City, Sister, Silver, page 12
Micka concluded to the pack’s guardedly approving grumbling. We touched him a little here and there, patting him on the stomach, around the stomach, and on the scruff of the neck, where the sources of malice are. But since the sources of perversion are as yet unknown to medicine, we also gave the rest of his body a good going-over as well. I admit it didn’t come off without a couple kicks in the nuts either. And then Micka sat down, a little whipped but basically all right, and it was my turn.
I, however, by general consensus ceded my spot to David. Because even though Bohler handed out some pretty tough penances after our self-criticism sessions — 600 Our Fathers, or 1,000 push-ups, or Climb out on the roof an stay there! or Go hustle a Kalashnikov off the Castle Guard! — when it came to our mountaineer, ordinarily Bohler just waved it off, or let it go at two or three Our Fathers. And after all the depravities we’d heard, we were hoping that he wouldn’t let us down this time either.
I had a dream, said David. I was back home in the mountains, with my family tribe the Losíns, and a mighty blizzard raged outside our cabin windows, and the trails were all snowed under so we couldn’t go out hunting. My paw was chopping up a tree trunk, hacking out a roofbeam, but every now and then he’d stop, stretch till his joints cracked, and say: Coupa poods a frish rawh meat shir’d hit thi spot raht nah, agh, agh igh, oyvay Maria! And set to swinging his broadax again. My younger bros huddled on top of the stove while old Gramma told them the local legends. But the boys didn’t pay much heed to the mythical feats of old Choroš, chatting away among themselves: A-yuh, sum a that bludsy grizzle, oo Lord! shir cud suk ohn that, haw bowt yew, Medor? Aw, don go tillin me thim tayls, lahk t’eat m’own hand, replied Method, another brother of mine. My youngest bro, Benjamin, sat propped on my oldest bro Abraham’s knee, the two of them drooling on about the last bear we’d had before the storm. As the cruel tempest gathered fury, my maw broke out the Candlemas candle.* I peeked over at my kind, virtuous maw, and she says: Bet choo’d lahk ti sink yir teeth inna sum bludsy cartlidge too, yew rascul yew, hoy! Cud do with a baht masilf, ma little Davidko, hoo! You see, buddies, wilderness was just a regular thing for us, normally not a day went by without one of old Losín’s boys bagging a bear. We just weren’t built for that kind of hardship! Not that we were in danger of starving … out in the pantry we had pork and veal flitches, new and old ham, all sorts of bolshevik meatballs, heaps of eggs and taters, cauliflower, a hidden buckwheat pit or two, sacks of oats, bushels of wheat, cornstalks tall as a man, blindworms, rice with oil and sunflower seeds, dried fruit, millet, kabobs … we were just short on vitamins. The storm wasn’t letting up and Maw was running low on candles. Old Gramma said she couldn’t remember a winter this bad, not even in the legends. It looked like the Losín clan wasn’t going to make it! And, friends and knights, I couldn’t stand it anymore! So one night, when everyone else was asleep, I quietly donned my little fur coat, slapped my foxfur cap on my head, gathered up a few arrows and Paw’s old crossbow, and out of my bro Abraham’s boot I took the bowie knife that he had for jamborees. Then I pulled the sled out of the lean-to, loaded up the broadax, and untied Paw’s old bear-dog, Azorek, whose eyes lit right up when I told him where we were going. Azorek was a cross between a city cocker spaniel and a werewolf, and some of the younger bears died of fright at the mere sight of him. So I hitched him to the sled, threw in the crossbow, and off we rode. Into the tempest. That was some Siberia out there, believe you me, guys and buddies. Just a few meters away from the cabin, luckily, we came across our first bear nest. While Azorek furiously set to digging, I tried to draw the crossbow, but soon discovered that it was beyond my boyish strength. Then I got a salvational idea! Taking some heavy rope out of the sled, I tied the bow to old Azorek’s legs, then jumped in the sled and sped downhill. I don’t think I need to stress how tight I held onto that bowstring! Azorek, meanwhile, dug and dug and dug, until suddenly he let out a triumphant roar and an old she-bear sleepily tottered out onto the snow … I let go the bowstring, and the arrow went whizzing through the slightly surprised Azorek’s legs and hit that old she-bear right in the heart! As I clawed my way back uphill, sled and broadax prepared for portioning, I noticed that Azorek, crazed as he was … licking his chops and flicking his forked red tongue in and out … still held back, because he knew the meat was for all the Losíns! And I took pity on that good loyal beast. Ull raht, Azerek, naw we kin have irsilves a litta bitty tayst a that fahn blud n fayt, nummy num num! Overwhelmed with excitement, David fell into his old tongue and burst into tears.
