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.