‘Oh, Jesus, what happened?’ asks the postman.
Everyone is looking at Kras who almost lifted the door off its hinges and then pulled back so hard that the window broke. He yanks the envelope out of the postman’s hand.
‘For me?’ he whispers.
‘Yes, Mr Wolf.’
Kras turns his back on him and the postman awkwardly retreats back into the dark. Later, in the tavern, he’ll tell everybody what an oaf the former minister is.
‘And I even wanted to congratulate him!’ he’ll holler, and buy a round.
The only thing in the envelope is some kind of ticket. Olga peeks over his shoulder. He pushes the ticket back into it without taking a proper look.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing,’ says Kras, ‘just somebody’s little joke.’
Slaps don’t bring him round. Alan and Mila grin over the passed-out waiter.
‘Do you think he’ll be ok?’
‘Sure he’ll be, you saw how scared he was, that’s stress, let’s just wait a little longer.’
One smokes, the other gently slaps the waiter’s face. Then they switch.
‘Did you see those two?’
‘Who? Grandma’s sisters?’
‘Yeah, Olga’s.’
‘A freak show.’
‘Totally.’
‘Before, when we were outside, one of them was sitting at the table and Berdo’s phone starts vibrating, he left it on the table, and she looks at the thing, then looks around like, What? Doesn’t anybody see what’s happening?’ Mila starts laughing. ‘But everybody’s like, nothing strange, and she’s still looking, a little spooked, but she kind of feels tempted, and I’m standing and watching, and then she, really slowly, reaches out her hand, and places it on the phone, and then, I swear, she starts grinning, but it was all kind of cute, and she looks around again, and then grabs the phone,’ Mila’s eyes are wide open, ‘and she leans it against her chin, totally crazy.’
Stoned laughter.
‘I was a hundred percent sure you were gonna say she stuck it between her legs.’
‘Man, that’s gross.’
More laughter.
‘Hilarious.’
‘Yeah, and what about Grandma?’ says Mila. ‘Immediately starting in on Grace?’
‘Awkward!’
‘And I don’t think they’ve seen each other for five years.’
‘I’m sorry, but your granny’s nuts.’
‘Who isn’t?’
‘We’re pretty cool.’
‘And Edgar, you know, even though he gives off these creepy vibes sometimes.’
‘Yeah, Edgar’s ok,’ agrees Alan, ‘but Olive is a total MILF.’
Mila nods, ‘Yeah, she looks good, but have you seen her hands?’
‘The walnut tree told me there’s something burning here.’
Raven has lumbered into the room, Po trailing after him. Mila cups her hand over the joint. Alan shakes his head, nothing to worry about.
‘Hi, Grandpa.’
‘Mila. Darling. Who’s this?’
‘The waiter,’ says Alan. ‘He’s a little tired.’
Laughter.
‘But is he all right?’
‘He’ll be fine, I guess.’
Raven puts his hands on his knees and stares at Po, who is mischievously staring at her brother.
‘Will you go get this boy a glass of water? He’s feeling poorly.’
Po nods and scoots off.
‘Come on, give ol’ Raven a taste of fresh air.’
‘Grandpa!’ cries Mila and looks at Alan, who’s nodding and smiling at her.
With a shaking hand, she passes the joint to Grandpa.
Raven takes it, inhales deeply and then, with that annoying voice a person gets when they’re holding the smoke in their lungs but still won’t stay quiet, speaks.
‘What, you think you kids invented weed? I was puffing back when your dad was still swinging around in my balls.’
Mila grimaces. Raven’s mouth lays an egg of smoke.
‘Sorry, dear, when I drink my mouth turns foul. After this,’ toasting with the joint, ‘it’ll get better.’
From the ground floor they hear the sound of broken glass. Raven and Alan stand up at the same time and say, worried, ‘Po!’ The father presses the butt into his son’s hand and dashes to the door, almost running into her. She’d gone for water.
‘What happened?’ asks Raven. Alan shrugs and offers the smouldering roll-up to Mila.
‘Brother Wolf broke the door.’
Mila sighs and flicks the filter through the window.
‘Daddy.’ ‘Daddy.’
Olga stands in front of the window and shoos the children who have come running towards the racket. ‘Alenka, take the child!’ Stoja grabs him. Katarina has brought the broom and dustpan to sweep up the tiny shards. She and Olga throw the big pieces in the rubbish. Nobody notices Olga carefully selecting a fine, long, narrow piece that slips nicely into her hand and sticking it into the front pocket of her blouse. Mira and Mina come running from Uncle Bernard, smiling, they avoid Grandma’s chasing hands and grab Father by the belt.
