I noticed that the pigeons have completely lost their faith in people. It is impossible to get nearer than five metres to any one of them.
18 July 1993
I shall never forget the phantom gallop I heard in the mine. I found the notes of Baron Rudolf Maldini Wildenhainski, who visited our mine in 1900. It was the fate of the horses which worked beneath the ground that impressed him the most. He noted:
‘Well, in all the collieries there is not one steam engine. In many of them the coal is brought to the lift by horses, and in others by people, so that in bigger collieries you will find that this job is done by one hundred and more horses, which are kept in stables 200–300 metres deep in the ground. Since these horses mostly are kept at a stable, warm temperature all the time, they are usually of a good countenance. They are brought to the surface only when they are no longer able to do the job, or else when they are no longer necessary. These horses always follow the same path, so that they know the way very well. It happens that freely moving horses two kilometres away from their underground path go alone in the dark to find their place in the stable. It is an arduous and dangerous job, that of miners in the depths of the earth, where their lives are constantly at risk. For this reason they always greet one another with “God give us good luck!”’
In the pit I heard the souls of the unfortunate; those blind horses! It was the gallop that these poor beasts were dreaming about in the heavy darkness that had frightened me.
19 July 1993
Ahmed told me that in folklore there is a belief that a mine acquires a soul, and therefore a protector, when the first miner is killed in it. His bones are put into a blind trench which is then filled in and forgotten. It is for this reason that, after the ceremonial opening of the pit, while women adorn the opening with special decorations and regale the engineers with pies and cakes, the first miners go down into the pit while reciting the most powerful prayers. They look at one another suspiciously and try to judge who will be killed. Because, they know, someone must, in order for it to be well for the others. If that does not happen, the vein very soon gives out, and the mine shuts down.
It is obvious that my mine had its human sacrifices, because it has been working for so many years. It is only the open-cut mine that was closed very soon after the opening. This is where the local peasants throw the surplus puppies and kittens born to their dogs and cats.
20 July 1993
Every day some new thing reminds me of Anđela. Today I moved the bed and behind it I found a small striped sock. Every garment that the two of them used has a very strong effect on me. Like electricity going through my body and throwing pictures in front of my eyes. This time I saw how Anđela used to sit on the bed in the mornings and quickly pull on those socks, because the parquet floor was cold. In them she pattered to the bathroom, and then to the kitchen, while I pretended to be asleep and listened to the clattering of the dishes.
When this short film finished, I was seized by a feeling of faintness.
The sock finished up in the box, together with the other things which bring back memories. I pushed the box into the pantry, at the bottom of the shelves, along with the other things waiting until someone needs them.
21 July 1993
In Germany there is a traditional tale about the underground spirit of the mines, who appears in the form of a dwarf known as Bergmann. People must greet Bergmann with ‘Gluck auf’; and they are cheerful, dancing before their king, who helps poor miners to dig up as much coal as possible. In Thuringia, they abide by the tradition that the miners must first greet the spirit when they encounter him, after which he will be kindly towards them. In Silesia, they believe that his greeting must on no account be returned, for if it is it will precipitate some accident on the miner who received the greeting, and on the whole group.
Last night, Anđela sat next to my bed. I am not sure if I dreamt it. She was sad, and I am afraid something terrible had happened. Exactly six months ago I received the last message from them. On the Red Cross document it said only that they were well and that they had at last moved into a rented apartment. They added their new address and told me to contact them as soon as possible. I tried, I sent messages with people who were leaving the town, but I heard nothing back from them. I am afraid. I am not sure what I am afraid of, but I am truly afraid.
If I meet Perkman or Bergmann again, whatever his name, I shall ask him to tell me how the two of them are. I shall try tomorrow to go down into the pit.
22 July 1993
At the editorial meeting I said that I was preparing a big story about the mine. The new editor is enraptured with the idea, saying that it is important for the morale of the townspeople and the soldiers to create at least the illusion that industry is working normally. Because of this, he has freed me from all other obligations on the radio.
However, I did not succeed in going down into the mine, for the director would not allow me to go. He is a good man, his name is Vernes, but everyone calls him ‘the Ant’. He told me that, if I was anywhere in the vicinity, the miners would refuse to even approach the mine. Terrible! And yet I understood what it was all about, and why the miners were behaving like that. I had almost become accustomed to it. Whenever they announce some evil deed perpetrated by the Serbian army on the radio, or when a shell kills someone, my neighbours stop greeting me in the corridor, and in the office there is a sudden silence when I come into the room. Until now, I had not noticed this with the miners. They even used to call me their comrade. I asked Ant why they had changed. He said that in the mine they had heard that I had seen the spirit who announces misfortune and so the miners were afraid that something bad would happen to them if I went in with them.
Ant apologized, he said they would get over it, and I turned around without saying anything, and went out. But I knew that I must see Perkman again, in order to be convinced that I did not dream him. I must talk to him.
