by Chris Mawbey
“Please, this is where you sleep,” said Janic still beaming. “You are welcome to stay for many days.” He shook Mickey’s hand with the best vigour he could muster before leaving him alone.
Chapter 8
The room that Mickey had been given was a basic affair. An iron bed frame carried a straw mattress and matching straw pillow. This was topped off by a coarse hessian blanket. A small, rusty night stand carried a cracked porcelain basin and a dented pewter mug. The jug was empty and there was no soap or a towel. Mickey suspected that he would see none of these while he stayed with Janic Kovaks and his family.
“The girl doesn’t seem to be very happy about getting married,” said Pester, who had followed Mickey and Janic up to the bedroom.
“We haven’t seen the groom yet,” laughed Mickey. He sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off his trainers. “How long do you think we’ll be here?”
“No idea,” said Pester. “You can afford a wee bit of time. But no more than a couple of days. You do have a deadline to meet – pardon the pun.”
Raised voices from below interrupted the conversation.
“Sounds like an argument,” said Mickey. “It’s probably about me staying. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of food in the house.”
“You could be right,” said Pester. “They don’t look as if they can look after themselves, never mind having a guest to stay. It’s not as if they can stock up with food after you’ve gone. Everyone will be using the food that came over with them. There’s no new food here.”
Pester left the room curious about the cause of the commotion. While he was waiting, Mickey went to the small window. It looked out over the rear of another row of homes similar to the one that he was in. On the far right hand side of Mickey’s view the streets opened out on to a larger square. This square looked like it might be the centre of the village or at least the focal point of this part of it. In the centre of the square stood a bandstand. On the very edge of his vision Mickey could make out rows of chairs in front of the bandstand. It was odd that most of the seats were occupied even though there was no band playing.
Pester returned to the room with a look of amusement on his face.
“They’re not arguing about you,” he said. “We were right about one thing though. Elena doesn’t want to get married; and her mother is taking her side.”
“So is old Janic trying to get rid of her to save food, do you think?” said Mickey. “If she was mine I’d never want to let her go.”
“Ah, but you’re talking like a lover not a father,” Pester replied with a smile.
Mickey flushed again which brought a laugh from his guide.
“I don’t think it’s as simple as preserving the food stock,” said Pester. “It sounds like a matter of honour. Our friend Janic seems to be a stickler for tradition. He wants to cling to the old ways. It’s sad really. He’s refusing to accept things as they are and thinks that this sham of a marriage will somehow change things.”
“Why do you say it’s a sham?” Mickey asked.
“Because nothing can come of it,” Pester replied, wiping his finger through the dust on the night stand. This place is dead. There is no life here and new life can’t be created.”
“So does Janic think that he can keep the village going by marrying off his daughter?” asked Mickey.
“Possibly,” mused Pester. “But we don’t have a groom at the moment.”
“What?” Mickey had turned back to the window but spun round at the revelation.
“There’s to be some kind of ceremony tomorrow to decide who Elena will marry,” said Pester. “The wedding will take place the day after.”
“And I take it that Elena isn’t happy with some of the candidates,” said Mickey.
“I think there’s more to it than that,” Pester replied. “I think that mother and daughter are against the idea of the marriage at all – irrespective of who the groom might be. They seem to have other plans.”
A short while later there was a knock at the door. Mickey opened it to find Elena standing there. He smiled broadly.
Elena didn’t return the smile. “Father says that our meal will soon be ready.”
“Thank you, Elena. I’ll be straight down.” Mickey replied.
The girl turned to go but Mickey put a hand on her arm. “Don’t look so sad. I’m sure everything will work out ok for you.”
“Do you think so?” Elena said. She stared at Mickey defiantly but her eyes were moistening. She turned away quickly and hastened down the stairs. Mickey watched her until she was out of sight then closed the door. Pester was smiling at him.
“What?” said Mickey.
“Nothing,” the guide replied, his smile broadening.
“Fuck off,” Mickey growled. Then changing the subject, “What are you going to do for food? You can’t eat with us.”
“I’ll be ok. I’m going for a walk round the village,” Pester replied. “You should concentrate on trying to put a smile on the pretty bride’s face.”
The meal consisted of meagre portions of heavily salted lamb with dried vegetables that had been boiled back to some semblance of tenderness. In the middle of the table were slices of a flat, dry bread. Mickey hadn’t seen that type of bread before; it certainly wasn’t something Mum used to get from Asda. The lamb was tough and all four diners had to chew their meat long and hard before they could swallow it. Each mouthful was washed down with a tepid sweet red wine. Mickey was sensible enough to only take a small first sip. The wine had long ago turned to vinegar and Mickey struggled to not screw his face up in distaste.
The tension at the table was palpable and Mickey became increasingly uncomfortable as he vainly tried to find topics of conversation that wouldn’t reignite the family row. He rejected each idea and finally opted for safety and ate in silence. Janic was also feeling the pressure and tried several of his own attempts at small talk. Each line dried up after a few exchanges.
