City, Sister, Silver, page 49
What do you want?
Little missy here knows. She’s not so much a snoozerist as some people. A fine little brother you are! She’s a bright girl all right. One week an you’ll have enough for a trip around the world! An a shower’ll do the trick. You know that one, right … lady goes to the doctor …
We know it.
Then off we go. Brake an skid, the squeal of speeding wheels … hah-hah!
Our driver settled in at the wheel. Černá didn’t say a word.
Tell me, what’s up … an I bet if you had your shades, you’d be puttin em on right now. What’d you cook up with him while I was asleep?
Nothin, are you crazy! He’s a jerk … wants me to sleep with him or whatever.
Wanting’s okay, I’m not surprised, who wouldn’t, with you … you’re a nice piece of work, although, then again … we’re not seventeen anymore, Sister!
I think this is some kina travelin whorehouse or somethin, she said.
Let’s take off then, this guy stinks, hey look, a village. Stop! I hollered, getting to my feet.
Wait … Černá tugged at me, let him drop us off first an then we can split.
No, we’re goin now. But he wouldn’t stop till I kicked the steering wheel. Didn’t get pissed, pity.
Don’t get off here, you’ll be stuck. I didn’t mean it!
Outside the windows it was hopping. A market, I guess, people all over, wooden carts, hens, looked lively … but otherwise, maybe we really were near Hungary.
There’s gotta be a bus or a train around here.
There’s nothin here! Puszta!* What’re you, blind? Take my word for it, c’mon, not another word about your girl, promise, I was only jokin. How was I sposta know you’re such a priss.
Open the door. Černá, let’s go!
Pepek exploded: Go on then, beat it, the hell with you. I had a sick little shit like you at home … ingrate!
We stood on a mucky village green. It must’ve been what was left of my mystical third eye that saw the hustle and bustle, through a cataract most likely … a few splintered wagons sitting in puddles, but otherwise not a soul, a dog trotted past. The squat cottages’ roofs … guess that must be thatching. They had tiny little windows, most of the yards were filled with bizarre odds and ends. All of it made of wood. Sister touched my hand and I saw … some old crone walking through the puddles in a black dress with a huge wig on. Carrying a hen with its head hanging off, throat slit. We looked at each other. Over there’s a … tavern, Černá pointed. Looked more like a shed. Three old fogies in black coats standing out in front, it was odd, as we passed them … standing silently, breeze ruffling their beards, some ropes or something dangling from their waists … Sister and I noticed the breeze right away. It was cold. A frosty föhn. She shivered, let’s go in an ask, she said. Inside it was all wood. Not a single poster, or TV, still rely on their imaginations out here. A couple tables occupied, the whole place was quiet … no one paid us any attention … I looked for a menu … not a one … on the wall opposite sat an old fella, also in a long black frock, caftan or somethin, nibbling at an egg, dog at his feet, yolk drippin all over his beard … innkeeper leaned on the counter, like a character out of an old movie, a cap on, full beard too … all of the guys had caps on their heads. I looked at Černá … her face had turned all pointy and pale … for once I looked for the sign, little brother, but there is none … no, there wasn’t a cross on the wall … but that’s normal in dives … I know where we are, said Sister, looking out the window, over there, GOLETICA,* only it’s written all funny. Never heard of it, I said, at the next table sat a guy with a red nose, belting back the hard stuff … also without a word, and in his hand he had a whip, a coachman’s I guess, but a book sat at his elbow, an old one apparently, all black … the coachman had a jacket on, not a black robe, he stood out a little from the mournful haggard band around him. And I think he reminded me of … someone … his features. Look at him, I told my mate, it’s weird, it’s like I know him … hah, that’s how you’re gonna look if you don’t watch it with the booze, yep, he’s got your nose, my dear. It’s incredible, Sister said softly. It gave me the chills. I’m a little superstitious, I admit. Member that hen, Černá, uch, there’s somethin in the air here an they’re actin like they don’t see us. Should I go to the counter, I inquired of my love. Not that I wanted to. Hold on, that girl’s tryin to tell you somethin, do you know her? Really, I hadn’t noticed her before … a beautiful girl … standing at the counter looking at me … up until that moment, I’d never seen eyes you could fall into, tunnels to somewhere, sparkling with light, grabbing hold and not letting go, like her long dark hair, I wanted to tell Černá, but my throat was choked … that girl, I donno her, but … raising her fingers, she put them to her lips, and then made a V sign … she was speaking in letters, I realized, saying: VOICE, and again VOICE, and again … I rose … Černá grabbed my hand, I’d forgotten she was there. No, don’t go, said Černá, let’s get outta here, nobody’s sayin a word an now they’re watchin … she got up and led me out, I felt pain, physical pain … like something tearing inside my body, touched my fingertips to my chest … I knew if I left now I’d never see that girl again, and it made me sorry, her fingers and hands were moving faster and faster as Černá dragged me out, telling me VOICE, HANA, VOICE, HANA, and then again I saw her eyes.
