City, Sister, Silver, page 16
Hey there, fella, the Face rumbled back.
An I was totally devastated, cause when I realized it could be Bog himself I had hoped to hear his speech, thinking his words would be old an beautiful, splendid objects, like rare wood … but for him to talk like some arrogant city hooligan … that I hadn’t expected.
You get what you deserve, said the Face. Watch closely now!
An that metal lump in the oven was a key … I saw it via the same technology a satellite up in space I guess uses to size up a sneaker … an ordinary key, an all at once I knew it was the same key you see around the necks of the scamps that live in those ratty tenements where their moms an pops don’t trust the neighbors … an with good reason, they’re all the same beasts … an they can’t hide the key in the hallway cause everyone knows all the tricks already, every hallway’s the same … so they put the key around their scamp’s neck so he can get in when they aren’t home cause they’re too busy chasin cash an vitamins … boozin it up … writin poems … gettin laid … keepin appointments … always on the go an they don’t have time, an city perverts, all sortsa Chikatilos,* have known it for a century at least … so they single out the brats with the keys around their necks, an when the right time comes along they say: Can I help you, son? Little girl? Your folks aren’t home anyway, an what grade’re you in, princess? C’mon now, you can tell me, I’m consumed with curiosity, an here’s some candy … an next thing you know they got their foot in the door … an the brats’re defenseless … cause some muffled scream, neighbors don’t give a fuck … all neighbors’re idiots.
An then, O my brothers an free lancers, I realized, or more like the Face put the thought in my brain, that that Jewish boy or girl … that used to lug that key around on his or her neck back in his or her time, that Moishele or that Bashele, wasn’t gonna come … the Child’s not gonna make it cause they burned him in that oven. An that was the Messiach. An all that awaits us till the day we die is the hopeless, meaningless life of a worm.
An as I hung there powerless, O my brothers, I started to wring my hands, which as an actor of some standing I’ve always considered bad form … but then an there I realized that even that can be appropriate at the right time in the right place.
An I screamed at and into the Face: How come? An what’re we sposta do … it’s not our fault!
An the Face didn’t answer, but suddenly I felt somethin push on my neck an I started fallin down … an I was back at the ovens with you.
An we started running, O my brothers, over that field of bones, an though we weren’t breaking through anymore, every skull we stepped on screamed in pain, an we’d jump aside in horror but we’d always just land on another an then its jaws too would open wide an let out a scream, an there was no way to stop because wherever we stepped or tried to stand still the skeletons would pitch an scream, an wherever we tripped or stumbled an fell there were cracking sounds an moans of pain … an some of the skulls’ empty eye sockets had tears rolling out of them, an some of the skulls in front of us kind of like tried to get out of the way but just sort of twitched an we had to jump onto them, an whenever we slowed down, in the blink of an eye we saw flesh an blood … an so we kept running, hoping to find a spot where we wouldn’t wound anyone an the horrible moaning would stop, but there were skeletons an skulls all over the place, an all of a sudden I heard what it was that all those skulls were screaming, an it was like thunder, slow, rhythmic, an rolling: Our blood on you and your children! And again: Our blood on you and your children! An then I went flying back up, an the Face was there before me.
Know who they’re screamin at? said the Face. Your grandpas.
An I go: But … they couldn’t do anything!
Oh yeah, right. I guess not. Said the Face.
An I gathered up my courage, because just hanging there like that I coulda been tossed anywhere at any time, an it occurred to me that actually I didn’t care anymore, an I go: Like that our grandpas didn’t slaughter those guys before they slaughtered the Jews, yeah? An what if they had … somehow … what if the Messiach had been one a those other guys that got slaughtered!
But he wasn’t. Said the Face. And it sneered.
An it occurred to me up there that it didn’t matter anymore whether our grandpas had been slaughtered or kept quiet or took part in the killing, it didn’t matter anymore for what reasons or by what coincidence, but the Messiach wasn’t coming. He’d been here an they’d burned him. That’s what flashed through my mind while I was hanging there, O my brothers.
Exactly, said the Face. I don’t like the way you keep killin em. An if I give it another try, said the Face, it won’t be till … well … we’ll see.
