City, Sister, Silver, page 36
Followin orders! I’ve heard that before. You too!
Damn, yeah, that’s what it came to.
Anyway, screw it.
Right but … now what’m I gonna do.
Yeah, well. Sorry for poundin you like that, hey, I didn’t know …
Forget it, an don’t get upset, laughed Spidey, but that was nothin, I coulda flattened you if I’d wanted.
Zat right?
Yep. You know it.
Aright then, bring in her stuff, huh. Do as you’re told.
Just as long as you clear out ASAP. I’ll call a car.
He walked out.
I know your address! I hollered.
You, my dear little Potok, pokin his head back in the door with her clothes, you I’m not worried about.
I yanked her things outta his hands and pressed them to my face, they were clean … and I felt strength in those important colors, Hunter, the Laoster, sprang to mind … and all at once I knew I’d track him down, no matter what Rudolf and Vohřecký were settin me up for, cause if there was one word of truth in that story about the mysterious general, I wanted to know … about him and his people, who cares if they used the Organization and lied to us, there was probly a reason, I wanna know … and I’m not the only one.
You might be surprised, Spider.
Let’s drop it, huh, he said. Maybe another time.
Fair enough. Shoes?
I stood her up on the towel. She sat right back down. Somehow I managed to dry her off. It took both of us to get her dressed, she was still loaded and put up a struggle. At least she wasn’t so bloated now. Her face was starting to come back to life. Even kept her eyes open a second or two, but her gaze was totally glassy. When it came to the shoes, I waved Spidey off. Tall boots like these call for delicacy. He had to hold her a minute as we dragged her across the room, though, while I performed a full-steam flying kick into the bottles, busted up a few. Stomped em to pieces. Spidey stared, exasperated. But kept his mouth shut. We put her in a cab. Careful with the knees.
Bye now, said Spider, take care.
Ciao.
We took off. I didn’t tell the driver the real address till after a couple blocks. My little sister was snoring a bit. It was tremendously cute. I made the vehicle stop its wheels and climbed in back. She slept, holding my hand. I didn’t even move. I didn’t want to wake her yet. That would’ve been nuts.
And it began. I could see she was a little scraped, so I rubbed her with ointment before she woke up. I was glad Jícha was dead now. Once upon a time this strong female ointment had belonged to She-Dog. Like everything else here. But it still smelled good, so I risked it. There were a few other tiny scars scattered around Černá’s body. It was weird … they were all almost exactly the same as the one on her chin. Sown at random, not in rows.
She threw up yellow foam. I was afraid it might be brain poisoning. But her breathing was regular. Then I noticed her hands were clenched in fists, and tried to pry apart the fingers, I could see the nails gouging into her skin. Guess it was her dreams.
I slept on the floor. Next morning she wasn’t on the bed, I never knew I could jump two meters high. From on my back. But then I heard water, she was standing behind the wardrobe. At the sink. She must’ve been amazed how clean she was. Černá, I said so she wouldn’t get frightened, and took the two steps. I guess thanks to the booze, she wasn’t fast, the pan just swiped my shoulder, and then I caught hold of her wrists and looked in her eyes and saw fury, the blanket wrapped around her body dropped, leaving her naked, I shut my eyes and let go, because this was it … you fuckin bastards, she hissed through her lips … they must’ve been swollen still … leave me alone aready, you beasts … Černá, I screamed, you got it all wrong! You can … I’m just askin you to stay, no one’s … keepin you prisoner, go if you want, but …
Who’re you?
My name’s Potok, you know me.
She tossed the pan on the floor, it made a clanging sound, we let it die out. I stepped away from the door so the way was clear … if she wanted, but I didn’t want to move in her direction unless I had to … and in that small space it was difficult. She stood by the bed, blanket on again, rubbing her wrists, I could see her body’s outline. She was more petite than I’d thought.
Got a cigarette?
It’ll make you sick.
I know. I’m … they call me Černá.
Like I didn’t know. Get dressed.
The blanket’s fine.
Over coffee we agreed that we did know each other. That we had absolutely definitely and totally positively been eyeing each other for a pretty long time.
You sang that time, that Tuesday night, or was it … Wednesday?
