by Miha Mazzini
‘Are you coming?’ I shouted. Ibro was bent over looking for something on the ground.
‘Fucking hell, I lost the dice!’ he shouted and went on rummaging around like a chicken in the weak light of the streetlights.
Through my drunken brain a flash of recognition. History is a circle, not of people, but of events which are repeated over and over. What once Caesar did was now repeated by Ibro.
‘Found them,’ reported Ibro, out of breath. We jumped on the bus. Sat on the front seats. The driver drove off. A fresh breeze pleasantly ruffled our hair. I was sitting next to Selim, squashed against the side of the bus. His shoulders took up a seat and a half.
Selim lifted the beer and me through the window of the dormitory.
The room seemed completely different. Ibro had covered all the walls with pictures of naked women cut out from various magazines. I opened the window and pissed out. I didn’t feel like sneaking to the toilet. Ibro and Selim did the same. We sat on the floor and threw the dice. At first we wrote down the points. Soon gave up. We drank and stacked the empty bottles into a pyramid.
We stopped throwing dice. Ibro and I smoked. Selim was sitting on his bed, rocking, pissed out of his head.
‘We need music now,’ said Ibro.
On all fours he managed to get to the cassette player on the table. He looked through the cassettes, found the right one, and put it into the player. He turned the volume as high as it would go. He couldn’t find enough strength to crawl back to the middle of the room where we were. He stayed lying next to the table with his back leaning on the wall under the window singing the refrain loudly.
‘I’LL GIVE YOU MY HEART!!!!’
I was watching him. He shouted, ‘You know who’s singing?’
I tried to be nice and sociable.
‘Christiaan Barnard?’ I asked.
He probably didn’t hear me. He said another name, which immediately escaped me.
‘You know, I saw him. In person. Can you imagine? I wasn’t more than a metre away from him. He sang and I stood in the first row. I could’ve touched him if I’d reached out. He who is in all the papers. I love him more than any other singer because he sings anywhere. In every village, even if there are only three houses. He’s the only one of those who are on TV that you can go and see with your own eyes.’
He’s right. Those who parade on TV were rarely seen around here.
‘Can you hear his singing? How can you not love him? I know, this is our music, not yours. You’re always singing something in foreign languages. But still, you have to admit he’s a wonderful singer.’
I nodded. I was just about to open my mouth to tell him that in the shit of everyday existence, everybody buys what suits him most in the huge and diverse market of dreams. According to our own wishes, tastes, and means. With the feeling of guilt brought on by upbringing. It doesn’t matter whether you’re one of those who buy their escape from the everyday with a shoobe-doobe-doo or one of those who, with a superiority complex (from the same source), go for the to-be-or-not-to-be-that-is-the-question trip. It’s all just dreams. But I didn’t say anything. A feeling that it would be fruitless and pointless, along with the general impotence of words, choked the sentence in my throat.
Selim took a last gulp from the bottle and hurled it towards the table. He hit the cassette player and knocked it to the floor. The cassette started dragging. The tape got wrapped around the driving mechanism and tore. The music was finished.
Ibro asked, ‘What’s the matter, you don’t like it?’
I admired his talent for observation.
Selim got up slowly, to his best ability.
‘Listen to me Ibro,’ he said, ‘you’ve covered all the walls with your naked women –’ he pointed with a wave of his hand to the corpus delicti ‘– without asking me. All right. But we’re roommates and half the walls are mine, half yours. Is that right?’
Ibro nodded.
‘I’ll divide it in half now. And that’s how it stays.’
He opened the wardrobe and started looking through the pockets on his working clothes. He pulled out a tape measure, went to the corner by the window, and said to me, ‘Hold it here, will you?’
I went over and held the start of the tape. We measured the wall. It went slowly. Mainly because of the tape, which kept slipping through my fingers and winding back into the box. Finally he decided where the middle was. I held my finger on the point he’d shown me. He again went to look in his pockets. He came back with a screwdriver and put it on the bed. He took the wardrobe door off its hinges and leaned it against the wall. With the screwdriver, he drew a line along the edge of the door. Some cunts and tits were split in two. He took the door back but couldn’t put it back on its hinges however hard he tried. He gave up and just leaned it against the wardrobe.
‘Ibro, now I’m going to take off everything from my half and give it to you. What you do on your half doesn’t bother me. All right?’
‘All right,’ said Ibro with candour.
‘Fair?’
‘Fair,’ confirmed the one sitting on the floor. It seemed he really did think so.
I helped Selim to pull the photographs from his part of the wall. He put the pile on the table. I leaned on the door and watched him. Ibro’s head was hanging lower and lower on his chest. He was already asleep.
Selim unlocked his drawer and took out both posters. He unfolded them. I helped him stick them on the wall. There was a drop of dried blood on Nastassja’s face on the poster for Tess. Carefully he tore out the pages with Nastassja from Playboy and stopped to think.
‘Fuck the bastards,’ he sighed with anger. ‘They do this deliberately.’