So why’d you let it happen? I shouted, no longer afraid.
But the Face didn’t answer me. An suddenly I was holding that key … an ordinary house key … made by the thousands all over the place … but then the key started burning my hand … turned white-hot, an I let go an watched it drop back into the human ashes.
It dropped down in there an the ashes swallowed it up. So that’s it, brothers an chiefs, that’s what I saw. But one more thing: I was hanging there in space over that land of ashes an skeletons. An the space wasn’t moving because time’d died with the Messiach in Auschwitz, an I grasped my enormous mistake. No time bomb exploded, brothers, an some of the acting an dancing I’d done was the dance of the dead, of a man without time, an that was a mistake, an arrogant mistake. Time died in the land of ashes, it hit me. Because one tribe had tried to kill off another an it almost worked an the wheel of the world of human tribes had been broken. An if I hadn’t heard that cry of pain, I donno if I would’ve come down from up there … ever, brothers, but then I heard a scream … an I saw it in the sky, like the sound of a sharp knife ripping through canvas … a scream out of a nightmare, an I got scared that whatever it is that comes after hell had come back to life again down there below me … but then I recognized the voice, it was our helper and superintendent: Vasil.
An in the dead timeless sky I saw a dark star glowing … time had shifted … an that star was Wormwood, brothers. The Face showed me Wormwood, an it was scarlet, an there in the sky stood a man-at-arms with animal horns on his helmet … an he was draped in a scarlet cloak, he wore the color of rage with pride … it was the Dark One in all his power, the Prince … an the Face gave me power too, an I shouted: Hey hey! An in my heart there was joy because suddenly it overflowed with the cruel water of the warpath, an once again I was happy, my sinful hopelessness was gone … an maybe it was the joy of a worm with a meaningless life who now knows it’ll never have meaning, but I was joyful … because the Face was here an I was here an you were here, O blood brothers, an the Devil was over there … I was joyful … I was back in the wheel of war, I was alive … an I knew many traps’re hidden to man but there’s still somebody to fight against … an then I was back by the ovens with you.
Looks like we’re gonna be stuck here a while, said Bohler.
We leaned our backs against the grating and the sun shone overhead but it didn’t give off any heat. Still, we weren’t cold. An as for me, O skippers an pseudodroogs, I forgot all about my flight the second I sat back down on a bone an leaned against the oven.
We were five* an there were millions all around an we had no clue what was to become of us.
But Josef Novák the skeleton had shown us so much horror … we had no more tears or vomit left, an even though we were still afraid, I saw a couple of my buddies with smiles on their faces … but they weren’t ordinary smiles … Micka bared his teeth grotesquely … Sharky squatted down, pouring ashes on his head an wailing again, but then he gave up an came over to us an curled his lips back too … it was a wicked wolfish smile … because we didn’t know what to do anymore, the springs we had inside us had bounced back against the horror … so, fine, if some power wants it, we’ll die right here an maybe we’ll go to hell an shove it up your ass! I had the same smile too, I think, wicked … a wolfish grin.
Bohler stretched an stood up.
I know what you’re thinkin, said Shark Stein, but none a that, there’ll be no collective baptisms of the dead in this place!
An why not? asked Bohler, readying his vessel.
An no consecrating either, I’m tellin ya!
Now now, son, find your humility …
These are my tribe’s people, damn it, an it was Christians that did this to em, for cryin out loud …
Go on, cutiepie, whadda ya mean your tribe? My little Praguish bastard blend.
Where’re you from, Cassock? Micka spoke up.
Since when’ve you got somethin against the little mother, priestie, I took the stronger side at random.
What, are you crazy, Bohler, askin Stein about his tribe?! C’mon, we’re a tribe! said David.
Yeah yeah, Micka cracked a grin, I’d say the gentleman comes from the mighty nation of Crybabies!
We’re on the site where millions died a large an weighty death, brothers … Bohler stepped back in.
Yeah exactly, said Shark Stein.
Yeah exactly, an that’s why it’s all the same, said Micka.
Unfortunately I hafta agree, I said.
No, said David. Look at us, we’re not dead.
We had to think about that one a little.
