City, Sister, Silver, page 19
The first room you had to go through was a dank chamber with a single glazed window, a ceiling that dripped, and reeky old rags all over the floor. Behind the bar stood a hulking Northie, I knew him by sight from my frequent visits. This repulsive room, with a couple of broken chairs that looked like the dead had just risen from them, was Hadraba’s flimflam … for deterring normal citizens looking to spend a pleasant night out on the town, bosses proposing to secretaries, mafiosi seeking a quiet box, tuckered-out farm workers crumpling their caps, and similar unwanted guests. He had it all figured out, the signs saying, DITCHDIGGERS KEEP OUT, GO FIND A DIVE, were more or less routine.
Yuck, what a cave, an I wanted dinner, my mom said you do a mean boar here … I gave it a shot. Mirek, like, the boss, like, yeah, said the Northie, was expectin you later, but I’m sposta tell you you’re his special guest an whatever you want’s … the hulk thought hard, scratching his typically thick, long, and greasy northern hair … like, you can drink on the house. Yeah, an like I’m sposta tell you that like Mirek knows all about it an he’s like takin action to make sure everything’s cool. I collapsed, but more out of relief than anything else … if he’s lettin me drink on the house, I guess it means he wants a truce, since he’s a tightwad an he knows I can put it away … Hey, you heard me, so like go on in an we don’t got any food. Huh, I said, startled by the sudden detour. Yeah, you said somethin bout some meat you ate here with your mom. He looked pretty puzzled. I was talkin shit, some stoner’s lyin outside. Yeah, I know, I booted him, guy was fightin. But he’s lyin out there … Hey, what do we care, the hulk said in a Hadraba-like tone of voice, lifting his hands to the sky. Not in the club … not our worry. You goin in? Yeah. How many are there an where’re they waitin? I fired off the bazooka. Hey, like I told ja, Míra’s not in an like you got those drinks … he obviously couldn’t get over the fact that I could get plowed for free … much less that I wasn’t doing it … but my old Iroquois trap didn’t work, and I could only hope that he was really as dumb as he seemed.
He drew back the curtain, I bounded down the hallway, and then calmly, like an elderly gentleman out philandering, maybe like Goethe, stepped inside. The scene was the same as always. Tables and chairs and on and around em people. First I scanned the stage, just some half-naked lout staggerin around up there, no Černá rollin her eyes behind the mike, makin like she’s eating it, that was a brilliant stunt … I didn’t see her red sweater anywhere, black pants tight on her thighs … could be a shame, if I end up triumphant … the room in front of me, haze at my back, I struck out toward the bar to talk to the guy with the earring shaped like a spider bobbing above his shoulder. The crowd here was irrational and international: off to one side a crew of Chinese gorging on some disgusting old fish, alternative youth all over, I remembered the first time Bohler heard that word, he just snorted, hmf, what alternative, no such thing, it’s obvious. I agreed with him: just life and death, death and life, both. I was pleased to note the smell of incense, trade was moving, fragrant weed was everywhere, that trade was moving too.
Out by the trash there’s a young boy lyin, I told the bartender some words from a song. Lonesome an sick an maybe cryin, I added from my own head.
Least he ain’t dyin, the bartender said, and I gave up.
What’ll it be? he asked, tossing a sheet of paper in front of me. New menu today.
I ride free, I informed him.
No prob.
I checked it out, two sections. Nothin familiar. I’ll take a beer! I blurted.
Ran out.
Don’t tell me Stalinism’s back?
Came an went, he corrected me.
Then a bottle of red. Locked up.
You’re kiddin.
Míra said the drinks might suit you. Warned us you were his special guest tonight. I aim to accommodate.
I studied the names.
I-n-c B-b. Zat some crossword puzzle?
That’s the Incest Bomb. Little sister tequila an big brother mescal.
Make it a double.
The other drink was called Secret Urge. I asked what was in it.
It’s a secret.
I slammed my alms voucher down on the bar. Tell me! I got a permit.
But then it wouldn’t be secret.