Yeah, you were sittin with some redhead. You were smokin!
Yeah, that’s it. But with … Táňa … she’s blonde!
Get out … I coulda sworn …
Well … hm … yeah, an you left with Pikna!
No, impossible … actually, wait, but he was just escorting me!
That’s it. An then at the coat check, you lost your jacket …
Riiight … so you were the one that had my ticket!
Ticket? … I donno bout that.
Ah, never mind. Anyway … I always liked you. How you’d look.
Really?
Why’d you close your eyes … back there by the sink?
I couldn’t take it.
I saw some a your plays. Way back when.
Yeah an … what do you think?!
Mm-hm … good. My head hurts.
I really love your songs. Want some pills?
Sure. What kind?
Are you hungry? What do you eat?
Our words … as we talked, merged. I didn’t know this voice of hers. We assured each other we understood. She wasn’t in the mood to go out. She told me Hadraba promised he’d hide her. Didn’t say why, guess she figured I knew, or that it was none a my business. And then … her face twisted in disgust. I didn’t tell her Jícha was dead. Didn’t bring up the sailor either. It was a little bit low-down of me, I know.
Being in a confined space didn’t bother us at all. We got to know each other. Breath is crucial for that. She didn’t know what was going on yet. I was filling the time till it hit her and she realized … She laughed and laughed. Still looked tired though. I clowned around … crawled the walls. She gave answers. Put my Chinese cap on and made silly faces, tried on some corset left from the whores … her body might’ve fooled me, but her eyes gave her away … I quickly realized she was a grown woman putting on an act.
I pulled out my photos, because the words were running out and the monumental silence after our initial mutual attraction was tearing up my insides … it was just like holy Sunday in the cultured Prague families of olden times … minus the Sacher tortes … she flipped through my collection of butterfly and mouse pictures, occasionally brushing a finger over the face of a common acquaintance. We debated back and forth what they might be doing in the new era … and from our confrontations, blathering, and disputations we came up with our best guesstimates … and not a single gesture of weariness in the flowing veil of her beauty escaped me.
Then I pointed out my assortment of caged hedgehogs and the various household enigmas of keys, hot plates, and so forth. I knew I didn’t need to show off with some kinda hotshot outlook on life, none a that manliness, masochism, or machismo stuff, not to mention political convictions. It wasn’t the next night I was angling for, but every night. And every day. She accepted me easily, like an open gate. We didn’t talk about it, I knew she was holding back. I was actually glad she was so wiped out from the booze … even her face. I could sense she was the one that I’d had under my eyelids ever since a woman’s face had first gone flashing past. I knew that She-Dog … was cleverly guiding my steps. From out there, wherever she was. If Černá had been standin here in all her nighttime beauty … I don’t think I could’ve controlled myself. This way we began the day slowly, her emerging from her hangover the way she had from the foam the day before. Then she said she wanted to lie down.
Černá, I, I gotta go out.
Can I be here? She was already closing her eyes.
I’ll be back tonight. An sorry, I know it’s dumb, but the plastic bags’re here, just in case … the trash can’s out on the walkway.
Yeah, I saw. After, we can go to my place. Be back soon.
And she fell asleep.
15
SMOOTHY. IN HER AND BEYOND WORDS. THE METAMORPHOSIS. THEY’RE AFTER ME. THE FOREST IS FRIENDLY. ČERNÁ … WHY NOW?
I swung round the essential spots, flyin. Gave the tram a try, but it was a total bore. I wondered if she’d still be there when I got back. It was her. Sister. As I thoughtlessly plodded the pavement toward where Bohler’s Laotian lady’s pals lived, images came to mind: my encampment, where for years I’d been subjected to tiny fly attacks and buzzing helicopters, that ridiculous den of mine with a fax and a phone, all for the sake of the pack … but I guess I was expectin a different kind of message … in my mind the den became a massive edifice, a palace of Hermaphroditus, a shelter and survival home. And it grew to the clouds, far from the fields of ravens, up toward their migrating brothers.
I cut off the street talk, Sister’s talk was inside me now. My heart was sweet and red. And in there where love had never flowed but baked into a hardened lump, fending off the waves of hatred so I wouldn’t kill or go crazy or I donno what … two bare hands now bathed in the ripples … hands of a body of love … caressing the water … or something like that … to exaggerate a little.