David walked over an gave me a slap. Ho ho, who’da thought the sissy had it in im … I hunched up slightly, cocking my hands at the proper height, a little above my thighs …
See, you macaque, you gotta be alive if that hurt, said David.
I readjusted my hands to their original position.
Vida, vida, the old ploy still works, Bohler snickered with delight.
We strolled around, back an forth, walking across the skeletons, all of a sudden it worked again. It didn’t affect us anymore.
How bout that, said one of us, now it works again. An maybe it won’t in a while, another one of us added.
If we had the Fiery here, this stuff’d be like dry leaves, said one of us, poking some bones with his shoe; one of us, an incorrigible human being.
An then, O my brothers, knights, an skippers, we each settled into the dream our own way. We got used to that timeless place, brothers, to that Auschwitzian grave. After all, we were well aware that at the end of each life is death, as Comrade Stalin used to say.
Bohler walked around, anointing whatever skulls Shark Stein would permit, the more crumbled ones that Sharky conceded might be … partially … of Aryan origin … maybe. Sharky didn’t take his eyes off him, an meanwhile tried to get his bearings. Once upon a time the wind blew here, he said, and once upon a time it shuddered at the sight. An you can definitely tell your compass points, it’s always good to know where you’re at. Which way’s left an which way’s right.
I just hung around watching the others until it occurred to me that if I found a few strong thigh an calf bones, an maybe a pelvis or two, I could set up a little podium. I spotted Sharky behind the ovens … testing out the box trick on location. But I gotta come clean, chiefs an bosses, I got a pretty good laugh out of it: never mind Batas, he was curled up inside a box barely big enough for the Keds of two tin soldiers!
An Micka, Micka the helmsman, said: Well, might as well! An started looking around for gold teeth. At first he was only kidding: Ho ho ho an Heh heh heh, but then he got obsessed an started poking through the gratings, an believe it or not, dear chiefs, in the old clogged unraked gratings on the ovens’ outer wall, where the heat I guess wasn’t as fierce, he found a little lump of gold! Right away him an Sharky started arguing how much it could fetch. Sharky played hard an heavy, quoting figures off commodity exchanges an fuming at the ridiculous sums, but Micka glowed, because he’d found his time, Das Kapital.
And shortly after we’d gotten acclimatized, so to speak, to that place left over from hell, a terrifying gale kicked up, whipping bones around, picking them up in bunches and flinging them in our faces, and all those protective playful structures we’d built in anticipation of death were lost.
The first one to go was my small, perhaps I could say impromptu, outdoor stage, right after I had finally gotten it stabilized and somewhat tentatively rehearsed the short but justifiedly popular monologue of a dramatic figure from olden times, the young aristocrat holding a skull. His question, put as much to the skull’s empty eye sockets as to the bulging, bloodshot eyes of homo sapiens’ arbitrary representative, was also a question for me: the right query in a suitable place.
Good old English rang in my ears with unusual urgency. And especially of course that important question mark; the reply to the dead Dane’s question, coincidentally negative, could only be made with great discomfort … and only thus do words become deeds … but the thought of running my heart through with some old bone grossed me out … and I didn’t have my dear old knife with me, but from historical writings I know of a certain widespread practice employed by the Aztec princes at that fatal turning point when Cortéz and his pack of metal-plated rednecks shattered their time: biting off your own tongue and swallowing it, resulting in strangulation … I found my tongue with my teeth, clamped it in the gate, and held it there a second, but it hurt too much … I simply lack the upbringing to be a son of the Sun … so I went on polishing my monologue while searching for reinforcements for my stage, but then another unruly thought got me started laughing again … about the skull the brilliant playwright inserted in the young man’s hand for his immortal monologue … with the kind of props I had handy, the playwright known as the Swan of Avon would most likely have given up composing his titillating pieces for the enjoyment of strapping journeyman butchers and gone out screaming wildly in the nearest local loony bin.
And then the aforementioned gale interrupted my speculations … grasping hold of us, lofting us upward, circling over the ovens, which we bid, with what we hoped was our last glance, finally farewell, and then we were flying … like a squad of celestial aquabelles, we were five, and suddenly the sun was warm, and then, O brothers and blood brothers, I sighted the Face once again, but the happiness I felt at that instant, stunning me from my capillaries right up into my medulla, suddenly turned to fright as something happened to the Face … and then I don’t know … I was flying in front, until suddenly Sharky went flying past, shoes first … And that’s the end.
