Three Northies, not bad for a skinny little girl!
You moron. She fractured his skull. Serves him right, scumbag, she says when she found out. I figure she’s hidin now. Probly didn’t hear he survived, stupid cow. That chick loved it when guys fought over her. I’ve heard stories about her freakouts. Nonstop recently. I’m glad she’s gone.
Gotta admit though, she brought em in. With those dirges a hers.
Yeah, that’s true. Helped a lot at first. No doubt. But lately … a little guitar an some mood music, that’s the way to go. That stuff she’s been singin lately … human flesh … flowers made outta skin … I donno who’s been writin her words, probly some perv … or maybe she writes em herself … Jícha was furious … she’s got a good voice, I know. But I’d rather show movies. Let folks sit an keep their mouths shut. Peace an quiet. Černá just caused trouble. It’s the only way she knows to have fun.
Listen: If I don’t find her, the first thing I’m gonna do is go see the Laotian an tell him everything. An the next thing I’m gonna do is I’m gonna get in touch with Romul an tell him everything I know about you guys. You’re terrorists. If you weren’t blackmailin me, I’d be gone in a second. An Jícha’s a moron.
Yeah right, Potok. I was expectin somethin like this. I think you’re not normal. The address is 7 Balkon Street. That’s all I know. We need you cause you know the gook. Nothin personal. But seriously, I wouldn’t advise any leaks. You’re not just dealin with people who know you anymore.
Hadraba, buddy, I know you too. Thanks for the address. No thin personal to you either. I’m glad you offed the Martian an all. But I got my own stuff. I’m outta here. If she turns up, tell her I’m lookin for her.
Yeah yeah.
What district is it?
13.
Thanks. Ciao.
Ciao.
It was a typical ratty building. Too many of em on the map in my head. Outdoor walkways linin the courtyards, ruinin all hopes of solitude at the end of a long day of drudgery. Another site where neighborhood life is played out. Another place where you’re exposed to bullshit. Where they peek in your windows. Good Lord, so this is it: Černý, it said on the door. I’m gonna see her father, I can’t believe it. Platinum balls. A dazzling, illustrious man. Kill him slowly for all her suffering. And the cellar downstairs. Here comes a little kid goin there now, luggin a coal bucket down from the walkway, and there’s times he feels like he just wants to die but he doesn’t know how to describe it yet. A woman opened the door. Tall, thin. Curlers in her hair, suds on her arms. Cigarette hangin off her lip, face worn haggard from runnin around and: I can’t make it! Interrupted in the middle of endless errands, futile prayers, only the devil or nobody knows. Old gray she-wolf. This could be her. Same housedress on as every woman in these places at this time of day. Kitchen to living room and back again. They’ve all got the same one. That or sweats. I used to imagine the Midday Witch in that kina getup when I was real little. Good afternoon, I say. I came to give your daughter her check. I’m from Barrandov, the movie studio. That gets every mother’s attention, I think. It didn’t cross my mind for a second that Černá might actually be livin here still. Or even that she might be hidin here. There was nowhere. C’mon in, young fella, a voice thundered. Guy in his undershirt, newspaper and beer on the table. So how much is it … I heard Mařena was on TV with that singer, Korn,* he said from inside. One peek and I decided to stay out in the hallway with the lady of the house. “God grant this home happiness,” said an embroidery. Not likely. Where’s my little girl? the lady said, mouth hanging open. Can I offer you something to drink … Mr. Producer sir … I’ll sign that thing for ya, the guy boomed. You’re not her father, the lady shrieked. And oh boy, another tragedy, right in the eye of the hurricane, I thought. How much is it, said the guy. Come in the kitchen, she said, taking me by the elbow, he’s got nothing to say about it. I’m supposed to get her signature, but we can work something out, I whispered to the lady before the guy came barrelin in … and saw me … you, from Barrandov? he crowed, fat chance. Get out, boy. I went. Whatever’s supposed to happen is already goin on. I waited in a passageway. Then relocated to the dairy next door. Stepped in line so I wouldn’t stick out. It was a long one.
Finally she showed up. She stood outside lookin around. With the scarf on her head she looked older. Do you know where she is? she said. Do you know? No, ma’am, I’m trying to find her, I’m a friend of hers. So then you don’t have any money for her. I do, I do, and I’ll give it to you. But can you tell me where I might find her? Are you with the police? No, ma’am, I swear. I believe you. Martička … I think that lady was truly fond of her daughter … she was living in a flat with some friends at one point … I begged her to come back … but she had a mind of her own. That was when she was working down at St. Francis, the night shift …
She’s a … doctor?
No, oh no, just a nurse’s aide, she wanted to go to school, but …
Where’s that flat she was staying in?
Růžová 3. South City. Who are you?
Who does the flat belong to?
I couldn’t say. These days, you know …
Who’s written on the door?
Mr. Hozner. From the TV station. He used to give Martička a ride home sometimes …
Any girl friends?
Martička? No. None. I donno. Who are you?
I gave her some cash. Looked right at her, tryin to drink in her face, since if this was my sister’s mother … but no, it didn’t work.
So. Černá used to be a nurse’s aide, huh? I woulda thought she’d’ve made it at least to nurse … sister of mercy, yeah right. I picked up the pace.
I’d been through this underpass once before. Somebody’d thrown a cobblestone at me. Missed. When I caught the bastard and asked him why, he said he didn’t know. Today it was empty. Guess he grew up.
I found the box I wanted, got on the elevator, and rode up, alone. Everything the same, anonymous. Nobody knows anybody. No questions. I kina liked it. Here comes justice, Mr. Hozner, you’re through givin lifts to Martička … I buzzed, nothin. Just a second ago, though, I’d heard footsteps and coughing. I waited half an hour, then tried my luck with a different Open Sesame. Three buzzes in a row, fast and urgent. Pause, then again. There isn’t anybody that hasn’t used this simple signal at least once. In their childhood, say. Pound on the door and it’ll open. You just gotta know how.
This character was real skinny. Eyes swimmin, doubt he could even see me. Hair down to his waist. T-shirt on, perforated arms hangin off him like twigs. Turned and walked back into the flat, totally ignored me. I followed him in cautiously so the needles wouldn’t scuff my speedy leather. Another two sat in the kitchen. In chairs at the table. That’s all there was practically. Except for the smell. Is it Morti? Did Morti come? No, that’s not my name, I said. So whadda you want, asked one of the junkies. I told them. The kitchen table was covered with baggies of powder. Mounds of wheelies, medicine bottles. Alchemy kit on top of the stove like out of an old Ed Kelly catalog.* The one that let me in was totally wrecked. Went off to huddle up somewhere. The other two beamed. They were in a witty mood.