The bastards had put different pictures on both sides of each page. Two per sheet of paper. You couldn’t stick one up without covering the other. I suggested an innovation. ‘Stick it on with tape along the right-hand edge only. That way you’ll be able to turn the page and see both pictures if you want.’
He did as I suggested.
‘What they wouldn’t do to sell more. They make you buy at least two,’ he added, joining me. We stood staring at the photographs from three metres away.
The pages were sticking out from the wall.
With a small piece of tape, he stuck the top left corners, too. He left enough room to the right of each picture to turn it that way and stick it down again.
It looked a lot better now.
We stood there admiring the photos. Selim was completely engrossed. My attention was drawn to a picture of Nastassja’s face. It reminded me of Ingrid Bergman, when she whispers that ‘Play it…’ A good scene. I adjusted my hat with my palm and moved my lips to shift the cigarette to the corner of my mouth.
Ibro was standing next to me, looking at me with surprise.
‘What’s the matter? Are you in pain?’
He made me feel embarrassed. I quickly moved my hand away from the imaginary hat and stopped twisting my lips with the imaginary cigarette.
‘Give me a cigarette,’ I said sharply.
We lit up. Selim was still gaping at the wall, motionless. Ibro joined him.
He didn’t need long for the final verdict. He asked, ‘What’s wrong with this one? Did she forget to put on her arse and tits before filming?’
He laughed. He liked the joke. But only him. He found himself caught between two murderous looks. His laughter stuck in his throat.
‘It’s nothing, I was only joking,’ he said and went to the corner to mend the cassette. Selim went back to looking at Nastassja.
I drank another beer. The last one.
Ibro was asleep with the cassette player in his lap. I put the bottle on the top of the pyramid. It fell down. The sound of the rolling bottles knocking against each other accompanied me down the corridor.
I didn’t feel like jumping through the window. The warden was asleep in his small room. Outside a warm spring breeze was blowing. The smell of sulphur was coming from the foundry.
I thre
w up leaning on the fence and stumbled home.
Tongues of flame shot up through the chimney.
4
I was in my blue work suit again. I climbed over the foundry fence, landed clumsily, and stopped to brush the dust off my trousers. Young bodies spilled out of the secondary school across the road. I lit up, leaned on the inside of the fence, and waited.
Long Legs came past. Our eyes met. I’d noticed her for the first time half a year ago but never got any further than looking. There’d never been a real opportunity. She was nearly as tall as me, with long hair falling down her back. A girl for canoodling with on the sandy beaches of the Seychelles, wherever that maybe.
I jumped, grabbed the top of the fence, and started climbing up the mesh.
‘Hey you, stop!’ somebody shouted right behind my back.
The guard.
I let go and fell back on his territory and with a sad look said goodbye to Long Legs, who was disappearing in the crowd. I ran off. The guard behind me. To my misfortune, he was without an arm.
Old age had slowed him down. What he lacked for in speed he made up for in stubbornness.
I zigzagged between heaps of scrap metal. I stopped now and again to wait.
He always showed up from behind a bend. A crane moved above my head. I threw myself to the ground. The metal spiders legs were a metre above my head. The operator blew his horn. Lying down lost me all my advantage over the guard.
I ran into a huge building, past a container with bubbling, steaming, thick fluid. And then into the next hall alongside the railway lines.
He followed me.
I ran straight into the heat. As if I’d hit a wall. I could hardly distinguish the figures of workers in protective clothing standing around the open door to the furnace. On the wall opposite there was a clothes hanger with some protective clothing next to a lonely picture of a naked woman and the names of two football clubs.
I wrapped a heavy asbestos coat around my shoulders and put on a hood that covered most of my face. For eyes there were two little windows made of darkened glass.
I looked around the hall. Somebody was poking the fire with a long metal stick. Two other workers were shovelling coal into the furnace. The fourth one was pushing a trolley along the narrow tracks. I helped him push. We tipped the trolley and emptied the contents into a heap. I turned away from the fire and lifted my hood. The guard was already in the hall. He turned right by the door and went up the metal stairs to the gallery, which ran along the whole wall to the stairs leading down to the exit. I pushed the hood back onto my face. We pushed the trolley to the two workers who started filling it with their shovels.
‘Is that you Egon?’ said my temporary co-worker. He lifted his hat. It was lbro.
I did the same. A quick look around. The guard wasn’t there anymore.
I took off the hood and put it under my arm.
‘Hi Ibro. How did you recognize me?’
‘I smelled you.’
I hadn’t had any Cartier on for two days now. The scent that had been absorbed into my skin must have been brought out by my sweat, which was flowing profusely. I was too used to the smell to notice it.
Ibro looked shocked.
‘Do you work here, too?’
I grinned widely.
‘No, oh no. Let’s say I’m just passing through.’
The trolley was full.
‘Are you in a hurry?’