I drank the Incest Bomb, tasted good. I knew there was no way for Hadraba to know what She-Dog had said, but still the coincidence struck me as suspicious.
Since when’d you get this stuff? An since when do you guys use hitlers as bouncers?
The drinks since today. The second question I’m deleting, doesn’t compute. You work for the Ministry of Fear?
I’m in the pay of the Ministry of Love. So there’s no hitlers here?
Just the ones we throw out.
When I tried the Secret Urge, everything turned brighter.
What’s this?
Whatever you want.
It’s kina weird …
Just your secret urge, man, who knows what strange desires you got inside … passions …
Now don’t go analyzin me like some Moravian* …
Yup, Freud, Freud, we’re all paranoid, the bartender sang, his spider jiggling.
I noticed some pale kid with glasses on waving to me from one of the tables … I’m used to being relatively famous from the days of my acting career … nodded back … he went on waving an pointing to the chair next to him … all right, all right, I started over, glasses in hand … passed Padre Booze sitting at a table in a dirty frock, famous character, priest … had to hide out a long time in Romania, or Albania … got mixed up in some killing in Mexico … bad priest, Bohler said. He was a skinny little man, teens made fun of him, giving him their confessions, he took it seriously …
Hi there! I told the kid, I’m Potok … yes I know, he nodded eagerly, the way they always do … but I didn’t want to look stuck-up, so instead of asking his name right away I jabbered something, sat down, and said: Oh I know, we … you … we met … you’re … it never failed. Benito! he blurted. Oh right, hi there, Benito, cheers. He sat hunched over the table, jotting something down in a smudged notebook … What’s the time? looked at his watch and answered himself. Then looked up. Oh no, I’m not Benito, he just walked in, Colombian’s thewordrountheministry … coke, he gibbered, but that’s secret. And turn the page. Romul* sends his greetings.
Now I knew which way the wind was blowing. Romul was a pseudodroog from the Sewer. A warrior who knew how to be in several places at once. Fought for rule of law. Drank vodka. Our ways had parted when he took on the responsibility of being a bigwig at the Ministry. The Organization had never exploited it though. He was probably the only one we knew wouldn’t climb on a tentacle, would’ve chopped it off. There were more than plenty of others at the Ministry to bend.
How the heck is he? I inquired politely.
Great, amazing! the kid shouted.
I’m an Agent, he offered me his hand under the table.
You new there?
Yeah, he said blissfully.
He was obviously one of Romul’s discoveries. Romul had this thing for dragging unknown gravediggers out of their villages, musty geeks out of libraries, country bumpkins that looked like they couldn’t count to five away from their beers and plows, and making top-notch agents out of them. The young ones especially admired him. Apart from fighting for justice, Romul was fond of two things: booze and high-speed driving. Since he didn’t have much time, he had to combine the two. The young agents who worshiped him grew beards like Romul, dressed like Romul, screamed at people like Romul, taught themselves to draw a Colt like Romul, and learned to guzzle booze like Romul, mowing down hens in out-of-the-way districts. “Romuling” even became an expression around the Pearl. The mortality rate at the Ministry soared. They sloughed it off on the KGB. Leaked factoids about Mosada and MC5. The devotion of Romul’s youngbloods reminded me of Micka and his beloved samurais.
The main reason I’m here is that scuffle of yours with the juveniles.
You mean the stalingos?
Could be the Leftist Front, Pioneers for a Red Future, Defenders of Flora and Fauna, them probly not, Black Horsemen, Terror Brigade, hah, it’s all over the board nowadays, comin in from the Balkans an Ukraine, well, that’s secret, an there’s gonna be reactors, uranium, stuff’s movin’s thewordrountheministry …
Huh?
We have to go by process of elimination. Logically. They were hitlers.
We know that. But how do you know?
We’ve known a while now … we saw it … in a crystal ball, how do I … our prognosticators … fortune-tellers an poets an psychotrons …
I nodded understandingly: the Ministry was known for its tendency to mysticism.