I saw infinity and the chill of it.
Real treat, that little brother a yours, always zonked out, or’d you put a spell on him, c’mere, you little chinny you … I leaped out of my seat and the guy dropped his hand. We weren’t alone on the bus anymore. Some woman was in the other seat. That’s Vlasta, Pepek introduced her, you’re ridin together now, we’ll be on the spot in roughly an hour.
Černá, why’m I always sleepin?
You always told me you didn’t sleep enough.
Maybe it’s cause with you I feel good. Either that or I’m comin down with somethin.
I hope not, we gotta make it somewhere. Else.
We are somewhere else.
Vlasta came and sat down with us, it was obvious what she was. But she seemed pretty nice.
How’d Pepan find you guys? How old’re you, you’re a young girl, where ya from?
Černá told her something.
So you gonna work for Vandas?
Then she edified us. Vandas was Greek or Hungarian, kind of like the ruler of the market, the local boss. Probly a real gorilla. Vlasta kept rambling on about him, evidently worshiped the guy. I didn’t listen much, drifting off again, knowing Černá’d keep her ears perked up in case of any info …
19
AT THE MARKET. THE SPINACH BAR, SHE SMILES. IT HAPPENS. AN I GO. I’VE GOT A SONG. THE EARTH SHAKES.
The market was outside town. But. This was a market of the dregs, next to this Berlun was some place with a Ku’damm. Some place. Here was whirling chaos, protoplasm with a face or two peekin out here an there, most of em pretty scary. This was something unfinished, something that vanishes at the moment it’s conceived. An anomaly. What I saw hadn’t been in any photos yet. And never will be. Maybe on some scrolls from someplace in China, but the people here were a mix. It no longer exists, except in my mind, and the images in there stack up on top of each other fast. Many of the people I’m sure aren’t alive anymore. Definitely not the ones who could’ve been worse off. And the ones who made a profit and hung on are somewhere else.
Not long ago I was flipping through Global Magnates Annual. There was a guy in there that looked very much like Vandas. Donating a check to Charity. Caught in the act with a flash. Posing in paper eternity with the outstanding figures in politics, society, and culture from one of the key nations.
No, this wasn’t Berlun, or the Pearl. Pointy leather caps, the whizzing of arrows, that muddled image of the marauder flashed across the screen at the base of my consciousness, I’ve got it in my cells like the degenerate city mongrels have the wolf howl in theirs.
In the distance, through the near-sheer air, lay a little town I didn’t even want to imagine, the vanguard of the housing estates was bad enough, and in the other distance, since wherever I stand is where the universe divides, was flatland, a steppe maybe, puszta. We were definitely near some border. This was the bottom. It was a mixture, the dregs of Eastern Europe, mainly Russian, Polish, and Romanian hucksters. But the kind that had nowhere else to go. Černá and I strolled through the stands, most of the stuff on blankets, in shoeboxes, in vegetable crates, on plastic tarps. From toothbrushes to bayonets. Ugh, Sister, what did Adam an Eve see when they took walks in Eden? Bubbling brooks, willows, friendly monkeys, apples … don’t take it as a reproach, Sister, uh-uh! I’m over it now. Yeah, said Sister. There was tons of Soviet Army surplus, like a smalltime ragpicker’s crazy dream, backpacks and uniform parts all over, who’d wear that in this country, I wondered, c’mon, people wanna live. Some of the uniforms were filthy, this was no bridge in Prague, maybe they were for scarecrows. I was intrigued by a set of green scales with a label in Russian: Military Command, Second Army, what had it weighed, off in some kitchen, measuring out into mess tins the daily dose for shit, the daily dose for survival, they had the mess tins too, even spotted a few that were unmistakably prison-issue, the kind that once upon a time dripped tea and gravy onto my hands through holes in the wall, and sometimes a message would appear on the bottom — Charter 77,1 want pussy, or Good grub!— the bottom’s always got some extra surprise to keep the Dark One from gettin bored. The bayonets were kept chastely hidden under a blanket, unlike the army alarm clocks and Zenit cameras they’d kept their shine and still looked functional.
