One day Kasel dropped a sheet of paper … leave it, he twisted his hands into claws … but I got a glimpse, man, you’re writin verse! … he blushed … but I didn’t tease him. At least he wasn’t ratting. I breathed a sigh of relief. Felt like an asshole.
After work … couldn’t stand it in the flat, it occurred to me … to go out to the Rock, see Bohler, pay the old buddy a visit … but I still felt a little guilty about what’d happened … back in the slammer … and without a rowdy bunch around, I don’t know … I sat around Galactic checking out the people, Micka might turn up, there were lotsa familiar faces there, new and old alike, I knew that if Černá showed up in town her steps would surely lead to these places … and besides, you can be alone in a crowd if you’re smart about where you sit … there were always videos and tapes going, back in the bush, I stuck my head in the sand, and once again speech was starting to grab me, I met people … now it was mainly Prague 3 … after being raised their whole lives as atheists, they began to pull new words from the vocab of the sects that were suddenly teeming all over … heavy, serious words, like lot, penance, punishment … some young people mixed biblical expressions with the language of grunge guitar groups … sorry dude, plug that in, an’ve you, like, ever done penance? … I heard once … and international drug lingo got a dash or two of protectorate argot, and poking out of it all like straw was a Marxist pictur-esqueness … got a copacetic metajoint here’ll knock your bulletin board off … I picked up idioms and images … and English, the Latin of today’s communities … broukn ingliš … and broukn ček … a broken tongue, and a new feeling grew from the unsoundness, maybe, or the other way round, I don’t know … in any case it was accelerated.
I sat of course with my back to the screen, and one day … froze, hearing a voice, hers, it was unmistakable, I got up, gripping the table, but it wasn’t just in my head anymore, I turned to the screen, a split second … merer than mere, the woman put on a mask, a Cat Head, walked off screen, the News came on … What was that? I guess I shouted … heads turned my way, Tusk says, what’s the big deal, some ad … for sumthin … I fought my way through to the office upstairs, the guy the clips belonged to was there, looked familiar, but I didn’t take the time to flip through the index in my head … it’d started to ache … I tape it off TV, all over, I donno … I stuck to him like a leech, he played it for me that night … it was her, Černá.
Maybe … yes. Her face was there for literally just the blink of an eye … she seemed skinnier and more carefree, but maybe I was only imagining it. And I could see in my loved one’s face that she’d paid … my little sister had dearly paid.
But I couldn’t find out who’d shot it or where. The agency didn’t exist anymore. The stuff the ad was for wasn’t sold anymore. There weren’t any credits, just pseudonames. No one even puts a date on videos. It didn’t exist. From time to time she’d flash by, at random, in front of a few stoned, drunk, or apathetic faces. In a pub. But she was alive.
I had it made into a photo. A pretty big one. And then … I spotted her again. Bumming around the street, I stepped up to a bookstore window, eying the silent covers, and suddenly … there she was, in negative, but it was her. The book was some kina … nonsense … nothin to do with the cover. I held it in my hand. And the chase was on. Kasel had a little more work at the stand. Only … history repeated itself … the publisher was some small-time bootlegger, now extinct … I bought em out, small print run, movin slow, the salesclerk said … so maybe there’s not too many people droolin over my little sister, the author hadn’t written anything else, some poet guy, used a pen name … the photographer’s name was in the colophon though … I took off running and didn’t stop till I got to the hospital building, I was already dressed the part, human, and with that stench of burnt fat on me … they let me in, but … he didn’t live there anymore, I rang the neighbors’, pretty insistently, an older lady opened: You don’t know? Mr. Meždek passed away. Car accident. Why, it was all over the papers, and the car … Only I didn’t read the papers. And that was another mistake. Could’ve saved myself a lot of trouble.
I also went to Bolkon Street, went … and my heart knotted up at the sight of that lady, it choked me up … different guy sittin around in the kitchen, same type though … somebody’d sent them money a couple times, the old man figured it was her … I sat very dejectedly, he slugged me on the back, you’ll get over it, there’s plenty of fish … yeah, but without my little minnow, the sea’ll be black and stormy:
the dark star of love
took me by the hand
and led me into old age
and left me there
and we won’t make love anymore
ever again
came to me. They were talking at me, both. Then I went down the stairs, slowly, holding onto the banister. Like someone that was pretty crushed.
And then I bounced back from the bottom again and lightened up.
A few days later, at Galactic … the ad for Muorex came on again, and I studied the face a second, Tusk elbowed me … got a thing for cat food, dude, or’re you checkin out Černá … looks like her, huh?
Ee! He shrieked as I grabbed his elbow.
You know her … talk!
Chill out, haven’t seen her … a while, you mean that singer, right.
Uh-huh.
Yeah, I knew her when she was hangin with Morti, buddy a mine, the Martian, you knew him, what’re you lookin at … Potok, careful, it’s one thing drinkin all day when you’re twenny, but doin it now with the same body … an brain, hah, yeah, well, ain’t what it useta be … I knew her back in Berlun. After the Wall came down. Or was it before?
What was she doin there!
Let go a me, whadda ya think you’re doin … anyway, then Morti freaked, military an shit, she blew him off, an good thing too, he really freaked … then I guess he took off, it’s been ages now since I …
What did she do in Berlun?
What else, nothin … I donno, waited tables in some dive I heard, I donno … same as everyone, I never had nothin with her.
That I believe, Tusk, hey …
What’d you call me … somethin wrong with my teeth? … you should talk, look like an ad for Paradentall, only prior to use, heh heh, that’s a good one …
Know anything about her?
An you smell kina funky, Potok, sorry to say …
Know anything about her, or anyone who knows her?
No. But why don’t you go look her up at Moony’s?
What’s that? Where is it?
You know, Moony Bank, that new one over on Liberation Ave., she’s right there, next to the entrance … wait a sec … wait!
I didn’t wait, I ran … but I should’ve waited and let Tusk finish. Saved myself the trouble.
They threw me out. I got all the way to the director. Took me about two hours. A minute wasn’t enough for me to state my case. He wasn’t interested. Some sheriff types chased me down the stairs. She wasn’t employed there, nothing. Not a clue. I stood outside fuming, high noon … and then, then I raised my eyes … and saw her.
A guy, slick type, dazzling teeth and splashed with cologne, climbing out of a car and smiling, cheerfully striding up the bank steps, turning around and waving, and waving back from the car an elegant lady, with a veil across the temperamental glint in her eyes, dressed in the delicate tulle of high society, there you were, Černá, lightly and gracefully waving your arm, clad in a white glove up to the elbow … the movie ran in a loop proclaiming that Moony bills made everyone happy … and the guy got out and hustled inside, waving to the lady … and over … and over … and over … after ten loops the name of the bank’s founding father came up, glowing in neon, and then it ran again …