We just sat there, frozen like statues, because self-criticism is sacred and it’s forbidden to interrupt … An as you probably realize by now, buddies an pals, we went an … David beat his breast … wolfed down that old honeysucker, every last bite … an I forgot all about my Maw an Paw … the happiness in their eyes as they nibble on the snout an the paws, slurpin out the marrow … an my bros, too … I ate that bear! An as long as old Azorek lived, we never said a word about it to each other, not a holler, we were too alienated an ashamed! David wiped his eyes between sobs. An I stuffed myself so full my bros had to come out to the old shed at dawn an lift me off Azorek’s back … an I lost the sled an Aberham’s bowie, an just like in my colleague Micka’s woeful tale, I stretched myself out on the stove an lay there with a fever … an even though next day happily the sun came out hey! hoy! an everyone was elated … an crazed … an my bros dashed out into the woods an hunted up dozens of bears, an Abraham wasn’t mad at all about his bowie, he had lots more … David blubbered, gushing tears … an that night my bros dragged home the dead bears, an we gorged an gorged … an gorged … an the Losín tribe was saved an happy again, I was never happy again after that, couldn’t look my family in the eye, so I left my tribe … an got lost in the stars an had to slay all kindsa innocent wolves … an jaybirds … for food, an I wandered across nine mountain ranges, trippin over roots, an then I came down from the mountains … an got lost again, an somehow ended up in this city … n yew Knahts a thi Seekrit fahnd me heer, n Ah fahnd yew n … and the bear hunter broke down sobbing again.
David concluded to the pack’s guardedly approving grumbling, here and there interrupted by a friendly cheer or two, and here and there and right here and over there we gave him a few gentle pats on the head, because it was obvious to us what it was all about, because we were twisted crooked swindlers of the Pearl, old champions of sin and repentance, so we exchanged happy grins and yodeled manfully and congratulated each other that our little Davey hadn’t wound up frozen to death … the boy showed courage, huh? An at his age too, just think, guys, damnation, damnation … nodding our heads and spitting tobacco … glad that David could blubber over that kinda crap and didn’t have to wail bloody tears from his heart when he caught a glimpse of the horrible wheel of the world … he doesn’t see, we whispered to each other … it’s a miracle that mangy old Azor didn’t take a chomp outta him, none of us would’ve come within five steps of that wicked old dog without a club, or better yet a good old AK-3, well anyway it turned out all right, we congratulated ourselves once again, and Sharky whispered kindheartedly to Bohler, two’s enough, don’t you think? meaning Our Fathers, and Bohler patronizingly nodded, as if to say, it’s understood, pal … and David sat there flushed red, but after a while he was basically all right, and then at last it was my turn.
I had a dream, I said. It was a long dream, O brothers and blood brothers, so please be patient. And don’t forget that I’m only a humble messenger, the bearer of the dream.
There was a little buzz among my friends, because in the history of the community those opening words had only been spoken two or three times, and never by me, and they indicated the person in question had something urgent in his heart that concerned not only him but the entire community, and though it came from him he believed that it had been sent down to him to pass along to the others.
I’d been stifling the dream inside me for a long time now, it had been given to me by my spirit, my power, and I was glad at last to be able to share it, but also despondent because the dream was dark and I had only a vague idea what it meant. A community dream has its rules, though, so I still had to field the opening questions to fill my associates in on the picture.
Bohler: Take any stuff?
Me: Shrooms, weed, wheelies, but just a few, really. An red wine, lots of it. Also jumbo shrooms, Green Power, I think, I specified.
Sharky: When an where?