I opened my eyes as I bashed into a lamppost and noticed a tree blossoming in the midst of the filth, probly some mutant apple tree. In the gutter. Boards around it. Put there by people who wanted it. Proud ants crept across my heart in overalls that said Freedom or Death, the second component was crossed out, not with enemy blood but some trivial scrawl.
I couldn’t stop smiling. But I knew they wouldn’t take it wrong, the smile’s their tribe’s basic facial expression. Actually I think they were glad to see me. Even if I did bust in without knockin.
All the Laosters wore store-bought threads now. Even glimpsed an occasional tattoo, on the men. They’d managed to create all sortsa outfits and new combinations with those ridiculous foreign fabrics. Some a them cracked me up. So my laughter was merry, a thing of pure joy. They could always sense that anyway. We still spoke in French-Czech-Laotian-Russian-Indochinese, but mainly in gestures, back slaps, and toasts. I’d arrived just in time for dinner, it was some kina holiday for them. Right off I realized it was a holiday for me too. There were about twenty of em there, some I still remembered. Somebody told a truly fabulous joke. Or so I thought. From the heightened merriness. Somebody gave me a wink. Somebody nudged me off my chair. Probly just tryin to rile me up. Tino, that’s what we called him. Dragged a girl with a little kid out to the middle of the room. She was shy. I started to clap. I donno why. Guess I got taken somehow by that long blue-black hair a hers, like all the Laotian girls have … those guys a theirs donno how good they got it, they’re into the Czech mares, I’d observed. Giantesses. Fascinates em. I on the other hand lived for the movements of those petite, fragile creatures. It’s always opposite aspects, parts of a body … that attract. I just kept drinkin and noddin my head. It took me back to the merry … old days of the Organization. I clapped my hands and danced around, curious what kina fun Tino had in store. But the only joke was that the child was blond. I probably overdid it, but everyone laughed and joined in the applause, except for Tino, face frozen in a smile. I wrapped my arms around a bottle of liquor. I had my sister’s two eyes inside me, and that was all that mattered.
There was no end to questions about my buddies. And: Luna, said one. Yep, Mácha,* that guy hadda invent a totally secret tongue for his stuff, otherwise they woulda killed him. Had his own alphabet, him and his sister watched what they were doin, they knew what it was all about! I edified some old man sittin next to me. Je ne compris tchèque. Moi aussi! I hollered so he could hear. Luna, he said. Luna! another one tried to explain, excitedly drawing circles in the air, oh, lůno, womb! I rapped my forehead. Oui! my friend cried, guess he had female bodies on his mind … shyly I looked around at the ladies, bringin out dish after dish heaped with crab eyes and slugs, and smilin the whole time … I guess over in Asia they know that fucking is the love and blood of a living body, as long as it works … when you get right down to it, God is love too, theirs and mine, I thought, guzzlin rice wine, here I was thinkin those gestures were their lascivious way of inquiring about their cousin, Bohler’s Laotian lady, but it was just some Moon Day or somethin, some Lunar Festival, they lit the lamps, the incense fumed, I’m a somnambulist too … I tore into the slugs, hungry as a wolf, all that rompin around was startin to wear me out … sitting across from me was a fellow I didn’t know, tie and everything … color-coordinated, real smoothy.
People kept tappin me on the shoulder and askin: Où est monsieur Bohlira? Il est okay avec femme à la campagne, he’s … I clasped my hands to show he was prayin … et monsieur Miska? Oui, Miska okay, byznys, et monsieur Sharqui par avion, Israël, la guerre, vzzzzz! I went … il est rat-tat-tat-tat-tat, which is Kanak for Kalashnikov, or Uzi, same difference. Tu es bien, somebody shouted, ploppin another mound of somethin onto one a my plates. I thought about bringin some back for Sister, she probly didn’t know this stuff. I threw out the lobster claws.
