by Miha Mazzini
And then I knew I was in deep shit. If somebody calls you ‘comrade’ in this country, either he is afraid of you, or you should be afraid of him.
I’d already seen the ground floor. I was expecting the basement, but he took me to the second floor instead. I’d never been there before. I started getting worried.
He knocked on a door without a name on it and waited for somebody to answer before he opened it. He was respectful and humble. I went in. The policeman left me alone with an older man behind a desk. He wasn’t busy with papers. He was sitting there looking at me. He invited me to sit down. He offered me a cigarette. We lit up. As far as I could see, he wasn’t in a uniform. A pair of civilian trousers and a police shirt, or at least one with a similar cut, with epaulettes, no rank. His movements expressed power and authority, but not in a theatrical, showy sort of way. Very polite and civilized. An image of a good father. Had he been stupid, he’d have started the conversation with ‘let’s be friends.’ But he wasn’t stupid.
Anything but. He was dangerous, I could feel that even though there was no confirmation of that feeling in his behaviour. He must have been over fifty. It was hard to judge his age because he had the dried-up and wrinkled face of a heavy smoker.
‘I’m not from this town,’ he said. ‘I’m here on a business visit, let’s say. Our talk isn’t obligatory and it’s not a questioning. I happened to hear that they’d brought you in. Another cigarette?’
I was just putting one out into an overflowing ashtray. I accepted the offer and we lit up again.
He went on.
‘Well then, what do we know? Or rather, what do the police here know? Three unidentified men yesterday beat up a cadet and threw him in a skip. He described you, but he didn’t recognise any of the others. He’ll be in the hospital for at least three weeks and off work for at least three more. On top of that there’s an old age pensioner who’s in the hospital, too, from shock brought on by finding him when getting rid of her trash. She’s got heart disease, and excitement of that kind could be very harmful to her.’
I was biting my lips to stop myself from laughing. Somehow I succeeded.
‘We know – that is, they know – that you weren’t directly involved in the fight. But you definitely saw the attackers, and maybe you even know them. Or maybe the friend who was with you knows them.’
I didn’t know why he was stressing the difference between the knowledge of the local police and his own. Maybe he knows more, maybe less. Or was he just trying to emphasize that he didn’t really belong there? But why was he questioning me then? Even babies don’t fall for friendly talk anymore.
I put out my cigarette and got another one straight away.
I didn’t want to decline the cigarette even though I was beginning to feel sick at the taste of tobacco by now. Probably a new torture technique. Like smoking meat.
He was silent. I felt it was time for my little story. They wouldn’t believe it, but at least they wouldn’t be able to accuse me of not being sociable.
‘It was like this…’
I started slowly in case he wanted to interrupt me.
He was listening to me and his thoughts didn’t seem to wander.
‘I was walking home. It’s faster going by the tracks. A train stood on my left. Somebody I don’t know, who looked like a worker from the south, was walking in front of me. I was walking a metre behind him. why didn’t I overtake him? I don’t know, I just didn’t. Three men came off the train and started pissing. Twenty metres ahead a policeman passed me in the opposite direction. Past the man and in front and me. Towards those other three men. I looked back and saw him shouting at them. By this time I’d come to the dried-up larch. A path turns off there and you get onto the road through a hole in the fence. From there I could no longer see what was going on at the flyover. And that’s all.’
He didn’t say anything. A poor story.
The truth is a matter of taste. And I, as its author, didn’t like that story. How bad must it have seemed to him?
We lit another cigarette. I was about to throw up.
‘I’ve read your file,’ he added in a casual way.
Oh my old sins, go and stand proudly in line. Somewhere up there, there’s always an angel who writes everything down, not missing one little thing.
He didn’t start listing them. He took a few puffs and then added, more to himself than me, ‘As if I was reading the files of two different people.’
He paused a little, and when he spoke again there was just a faint smile around his lips.
‘A young man still searching for himself.’
Was he cynical? It passed too quickly for me to decide.
A new pair of cigarettes was on its way. I understood less and less. What did he want from me? The only plausible explanation was a war of nerves. But I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that it wasn’t that. There was something else.
He leaned forward with a lighter. It was only then that I noticed a stitch on his epaulette. I couldn’t stop my right arm from quickly moving to the epaulette on my jacket. He’d already sat back by now.
The seams were the same. There was no doubt. They’d been sewn by the same hand. I stroked the seam and moved my hand away. I couldn’t see even a twitch on his face.
We smoked in silence.
‘I wanted to see you,’ he said and looked at his watch.
I got up. Hesitantly. I didn’t know if the clichéd gesture, saying it’s time to go, meant the same in this situation. In this room. It did.
We shook hands and said goodbye.
I stepped out of the office. The policeman was waiting outside. He took me back behind the iron bars. I looked out at the foundry but didn’t have a cigarette. My stomach couldn’t bear even the thought of one.
So this was the fine gentleman in his prime who was currently visiting Karla.
The two policemen who’d brought me in with the Black Maria came for me. They were considerably friendlier. There was no shoving. I walked between them along the corridor. Through the door onto the pavement. We stopped.
