‘So…’ says the general and turns to Kras. Kras raises his eyebrows. ‘So, Wolf, to get right down to it, I’m ready to believe you, so long as you don’t beat around the bush.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
The general smiles grimly and the aide moves his head, while Kras sizes them up.
‘I hope that is the truth.’ He puffs out his cheeks and coils a hard curl of smoke around his mouth. ‘Because I have, on account of our friendship, stretched protocol a little. If I were going by the rules, you’d be the one coming to me, come hell or high water. So consider this a birthday present and pledge honesty. You owe me at least that much.’
‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’
The aide coughs into his fist.
‘Our ship is leaking, Wolf. It is leaking quite a bit and has been for quite some time. Half the agency is spinning around on its axis and constantly biting itself in the arse, and it was only a matter of time before some analyst pointed a finger at you. They’ve exhausted all other possibilities. And you could say, of course, you could be thinking that they are going to start making all sorts of accusations now, because they are in it up to their necks and will try to cast suspicion all the way up to Breivik just to save themselves from drowning, but…’
Kras doesn’t respond. Every twitch of the body counts. The only freedom lies in staying still. Anything else is slavery of character.
‘…once they started entering data the probability level skyrocketed. They’re claiming, with eighty percent certainty, that you’re the leak, Wolf. Factor in all the dead ends they were considering before and the percentage climbs to over ninety. We both know the algorithms are rarely wrong, which is why I haven’t come for your confession. Human curiosity got the best of me, so we’re not doing this in front of cameras. I’m not interested in how much. I want to ask you – why?’
Kras snarls from the depths of his lungs. The aide adjusts his stance, the general turns his head.
‘Wolf?’
‘Someone must have slandered me, Globus… I find it hard to believe you two came here to stuff my head with libel. And the damn computers can go to hell.’ He bit his tongue. Literally. ‘This has got to be some kind of RDR intrigue, no? What went wrong? And now you’ll do me for it? Like that guy, Kennedy, via Khrushchev, first you hit your predecessor, then you yourself resign. Gobec fucked something up so soon? How serious is it?’
The general spits into his palm and puts out his cigar.
‘This is not part of some elaborate intrigue, Wolf! You are up shit creek and that’s that. Everything fits. All the things that kept the algorithm incomplete were things you carried home for analysis. Our strategy was always sound and yet the Chinese always knew what we were up to.’
‘If the HRC had really read my data, then HADE would still be in the desert.’
‘Don’t belittle us! The only thing that can explain the deviations in the results is a leak. And that leak is you, Wolf. That much we know! Now stop lying, because it’s insulting to me.’
Wolf storms over to his desk and bends down to the cupboard door and the safe behind it. The aide’s muscles tense up. He’s ready to fire at any time, but the general’s raised hand stays him. The general moves over to Wolf and peers past his fingers as he turns the dial.
21 – 10 – 20 – 21
The safe opens with a vacuum sigh. It’s filled to the top with rainbow-coloured folders.
‘Everything’s in here,’ says Kras.
‘Show me,’ says the general.
Kras pulls a purple folder from the pile and offers it to the general.
He doesn’t take it.
‘Open it,’ he says.
Kras feels the rough cardboard against his fingers. He snaps the folder open. All three stare into it. The sheets of paper are blank, but for the outline of a head with great big round ears.
‘Are you taking me for a fool, Wolf?’ asks the general.
Kras licks his fingers and flips through the sheets of paper. They’re all the same. He flings them furiously in the air, and they glide around. The aide snatches one out of the air. He looks at it and speaks.
Up until now he’s been silent. His croaky magpie voice slices into Kras’s eardrum.
‘That’s… Mickey Mouse.’
It takes Kras all of his strength not to sink his teeth into the aide’s abnormally thick neck.
‘I know that, you bloody moron,’ he hisses through clenched teeth. The aide shrugs his shoulders, and even the general ignores this remark.
‘What is this? A break-in? Espionage? Who else knew the combination?’ asks the general.
