élan and excitement, almost in ecstasy. Like a real actor. I lowered my fork after the first verse, so I was able to applaud heartily when it was over. I expected the girls to join in too. It might not have been according to protocol, but the poem, I thought, could not have failed to affect them. It must have touched even the most hardened military heart. Instead of applause, however, what followed was the exact opposite.

  First there was a giggle, and then a guffaw. Soon the whole compartment was echoing and probably the corridor too. I couldn’t see the conductor’s face in the dark, but it wasn’t hard to imagine how he felt. I thought I heard his sobs through what were now waves of laughter as he removed the plate full of food in front of me and the glass full of wine. He put them on the tray and covered them. He turned on his heels, then marched sharply out of the compartment, accompanied by shrieking and mocking, unseemly exclamations.

  When the curtain closed behind him, we came out of the tunnel. With the light back, silence reigned as though by unspoken order. The girls, who had been howling a moment before, were once again sitting like statues, hands on their thighs, faces serious, eyes gazing straight ahead.

  “Clear!” The sharp order broke the silence.

  It was all done in a trice, with well practiced moves. One girl picked up the utensils and put them back in the suitcase, another took the tablecloth and napkin, folded them and put them in the storage space under the window, and the third folded the table and put it on the luggage rack, once again without spilling a drop of water from the basins.

  They did not return to their seats after finishing their tasks. Once the table was removed, the commander stood up.

  “Salute!”

  Four fists sped to the helmets, then dropped to the side.

  I didn’t have to figure out what to do anymore. The reception was over. I got up but did not return their salute. It was against regulations, but I had to let them know what I thought of their outburst. I was boiling with anger.

  I had just turned to leave the compartment when whistles echoed all around me. I couldn’t imagine that women, even in uniform, could whistle so loudly. And then, as though this wasn’t enough, when I reached the door, I was hit by a flurry of drops. There was no need to turn around to see where the water for this shower had come from. Striving to preserve my dignity, I passed through the curtain with head held high. The chorus of whistles went silent the same moment.

  The conductor was waiting for me in the corridor. Instead of a tray and napkin he was now holding a tailor’s measuring tape. He was wearing only his vest and out of its shallow pockets poked scissors, blue chalk and a small notepad with a pencil. Attached to the sleeve above his left wrist was a pincushion filled with pins.

  He opened his arms wide. “What can I say? Outrageous impertinence! And simply because you didn’t join them in poking fun at me.”

  “But why did they do that?”

  “Ah, why. Because of the chocolate basin, that’s why.”

  “Chocolate basin?”

  “That’s right. If you will allow me.”

  He put the end of the measuring tape by the knot of my tie. “Might I ask you to hold this here?”

  I pressed on the semicircle of metal with my thumb. The conductor knelt in front of me and stretched out the tape. He took hold of it at the place where it touched the floor, then got up. He looked at the measured length, took the little notebook and pencil and made a brief note.

  “The chocolate basin is the insignia of their regiment. It had been entrusted to their safekeeping. But they didn’t look after it.”

  “They didn’t?”

  “No. Now let’s see the width.”

  He went behind me and stretched the meter from one shoulder to the other, then wrote another number in the notebook.

  “No one else is to blame. Did anyone force them to bet? No, of course not. But you know what military minds are like. They think that no one can beat them. Please be so kind as to stretch out your arm.�
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  He measured from under my arm to the end of my sleeve. A third note went into the notebook.

  “They were convinced they would easily win the bet. Could anyone outdo them in drinking wine? And a woman to boot? Not on your life! Allow me.”

  He opened up my jacket, then put the tape measure around my waist. He shook his head, looking at the number.

  “You should pay better attention to your weight. It’s much easier to put it on than take it off. Can you imagine how many bottles they drank?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Twenty-six! Believe it or not! Without eating anything. So much wine on an empty stomach!”

  “Unbelievable!”