‘No’
‘Wait for me then. I’ll just take this and then I can go and eat’
‘Okay,’ I nodded.
He pushed the hood back onto his face and shoved at the trolley.
‘l’ve got to tell you something,’ he added before he concentrated on flexing and torturing his muscles.
I stood by the exit and leaned on the fence along the stairs from the gallery.
The two who were filling the trolley put their shovels against the wall and left. Ibro was hanging his coat and hood on the hanger. I joined him and took off mine.
The cold outside made me shiver. I felt my back with my palm. My clothes were soaked.
Ibro offered me a cigarette and lit it with a match. He looked around as if to make sure there’d be no witnesses to our conversation.
‘I’ve fallen in love,’ he said.
Damn the southerly wind, damn the spring. It’ll fuck up each and every one of us.
‘I saw her today. In the morning. When I was going to work’
In these situations I never know what sort of expression to put on my face. Even if I’d had a crocodile’s face lbro wouldn’t have noticed it because of his enthusiasm.
‘I already know her name!’
He leaned towards me and whispered, ‘Ajsha.’
‘Beautiful, yes,’ I said.
‘A beautiful name, isn’t it? If you could only see her. How beautiful she is.’
I nodded.
The sweat drying on my back was making me feel colder and colder.
‘You are going to the canteen, aren’t you Ibro?’
‘Yes.’
‘Me, too. Let’s go.’
We walked slowly towards the brick building. More and more people were going the same way.
‘I’ll point her out to you,’ he exclaimed enthusiastically. ‘You’ll see, she’s terribly beautiful. Even you’ll have to admit it. You who knows everything about women.’
I looked at him.
‘Who told you that?’
He was embarrassed. He wasn’t sure whether he’d said too much. He admitted.
‘Selim.’
He was looking at me with the eyes of a dog asking for forgiveness.
I nodded. It was all right. In the years of sitting quietly in the bar, alone with his beer, Selim must have seen me with many women. In many different circumstances.
We went into the canteen and lined up.
Ibro kept jumping up to look around. I felt very unpleasant. He was like a pupil who was taking his teacher to see something he’d made and was impatiently anticipating his praise. A rebuke would break his heart. I decided to praise his chosen one without any reservations. If you try you can find something worth praising in every woman. White lies are like small, empty cushions. But lying down on them is still more comfortable than lying down without them. He started hitting me on the back as if he were trying to break into me.
‘There! There she is. She’s eating. Can you see?’
He pointed to the long rows of tables. Body after body. All in blue coats.
All similar faces. The ones coming and the ones going, all juggling with their trays. I couldn’t see her.
‘Can you see her?’ he asked again.
‘Yes, yes,’ I nodded and looked around more to please than out of any real interest.
‘She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I kept nodding, still not seeing Ajsha.
The crowd moved, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the girl I’d flirted with the day before. The one from the nail packing department. She noticed me, too. We smiled at each other. I fell into her eyes.
Other people hid her again.
I became aware of Ibro trembling as if he was just about to throw all his clothes off.
He turned towards me and grabbed me by the collar. Shook me.
‘Did you see? Did you see that!?’
I didn’t get it.
‘How she smiled at me,’ he finished his sentence.
Ooooooh, damn spring. Damn shit.
Ibro’s face was radiant. Shining like the sun. He was floating. He put his arm around my shoulder and whispered in my ear, ‘You see, I’ve got every chance…’
I didn’t know what to say, what to do with myself.
‘Yes, yes…’ I mumbled.
There’s no greater confidence than that brought on by the smile of a beautiful woman. Ibro suddenly seemed taller.
‘Tell me honestly. Is she beautiful or not?’
‘She’s beautiful,’ I admitted.
‘Like a picture?’
‘Like a picture.’
A new admission.
‘Have you ever seen eyes like that? Eyes so deep you could drown in them?’
I agreed. With all my heart.
And felt more and more awkward.
At last it was our turn to get the broth with ribs. I got three portions and a kilo of bread.
Ibro was surprised.
‘How can you eat so much and not put weight on? You’re as thin as a skeleton.’
I smiled and waited with the answer until we sat down. Ibro tried to push nearer to Ajsha without success. The only two empty chairs were right at the other end, next to the counter. I broke the end off the bread loaf and started chewing it. I took the ribs out of the broth, shook off the sauce, and wrapped the ribs in paper napkins. Then I put them together with the bread into a plastic bag I had brought with me.
Ibro was looking at the three bowls and the bag. I explained before he asked.
‘It’s not for me. I’ve got a friend who doesn’t eat anything. Unless people bring him something. When he’s by himself he just forgets about food. Because people visit him rarely he doesn’t often get to eat. I’m going to see him tonight.’
He looked at me to see if I was serious and then he mumbled, ‘Whatever next.’
He pulled the ribs out of his broth, wrapped them, and gave them to me. He was a good soul. I was even more embarrassed.
I offered him the three bowls of broth.
‘Have these if you want.’
‘Don’t you want them?’