Let’s just say our clairvoyants saw the whole thing a long time ago. No doubt the question of intervention occurs to you, yes. But you have to understand, the Ministry is rebuilding, we lack vehicles and personnel, we’re looking for able recruits, and the main thing is, what’s done can’t be undone! In other words, once our clairvoyants focused in they saw it, and if they saw it, then it already happened!
But why focus in on us? We’re lily-white. We’ve got a contract!
That may be.
But?
There’s a few things here …
Past, present, or future?
Always.
So what, we deal in trade. Bohemia’s a landscape an a lion an late childhood … the shadow of suspicion being cast upset me, I explained … the Organization doesn’t give a damn about the state, that’s all we know. At least we’re not responsible for those warheads blessed by the Kiev Metropolitan. Or those rifles you send to Central Serbia!
So what, the same shipments go to the Bosnian Jamahiriya! We’re maintaining the balance. Plus it’s just defensive an preventative weapons. A colleague of mine, you donno him …
We know that Hunkie warrior alright.
I know, said the Agent. But what’re we supposed to do? The United States of Europe won’t let us in. An MATO won’t take us either, we don’t even have standardized ammunition! So what’re we supposed to do, we have to look out for ourselves.
An those contracts with the Kavkhaz Emirates …
If we don’t sell arms, someone else will. When those assassins got our first free president, it was written in his will. That’s the word round the Ministry! It may be somewhat apparently absurd … but even Mauretania and Oceania don’t want us. We have to act sensibly.
Hunt for the mote in your own eyes. We don’t give a damn about your laws. Those judges a yours, sendin people to the penalty box. We’re a tribe, we got a contract. Fuck if I’m fetchin coffee for some monster that used to interrogate me in whatever piece-a-shit office he parks his ass in now.
But you do business with em!
So what, that’s my free choice. No one’s forcin me. My business. An besides, it’s perverted.
But we’ve got constitutions!
Made by the same guys as the old ones. Doctors with degrees from bolshevik instytutes. Lawyers from hell, Agent. Constitutions’re scraps a paper. Sworn on by the same guys that went by the old ones, an now they’re laughin. Never been happier. Used to be they squelched whoever they were ordered to, to get a spot at the watering hole. Now they squelch for whoever pays. What we’ve got here’s bad old early England. The outbreak of industry. The pirates’ve got the cash, an they hire moppets to keep the wheel spinnin. There’s no law, just old Darwin. I know. I’m in on it too. I say that sincerely, as an animal. Apologies for getting upset!
You guys’re mafia, Potok.
Aw, come on, we’re just a buncha pals helpin each other out.
That was my pat response and I enjoyed using it.
This isn’t about your rackets anyway.
So what is it about?
Fine then, straight up: that well a yours is a Zone.
Huh? My eyes popped. I couldn’t believe what he’d said. There were two or three Zones in town already, and they were bad, real bad.
Are you serious?
Yep. But stay put, it won’t do your buddies any harm an they’re the only ones there. I’ll check it out.
He toppled back in his chair, this time it was him whose eyes were popping. I kept waiting for him to whip out a transmitter, but I guess it was in his neck. I turned to where he was staring. Behind us was a table of girls. Is that what threw him? Hey, I said. Still pop-eyed, he’d begun to sweat.
Uaagh! he wrenched out. It’s okay. We were worried about the Slovak girl, but it’s all right for her there too. I saw that in you just now, I’m also a little …
The enigma of extrasensory perception, I said so he could see.
Well, I’m still learnin, he added. But at least now you know the Ministry is fighting …
Quickly I repeated to myself: Zones are evil, Zones suck in the pure, Zones are tunnels. That’s all we know. I realized I was talking out loud.
The Agent nodded his head, pleased. He didn’t seem so young anymore.
Correct, he said. An a few more things.
A Zone’s not just any old hole, where you basically survive if you’re fast an agile enough, I said. It’s Evil.
It’s a path to it. That’s what the hitlers went there for, said the Agent. The Laotians just got in their way. An Hadraba, poor guy, gave em an excuse.
That bastard!
Well, said the Agent, he’s still pretty new to the little mother, he grinned and apologetically threw up his hands.