They said nothing, turned on their heels, and went back in.
It took some time before I understood. I made the first steps at snail’s pace, expecting at any moment to hear shouting from behind me. There was none.
I walked faster and faster towards the bar.
I still didn’t know why they’d released me. Did I have Karla to thank for my freedom, or did they let me go just because they couldn’t prove anything?
Now they have reason to lock me up every time I spit the pavement or jaywalk. At night, on my way home, I often see the police in their patrol cars. Were they going to take me with them every time now? For a pleasant ride into the hills for a session of beating? I somehow didn’t feel as light as a feather. It’s strange world. You don’t like it when imprisoned or when free.
The bar was empty. I wasn’t in the mood for being alone.
I didn’t want to go to Karla’s either. First, I had to make sure she really was involved.
I went to Magda’s. It was time for lunch.
She opened the door, and a nice smell wafted out from the kitchen. She didn’t fall into my arms.
I wanted to put my arms around her waist but she pushed me away. She was as cold as ice.
‘Come in,’ she said very inhospitably.
I followed her into the kitchen. I knew what I was in for. Sometimes I am in the right mood for a kick up my arse, but this time I wasn’t. I could’ve left straight away. I thought, though, it was only fair to listen to Magda’s speech, which she had probably spent quite some time rehearsing, before we said goodbye.
She didn’t ask me to sit down. We stood there with a safe distance of two metres between us.
‘It’s finished,’ she started. Classic. ‘I don’t know what was the matter with me to have been so crazy about you. I’ve got a boyfriend now and I told him everything yesterday. We had a talk. Whatever it was that I was obsessed with, it’s over
now. Never again. Sometime I’ll ask you what you felt for me. Not now but in a few years time. Goodbye, Egon.’
I nodded and went to the door. Short and sweet. Not a bad speech.
I stepped across the threshold, pushing my head down between my shoulders, expecting a loud slam of the door. It wasn’t that bad though.
The key turned twice, in quick succession.
I was in the street again. I felt lonely and sad.
Too many things for one morning. Karla’s lover becoming a real person, the first one ever since I’d known her. Magda throwing me out. The police throwing me out.
I felt abandoned and unwanted by everybody.
I needed a walk. I dragged my index finger along the foundry fence, letting it vibrate.
I stopped in front of the nail packaging plant. I climbed over the fence. I followed the conveyor belt to the end. Ajsha was stamping.
‘Hey!’ I shouted into her ear.
She looked up without stopping her hand.
‘Hi.’
‘Egon, what are you doing here? You’re too late for lunch.’
‘I’d like to ask you something. Are you coming to the dance tonight?’
‘What?’
‘THE DANCE!’ I screamed.
Where did the whispered gentle invitations go? I bent closer to her ear and added, ‘It would mean a lot to me.’
I looked at her pleadingly.
She thought for a long time. A terrible coquette. Her hand kept going stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp. At last she said, ‘Maybe.’
I was overjoyed by her acceptance.
I waved to her and ran off.
I jumped over the fence, and in my ears I could still hear the noise of the nails falling.
I sat in the bar and didn’t move until evening. The chairs were gradually getting taken. I bummed half a sandwich from some student. More and more acquaintances were sitting around me. The circles were becoming complete.
In the corner, Sheriff was brushing some fluff off his Stetson. The tension in the air was growing. The place was overflowing with people. They stood between the tables, shared chairs. Some sat on tables. Drink flowed in streams. Empty bottles were rolling among our feet. I was greeting people left, right and centre and had difficulty keeping up with all the bottles that were offered to me. The heat of Friday night made everyone a lot more generous than usual.
The majority were workers from the foundry, the school boys and girls were in the minority.
Suddenly I realised I knew everybody by their significant features, not their names. One of them could juggle with his cigarette, another one could eat glass. Or spit the farthest through his teeth. Or had cavities in his teeth that he could put pencils into. And felt tip pens in his wisdom teeth. One could belch the loudest. Another one could fart longest without interruption. Yet another one could drink the most slivovitz at once. Then followed a hierarchy according to strength, fighting ability, years in prison. There was one whose intellectual abilities were at the level of an idiot, but he could list all the footballers in all the leagues, even those from remote villages, and the scorers of all the goals at any match for the past twenty years, all the four referees, and probably all the fans in the stands, even though I’d never actually asked him about those. His achievement was even more admirable because of his not being able to read or write. He learned all the details only from listening to people. But I suppose that’s not so difficult as football is not exactly a rare subject of conversation in certain circles.
Everybody tried to stand out in his own way. According to their best abilities and means. To be different.
I was hoping the Hadžipuzić brothers would soon send me the Cartier.
Ibro pushed through the crowd. In a new suit and shoes. He’d fulfilled my expectations.
He’d bought a suede jacket and trousers with a fringe running from the shoulder down in horizontal lines with ten centimetre gaps between each line. On his feet, huge winkle-pickers with raised heels. Polished to a perfect shine.
He’d pinned a tin sheriff’s badge to his chest. They were selling them at the toystore for children to play cowboys and Indians. His hat came from the same set. Made of cardboard, covered with shiny blue plastic.
