But no, I didn’t give up. I acquainted Kopic with my plan. I’ve discovered the Queen of the Kanaks, I told him. I described her. Told him what she was like! He believed me, why not. We’ll wrap her up in a carpet an drag her back to the lair. I can handle that man a hers, hah. We’ll attack from the roof. Chiharu an Shimako’ll disguise themselves as flower girls an cover for us. Siska’ll iron things out up top if the plan falls through. We’ll take the Dutchmen along for backup in case there’s any screwups. An Deringer’ll be the commander … he’ll scare the wits out of em! Rosie Simonides’ll push a fake baby carriage … Petrák’ll draw up a map, plot out the directions an distances, to head off any mistakes … Everyone was in favor. Except for Chiharu and Shimako … they’d gotten used to our intimate community … didn’t want to get off track … I had to promise them the Queen of the Kanaks would be their slave, that they could put her in their movies … then they gave the nod … promises are sworn, fools are born … we set out … that night, in raincoats, with ladders … but she wasn’t there! Just the carpets … she’d vanished … my love … and I never saw her again, I don’t think.
Enough already, I told myself. Quit thinkin back on your youth, there’s other things, Potok. But … it struck me, if a guy like Jícha can write a book, why not me. Only I’d write mine in Kanak. On the body of a changed world, in the ruins of the former time, I’d open the first glorious chapter of Kanak literature! I’ll write the book in raw post-Babylonian, the way I heard it on my wanderings through the past, present, an future.
Sure … it’s all been written before … but a guy’s gotta try, as my fellow warrior, the worm lover, put it … it’s all been done, it’s all worn out, I’ll have to go round an round … over an over, but that doesn’t matter, no one listens anyway … an the crates full of my book, no, make that stacks of crates, will read: Fragile! Very fragile! Seulement pour Kanaks!
I had visions of moola, piles of loot, from publishing groups, sages an literati, subscribers. I mean everyone speaks it now … I mean we’re all … Kanaks. That was the idea my reminiscing gave me. Silly idea.
14
I SEARCH AN SEARCH, ALL I COME UP WITH IS KNIVES. SPIDER’S RIDDLE. OTHER CLUES. VASIL. JÍCHA. THE WELL AGAIN. LOVED ONE IN WATER.
I looked up and realized I’d reached the part of town where my little sister supposedly lived. I made my way down a few Gypsy streets, the last one with a straw mattress burning on the sidewalk and a group of dusky children hurling mud at one another. I carefully bypassed them. Then came factories. And sparse grass, dust, old fields. More blocks of flats, in rows. Chebků 33 was the address. Once I find the building, I’ll track her down easy enough. It’ll be a pleasure. My hands were cold but not clammy. There was a pounding in my throat. The ground floor of no. 33 was all glass. Office space. A sign announced: RUTHENIAN UNION, CZECHOSLOVAKIA. The last word had a line through it. CZECH, someone had shortened it to. That was also crossed out and scrawled over with: Czech never! And another citizen left the message: Russkies go home! The office was empty. I rang the buzzer. Immediately a woman opened the door. What can I do for you? I described my sister. What’s her name, asked the … office worker. I don’t know. You don’t know your own sister’s name? We’ve been apart a long time. Separated. That might’ve moved her a little. I lived a long time … ajiz … owverseez, I said with a Western accent. Ah. She fell for it. I’m tryin to find my sittle lis … little sister. I’ll tell you what, I don’t know anyone here in the building, she said … but Miss Mariaková matches your description almost perfectly … she helps out here at the Union … You mean she’s your cleaning woman? I asked sympathetically. She wrinkled her eyebrows. Excuse me, she said, but Miss Mariaková has a degree in computer programming, she set up our database … guess it’s not her, I said ruefully. Does she have a little scar on her chin, the Russian lady went on, from falling off her bike? Yes, I blurted. That’s definitely Miss Mariaková then, my informer declared. But she won’t be back for another two weeks. Tat’s teddible, I said. I have to go to Brussels on business. Why don’t you stop over and see Mr. Meždek then? He’s … Mr. Meždek is an architect, he’s the young lady’s gentleman friend … What?! Well, your little sister’s not so little anymore … Mr. Mariak, why she’s all grown up now! So Ruthenians’re Russians, right? I displayed interest. No, she said, bristling slightly. We’re primarily from Subcarpathian Ruthenia. Yep, they’re Russians, I said to myself … the Carpathians, Romanians, Dracula, Ceauçescu, yep … I thought silently. She handed me a piece of paper with an address on the other side of town. All right, thank you very much. We parted the same way we’d met: coolly.
