Bohler lost his mind. Didn’t speak for weeks. It was too much. We were in a cell together, us an some greengrocers, an one night I say to him … who gives a shit, right … he wasn’t asleep, and declared in his new tongue … I do, he laughed, sperm up the ass, stuff 11 shit right out … but what gets me is the others, the rest of em … what, those guys that did it to you? Nah, the other ones. And he changed.
You pissed me off pretty bad, Potok, later on too, in the buildings.
I didn’t know. Where are we?
Guess. An watch.
Outside the windows, the field, soggy and swampy on the other side of the wires, drew closer all of a sudden … there were women, a procession, they were marching … walking through the muck, moving their feet, but in place … I saw them, in rags, scarves, it was raining on them … on their naked arms I saw goose bumps … I looked into their faces, horrified that maybe … they were barefoot, I saw their battered, bloodied feet … some didn’t have nails anymore … I had no body in that place, but I shuddered, my mind a blank as my eyes drifted over the women’s faces, terrified I’d see her … I had a clue now where we were … those’re Chatterers, with too-sharp teeth, a voice said … an Sadies that tortured, that’s how they made their lives … an Shells that suffocated inside, an whores … an poisoners, an Lacties that killed their own kids … an they all hafta do it over an over, do it till they get it, an this is just a stroll in the park, a rest stop … Bohler, my guide to purgatory, told me, the men’re here in the barracks, they can’t move an they can’t get at each other, not here … here they’re separate … and then one of em, her scarf slipped off her raven-black hair … why’re you here, dear, feet still hurt? if it’s you, then I’ll lie down in the muck an you can walk over me, go ahead …
Yep, said Bohler. Exactly. I heard you. Be glad. You’re lucky. Some it takes a while. An I’ve got nothin against you anymore.
I never had anything against you. I was just ashamed. Bohler?
What?
An if you’re here … I mean you fought!
Yeah.
An if you’re here, you saw his face … tell me.
What?
Why?
Why what?
Why everything. Why is it?
It’s by design, Potok. Well … at least I think.
An … that’s sposta reassure me?
You gotta trust a little.
But I wanna go back, I want her.
Potok … how do you know … you won’t do to her, you know what you did.
I can’t, Bohler … not anymore. It won’t happen. I trust … myself.
There, you see. It’s the same.
And Bohler got up, tore off his burlap. We were still inside the barracks, but I couldn’t see the others that he’d shown me anymore. His face was all puffy, my drowned buddy. And I saw his wild animal too, the one he’d had tattooed on. They hadn’t taken that away. A clear-sighted eagle, spreading its wings. But that’s not what he wanted to show me. He watched me through unmoving eyes. Like they were made of glass. All at once I had a body, and leaned toward him.
His eyes didn’t move.
Bohler!
Yep. I’m blind. Blinded. An you’ll meet her, don’t worry.
I was woken by someone kicking on the door, it was Kasim. He helped me get up. We’d run out of steam. Didn’t talk much.
After that I walked around, daydreaming and pondering. Quite likely the Vatican’s seasoned lawyers would’ve mocked me, or even worse. After all … I’d confessed to a murderer, an a dead one to boot. Yep, I can only nod my head an say: That’s the way it is. I don’t say it in my defense. I don’t want to defend myself anymore.
I didn’t tell Lao about the encounter. With all my activities, there wasn’t much time for it either. I was busy playing Popeye the Sailor in an ad.
I was all spiffed up for it too, I left the costume on, thinking, this’ll flood the rear admirals … but then … in front of the studios. In a gray Daimler. Just ran my eye over it, took a couple steps and went back, following my heart … she was starting the engine … hat on her head, veil across her face, tulle … gripping the wheel with both hands, in muslin up to her shoulders … you’re leaving, I said to myself, more like the words fell into me from nowhere … I guess you know why you’re leaving me, the woman drove the car away … on the seat next to her … maybe it was a pistol. Maybe she wanted me to see. I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t her but just some wacked-out actress, there were throngs of em paradin around, I reassured myself. Pointlessly.
At Skyscraper 33, finally a metamorphosis took place … Popeye … swaggered in there in my frayed striped T-shirt, flashin my earring an puffin my pipe, the submachine gunners reined in the dogs an the doormen opened the doors, bidding me on with a bow … into the chambers and rooms, at the elevator a young lady took charge of me … Mister Octopedes the shipbuilder, traveled mouth to mouth down the hall, I nodded, belching smoke so they couldn’t see my grin … we rode all the way up. Another young lady opened a set of armored doors … in an expansive study behind a desk under a fan sat Micka.
Bowing, he came forward, then sped up and slowed down and stood still, opened his mouth and shut it again … me swayin an puffin … he turned to the window and said: Took you long enough.
I just said, sheesh, or somethin like that … then we sat there in leather club chairs, legs crossed nonchalantly, sipping drinks and getting into the groove, we yammered … our throats, I admit, at first somewhat constricted, opened wide to spew again … and after a good while talking and relating our travels, Micka laughed and said: You musta been snow-blind back in those woods, cause Vohřecký … that’s unreal, but I had it taped an I got the cassette! … he’s head of the Unshod now, gives sermons in a tent up on Letná Plain … I tipped over, along with the chair, but we let it go and went on talking, primarily about Bohler, I asked about Sharky … an from the way Micka tugged at his brilliant trousers, wriggled inside his impeccable jacket, an examined his tiger-stripe tie with the masterful knot, it hit me … yeah, said Micka, he’s on the missing list, Palestinians got him, they say, a rock, some scamps. But I got contacts, I hope that’s obvious … an it’s not all that clear! Hey … think about it … he was on guard with another guy, an you know what Sharky’s like, maybe the army pissed him off … keep a pretty short leash on those Israeli troops, I hear, what with the Arabs pitchin bricks an molotovs all the time, on account a world public opinion … or the other way round … rubber bullets only, yep, anyway, they were on patrol, Gaza Strip, two rookies, an you remember Sharky … you bet it pissed him off, lettin himself get suckered in! … havin to salute … or maybe the other guy nudged him wrong, provoked him somehow, had better smokes … an Sharky, you knew him, the way he is … stabbed him, switched uniforms, traded IDs, maybe mashed up the other guy’s face a little with a rock or his rifle butt … an hopped the wires … an split … yep, joined up with the Arabs an …
Whoa, Micka, hold your horses.
My pseudodroog winked at me … that’s how I woulda done it, I mean … before … you know that one, over the fence an gone! But you know what I’m sayin … there’s various possibilities, various paths, I just don’t believe he’s done for! More likely he’s off somewhere organizin some gorilla resistance, or …
Well, hey, more likely he’s done for.
Probly, yeah, but there’s …
I know.
I know you know. I’m not settin a trap for you here, not pullin any riddles, old brother, but Sharky …