Černá, I, I gotta go out.
Can I be here? She was already closing her eyes.
I’ll be back tonight. An sorry, I know it’s dumb, but the plastic bags’re here, just in case … the trash can’s out on the walkway.
Yeah, I saw. After, we can go to my place. Be back soon.
And she fell asleep.
15
SMOOTHY. IN HER AND BEYOND WORDS. THE METAMORPHOSIS. THEY’RE AFTER ME. THE FOREST IS FRIENDLY. ČERNÁ … WHY NOW?
I swung round the essential spots, flyin. Gave the tram a try, but it was a total bore. I wondered if she’d still be there when I got back. It was her. Sister. As I thoughtlessly plodded the pavement toward where Bohler’s Laotian lady’s pals lived, images came to mind: my encampment, where for years I’d been subjected to tiny fly attacks and buzzing helicopters, that ridiculous den of mine with a fax and a phone, all for the sake of the pack … but I guess I was expectin a different kind of message … in my mind the den became a massive edifice, a palace of Hermaphroditus, a shelter and survival home. And it grew to the clouds, far from the fields of ravens, up toward their migrating brothers.
I cut off the street talk, Sister’s talk was inside me now. My heart was sweet and red. And in there where love had never flowed but baked into a hardened lump, fending off the waves of hatred so I wouldn’t kill or go crazy or I donno what … two bare hands now bathed in the ripples … hands of a body of love … caressing the water … or something like that … to exaggerate a little.
I opened my eyes as I bashed into a lamppost and noticed a tree blossoming in the midst of the filth, probly some mutant apple tree. In the gutter. Boards around it. Put there by people who wanted it. Proud ants crept across my heart in overalls that said Freedom or Death, the second component was crossed out, not with enemy blood but some trivial scrawl.
I couldn’t stop smiling. But I knew they wouldn’t take it wrong, the smile’s their tribe’s basic facial expression. Actually I think they were glad to see me. Even if I did bust in without knockin.
All the Laosters wore store-bought threads now. Even glimpsed an occasional tattoo, on the men. They’d managed to create all sortsa outfits and new combinations with those ridiculous foreign fabrics. Some a them cracked me up. So my laughter was merry, a thing of pure joy. They could always sense that anyway. We still spoke in French-Czech-Laotian-Russian-Indochinese, but mainly in gestures, back slaps, and toasts. I’d arrived just in time for dinner, it was some kina holiday for them. Right off I realized it was a holiday for me too. There were about twenty of em there, some I still remembered. Somebody told a truly fabulous joke. Or so I thought. From the heightened merriness. Somebody gave me a wink. Somebody nudged me off my chair. Probly just tryin to rile me up. Tino, that’s what we called him. Dragged a girl with a little kid out to the middle of the room. She was shy. I started to clap. I donno why. Guess I got taken somehow by that long blue-black hair a hers, like all the Laotian girls have … those guys a theirs donno how good they got it, they’re into the Czech mares, I’d observed. Giantesses. Fascinates em. I on the other hand lived for the movements of those petite, fragile creatures. It’s always opposite aspects, parts of a body … that attract. I just kept drinkin and noddin my head. It took me back to the merry … old days of the Organization. I clapped my hands and danced around, curious what kina fun Tino had in store. But the only joke was that the child was blond. I probably overdid it, but everyone laughed and joined in the applause, except for Tino, face frozen in a smile. I wrapped my arms around a bottle of liquor. I had my sister’s two eyes inside me, and that was all that mattered.
There was no end to questions about my buddies. And: Luna, said one. Yep, Mácha,* that guy hadda invent a totally secret tongue for his stuff, otherwise they woulda killed him. Had his own alphabet, him and his sister watched what they were doin, they knew what it was all about! I edified some old man sittin next to me. Je ne compris tchèque. Moi aussi! I hollered so he could hear. Luna, he said. Luna! another one tried to explain, excitedly drawing circles in the air, oh, lůno, womb! I rapped my forehead. Oui! my friend cried, guess he had female bodies on his mind … shyly I looked around at the ladies, bringin out dish after dish heaped with crab eyes and slugs, and smilin the whole time … I guess over in Asia they know that fucking is the love and blood of a living body, as long as it works … when you get right down to it, God is love too, theirs and mine, I thought, guzzlin rice wine, here I was thinkin those gestures were their lascivious way of inquiring about their cousin, Bohler’s Laotian lady, but it was just some Moon Day or somethin, some Lunar Festival, they lit the lamps, the incense fumed, I’m a somnambulist too … I tore into the slugs, hungry as a wolf, all that rompin around was startin to wear me out … sitting across from me was a fellow I didn’t know, tie and everything … color-coordinated, real smoothy.
People kept tappin me on the shoulder and askin: Où est monsieur Bohlira? Il est okay avec femme à la campagne, he’s … I clasped my hands to show he was prayin … et monsieur Miska? Oui, Miska okay, byznys, et monsieur Sharqui par avion, Israël, la guerre, vzzzzz! I went … il est rat-tat-tat-tat-tat, which is Kanak for Kalashnikov, or Uzi, same difference. Tu es bien, somebody shouted, ploppin another mound of somethin onto one a my plates. I thought about bringin some back for Sister, she probly didn’t know this stuff. I threw out the lobster claws.
I totally forgot what I’d actually come for, I was feelin all right. And in the leftover moments not taken up with fast and friendly conversation, in between jokes and drinking, my heart only seized up from time to time … would she be there, or would she take off … if she did, nothing would matter anymore … all at once someone doused the lights, the Laosters began jabbering, and a clipped voice rang out … probly Tino’s … What’s up? I yelled, grabbin a plate … not to worry, somebody in front of me said, he’ll be turning the lights back on in a minute, I was startled, this Laotian spoke perfect Czech … What’s goin on? Nothing out of the ordinary, a minor inconvenience perhaps, everything will be just fine. Oh yeah? Zat right? I stood up. Sit back down, and whatever you do, don’t go outside.
My companion lit a candle. It was the smoothy, everyone else’d vanished, apart from a few girls clearin away the dishes, pullin off the tablecloths.
Then I heard it. A scream of pain, and another, murmuring voices and stamping feet and another scream again, and that one I knew, that one I’ll remember from the fiery day forever. I was startin to get a hunch what was goin on out there … and somebody hit the ground … probly chin-first on the pavement, bad sound. Nearby. Then the voices began to get farther away. Stamping. Feet goin after someone. And then they went away.
What was that? I asked Smoothy, pointlessly.
Oh nothing, they come out here occasionally, he said.
Who?
Now now, Mr. Potok, you’re here for another reason. You have, so to speak, a mission. And I personally am pleased that there are still people here willing to aid the struggle for a great cause, even now that your splendid homeland has cast off the yoke of communism.
I sobered up. Yes, thank you, think there might be another drop a that rice wine around somewhere?
But of course, of course. He wouldn’t even allow me to pour it myself.
We talked about an hour. He explained what they wanted from me.
Then the others began to come back. It wasn’t so merry anymore.
Monsieur Tino, I followed him into the kitchen and asked, okay?