‘No one,’ Kras says, ‘but everything points to it being… my little…my own…’ he falls silent and stares out the window. This is a feeling Kras doesn’t know. It stretches from the pain of betrayal, to disappointment, through shame at his own mistake, to a sort of pride. He’d never expected that sort of a Mitja. He dared break into his father’s most forbidden place? He’d rip him a new arsehole if he ever caught him, and even though Mitja must have known that, it didn’t stop him. But what did he do with the papers? How was it that some middling little indigenous villages put up a better defence than the headquarters ever expected? Did he warn them? How? Kras thinks of Bernard’s stunned look yesterday, just before he punched him. Where did he get Mitja’s tape? How did they communicate? If he’s going to blame his son for the leak now, they’ll throw him in jail somewhere along the equator. Does he deserve it? Would he survive? Would he find out who put him there?
‘My own brother,’ says Kras and lets indignation take hold. ‘That fucking prick stole from me, right from under my nose, and then sold it on. Business has been really good for him these past few years. He paid to get a new church built, he lent money to half the family for any stupid fancy they may have had. I thought he’d actually got himself some competence, and was even grateful for it. Bernard was always useless. I’m not even surprised, now that I see nothing has changed.’
The general’s eyes narrow. He’s smelt the gentle whiff of a lie.
‘Bernard…that dystrophic critter whose nose you busted open yesterday?’
Kras nods and smiles ominously.
‘And,’ the general asks, ‘where is he now, this Bernard?’
‘I sent him to the hills.’
‘To the hills?’
‘He’s driving my mum and the aunts to their homestead. Until…hm, until the smoke blows over.’
‘Yes, smoke,’ the general nods and motions to his aide. ‘Smoke. Good. We’re leaving now. I’ll issue an immediate arrest warrant for Bernard. We can hold off a little with your interrogation. If he’s going to drag you into this, you’d better be ready. I’ll see what I can do. No promises. But nothing’s impossible.’
Kras thanks him with a nod of the head.
‘One more thing before we go,’ says the general in a quiet voice as he makes his way to the door. ‘The 250th Infantry hasn’t seen your son in over a month.’ Kras takes a step towards him and grabs him by the shoulder. The aide puffs out his chest.
‘What?’
‘You asked yesterday. I checked the how and the what of it. He’s not at any of the posts. I asked around. No sign of him from our ships. Not from any planes either.’
‘Wait a minute, Globus. Just what the hell are you trying to tell me? Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?’
The general turns to Wolf and actually looks sincere.
‘Sorry, Wolf, but this sort of thing happens all the time. The boys can’t take it. They run off into the jungle. They get taken by some dark woman, if they’re lucky, or by some other dark thing if they aren’t. If he contacts you, tell him to get back to his damn post straight away. If he’s not back in a month he’ll be listed as a deserter. And then…’
The general motions to his aide to open and hold the door for him. Kras’s head is throbbing. His lips have dried out. He’s got no words, no strength,
no possibilities. Everything is happening beyond him. His arms are dangling by his side. The general’s head disappears down the stairs. A ringing telephone cuts the heavy silence.
‘Hello?’
A sigh.
‘Hello? Kras, is that you?’
Kras grinds his teeth and considers hanging up.
‘Wolf, who the fuck is this? Say something. Bernard here. There’s been an accident.’
That makes him hesitate. He looks around. Nobody.
‘Janez is dead, Wolf. Wolf? Is there anybody there? Give me Kras.’
‘I’m here, Berdo.’
‘Why the fuck are you so silent?’
‘I was thinking about just hanging up. I don’t have the energy to deal with you. But what’s this about an accident?’
‘WOLF! Do not hang up. You have to help us. Janez fell asleep at the wheel. Well, first he took a wrong turn, then we got lost, and when we turned back he fell asleep and went over the cliff.’
‘And Mum?’ asks Kras.
‘Mum’s fine, the aunts are fine, I’m fine. We wandered around for a few hours until we came across a house. Some old guy, a loner, a weirdo, if you ask me. He’s up to something, no idea what. That’s why we need somebody to come get us.’
‘Did you call an ambulance?’
‘Ambulance? We’re fine, we just need somebody to…’
‘For Janez?’