“How long have you been dead, Mickey Raymond,” Elena suddenly asked. It was the first thing she’d said since the meal began. Her question raised a howl of protest from her father. Janic was furious that his daughter should speak without permission and then embarrass his honoured guest. Olga didn’t say anything but Mickey sensed that her concern wasn’t for his embarrassment but for something else entirely.
Mickey was caught by surprise at the nature of the question. At the same time he was pleased by the girl’s directness. He also liked the sound of her voice.
Janic was still ranting at his daughter.
“Please, Mr. Kovaks – Janic,” said Mickey. “It’s alright. I’m not offended.” He then turned his attention to Elena. “I died two days ago. It’s still a strange feeling – especially talking about it.”
“How did you die?” Again, the directness of Elena’s question enraged her father and pleased his guest. Mickey found Janic’s discomfort amusing and had to concentrate on keeping a straight face. It also gave him time to think how to frame his answer. Elena and Olga were watching him expectantly and with interest. He didn’t want his reply to sound flashy or contrived. In the end he decided that a simple response was the best answer.
“I was shot,” he said.
Mickey was grateful that Elena didn’t press for more details but she did look as if she was impressed by the violent manner of his death. She explained to her mother the nature of Mickey’s death.
“Mislite li da je gangster?” Olga asked her daughter.
Mickey couldn’t understand any of what the old woman said but one of the words sounded like ‘gangster’.
Elena laughed. “No, on izgleda previše lijepo.” She didn’t translate fro Mickey’s benefit. She wasn’t going to tell him that she thought he looked too nice to be a gangster.
“Are - were you a fighter?” Elena asked, changing the subject slightly. She had put down her knife and fork and her attention was entirely fixed on Mickey.
“Well, I can take care of myself,” Mickey replie
d with uncomfortable modesty. He wasn’t sure where this line of questioning was going. He didn’t want Elena to think he was a thug. Neither did he want her to think he was soft. He decided not to offer any more information and chose to wait for another question.
Elena seemed happy enough with Mickey’s answer, as did Olga.
“On bi mogao biti jedan?” said Olga.
“Možda,” Elena replied.
Olga wondered if Mickey could really be the one that she and Elena had been waiting for. Elena thought that he might be.
The head of the Kovaks family however, was far from happy. Janic scowled at his daughter and spent the rest of the meal looking as though someone had put salt on his ice cream.
Mickey finished his food as quickly as he could without making it look too obvious.
“Thank you for the meal,” he said to Olga. “You’ve been very generous.”
He didn’t know if the woman understood what he’d said but Olga looked very pleased with the praise. It was short lived though as Janic stepped in to claim the plaudits.
“You are welcome, my honoured guest. It was only a humble offering. Now you and I, we will drink.” Janic rose from the table and reached for a bottle that contained what looked like a couple of fingers of brandy. Mickey remembered the taste of the wine and decided not to risk it. He made a show of stifling a yawn.
“I’m very tired,” he said. “I’ve been walking all day. If you don’t mind I’ll go to bed now.”
Janic looked crestfallen but made a fuss of helping Mickey out of his seat. “Of course, of course. You are my honoured guest. My house is your house.”
Though the words didn’t sound at all sincere, Mickey thanked his host and shook his hand. Then he made a point of turning to Olga and Elena, bidding them both a goodnight. As he left the room, Mickey glanced at Janic. As he suspected, his host was offended that Mickey’s final words had been to the two women. Mickey turned away and allowed himself a small self satisfied smile. He knew Janic’s sort – and despised them.
Pester was already in the room when Mickey got there.
“Good meal?” the guide asked.
“No it was shit,” Mickey replied. “Everything was tough and tasted old. Did you find anything out while you were wandering round the village?”
Pester nodded, almost eagerly. “Aye a wee bit. Elena’s groom will be decided by some kind of trial by combat.”
“Sounds medieval,” Mickey remarked. “Mind you, the whole place seems years out of date. Janic kept referring to me as his honoured guest, not our honoured guest. He’s one of those men who treat women as second class. And I bet his neighbours are no different.”
“It’s the culture of the village and the region it’s from. Have you got a problem with that?” said Pester.
“Don’t you?” Mickey replied without actually answering.
Pester shrugged. “I’ve been over here a long time. Attitudes change. I don’t really have an opinion about anything anymore.”
“Well I do.” Mickey’s blood was still up. “I’ve seen too much of what happens when women aren’t treated properly. To me, we’re all equal.”
“Very noble,” said Pester.
“Meaning?”
“What I said,” Pester replied. “You should remember what you said. Things are likely to get tough going forward from here. That attitude could work for and against you.”
“So you do know what’s in store for me,” said Mickey, pressing a quickly taken advantage. “Don’t you think you ought to tell me?” He climbed onto the bed and leant against the wall with his hands behind his head.
Pester sat in a corner of the room.
“I know a wee bit,” he conceded. “But I can guess a lot more. There’s only so much I can tell you. If I give too much away it could change things for you. So don’t ask.”
The guide settled into the corner, turned his back on his young charge and would say no more.
Chapter 9
Mickey awoke feeling just as stiff and unrested as he had when he’d slept outside. The straw mattress had been too thin to prevent the springs in the bed frame from poking into him and the blanket was as soft as a burlap sack. Added to that was the fact that every time that Mickey had moved in the night the bed frame had creaked and banged, waking him up.
