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.