He stepped towards Sheriff’s table. He was looking around, obviously pleased with himself, judging by the smile on his face.
I waved to him.
‘How’s Selim?’ I tried to shout over the noise.
‘He’s all right! He was at work today!’ He shouted back, and then ordered me a beer.
A new wave of people coming in engulfed me.
Somebody said hello right next to my right ear. Selim.
He squatted next to my table. We looked each other in the eye. He was saying something. Quietly. I couldn’t catch a word.
I felt terror creeping from my stomach up along my back. I jumped up and fought my way to the bathroom. I locked myself into a stall and leaned my head on the door.
I was getting an attack. The first one after quite a few years. I started shaking with fear. I bent over into a foetal position, sliding down onto the tiled floor. I was falling. Into fear. Into nothingness. I wasn’t there anymore. I didn’t exist. I was nowhere. In nonexistence.
A terrible feeling of horror pulled me out. Sobbing ‘no no no no no no,’ I jumped up and became aware of my surroundings. I stared at the shitty toilet until the terror went. I felt myself with my hands. I was wet.
Drowning in sweat. I put my head under the cold tap. It helped. I wiped my face in my jacket and joined the crowd.
I knew the attack was brought on by Selim’s eyes. I remembered where I’d seen them before. They were my own eyes. When I’d straightened up and seen them in the mirror, before I… shit! Oh God, was I really going to have to be present when somebody else went down the path I’d already been on?
‘What do I look like?’ shouted Ibro and pushed a beer in my hand.
I drank the whole bottle in one long gulp.
‘Awesome,’ I admitted admiringly.
‘Have you invited Ajsha?’
Only then I remembered my promise from the day before, well, half a promise really.
‘I have.’
Ibro wanted to kiss me. At the last moment a space appeared behind me, into which I retreated.
Another beer found its way into my hands.
‘You’re a real pal,’ he said, slapping me on my shoulder enthusiastically.
I noticed a plastic light blue belt covered with stars. The holster for the toy pistol was empty. Beneath it swayed three tassels.
LONESOME RIDER was written on it in gold letters.
‘You’ll see! Today is going to be a day like no other,’ Ibro half-sang prophetically.
Four big guys were pushing their way towards the exit and carried me with them. I stopped at the other side of the bar and finished the beer I’d been given. Selim was nowhere to seen.
Two policemen were making their way through the crowd, asking somebody for an identification card every half a metre. I turned the other way and stared at the ads and notices on the wall. I sneakily turned around to see if they’d gone past. We looked at each other. Twenty centimetres apart.
They didn’t say anything. As if I wasn’t there. They continued shoving their way to the bar to pester the waitress for giving alcohol to those under age.
Karla must have done something. I’d have to go and thank her tomorrow.
I made my way out. Had a piss against the wall of the bar.
The dance had already started. Music could be heard.
I set off for the school. It was only a hundred metres away.
Selim was standing on the corner. He was looking before him with the look of a man who’d already seen everything and could no longer be surprised by anything.
I went over to him and lit a cigarette.
‘I’m waiting for Ibro,’ he said.
‘Has he gone for a piss?’
I pointed to the bushes growing at the side
of the building.
‘No.’
He sighed deeply.
‘What’s he doing then? Shitting?’
‘He’s putting aftershave on.’
He looked at me as if I were to blame. At least partly.
‘Selim, I don’t put mine on in the bushes. I don’t quite understand what’s going on.’
‘Ibro was listening to that ponytail in the bar, what do you call him?’
‘Hippy.’
‘Yeah, that’s the one. He was telling us that there’s this species of frog, where the male’s sperm madly arouses the female. Once they smell it, they run for kilometres to reach the male. He added that the scientists have observed the same in people.’
He sighed again.
I started laughing. In a malicious, nasty sort of way.
‘You’re saying that Ibro is now in there all on his own,’ I pointed at the bushes, ‘anointing himself with his semen?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘he’s putting semen on himself.’
‘Where?’
‘Behind his ears.’
Selim didn’t join in my laughter. He seemed exasperated with the stupidity of the world. I stopped laughing.
The branches of the bushes were moving rhythmically.
I took a last puff and flicked the cigarette high along the wall.
I sighed.
‘You’re right. I should really cry, not laugh. But even if it’s true, there’s a fundamental flaw in what he’s doing. Once you’re close enough for a girl to be able to sniff behind your ears, it doesn’t matter anymore whether you’ve got spunk there or not. So.’
‘But he has bought some aftershave as well.’
‘Oh yeah, which one?’
‘The only one they had at the news-stand. There’s a black cat on it, if I remember rightly.’
We stopped talking and observed the crowd rolling towards the school.
The bass drummed monotonously.
Selim broke the silence.
‘Do you think it’ll break him?’
He was referring to Ibro. To the wild enthusiasm with which he was getting ready to seduce Ajsha. We both knew he didn’t stand a chance.
‘I don’t know. He seems like a man who sees everything on the bright side. It’ll be hard, that’s for sure. If this doesn’t fuck him up, nothing will.’