It had been during one of these many wakeful moments that Mickey had heard crying from the room next door. It had been a soft, sad sound. He had heard no words of comfort so Mickey had assumed that the tears had been shed alone and so belonged to Elena. He wondered if the family had argued again after he’d left them for the night.
Breakfast consisted of a bland oat porridge made with warmish water. It was a stark contrast to the hot breakfasts that Mum used to insist that Mickey ate before going to school on frosty mornings. Mum’s porridge was hot, smooth and creamy, and served with love. This breakfast was tepid, lumpy and tasteless, and eaten in an atmosphere of lingering acrimony.
Mickey looked across the table at Elena. Her eyes were red rimmed with dark circles beneath them. She looked so sad that Mickey felt his heart beginning to break. Elena’s sadness only made her look more beautiful. Mickey wanted to give her a hug and tell her that everything would turn out alright. He knew that it would have been a lie though. Elena was going to be married off to someone who won her in a contest. She would find out who that was going to be today and become his wife tomorrow. There would be no courtship, no romance and probably no love. Elena would just become another piece of property – the purse of a prize fight.
The similarity between what was happening here and the relationship between his own parents wasn’t lost on Mickey. Anger suddenly flared, and he felt his face grow hot as his expression darkened. He felt powerless to help.
Elena was so absorbed in her own misery that she didn’t see the look on Mickey’s face.
Olga saw Mickey’s anger rise though. She watched him with a mixture of fear, anxiety and a small amount of hope.
When breakfast ended Janic ordered his daughter to clear the table and wash the pots. Mickey immediately offered to help.
“No, no,” cried Janic. “My guest does not work. The girl will do the work. We will sit outside my house and smoke.”
Mickey noticed that Janic had dropped the ‘honoured’ part of the guest label now. What you really want to do, he thought, is parade me in front of your neighbours, just like a trophy. You vain prick.
Then Janic said something that reignited Mickey’s anger.
“Tomorrow she becomes a man’s wife. She needs to learn her place.”
Mickey felt his fist clench. He could cheerfully have punched this odious little man down the stairs and out into the street. That would give the neighbours something to look at. Instead, he fought to compose himself. Mickey smiled and clasped Janic on the shoulder. He grip was firm and unwavering as he dug his fingers into the man’s skinny shoulder.
“If Elena.” He made a deliberate point of using the girl’s name. “If Elena is going to spend the rest of her ... time cleaning up after a husband that she doesn’t even know yet, then today, her last day as a free person, she will have my help.”
Janic made to protest but Mickey silenced him with his stare.
The old man glanced across at the mother and daughter audience. Both were engrossed in the exchange, as Elena whispered a translation, and he could see that both were anxious to discover how it would conclude. Janic was the head of the house he had to do something to save face.
“Your ways are strange ways, Mickey Raymond. But my house is your house. Do as you wish. We will smoke together later.”
Like fuck we will. Mickey nodded and started to pile up the dishes. Elena quickly joined in and in a few seconds the table was cleared. Mickey noticed that Janic had disappeared down the stairs. Probably gone for a sulk.
“Where do these need to go?” Mickey reddened at the harsh tone of his words. “Please.” He tried to redeem the situation.
“This way,”
said Elena. She led the way down the stairs to the larder. A separate room at the back of this served as a scullery. Like the rest of the house it was a basic affair, with a trestle table carrying an enamel wash basin. Outside, at the back of the building, stood a barrel of water.
“We do not use the sink anymore,” said Elena, indicating the plumbed in sink in the corner of the room. “There is no running water. We have to collect it from the river and store it.”
“I’ll bring some in,” said Mickey.
“No,” Elena replied. She was smiling. “You have embarrassed my father enough. It would shame him more if you were seen collecting water. I will fetch it.”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass him,” said Mickey. “But he’s wrong the way he treats you. It’s so ... archaic.” Seeing that Elena didn’t understand the word he changed it to, “old fashioned.”
Elena smiled again. “Thank you. You are kind.”
She fetched two buckets of brackish water and they set to washing the dishes. Elena insisted on doing the washing and let Mickey dry. The silence that fell was companionable to begin with but Mickey began to feel awkward after a while. He fished around for something to start a conversation with but was afraid of upsetting the girl. Finally his curiosity got the better of him.
“How long have you been ...”
“Dead?” Elena glanced sideways at Mickey to check if that was what he meant.
Mickey nodded and took another dish from her.
“We have been over here for two years now,” Elena replied. “A mudslide swallowed half of our village. The sun rose after nearly one week of rain. Before the sun set that day we had been buried and had arrived over here.”
Mickey hadn’t expected so much detail. It shocked him.
“I’m sorry.” It was a lame thing to say but was the first thing he could think of. “How old were you when you died? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“You are funny.” Elena laughed. “I was nineteen years old. And I am still nineteen. For me time stopped when the mountain collapsed and buried us. The rest of the village though, they have kept the calendar. That is why my father has arranged this marriage now. In his mind I have come of age and can be married.”