Listen to this, Černá, there was a kid in my class at school that useta have a camera like that. They took us for military training, just the boys, down to the basement of a school on Havel Marketplace where they had a shooting range made outta mats an pieces a wood, an we shot at targets, an when the instructor took off we got this horse, you know, like they use for gymnastics? an set up a big bakelite doll, someone stole it from the caretaker’s daughter, her they left alone. Then they spread the legs, which were the color of meat, that’s the only way I can put it, an wedged em in the grips. It was a lot more fun nailin her than some dumb paper targets. I pegged her twice, once in the belly, once in the eye. We blew her to shreds. Bajza was a good shot, Hala too, I remember. Then Lucky Boy whipped out his Zenit an snapped a picture of us with our target, the artificial corpse. Made a mint, I’m tellin ya, everyone wanted a copy. Little boys do that sorta thing, I don’t think it means anything. Or does it?
You have no idea what little girls do.
I can dig up the photo, I’ve still got it back at Gasworks somewhere. Wanna see how I looked when I was nine?
No, I don’t think so.
If you can imagine, I used to be pretty scrawny.
Yeah, it’s possible. People change.
When I hit puberty, I started eatin more and goin out with girls.
They musta flipped their lids over you.
We ambled through the sorry emporium … eyeing the Rambo T-shirts and the cocky little mutts getting tangled up in everyone’s legs. Reigning over the market was a huge tent … filthy, there’s no other word for it. Inside were crates piled high with wares, stacks of cosmetics, sixth-rate doodads, clips, belfybingers, shampoos, mostly women rummaging through them. On the other side was a huge cauldron with a fire underneath … reminded me of an upside-down bell … I stepped up … goulash? blurted a tall fat guy, drenched in sweat, his gut cloaked in an unbelievably disgusting apron … still, when I saw that intriguing slop, heat coming off it in waves, I couldn’t resist … he stood looking through me … at Černá … one goulash, egy gulyás, man, I alerted him … nem, two, he said, you are two, kettő … he tossed two servings into bowls and set them down on a board laid across two kegs, Černá, curious, stepped closer … know how to say my name in Hungarian? my loved one asked as we finished eating … no, an I’d rather not … Fekete, isn’t that pretty? Amazing. Hey, those peppers pack a punch, I told her, I could go for a …
You want? the goulash seller asked me, eyes glued to Černá.
No, I answered for Sister too.
In one part of the tent was a guy selling vegetables, all colors, big and little, jumbled together. We traipsed through the market this way and that, taking in the curios and costume jewelry, a closeout sale of the most hideous junk … this is all gonna disappear, Černá. In any other country they’d sic a bulldozer on it … I saw entire orchards of ashtrays, all of em the same, inscribed with the name MITROPA … at one end of the market sat a few cars, some clunky old Pobedas, a Trabant, and a Czech model I call the Coma … we trudged through the sand and the dust, perusing the people and what they were selling, at a stand with red wine I had to lean on my little sister … laugh all you want, Černá, but I’m totally touched, check out those deer figurines, the way they’re crumblin to pieces, look at all those Lenins, an hey, Jesus an Mary! Stop yellin or I’ll buy you one, she warned … I must’ve seen a hundred of those beer mugs with Švejk’s portrait … I’m all soft an my insides’re trembling, take a look, Černá, this is our last chance to see this stuff … c’mon, it’s abominable … yeah, but I mean I’ve seen it all my life an so’ve you an now it’s gonna be gone … hey look … at one of the stands they had maps and charts, I recognized a pterodactyl … probly robbed a school … what for I donno, schools’re broke, everyone’s in byznys these days … how bout that stuffed weasel, or is it a marten? butterflies! a hedgehog … aright, Sister, I know it’s abominable an lotsa these people’re noth in but dim-witted snot-nosed burglars, but wait’ll they plow it all over with ads … let’s get another bottle, I can’t stand it, my head’s spinnin … then I went to one of the stands and sold my jacket, it was pretty mangled but partly