‘Oh, yeah. Wolf, that was a cliff and a half. He didn’t stand a chance. I’ll take care of everything, don’t worry, just come get us.’
‘Me?’
‘You, anybody. Fuck! I’m going nuts every day for this family, you dumped Mum on me, then you…’ Bernard’s voice trails off. ‘There’s something going on up there,’ he says, and Kras clears his throat.
‘Bernard, I’m not in the mood to listen to some rambling explanation, but maybe you were lucky, getting lost.’
‘What? Hang on a second, I hear Mum…’
‘I said maybe you’re lucky that you didn’t make it over there. Headquarters is going to issue a warrant for your arrest anytime now. I told them where you are.’
‘Ah, for fuck’s sake, Kras…’
‘You don’t want to know why?’
‘What? No. Yes. Because of the Krpans, right?’
‘What Krpans?’
‘Fuck, Kras, can’t you do anything for me?’
‘What Krpans, Berdo?’
He can hear quiet snivelling through the receiver. Each of Bernard’s sobs produces a light honk. His nose still hurts.
‘I knew they’d come sooner or later… Aw, crap… Mitja gave me a hand. Sorry, Kras. Sorry, please, but…but…’
Bernard looks for a means of stirring the greatest degree of compassion. Because he knows who he’s dealing with, his despair sounds almost sincere.
‘…fuck, Kras, you saved the arse of that moron who killed his wife, but you can’t save the arse of your own brother? You won’t!’
‘Evan didn’t kill anybody,’ says Kras.
‘Neither did I!’
‘Mojca committed suicide,’ says Kras. He sees his friend before him. Not the one who came to ask for help, the nervous wreck of a widower, madman and weakling, but the one from back when they were still young and still had clear eyes and roars of laughter on their lips and acted like the world had signed them a contract for eternity… The Cut was their first cry of the real. It broke them apart. A hollow burial. It was as if a filter had been cast over the world. Staying friends was hard. They all had to take care of themselves. Kras managed. Evan, barely. It has been years since he’d heard anything about Zoja. Her writing was banned in Europe. A threat to the system, apparently. Kras had never been able to understand grown-ups who were afraid of poetry. As if they acknowledged that the nature of the world is sin. But whose? Does everything really hang in the balance?
‘Veronika too,’ yells Bernard. ‘Yet you’re not getting me any tickets to go East!’
‘Would you like to go East?’ asks Kras.
Bernard lets out another moan.
‘First of all I’d like someone to come get me and take me out of this wooded wolf-fuckery. I’ll figure out how to hide later.’
‘I can’t,’ says Kras, ‘I have to…’
‘Tell somebody, please, tell Alenka or…or…tell Grace! Yes, tell Grace! Tell her she can finally return the favour for that bacchanalia I paid for, no? Order her to come. White Wood, she can ask someone where to go, where the old guy with the dog lives, a huge house, she can’t miss it. Will you?’
‘White Wood?’
‘Yes.’
Kras smiles bitterly.
‘I’ll tell her, Berdo. You take care of yourself now.’
The line cuts out. Kras looks at the receiver a bit curiously before quietly setting it down.
Kras places himself between the doors, turns his mouth towards the hall so there’ll be a loud echo, and hollers like an ape: ‘Full stop!’ He tilts his head in anticipation of a response. When it comes, he nods, content. ‘Full stop,’ yells a female voice from the courtyard, joined soon by that of an old man. Another voice emerges from the kitchen, hoarse, a little quieter, also a woman’s. The voices ring out in tandem from the top floors. One, deep and sonorous, booms from behind Kras’s back. He turns around. Edgar is standing there, smiling at him, but the smile fades when their eyes meet. He hasn’t seen that expression on Kras’s face for years. Hence, full stop.
It was Raven who thought it up, when he got divorced and it looked like the family was falling apart. Back then a thousand tiny grievances suddenly found their way to expression, and life among the Wolfs became increasingly excruciating. A pinch of amateur psychology, a few handbooks on relationships, on mediation and arbitration led him to the very simple idea of shutting all the family members into a space where they would, for a moment, cast off the ballast of the body, allow themselves only ears and mouth, and throw a general amnesty over anything said. If nothing else, they’d blow off a little steam. Sometimes that’s all a person needs. This would be the fourth full stop, ever. Kras was going to do the thing his way.