In the library, I found ‘Introduction to Demonology’. I think I have succeeded in finding in it the origin of my Perkman. He is an ‘elemental’, a gnome or demon being: the ugly dwarf who minds the treasure of the underworld.
It says in the book that Paracelsus believed that the earth was ruled by ‘Elementals’: mythical beings who rule the elements. Elves controlled fire, ondines ruled the water, and gnomes were masters of the earth. Paracelsus warned that one must not confuse Elementals with demons and stated that wizards gained valuable information from them, especially to do with the characteristics of the elements.4
Last night I left a full glass of water on the little table by the bed. This morning it was empty.
23 July 1993
When I die I want to be cremated. Then they can climb the tallest building in town and wait for some wind and shake out my ashes. I do not want to lie in the ground. I do not want any piece of ground to have my name on it. I have had enough of this place. I can’t stand it any longer. It all makes me want to vomit. I want to be gone, to be forgotten. That is the best way. What’s the sense of us all living in misery?
Anđela was again sitting next to my bed, just above the pillow. I heard her breathing and I smelt her perfume. But I pretended I was asleep, so she wouldn’t disappear again. Unfortunately, in the end I did drop off.
The morning was white and my eyes hurt from the strong light.
24 July 1993
Once again, the man with the blood-shot eyes visited me. Just as before, he stood in the doorway and said: ‘You will never be happy here’. After saying this sentence he opened his eyes even wider, turned around, lifted his hand and with a thin finger pointed at a small figure leaning on the handrail of the steps. I saw a small girl, probably about 12 years old. I only saw her for a short time, from the back. She had blond hair with a ponytail. She went quickly down the steps. I asked the man to tell me who she was.
He lifted his gaze to the level of my forehead, and I saw his little mouth. His mouth opened, he took a breath of air as if he wanted to tell me. And then
, it was as though someone grabbed him by the hand and took him away from the door. He turned quickly and ran down the steps.
Muslims think djinns are beings of steam or fire, who can appear in different forms. They are made out of flames without smoke, while people and angels are made from clay and light. They believe that djinns too can be saved, that the Muslim prophet Mohammed was sent for them as well as for ordinary people.
And so some of them will be sent to Paradise, and others will burn in Hell. In the Islam of law schools, they claim that a man who dies in mortal sin can be turned into a djinn.
25 July 1993
Children are not afraid of death. Today I saw a group of children squeezing onto the wall above the river, while below them, in the shallows, the body of a man was swaying back and forth. His legs had been cut off close to his knees, and blue veins were sticking out from the stumps. Water weed and cigarette butts were entangled in the hairs on his chest and around his genitals. The children were shouting: ‘A dead man! A dead man, a dead man!’ They even called the passers-by over with their little hands so as to look them in the eyes. They seemed satisfied if they could see horror, or at least disbelief, there. The police, gathered on the shore, held their handkerchiefs to their mouths. The children were copying them even though the smell could not possibly have reached them as far as the top of the wall. Adults would turn their heads away when they saw the corpse, and then squint over their shoulders; but the children kept their eyes wide open. Yet they did not get down from the wall even when the medical orderlies took away the body. When their mothers started to call them from their windows the children answered: ‘Let us stay longer, just a little, a little more, it’s not dark yet, we only just started to play.’
26 July 1993
An unusual day. I met a beautiful, young girl. Ahmed brought her into the library while I was leafing through the archives of the local newspapers. He said the girl had an interesting story for me. She was embarrassed, and stains of red covered her cheeks. But they were not in the slightest bit ugly; they were pretty and full of life…
She told us that her grandfather lived in the little town of F., where she often went for her school holidays. He was an old miner and he used to put her to sleep with stories of the time when the mine was full of gold. He told her that, while the vein of gold was rich, hundreds of Perkmen pushed themselves into the mine, and talked to the miners and helped them. When they knocked three times on the floor that meant that soon new gold would be found. Four knocks meant misfortune was coming close and that all the miners must quickly leave the pit. But as the gold became increasingly less and less, fewer and fewer Perkmen could be seen in the mine. Only one stayed, and he was a drunkard, so that the miners spilt home-made brandy on the floor for his pleasure.
While the girl was talking, I wanted to hug her, to thank her. She was young and life was still scintillating around her. If such a luminous being can be interested in the spirits in mines, then my search is not strange, or senile, or senseless. Then I am not alone. But as soon as she had finished her story, she told us she had to go because the next day she was leaving town. As she left the library, Ahmed and I watched her go; leaning on the boards of the wooden tables, cold in the middle of summer.
27 July 1993
Bergier wrote about the demons who announced themselves to Renaissance scientists, cabalists and Islamic mystics. He calls them ‘beings of light’ and states that they appeared most often in the first centuries following the start of Christianity, and then again, after a long pause, they came back among men at the end of the 13th and the beginning of the 14th century. He believes the beings of light caused the fire during the time of the great plague in London, so that the epidemic would not extend to the rest of the world.