‘Daddy.’ ‘Daddy.’
‘What is it, sweeties?’
‘Come.’ ‘Come with us.’ ‘At the stream, we found,’ ‘a bunny, Daddy, a white one,’ ‘a bunny, come see,’ ‘come with us,’ ‘can we take it’ ‘home? Daddy, please.’ ‘Please?’
Concerned pairs of guests’ eyes are still fixed on him, so he’s glad to take the opportunity to let his daughters take him out into the night. Once they get to the terrace they let go of his hand and race ahead. Every few yards they stop and turn to make sure he’s following.
Kras inhales the sharp mountain air mingled with resin, pine needles and dry grass. It’s unusually fresh for late summer. A cold front is coming down from the Alps and pushing away the Mediterranean climate that on lazy, muggy days creeps up along the valley. Patches of bare ground reveal the secrets otherwise covered by undergrowth. A purple horizon wanes over the mountain ridge.
There’s a piece of burning ember on the ground. Kras stamps it out. He looks around. The laughter of the twins, the scratching of claws, the muffled rumbling of an engine off in the distance. Damned postman, he almost set us all on fire. When he walks past the kennel, everything’s quiet. The dogs are lying there, their tails hanging peacefully over their haunches. Docile.
‘Daddy!’ ‘Daddy, come here!’
They lead him to the stream, into the darkness below the treetops.
‘But you can’t see anything.’
‘Look, Daddy!’ ‘Fireflies!’
The fluorescent pulses of light illuminate the daughters’ frail silhouettes, as they stand on the bank of the stream and giggle, their hands over their mouths.
‘Careful you don’t fall off.’
Heeheeheeheehee.
‘Well, where’s that rabbit?’ asks Kras and trips. His hands sink into mud. The twins run over to him.
‘Daddy, are you ok?’ ‘Did you catch him?’
He wipes his palms on the grass and gets up. A pulse of light. His shoulder blades are burning.
‘Why did you drag me out here?’ he shouts.
The giggling faces immediately turn sullen.
‘Uncle Berdo said,’ sob, ‘Uncle Berdo,’ ‘that he had, he had,’ sob, ‘a surprise for us.’
A pulse. Pressure in the temples, itchy palms. His arms convulsively cramping, he approaches them and firmly, clumsily, pats them on the head.
‘It’s ok, it’s ok.’
The sobbing subsides when he hugs them. He gently taps his foot behind him to find the root or hole or stone he tripped over.
‘Daddy, look!’
A flash of light reveals what it is. There’s a skull sticking out of the mud.
‘What’s that, Daddy?’
He inserts the tip of his shoe into the eye socket and the skull comes out with a horribly fleshy slurping sound.
‘Daddy?�
� ‘Daddy? What is it?’
A pulse. There’s a hole in the crown. He flicks his foot and the skull flies into the middle of the brook. Plop.
‘Daddy?’
‘Nothing, girls. Just some poor Austro-Hungarian soldier.’
‘What?’ ‘What?’
‘Let’s go.’
The moment Kras steps out of the house Bernard gets up and rushes into the kitchen, where he’s left a screen rolled up in a long tube. He takes it with his good hand and carries it into the dining room. He summons a waiter to help him.
‘Can you hang it on the wall? Come on, take that wild boar down and hang it on that big nail, yes.’
In addition to a change of clothes and the flask of Jägermeister, he has a projector in his travel bag. He sets it up on the table where he was sitting and inserts a disk into it.
‘Where are the sockets?’
Nobody listens to him, they’re all wrapped up in their tipsy selves. Olga stands with her sisters in a tight circle, whispering confidentially, her eyes shining ever brighter, though her sisters’ faces are turning murky. Alenka looks around a few times. She can’t find a socket and she’s subtly biting her lower lip, indicating capitulation. Stoja is listening to Voranc, who’s flipping through the guest book and proudly showing off his reading skills. Grace is interpreting what appears to be a fun conversation between Edgar and Olive. Meslier is, it seems, napping as he sits. Katarina is trying to engage the entire table in general conversation, primarily to shut her mother up (now, to Katarina’s horror, she’s on to yoga, and from there’s it’s just a short conversational step to tantric sex and the Kama Sutra), but without much success. Only the general is paying attention to her, but Bernard couldn’t say whether he is listening enthusiastically or simply staring down somewhere below her neckline.