And the voice left me. I dug my nails into my palm and looked around the room. Shifted my head and saw the sun. Setting. The lawn behind our buildings glittered in the last rays. Then it was dark. The grass is black now, I thought to myself. Went to the window and looked out. I was expecting the ritual of friendly muttering, but instead someone smacked me in the head, somebody else gave me a kick, I didn’t fight back. It would’ve been only normal if I’d gotten a bit of an ass-kicking. But nobody was up for it. Best bring in the Fiery, I told the shadow leaning over me. My dream had been so dark and long, it had swallowed up the whole byznys day. We didn’t get to Sharky. Or to the well and its mysteries either.
7
THE METAL FLOWED. ON THE SUBWAY WITH L. BOHLER THE GREAT. I LEAP AND HEAR SHE-DOG.
And the next day we turned up for our regular briefing in byznys suits unpunctured by any dream bones. And began spinning metal. I had the delicate task of pitting a second-division Ludvig against two fifth-division Ludvigs. Usually it was no problem, given that most superiors squelch their inferiors just to prove their manhood. Power instead of balls, drugs, and a smile. That’s the way it was, is, and always will be … we, however, were only out to squelch certain inferiors, and only at the right time.
One of the lesser Ludvigs’ wives was sleeping with the second-division Ludvig. They were fond enough of each other but too pressed chasing cash and the social limelight to plan a common path. The superior Ludvig sank a claw into the two officials, failing to realize the inferior Ludvig knew about his sweet secret. Jarmilka herself wanted her lesser husband to know that she knew that he knew. It was never spoken aloud, so as to preserve some sort of dignity. This way they all got something out of it: the greater Ludvig in bed, the lesser Ludvig in the office, and Jarmilka got both. The claw was sunk in over a few skillfully chosen sentences during lunch with the avant-garde actor Potok … following a small sample of a certain irregularity in the two officials’ files, and in one of them in particular … Potok, as if by a miracle, and it’s no longer any secret … above all through persistent nosiness, and last but not least with the luster of metal, had obtained the file from the other crushed official and, being an upstanding citizen, saw to its rectification.
These, to put it gentlemanly, irregularities could’ve meant surefire easy cash … all you had to do was bend forward, casually … with a smile … as meanwhile a breeze wafts, schoolgirls sing, the day grows sweet. It was purely by accident that the starving artist Potok happened on the 24-carat irregularities, and he has no intention of making a fuss, writing the newspapers, raking the muck … of course not! … he’s merely a poor bohemian, kind of a fool in fact … BUT. Let her leave me! I’ll walk out! confided the earnest fifth-division Ludvig over their next lunch, and the slippery Potok knew that the official tucking into the delicate strips of gleaming meat in je-ne-sais-quoi sauce à la Mouchon on the other side of the table … the shrewd Potok was treating … could just as easily walk right into the slammer. My Jarmilka’s got a thing for him … but he’s harassing me! You got a cousin, right? asked the patient Potok, that sly psychopath … Yeah, what’s that got to do with it? A lot, pal, a lot, Potok the good guy in a pinch leaned across the table … Shortly after that, the suffering fifth-division Ludvig decided to leave his Jarmilka to bang the second-division Ludvig, and went to see his cousin the MP, who in turn arrived for his appropriately high-level meeting with the troublesome superior Ludvig equipped with documentation of a scandal worthy of a first-class tabloid … the teeth-gnashing second-string ministerial official felt his glands wilt … upset, and with his high-ranking seat suddenly irretrievably slipping out from under him, he unconsciously and ever so casually and furtively dropped his left hand under the table and touched his quick-as-a-wink miniature member … no, not that, smiled the genial MP … and a few seconds shy of a heart attack the high official learned that he could keep his high seat, along with his bedmate and devoted coworker, and that the irregularities in the files … the date of a certain ruthless audit probing for those same 24-carat irregularities was conveyed with a whisper … and the old ticker kicked back in at the usual gallop … BUT.