  “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t served them myself. I tried to warn them that it would not end well, but all in vain. Who has ever brought unruly soldiers to their senses? They were disdainfully dismissive and simply ordered a new round. And afterwards, when they lost, they blamed me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me. Allegedly I’d put something in the wine. As if that’s possible. And what reason would I have to do that? Go on, you tell me.”

  “None.”

  “None, of course. But they had to find a scapegoat. Let’s see your pant legs. Spread your legs a little, please.”

  I did as I was told. The conductor measured the inner leg, then wrote it down.

  “There. Now we have all your measurements. In any case, if there had been something in the wine it would have affected her too. They drank out of the same bottle. But she remained fully conscious, while the girls finally passed out after the twenty-sixth bottle.”

  “Who wouldn’t. That much wine would kill a lot of people.”

  “That’s right. When they came to, instead of the chocolate basin they found their feet in tin basins. And that’s not all. The bet says they can’t take them out until they learn at least one haiku by heart.”

  “Only one?”

  “Yes. But they won’t, not for anything in the world. They would rather keep their feet in the basins indefinitely. For the sake of their pride.”

  “That sounds more like stubbornness to me.”

  “Exactly. You put your finger on it. Stubbornness, no doubt about it. And hypocritical stubbornness to boot. And do you know why?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Because they’re pretending. Long ago they learned by heart that haiku about the ladybug and the dandelion, but they just won’t admit it.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Clear as day. They always request that I recite the same one. I’ve repeated it so many times that probably the seats in the compartment have memorized it, let alone four bright, perceptive girls. They don’t take just anyone into the women’s units. There is a strict selection process. After all, there are only three verses. But instead of repeating the haiku with me and freeing themselves from the humiliating act of keeping their feet in a basin, they would rather make vicious fun of me. So be it. It certainly isn’t easy for me, but they are the ones who pay the price. What shade would you like?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What shade of fabric? For your suit.”

  “Oh.” I thought it over briefly. “White.”

  “An excellent choice. Many people wrongly consider that only a dark suit is appropriate for formal occasions, but that is a mistaken belief, of course. There is nothing more elegant than a white suit, particularly when the lighting is weak. You always stand out. What kind of lapels would you like, narrow or wide?”

  This time I didn’t hesitate. “Wide.”

  The conductor applauded. “Excellent. There is nothing as telling as a man’s lapels. Narrow lapels are worn only by the narrow of mind, those with hidebound views, miserly and malign, and disposed to gout, while a man of the world is recognized above all by his wide lapels. Congratulations.”

  He stretched out his hand with the tape measure thrown over it and we shook hands firmly.

  “All right, now let’s move on.” He headed towards the fifth compartment.

  He opened the door without knocking and stuck his head through the curtain. I didn’t hear him say anything. He soon pulled his head out and motioned me in with his hand. “If you please.”

  There were three passengers in the compartment. A young nurse in a white uniform was sitting on the left, next to the curtained window. Blond curls tumbled from under her white cap. There was a healthy, ripe look to her. Across from her sat an old man and woman holding hands, their heads drawn together. I’d never seen people as old as they were. They had completely wrinkled skin, inflamed eyes, very thin hair, and they were stooped. The frozen smiles on their faces looked like death masks.

  As soon as the door closed, the nurse stood up and came over to me. Before I knew what was happening, she raised the bag she was holding way up high and sprinkled confetti all over my head. Then she clapped gaily.

  “Happy birthday! Happy birthday!”

  I stood there in bewilderment a few moments, sprinkled with multicolored paper flakes. “Whose birthday?”

  “The gentleman’s, of course,” she said, indicating the old man.

  “Oh,” I replied, then bowed to him. “Happy birthday, sir.”

  The two old folks just kept on smiling. The nurse returned to her seat, swaying her hips. She pointed to the spot next to her. “Have a seat.”

  Before I sat down, I shook off a bit of the confetti. Only then did I notice that the carpet runner was practically covered with it.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Otherwise I would have brought a present, to be sure.”