He walks into the courtyard and looks up into the tree. The priest Meslier is standing under it.
‘Dad, if you don’t come down, we’ll do it without you,’ he shouts.
Raven clings onto a branch and yells, ‘So what!’ He is terribly bothered that he won’t hear what’s been going through their heads these past years, but for once in his life he wants to stick to a decision. He’s never coming down from the trees again.
Kras nods. ‘Very well.’ The priest walks towards him, but Kras’s gaze stops him. ‘What is this “full stop”?’ he asks.
‘It’s only for family,’ replies Kras. Meslier nods vaguely.
‘I’m just going to stay outside,’ he says, as if he had made the decision himself. Kras nods and goes into the house.
He finds them at the table. Edgar is sitting in a chair, scratching his nose and staring absently at the floor. His thick, black hair looks like a pile of tape from an audio-cassette. Kras looks at Mila. She has no idea what an audio-cassette is. She’s probably never even seen one. She’s avoided all the previous full stops; her face is a mixture of disbelief that something like this is really even happening, pride that her presence seems self-evident to everybody, and fear that she might hear too much. Katarina is completely pale. Kras smiles at her. He has been ignoring her these past few days. She’s completely worn out, looking more lost by the minute. No word from Mitja, the birthday stress, then all the chaos that unfolded, which now won’t stop spreading… Katarina smiles back at him. Grace avoids eye contact. Kras is, in spite of everything, satisfied with her. A sturdy conscience, an independent soul. In a top-down operation you can’t help yourself with this sort of people, but they always rise to the challenge of their destiny. Military instinct and family love converge in an amicable gaze. He goes over to her and takes her by the shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ he says. Her expression is a
tired one. Eyes closed, she bows.
‘Are we all here?’ asks Kras.
From the staircase, the sound of children laughing. Stoja enters the room. Po, Mira and Mina are chasing each other around the house. Stoja’s skirt is full stop.
‘How’s Alan?’ asks Kras.
‘Ah, he’s good, good,’ replies Stoja suspiciously. She doesn’t trust Kras. Never did. He butchered her first wedding anniversary. Back then she didn’t speak the language well and before they managed to explain what was going on she’d had her nineteenth nervous breakdown. ‘A sprained ankle, but otherwise nothing. Olive’s with him. She’ll bandage his leg. Is Bojan…?’
Kras indicates that he’s still outside.
‘I’m going out,’ says Stoja. Mira is hanging off her skirt and Po squeals before running into Mina. ‘Out, brats!’ yells Stoja, a smile stretching her cheeks. Kras waits for the door to shut behind them before turning back to the table.
‘What did the cops want?’ he asks Edgar.
‘They came for Olga.’
‘Why?’
Edgar imitates the voice of the policewoman: ‘On suspicion of causing bodily harm to a minor.’
Kras frowns, Edgar continues.
‘If I had to guess, I’d say…Alenka.’
‘Do you think she called them?’
‘I would have,’ says Katarina. It slipped out.
‘That’s quite a wound she gave Voranc…’ says Edgar.
‘Ah. You still haven’t told me anything. What did they say? How are you?’
Edgar’s smile is relaxed. ‘All right.’
‘What did they say at the hospital?’
Mila takes the floor.
‘Alenka dreamt up the idea that Voranc is HIV-positive so we’d stay away from them.’
‘That’s it, basically, yes,’ says Edgar.
Kras runs his hands over his temples and looks down. A curse gets tangled up in his vocal chords.
‘What if you went to see her, Edgar? Could you go?’
‘Could you try to talk to her?’ Kras continues, ‘She doesn’t need to be convinced. Tell her that she has a family here, if she needs it, and that she doesn’t need to lie if she wants to do things all on her own. If she wants to press charges, I don’t really care. But she shouldn’t think that means she’s done with us. She’s still a Wolf, tell her that. How does that sound to you?’
In/Half Page 25