I took the subway and walked through the tubes. Trying to ignore the swarms. Černá a computer programmer, ridiculous, maybe I should’ve taken a pass through the building. I can always go back. Sooolingens! Step right up an get cher Solingens! someone on the platform hollered. They slice, they dice, they chop up chives, Solingen, the sharpest knives! Some old bag was harassing the commuters, a cutting board strapped to her belly, with sliced tomatoes, a few scraps of meat, and something green. A set of blades glinted in her hands. I went over to check if the green stuff was kiwi, still hadn’t seen one of those yet. Turned out it was just a pepper. But the old bag wouldn’t let me go. It’s a miracle, look at that, she flourished a knife before my eyes. For a mere two thou, incredible, wow, tell me what does your sweetheart cut with now? She got me. Go ahead and wrap me up one, mother. Comin up, professor, comin right up! Stuck me with a full set. And keep the change, mother, I told her kindly. A hundred thousand thanks, God bless you, professor! As I stepped on the train, I heard her say: I’m not your mother, you lousy creep! My face flushed a little as the train pulled away. The other passengers smirked. I put on a menacing air. It helped.
Meždek. Photo studio. Whole place reminded me of some dictator’s hospital. Too clean, too white. Death and pain discreetly tucked away, under a pall, off in the corner. Every doormat the same, right down to the last fiber. In the lobby they had a rent-a-cop with a gun. Who’re you here for? Mr. Meždek, I said. Ah, photos, yes? Testing me, like it wasn’t written on the mailbox. How’d you guess, I said saucily, and went in. In front of each door were slippers or shoes, depending who’s home and who isn’t, it hit me. They’re scared of thieves, that’s how come the gorilla downstairs. Somehow I didn’t picture Černá’s fella living in a place like this. I had a feeling she was more the type for places where folks weren’t scared. Assuming I was on the right track. I stood at the door a pretty long time before I heard footsteps. I prefer to play it safe. Something snapped shut, sounded like a fridge. I knocked. It’s amazing how this works. People’re so used to the buzzer that when you knock they usually open up even if they don’t want to be bothered. Just curious what the change is all about. The footsteps inside fell silent. I knocked again, softly but insistently. Confidentially. The door slowly swung open. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Granddad outta some fairy tale. Pink robe, slippers with pompoms. Peering at me, terrified. Deep blue eyes and … pink lips, the guy had on lipstick! His smile drooped when he got a load of me. Some folks don’t like my looks at first. He tried to shut the door, but I strong-armed him and stepped inside. Guy was victimhood incarnate. Every bone in his body begged for mercy. Didn’t start yelling or swearing. Looked more like he knew he might get what he had coming. I chose my tactics accordingly. Where is she, I rasped. Not a word. There was a plea in his silence. Where is she, I said, where’s my sister! Here, I said dramatically, touching my chin, she’s got a scar here. Ah, you mean Maruška, he shed a little tension. His voice was what I’d expected, high and reedy. Tremblin. But Mařenka isn’t here, she only sits for me once in a while. Where do you do it, I roared. Guy got on my nerves. For God’s sake, what … what do you mean … sir … backin away from me, his voice wasn’t the only thing tremblin now. I followed him, still walkin backwards, into the next room … there was a rocking horse in the middle covered with ribbons and bows … pink curtains on the windows, couches around the walls with some stuffed animals, all kindsa dolls, one huge one … a beach ball, I spotted a jump rope … Maruška never told me she had such a big brother, we could have worked something out … she just came here to relax, do her homework, why I never … I’m an old man now … she’s a good little girl … I wouldn’t’ve laid a hand on the old fart, but if he was talkin about Černá, if she was so bad off she hadda come over to this freak’s place to relax …