Me: Three, maybe five weeks back, in the time we’re in now. An for a long time goin in I didn’t take anything at all, to make sure it wouldn’t throw me. My place on Gasworks.
Micka: Anyone else around?
Me: Nope. I was solo.
Bohler: How long’d it last?
Me: Two days, I think. I spent all morning drinkin an druggin myself up, an then it started sometime after noon.
Micka: D’you eat?
Me: I tried some chevabchichi or somethin, but then I spit it out. The only thing I could keep down was spinach. An lotsa Water. When the wine ran out.
David: Did ja lie down the whole time?
The boys grinned knowingly.
Me: No, David, mostly I walked around, shakin an dancin a little.
Seeing David blush, though, I quickly added: Yeah, an I did lie down a little, towards the end.
What kina carpet? Bohler was curious.
Me: None. I tried beer, but it was still a rough landing. Got a headache an I was scared. I wanted to be alone an think it over, but I was afraid to stay there. But I did.
Micka: Right, now I remember! You sent me that fax from your place that you were takin four days off. You shoulda said you were havin a dream! I wouldna taken it outta your bonus.
Me: Whatever, I forgot.
Sharky: So go ahead an mark it down for him, why doncha.
Micka: Yeah, in a sec. C’mon, spill it, Potok. Any more questions, anyone?
No.
I’m sorry, O brothers and buddies, but right at the start I oughta mention … I recited the formula … a few basic blasphemic doubts. Don’t forget, I’m just the bearer of the dream, so this doesn’t necessarily represent any of my own worthless opinions: namely, is our Teaching, the teaching of the Knights of the Secret, truly correct? Because this dream, O buddies an knights, led me into dark lands, an I donno if they’re only mine. It’s got two traps, as far as I can tell. The first one right at the start, the second one at the end, an they’re both traps of the old time.
As I spoke, it occurred to me that the whole dream was one big trap … but when it comes to important dreams, interpretation and commentary are forbidden, we’re no eurojournalists, as Sharky once quipped. I was about to say it anyway, but then I felt the voice entering me, speaking through me, so instead I just said the words:
In my dream we were high in the air, on a flying carpet like. David sat in front, watching out for clouds, Micka stood at the helm, Bohler was meditating, Sharky was trying to hook up to some telegraphic waves so he could figure out where we were, an I was stompin around, testin the strength of the wind. We didn’t have any Water, but we were havin fun. There was kind of a casual feelin about it, like we knew that we were safe, driftin along in the stream of time, like we’d saddled it or somethin. An then all at once, hey: some sign with a blinkin arrow. So we go blastin over there an the sign says: OS 5 km. What could that be doin here, way up high above the earth in the middle of flowin time? we wondered. Aha! I’ve got it, the clever Sharky shouted, it’s the old abbreviation for OSADA, settlement! So we paddled on over in that direction, lookin forward to seein our pals the Black Crows an the whole Apache band, old Ludvík Crow Feather an the blood brothers Kopcem an Veverčák,* those guys all hunt together nowadays! Yeah, we’ll build a big fire, an if it turns out to be some hobo camp, that’s aright too, we’ll give em some of our songs, yeah, do a little drinkin. So we went on driftin along in time, feelin safe an comfortable. An after a while, another sign! What a cool machine, friends, it’s a heavenly timemobile! Micka hollered, an then we came to the sign, an this one said OSVĚ 2, an it was a bit on the dingy side, probly from all the campfire smoke, so we whooped for joy, because it was obvious it was OSVĚŽOVNA, a refreshment stand, as the ingenious Bohler realized, an so we flew on in that friendly time, enjoyin our heavenly journey, an then in the distance we spotted another sign, so we made a beeline for it, an when we got there, O my brothers an chiefs, we saw that it said: OSVĚTIM, Auschwitz, an it was too late for us to turn back, no matter how badly we wanted to, an our heavenly mobile all of a sudden started to plunge, O my brothers, because we’d come to the place where all the time from every world in human heaven collides … suddenly there was a vertical wall with time suckin us down into a black hole like a whirlpool, a huge maelstrom straight outta that paranoid Poe. An then we landed.