I silently congratulated Romul on his discovery.
Did you like the drink, an how bout the name?
Heh, wha …
Yeah, I thought it might remind you of Závorová … Barbara.
Shut up or …
Or nothin. That old theater troupe a yours left a nice little file behind at the Ministry. We know Závorová escaped to Germany.
You know where she is now?
Weelll, the Agent shrugged and rolled his eyes.
She didn’t escape anywhere, she soared into the air, flew off in time … She-Dog! I spoke her name out loud in front of another person, a cop … I finished my drink and stood up.
Well, maybe we know, an maybe we don’t …
I sat back down.
It all depends …
On what.
He leaned across the table and delivered that beautiful spook line:
It all depends on you.
Okay. I’m all for it. But …
But what?
I’ve got a contract.
Oh of course. You’re such a moralist bunch, Bohler, that Bog-lover …
Save it, I snapped back.
First we’ll take the second an then we’ll come back to the first, he said Prague-style. I think we found a way to clean up the Zones, or at least to stop em from spreadin. An force em to give back whatever went into them. Except for the hitlers of course. It’s a process based on telluric magma, internal incandescence … but you wouldn’t understand anyway.
Nope. What’s in it for you?
Ahead a you there’s the Spessart Society, they’re a buncha beggars, then the Abdulimah, we’ll let them bite the dust, next some Yezidis, an then you. You come last by law, but you mentioned old Darwin yourself. So, one m. for the medium, another m. to the Ministry account, one to another account, one more for me, an we’ll take a look at that little well a yours first.
Now he really didn’t look like some pale young kid. Potok the actor trounced by another hack. How many masks does this guy have, I thought with a touch of professional envy.
As many as I need, said the Agent.
Know the rest? I asked, and said in my mind: The pumpkin eats the carrot, rods and wands slice.
The beetle hops, let’s roll the dice, he said hesitantly.
Hah-hah. Okay, I’ll take the first thing, but when’m I gonna see her, where is she? Závorová … as you put it.
I can’t see that far either, the Agent said honestly. But be ready.
That’s what she tells me.
Be ready. You’ll hear from Jícha.
Huh, he’s with you guys?
Never let anything surprise you. My name’s Rudolf, an at least now you realize that the Ministry …
Hello, Rudolf!
How bout the second thing, change your mind yet? The medium can come by tonight.
You didn’t see it in the ball yet?
I saw it, nodded Rudolf.
So what was there?
That you’ll take it. Without even consulting the others.
Aright then. We’ll take it.
Hey, Potok, at least now you realize who the Ministry is up against …
Hm?
… the Devil, he whispered, and rose.
I stayed at the empty table. The hubbub was picking up, so luckily I couldn’t concentrate. A Zone, that’s bad. We might have to move out. 5 m.’s a good chunk, I’ll see what Micka an David say. I shot the bartender a questioning look and tapped the spot on my hand where people wear watches. He shook his head and made the sign for time, lots of it. Fine, I’ll manage. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the doctor’s two daughters … and all those cats, dogs, and squirrels, I couldn’t take it, so I relocated to the bar. Along the way I stopped off at the girls’ table. Some seventeen-year-old had just arrived, shaved bald and, as was apparent thanks to her modest attire, heavily tattooed. Hi girrrls, didja hear the Blue Negroes’re playin tonight! she shrieked … yeah, just don’t freak, chapel girl, said another seventeen-year-old with long black hair and a Madonna-like face, the old one, I mean. Scuse me, do you know if Černá’ll be here tonight, I asked politely. Naw, she’s in the maternity clinic, said Madonna. Huh? You mean she’s … got a bun in the oven? Tee-hee, the girl sputtered, are you outta your mind … she’s in for scurvy, foot-n-mouth, some booze thing, hey, how bout buyin the sisters some refreshments, don’t just stand there, entertain us! No, you’re not my sisters, an I gotta fight for justice, maybe I’ll stop by later. Maybe there won’t be a later, Madonna said in a voice so heavy with booze I could barely crawl out from under it.