I totally forgot what I’d actually come for, I was feelin all right. And in the leftover moments not taken up with fast and friendly conversation, in between jokes and drinking, my heart only seized up from time to time … would she be there, or would she take off … if she did, nothing would matter anymore … all at once someone doused the lights, the Laosters began jabbering, and a clipped voice rang out … probly Tino’s … What’s up? I yelled, grabbin a plate … not to worry, somebody in front of me said, he’ll be turning the lights back on in a minute, I was startled, this Laotian spoke perfect Czech … What’s goin on? Nothing out of the ordinary, a minor inconvenience perhaps, everything will be just fine. Oh yeah? Zat right? I stood up. Sit back down, and whatever you do, don’t go outside.
My companion lit a candle. It was the smoothy, everyone else’d vanished, apart from a few girls clearin away the dishes, pullin off the tablecloths.
Then I heard it. A scream of pain, and another, murmuring voices and stamping feet and another scream again, and that one I knew, that one I’ll remember from the fiery day forever. I was startin to get a hunch what was goin on out there … and somebody hit the ground … probly chin-first on the pavement, bad sound. Nearby. Then the voices began to get farther away. Stamping. Feet goin after someone. And then they went away.
What was that? I asked Smoothy, pointlessly.
Oh nothing, they come out here occasionally, he said.
Who?
Now now, Mr. Potok, you’re here for another reason. You have, so to speak, a mission. And I personally am pleased that there are still people here willing to aid the struggle for a great cause, even now that your splendid homeland has cast off the yoke of communism.
I sobered up. Yes, thank you, think there might be another drop a that rice wine around somewhere?
But of course, of course. He wouldn’t even allow me to pour it myself.
We talked about an hour. He explained what they wanted from me.
Then the others began to come back. It wasn’t so merry anymore.
Monsieur Tino, I followed him into the kitchen and asked, okay?
Mais oui, okay. Okay.
And it began. Moving through the plowed land, the factories. I was amazed at what still went on in that disgusting, lovely, and absolutely childishly brutal Bohemia of mine. It was just like Rudolf said: Nobody would talk to em.
Every now and then I’d have to lash into some manager in a pretty raised voice — so he’d pick himself up from his chair and drag out the list of workers. Sometimes, just for kicks, I’d pass myself off as some bigwig government type. All you had to do was say: Our reason for being here today has nothing to do with Precious Gems or Cellulose, but Mr. Jindřich, I repeat, Mr. Jindřich … from the district office! has an eminent interest in foreign workers … we’re setting up a new department … you mean you’ve never heard of Comrade, eh-hem, pardon me, Mrs. Maturková from the Ministry … No? Well, I’m sure the director will clear that up, where is your phone?
At that time in this country, see, nobody knew who called the shots. Most of those who had spent their whole lives following bosses’ orders couldn’t keep up with the accelerated movement after everything had done nothing but rot for so long. And nearly all of them had notched up points for loafing, stealing, informing, whatever. And the only thing that worked on them was fear for their dumbass job.
In short: there wasn’t ever anyone anywhere who knew who was who.
I dragged my outfits outta my wardrobe again. Jackets through gates, jumpsuits over wires, I rarely made a mistake. Occasionally we’d latch onto a feeler at the bazaars where the Chinese or Vietnamese or Laotians or whoever hawked their goods, but Smoothy didn’t have a chance, they didn’t know him. I at least could pass myself off as a wheeler-dealer that owed some cash to Pu or Minh or Lan. And when I whipped out the bills, sometimes it helped. But usually they gave me the runaround. Those guys didn’t trust anyone. And I didn’t even try to talk to the girls, they’d just vanish and then suddenly, in a wink, instead of their charming bodies I’d be starin at some golem ready to bump heads or make a run for it. Or both, always with a smile.
To get into the factories and dorms, I used various press IDs. At first it helped, but I soon discovered people were used to scumbag reporters turnin up once in a while … and bein called names in the press didn’t get anyone bent outta shape anymore. We drove from dorm to dorm. Lookin for “relatives,” as Smoothy put it.
I only saw Hunter once. In a flat on the outskirts. We got in somewhere near the Angel subway station, this time Smoothy drove. He darted in and out of the buildings, jabbering away in earnest as darkness descended all around, and it was obvious he was driving in circles to wipe out the map I had in my head. Then one of the guys in back blindfolded me, thanks, Godfather, I joked. He didn’t reply.