  “It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you came. It means a lot to both of them.” She looked at them tenderly.

  “My pleasure.” I bowed once again.

  “How old do you think he is?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Really, I wouldn’t know.”

  “One hundred and seventy-six!”

  “One hundred and seventy-six?” I said, aghast.

  “That’s right. Although you’d never say so. He looks at least thirty-five years younger, doesn’t he?”

  The nurse winked at me.

  “Why, of course,” I hastened to agree. “At least. Actually, I wouldn’t think him more than one hundred twenty-eight and a half!”

  “I thank you for the compliment in his name.” The nurse smiled, and dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth. “If you’re interested, I’ll tell you what he has to thank for his longevity.”

  “Of course I’m interested,” I said without a moment’s hesitation.

  “The time he spent in prison.”

  “In prison?”

  “Yes. He spent exactly one hundred and six years, eight months, eleven days and two hours in prison. He was sentenced to life in prison, but was recently released for good behavior.”

  “If I’m not being unduly inquisitive, why was he sentenced to such a long punishment?”

  “He ate his first wife.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Ate?”

  “That’s right. Not all at once, of course. Over seventy-six days. This was taken as a mitigating circumstance during the trial, otherwise he might have been sent to the gallows. But please don’t ask me anything else about that ghastly event. Talking about it always upsets him and that’s not good for his weak heart. In any case, he has completely repaid his debt to society.”

  I looked at the old man across from me. It seemed that nothing could cloud the cheerful serenity on his face.

  “Madam is his second wife, I presume?”

  “Yes. They met seventy-two years ago by pigeon carrier mail. She was only eighteen at the time. They exchanged photographs and it was love at first sight. They married in prison not long after.”

  “Wasn’t she bothered by what had put him in prison?” I asked in a low voice.

  “Not at all. Love works wonders. She closed her eyes to it. You can imagine how happy she was when she finally saw him free. But this ro
mance wouldn’t have had a happy turn if he hadn’t become friends with the cook in prison.”

  “The cook?”

  “Yes. He was also in prison, sentenced for the brutal murder of his seven daughters, although he never confessed to the crime. As a young medical corps lieutenant, the cook spent several years as a prisoner of war in the jungle. He barely survived, but he brought an amazing talisman back with him. A glass corkscrew. He received it from a tribal chieftain whose son he’d saved from certain death from a tropical insect bite.”

  The nurse reached into her pocket and took out a bag of candy. “Help yourself,” she said, holding it out towards me.

  “No, thank you, I don’t eat candy.”

  “Please, it’s his birthday, you must help yourself to something.” I took one, but just held it in my hand without unwrapping it.

  “The glass corkscrew gives longevity to its owner. The cook, however, decided to kill himself, unable to bear the burden of being unjustly sentenced. Before he poisoned himself, he gave the talisman to the only friend he had in prison.”

  “Why, that’s just like in an old fairy tale.”

  “Yes, except this one won’t have a happy ending.”

  “It won’t?”

  “No, he doesn’t have the talisman anymore. He certainly won’t live to see his next birthday.”

  “You don’t say. And what happened to the glass corkscrew?”

  “He gave it away.”

  “Whom did he give it to?”

  The nurse drew a bit closer to me and whispered. “You already know who he gave it to. It’s not hard to guess.”

  “You mean . . . ”

  She gave a brief nod. “As soon as she entered our compartment, he took the talisman out of the leather bag he wore at his waist and gave it to her. As though he’d just been waiting for her to appear.”

  “But why?”

  “So that he could die with his wife. Her days are numbered. The doctors don’t give her more than three and a half months. They will end their lives together. They have made a vow to die together. Isn’t that romantic?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “A genuine melodrama.”

  “Truly.”

  The nurse got up. “Now we must say goodbye. There’s a tunnel coming up, and these two don’t like to miss any of them. Who can blame them after all the decades of separation and deprivation? They don’t have many opportunities left to be intimate.”