leather, got a warm-up jacket instead and felt better right away, didn’t stick out so much … Listen, Brother, looks to me like there’s a halfway normal bar over there, let’s go in for a while, I gotta wash up a little … I took off the warm-up. It was like surfacing on another map. Clean and empty. But the waiters snapped to attention the second the door creaked open. Černá gave them a gracious nod, and I was grateful for the healthy SUPER DISCO glowing on my chest. I ordered something, wine I guess, and stared out the glass wall at the insecdike swirl of the market, the merchants didn’t come in here, this spot, strategically placed by the road, was probably for tourists only, they’d occupied it just in time. Maybe even too soon. The kellners spoke German, I gave it a shot and they melted. Germany? I said to keep the conversation moving, and Ich bin turist … aus Nederland! Austria, the waiter bowed gallantly. Spinat pitsa, I read off the menu, zwei mal, bitte. Ja. I’ll surprise my beauty, we can’t just drink all the time … I haven’t had this kind before, she said, is it … sea spinach? Never come across anything like it before, maybe it’s seaweed though … from the Sargasso. From the Dead Sea … steeped in salt, an I’m thirsty, said Sister, flashing her freshly brushed teeth. A ray of light pierced the glass. Over the bar was a photo of a veteran with a mike, plus some ballerinas and a pair of surefire actors. Black Numa in gloves was up there too, snarling at us through his dagger sheath. And I told her. Everything. I told her what happened with She-Dog. I don’t know if it was courage or if I was just too big a coward to bear it alone anymore.
We stopped eating. She stared at her paper napkin. After a while the waiter turned up. Schmeck gut? Ja, natürlich. Picking the spinach out of the crust with her fork, Sister said: I’ll never forget this spinach. And then she smiled at me.
I don’t remember leaving there. I had that smile inside me. Outside it had turned chilly, I put my warm-up back on. Through the glass I spotted the waiter. Černá waved goodbye to him. We’d left all our cash there. That spinach pitsa was expensive.
And then … I babbled incessantly, we’d had a lot to drink … Černá wanted to walk into town, take off … I talked her into staying, to observe life … in a few spots there were fires burning, apparently some of the marketeers spent their nights here too. By one of the fires we saw Pepek and Vlasta, the only people we knew. They had slivovice. We sat down with them. Holding hands.
In the morning we woke with a start all at once. We were on the bus, wrapped in a blanket. But the inside looked different, divided in two by plywood, with a mat on the floor in one part. As we clambered out rather groggily, we saw the bus was adorned with a plywood sign: MASSAGE PARLOR, it said, with a painting of … the Věstonice Venus,* I joked … but I wasn’t laughing. The bus steps chilled my feet. There were other coaches too, most of em full of wares. A greasy-lookin guy or two waking up and starting breakfast. Hungover … we straggled through the market as it came to life … I looked to see if there were any tomatoes lyin around at least … it’s awful here, Sister, sorry, mea culpa. Huh? Well, if you’re done with the tour an you’ve said your goodbyes, let’s clear out … better hitch, that new jacket a yours, you are stylin! Well well, look who’s out of bed already, sweetiepie and … honeybun, come and have yourselves a nice cup of coffee, the day’s under way, you need nourishment, no fasting! It was Pepek, sitting in the tent and waving. I went in first, yeah, to say our goodbyes … to the pimp. Vlasta was sitting there too. In her face I could see the truly devastating effects of the previous night. She was coverin em over with makeup. How old’re you anyway? I hissed to Černá in our language. Twenny-six now, why. You look younger, Sister. An how bout you? The same, I lied. I guess I’m infantile, a bum, an all that. I’m feelin down. Yeah, said Černá, but the coffee’s good. Mr. Vandas here would like to ask you, Pepek pointed to the fat guy who’d served us the goulash the day before … so that was the boss makin lecherous eyes at my girl … what language do you speak? Oh we were just foolin around, said Černá, sipping her coffee. Otherwise we speak normal, Czech.