When I notice female beauty I feel disgust towards myself. Every such glance I experience as a betrayal of my only beautiful ones, Anđela and Mirna. I heard that people discover new passion in themselves during war, that fear of death is a strong aphrodisiac. I look only at women’s eyes. Nothing else interests me.
28 July 1993
Allah created this world so that it would be pleasing to an intelligent seven-year-old boy. That is what Ahmed said to me when I left his office.
I think the thing that He made best was the morning. How I used to love the morning! I loved to drink coffee with Anđela and to make arrangements for the day, while morning was coming into the room. I loved every one of our conversations. I loved the little movements of her fingers around the cup. The scents, the clock ticking, the news on the radio…my whole body would relax. I could be alone with her for days, with her and the child in that little room. I used to tell her even prison would not be hard for me if we were together. Because, as the proverb says, if the household is never spiteful, the house is never too small.
Mornings are now completely senseless. I imagine that they are still beautiful, but I can no longer notice.
30 July 1993
In a notebook I found my old list of terrors. I made it several years ago, just for the sake of it, after I read in the daily newspaper the advice of some psychologist who stated that in the fight against different phobias the most important thing was to admit they existed. My list had seven terrors:
– Fear of death;
– Fear of illness;
– Fear of poverty;
– Fear of reptiles;
– Fear of large bodies of water;
– Fear of heights;
– Fear of being buried alive.
While I was reading this list I realised I had resolved all the fears, except one, the last on the list – fear of being buried alive. Anthropologists claim that this fear was only born in the eighteenth century and that it was the first form of the fear of death to be accepted. In the middle of the eighteenth century doctors drove needles under the nails of the dead, poked pencils into their nostrils, pushed horse manure or urine or medications which caused sneezing under their noses. They did all this to avoid the responsibility for that dreadful awakening in the dark of the grave. Chopin, Schopenhauer, Renoir, Andersen, Dostoyevsky and Nobel all requested that before burial their arteries be cut, so that they could be certain they would not be buried alive.5
Today I added to the list one more fear – the fear of solitude.
I am afraid. That psychologist was not right. Fears are like vampires, they appear when you talk of them too often.
For the rest of the day I was thinking about Anđela and Mirna. I am still thinking about them now.
31 July 1993
I have found some people who can help me in all the important ways: to allow me to meet Perkman again and to see Anđela and Mirna. They are two brothers, arrogant, but with excellent connections in the town. We are not friends, but they will help me for a good price. I hope I will be able to get together enough money, for I am ready to sell everything I have.
Ahmed says the brothers remind him of Jedžudž and Medžudž, those two mythical figures whose appearance will announce the coming of Judgement Day. Some Muslim teachings believe they originated from the first man, Adam, coming from his semen when it flowed from him during the night and then mixed with the earth. Tradition says that they are strong people who are impossible to kill. Ahmed says that the appearance of Jedžudž and Medžudž has been recorded: wide faces like forged shields, small eyes, red hair. They really do look like them.
But the thing that frightens Ahmed the most is that the red-haired brothers are criminals who suddenly became rich after the beginning of the war.
I consoled him, I told him that maybe they were my Manul and Dagudin.
1 August 1993
I don’t have many things which could be valuable at this time. My books and a few paintings that were not signed by anyone popular, and so are quite worthless. I made Anđela take her jewellery with her and now I am happy because of that, for I do not have to think about selling it. I think I can get some money for the household appliances, and the Volkswagen I hid from m
obilization in Ahmed’s garage will come in handy too, I told my guides to take me to the one place where you can meet Perkman. Of course, I did not explain to them why I was going there, and neither did they ask.
I am going tonight. They told me I must not speak to anyone about it. Still, I told Ahmed. I could not leave him without saying goodbye. We kissed one another (as is the custom). I placed the key to my flat in his fist. He stood on the steps of the library and watched me go. I turned around bowed and said: ‘Gluck auf’. He did not smile.
* * *
In order to read the text from the notebook, slowly, and with only a few pauses, you would need at the most an hour. It took me all night. Aleksa’s book of ghosts was like a mirror: I seemed to recognise myself in it and that agitated me greatly. I felt the same fears as Aleksa, the same longing, the same emptiness, loneliness, depression… I’m sure that you can understand what it was like for me to read about the man with the big eyes, the objects on slides, spirits both earthly and non-earthly… My vest, I remember, was completely wet with sweat, sticky and thick, like the caramel for baklava. I was afraid, nervous, shocked, sad, curious, furious… Heavy subject matter like that seems to press down on me, my stomach quivers, a headache starts from the middle of my skull, scrapes and sand-papers bones and meat. I didn’t have any caffeine tablets left in the flat to cure my headache; during nine months I had used up my supply. Only those tablets could calm my headaches down, one glance at their golden packaging was enough to make me feel like a grounded person.
Seven Terrors Page 4