‘Edgar!’
He doesn’t hear him.
‘Edgar!’
The ‘half-brother’ stops mid-sentence.
‘Can you please come here for a second?’
This call catches the attention of Olga, who takes her sisters’ hands and squeezes them tightly before moving closer. The waiter is unravelling the screen, which draws a few looks.
‘What have you got there?’ asks Edgar.
‘A present for Wolf. Come on, I don’t know exactly which cable goes where. Can you work it out?’
Edgar leans over the projector and checks the inputs.
‘Berdo, I hope it’s not by any chance anything…’
He pulls one out, pushes it in somewhere else, but has to put it back.
‘It’s not by chance anything what?’
‘You know, one never knows with you… You’re not going to upset him?’
Bernard raises a hand in disbelief.
‘Give me a break! I’m not that much of an arse, to ruin my brother’s fiftieth. Edgar, please.’
Edgar smiles. ‘Ok, ok, I’m sorry.’ He stretches the cable from the wall to the table and plugs it into the socket hidden behind an antique cupboard.
‘All right, press play when I tell you to, ok?’
Bernard sees his brother’s profile through the hole in the door.
‘He’s coming, come on, will you get Gramps? I think he went upstairs with the kids.’
Edgar is turning on his heels when Olga jumps up.
‘I’ll go, you just wait here,’ and she passes by him.
Edgar is amazed. This is the third time in his life that Olga has directly addressed him. The first time was when Boj…Raven brought him home (‘Get lost, you shabby little freak!’), the second time was when Andre–, when Grace left home (‘You’ve bewitched my daughter, you gypsy beast!’), and the third time, so gently, so normally, just now. A shiver comes over him. Something’s brewing.
‘Why did you drag me out here?’ comes roaring across the meadow. A flock of birds switches trees. Mila stares through the window, she’s used to Dad’s yelling. Since Mitja left there’s been much less of it, but not so little that you would forget it. She’s embarrassed in front of Grandma and Alan. They all know how he is but it would be nice if now and then he didn’t have to prove his ways. If he became, at least for an hour or two, someone else. Transformed himself and showed it. Even if he then immediately went back to his old self and growled and howled and put people down… Or sullenly kept quiet, clearly explaining what he was thinking only through looks and nervous twitches of an eyelid, which were sometimes so strong they hurt her like a slap. But on the other hand he’d never been violent towards Mila, and soon she’d be gone, in a few years she’d have a degree, and then see you at the next birthday or anniversary of something entirely unimportant…
Before Po turned on the light they had all been turning blue in the fading daylight. Now they squint and smile at each other. Alan flips through a Komunist, Raven pats his tummy and averts his eyes from Po, who is jumping around and curiously poking about. The waiter Borut is lying on a dusty, sunken old mattress. Raven reaches over to shake his foot. Nothing.
‘What are we going to do with him?’ he asks.
Alan shrugs and doesn’t look up, Mila moves towards the waiter’s head. Raven has turned him onto his side (‘so he won’t swallow his tongue’). He looks just like he’s sleeping.
‘What did he say his name was?’
‘Borut,’ says Alan.
Mila shakes him by the shoulders.
‘Borut.’
No response.
‘Borut,’ louder, shaking more vigorously.
Nothing.
‘If I go get the other waiters he’ll be in trouble for coming up here with us,’ she says.
Raven nods.
‘But we can’t just leave him here.’
Alan looks at them over the top of his magazine. ‘I’m not going anywhere until we go, so…’
Po chimes in.
‘If you give him a kiss, he’ll wake up.’
Mila smiles, Raven swings a joking hand towards Po.
‘What if he turns into a frog?’ asks Mila.
‘He won’t,’ says Po, though she doesn’t look all that convinced. She takes a step back and carefully watches for what they’re going to do. She hears footsteps at the bottom of the stairs. She goes to look.
‘That’s the good thing about getting old: all you need is two puffs,’ says a wistful Raven.
Alan’s look is generous. That senile old guy is his father. He has a good heart, even if it’s shallow when it comes to love. He can’t hold anything against him, except for when he embarrasses him by insisting on going to parent-teacher meetings and similar nonsense. He likes him best when he’s at home. If he’s lucky, the old man will be dead by the time Alan gets married. Who would want to burden someone with a father-in-law like that? When Alan realizes what he’s been thinking, he pinches himself hard in the thigh.
Po runs over and throws her arms around her father’s neck.
