That’s when Jano spotted it.
It was moving slowly, sinister and inevitable. Jano didn’t say anything. His face looked like a mask stretched on a rack of bone. Only when his wife whispered hysterically to him did he respond, commenting that, in his view, it made the living room even cozier than before, covering himself with his statement as though it were a precious Tibetan rug. Miša ran out of the block and called Sona on her cellphone. She was panting:
– I know everything!
– What do you know?
– It’s turned up at your place too! That’s why you can’t talk! It’s watching you! It’s listening to you! It’s growing!
–…
– Don’t you have anything to say to that?
– I told you I can’t talk.
– Well, whisper then.
– Yes, it turned up here too. But that was a long time ago. It’s stopped growing now, although, I admit, it’s not getting any smaller either. We’ve gotten used to it. As it is. Look, I know how you feel. It’s not easy to come to terms with the new situation at first… But is it really new? Okay, I know you never counted on this. You didn’t expect… didn’t visualize it quite like this. What woman would expect such a thing? I was hoping it wouldn’t happen to you—to you and Jano. Last time you called, I thought you might be exaggerating a little. Because in our place it didn’t grow quite so fast! Peto and I had been together for six years by the time we first noticed it! But times have changed, life is moving faster… I know I’m probably not putting it well, but the fact is, the world’s gotten faster, so that you and Jano… Even though you’ve only been together for two years—it’s been two years, hasn’t it? Or three? Anyway, for some reason it’s happening faster. Oh dear, I guess I am just behind the times.
– Soňa, I love you, you’re my only friend. But why did you have to keep this secret from me, of all things?
– I’m telling you: I was hoping it wouldn’t happen to you!
– And what about your parents? At home, when you were growing up… Did they have a problem too? You know what I mean.
– Of course. Nearly every family on our estate had it. I remember the Kropács, they had to move out because of it: it simply pushed them out of their apartment. One morning it was sticking out into the hallway. Can you imagine how delicate the situation was? Actually existing socialism, and you’ve got something sticking out of your apartment door? And you and your children have to sleep on the stairs? Well, my parents took their children in for a few days, the kids stayed in my room, but I didn’t like them, they cried all the time. By the way, it eventually turned out to be a blessing in disguise for the Kropács: it followed them everywhere; in the end they were staying in a workers’ dormitory in Smíchov, in Prague, but one night, after it caused a scandal by swelling up, making the whole house burst, waking up half the city of a thousand spires, they took a radical step: emigration. Now they have a wonderful life in the West, she’s living in Italy with the kids and he’s somewhere in Switzerland. They split up as soon as they crossed the border. Don’t you get it? It was a question of life and death. But actually, in cases like this, it’s always a question of life and death.
– But why did Mom never even hint at it?
– That’s what women are like: though we can see—right from the beginning, actually—how things happen and how they’re going to end, inevitably, we keep hoping… and making the same mistakes. We just don’t learn our lesson. Typically. Not even seeing the way that our own parents have ended up prevents us from letting the same thing happen to us and our children. From their earliest days we push them toward doing the same thing to their kids when the time comes. It’s like some compulsion, can’t you feel it?
– Soňa! I thought I was going round the bend!
– That’s right. You are going round the bend, but nobody will notice you’re mad. It’s a collective madness. You’re no different from anyone else. How can you diagnose madness if everyone is mad?
Miša had no idea.
For weeks she just moped around the apartment.
She could see it was watching her intently from behind the set. Or rather, not from behind but from underneath the TV, which by now was floating on top of it, swaying from side to side like a vacationer on an air-mattress.
Miša stood on the balcony.
Miša leaned against the stove.
Miša even dreamed of going for a hike in the genuine, unadulterated countryside.
And wherever she happened to be, she wondered what it was that she and Jano actually wanted from one another. Wherever she might be she also wondered how she could get into the closet where she kept her large suitcase from before she was married, because by now it was cluttering up the whole room, blocking the way to the closet. And when it got especially bad, between the thirteenth and fourteenth cigarette, between a wistful stare from the balcony down to the street and at the skyscraper opposite—into the windows of prison cells similar to her own—between calm resignation and quiet horror, in addition to other, more important and essential things, Miša also thought that you need a partner to close the clasp on your necklace, and that you need a necklace to find a partner.
[MACEDONIA]
ŽARKO KUJUNDŽISKI
When the Glasses Are Lost
It was a stifling summer outside when suddenly everything stopped. The faces of the little girl and her father went pale; maybe the father was even more terrified than the little girl. She wasn’t able to recognize real fear, nor was she aware of the danger of the situation; she only felt that her father’s grip had suddenly become tighter, and this caused her face too to turn white as a sheet. As for the others: the tall fellow— destined always to experience life from so presumptuous a height—was wobbling to such a degree that he had to lean on the inside wall with his elbow. Actually, he wasn’t so much leaning as bumping against the wooden surface of the wall, taking advantage of its proximity to avoid collapsing onto the floor. The elderly couple were huddling together quietly and moving gradually into the corner, as if trying to conceal themselves. The remaining four—the soldier, the man with the beard, the woman in red, and the man in the suit—were dispersed in all directions; one fell down, the other hit his forehead on the edge of the panel with the buttons, the third tumbled onto the floor, and the fourth pulled at the tall man’s sleeve and stumbled forward.
Out of all of them, the woman in red, with the pierced navel, responded to the event the loudest, letting out an inarticulate sound followed by a salvo of curses, but nobody objected—as they might have done under different circumstances. The man with the beard, who knew precisely what was happening, continued to lie soberly on the ridged, rubber floor, caressing the hairs of his beard with his fingers. The gentleman in the suit—a striped jacket and trousers of indeterminate color—quickly stood up again and looked at his expensive watch, demonstrating to everyone else that he was in a terrible hurry to get somewhere. The soldier was the only one with his fleshy hands on his forehead, in noticeable pain, although he had in no way admitted defeat. After the first wave of shock had passed, the father concluded that the elevator was indeed stuck. The rest of them neither confirmed nor rejected this conclusion. It seemed too soon for them to replace their usual formal head-nodding on stepping into the elevator or stingy salutations when exiting with alarm, sympathy, and unity in a common cause. But it wasn’t long before it seemed that everybody, except the two silent old people, had accepted the reality that they would have to communicate and work together.