An we landed softly, brothers, the ground there was so soft we even bounced back up a little. An when we dropped down from that bounce, dear buddies, some of us found ourselves in ashes up to our waists, others just to their ankles, depending on how we fell. It was the ashes of cremated people, my brothers, the ashes of cremated Jews. Any last hope we had that maybe there’d been a mixup, an that at least we were in some slightly cosmopolitan wicked old gulag, was lost. An the ashes stirred up by our landing stuck to our shoes an clothes, an made it hard for us to walk. An where there weren’t ashes, brothers, there were bones, human bones, an endless ghastly sea of bones. Then we saw towers in the distance an so we started walkin … usin one of the taller towers as our point of orientation … an we were afraid cause the skulls were watchin us, lookin at us, an we asked ourselves: Why are we here? Why us? Why did it happen to me? An some of the skulls seemed to answer: Why not? Some of them lay there softly, jaws set in a knowing smile, but more, far more, just peered out blankly at us, what was left of the jaws twisted into a grimace of pain, cause these’d got it the hard way, brothers, an heavy-duty, alive. There was a sea of them, an ocean. An this comparison occurred to us when we couldn’t walk anymore because we kept plunging into the bones an so we tried to swim our way through, we tried to move an crawl an shove our way through with our arms. But it was too gruesome. An the worst thing about our fear, O sea wolves an blood brothers, was it kept growing. Our horror, my brothers, spread, expanding inside our brains to truly vast dimensions. An as our horror grew, it was obvious its borders were shifting an we could only look forward to more.
Crawling didn’t work either, because the bones kept caving in an we were afraid that we would suffocate under the weight of all that death. So then we started to jump. An because we were a tribe, we tried to boost each other’s courage. Who ever said Jews stink? This place doesn’t smell like anything, let alone the appetizin aroma of garlic, shit! Yeah, shit, at least if it smelled like that! said one of us. Hey, what if we’re tanked? Why don’t we just pretend that we all drank some kina snake oil, one of us suggested. But David said: Nah, there’s no way to get this wasted. This is reality, an a pretty dumb one if you ask me. An at that moment, knights an gentlemen, we heavily an seriously detested David. An one of us biffed him with a shinbone an said harshly: Shut up! An we inched along toward the towers, trying not to catch the skulls’ empty glances so we wouldn’t go insane.
There were children’s skulls, my brothers, an there were piles of skulls smashed to bits, an there were skulls shot full of holes, an skulls that looked like they’d been crushed in a press, an skulls with small holes mended shut with barbwire, an one of us, O knights an skippers, cracked another joke: Guess that’s what you’d call his-and-hers skulls, ho! ho!, but then started to vomit. An the one creeping in front of him didn’t hear him because he was weeping, an the one crawling behind him didn’t hear him because he was praying out loud. An, friends an brothers of mine, it wasn’t hell we were going through but whatever it is that comes after it. An we realized that our horror, now independent of our brains, outside of us, exterior, like some kina demon, was toying with us. We realized we’d never know if we were just terrified or actually insane, an it began not to matter. Every now an then one of us would fall down an flail around, dancing with the skeletons, till he caught hold of some bone he could use to pull himself back up on. Some of the bones were rotten an crumbling, but most of them looked as though they could’ve been put there yesterday. It was yesterday, I thought to myself. Wherever there weren’t whole skeletons, or at least heaps of bones, we carefully picked our way along broad pelvic bones, flat-footing cautiously across fragile rib cages, an then we figured out that the thick calf an thigh bones, the ones that came from men, were also pretty safe, an the shoulderblades were okay too, an eventually, O my brothers, we just about learned how to move. But the second we started to think so, one of us went plunging down into a chasm of skeletons, one of us, O bosses an sling shooters, an we looked at each other with eyes full of horror an left our brother behind an crawled on, hearing him scream an beg … an though tears began oozing into our hearts, where the water of the warpath flows, like worms … we crawled on … but then one of us went back … an tore off his threads an made a rope an tossed it down to our pseudodroog, an the rest of us stopped, improvising nests out of bones an waiting there inside them, or laboriously building skeleton bridges an making their way back … an the only music we had on that planet was the splinter an crack of bones in tune with our slow motion, an now an then a racket as a pile of skeletons caved in, an otherwise nothing but silence.