‘Aunt Crabby’s down there.’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘Grandma is Aunt Crabby?’ asks Mila.
Po nods. They laugh.
‘The kids got used to calling her that,’ says Raven, ‘I call her Mia Farrow.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Since she cut her hair, she looks like her,’ he says, lost in thought, ‘an actress, once upon a time.’
‘What’s she doing?’ Mila asks Po.
‘She was listening, then she closed the door and left.’
Mila and Raven frown, trying to remember what they were talking about.
Their eyes meet, and when they realize that they’re doing the same thing they raise their eyebrows and say, at the same time, ‘Everything ok.’ Alan understands. Laughter.
‘Papa Raven,’ says Po.
‘What is it, dear?’
‘Can I have some water?’
She takes the cup from her father’s hands, pops between Mila and Alan and, with an impish smile, pours half of it over the waiter’s head. Borut wakes up, his eyelids fluttering like a couple of lov
e-smitten butterflies. When he comes to, he smiles drunkenly at Mila and nods at Alan, but when he sees Po’s face his jaw drops. He tries to look away, but his eyes get caught up in Raven’s bushy face. His lungs are tight, the flow of oxygen is interrupted again, and if the previous unconsciousness was caused by a common syncope, this one is a straight-up seizure.
Kras’s knees are muddy. The twins are holding him by the hand. He looks at the screen and the curious faces.
‘What’s that?’
Bernard looks at Olga, who is closing the door and mouthing, they’re coming. Then he turns to his brother.
‘Happy birthday, old man.’
He gives Edgar a nod. The projector sputters to life and fills the air with buzzing. It sounds like someone’s vacuuming the attic. The screen shows grainy snow flickering apparently at random, until some sort of figure gradually forms. The spotty poltergeist moves ahead, back, caught in black-and-white static, a confusion of pixels through which colour suddenly breaks. Orangey-brown camouflage, green patches, interrupted by flashes of ultraviolet video emulsion. Behind it – a person. The picture jumps. The edges cut horizontally, chaotically, the slides of scenes run into each other. Everything in a moment, almost. The picture steadies and now looks like something a severely near-sighted person might see. Foggy. The colours flow along unclear lines. The figure approaches, a play of shadows, a stretched-out hand and…sharpness.
Mitja’s face is tanned and hairy. Black bags under the eyes. Sunken cheeks. A wide, white smile. A little dark patch of grease just below his nose. A helmet, on sideways. A huge face extended over the whole wall. He takes off his helmet.
‘Hi Dad. Mum. Mila. Mira, Mina. Grandma. Grandpa. Berdo. Edgar. I don’t know if Andreja’s there, oops, I mean Grace. Hi. And Stoja. Alan, where are you? What’s up? Po. Did I forget anyone? And Grandma Meta, maybe,’ the picture breaks up with a hum which lasts for a few seconds, ‘you’re having a good time, don’t drink too much because I know that’ a hum, and when the picture returns Mitja has turned around, ‘Dad’s fifty!’ – indistinct shouts from beyond the screen – ‘Yeah. I know,’ he turns to the camera, ‘Basically, it’s hot here, and dusty and moist and the mosquitoes are going to eat us alive, everything’s rotting and reeks like septic tanks, but we’re having a fantastic time!’ hum ‘—y to complain, but it is what it is, I’m alive and well, and, yes, nothing to complain about, Wolf, happy birthday, I hope in the future you’ll find some peace in your soul, also for the past,’ laughter, ‘that your shoulders will untense, that you won’t be too mad at…well, whoever, right? seriously, Dad, happy birthday. I have a gift for you, I left it in the little tree house, you know, the one we built together, in the walnut tree, when’ hum ‘to see each other soon, although there’s no sign here that things will be over anytime soon, it seems like we’re kind of stuck, to be honest, but, well, the main thing is that you guys are all healthy, that you have little green men taking care of you so you don’t have to worry too much about everything, yeah,’ hum, ‘don’t be too nasty to each other, because you have’ hum ‘so write to me by military safe fax, Alan, Mila, shit, I thought we’d at least,’ darkness, silence. The Wolfs are frozen. Before they can respond, the picture comes back, without sound. Mitja undoes his belt, turns his backside towards the camera, puts his hand to his mouth, kisses it, then yanks his trousers down with his other hand to show a bum cheek on which he has a bluish, cheap, prison- or army-style tattoo that says, ‘Wolf,’ slaps it, and then blows into the camera with an open palm. The end.
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