I remember how each step and thought in the dark of the village was like a soundless creak, the kind you feel head to toe, like the shuddering of the support pillars that quiver and break when we feel terror. I clearly heard the air filling my lungs, held it back, then exhaled slowly. My feet and chest hurt from cold and fear. As I moved farther from the house, I became able to see more clearly. Outlines of homes and wooden fences loomed in the darkness. Each object had a ghostly calm. That night I came to understand the meaning of the word prickle. Later I often heard it described as tingling, but the two things are not the same. When your skin prickles, it’s like being sprayed with boiling and freezing water, a mix that’s neither hot nor cold but very uncomfortable. It’s when you become aware that you’re not all alone, and somebody who’s as lonely as you are wants to tell his story.
I figured out why the dirt around the village was always so dark, nearly black. Dark mother earth. When night fell, the thick darkness must have soaked into the ground. But the ground couldn’t absorb much more. I thought for a time that the blackness would hover above the ground and dawn would never break again.
The river reflected the brightness of the half-moon, creating more light than there was in the village. Still, this illumination was sinking into the petroleum-hued water more than shining from it. Everything had the smell of damp grass and manure. It was peculiar how such a large body of water could be so cursedly still. The river was to my left, but I was so afraid of ghosts that I chose to look to the right, into the pitch darkness. I walked as fast as I could, ignoring the bumpy ground aggravating my feet, which were beginning to feel as if they’d been sewn onto my legs. I tripped a few times, stumbling over roots or tall grass, but I was far enough from the water that I didn’t fall in. The voices I sometimes heard in my head when I was scared—mainly the voice of my uncle, probably the strongest man in the world—these voices had vanished. After a few hundred yards, I saw the dark outline of the old mill in the distance. I froze and fought the urge to run home. Since I wasn’t sure how I was going to get back into the house, I squinted and took the next step. Finally, like a child carved of wood, I mounted the concrete foundation on which the mill stood, went around the shabby hut, and sat where the mill wheel used to be. The particular smell of rot, the union of wood and stagnant water, filled my nose and lungs. I sat with my back to the mill and stripped off my wet socks. I waited for a time, shivering, and then I heard a rustling. I whispered, “Dejan?” a few times, each time softer than the last because my voice had frozen deep in my throat. Finally I saw my friend’s silhouette, it couldn’t be anybody else. I’d never been so glad, but when he came closer, we were both just as scared and alone.
“Waiting long?”
“Dunno.”
“Hey, you’re shivering. Are you scared?” asked Dejan, with a spark of hope.
“Cold. I couldn’t put on my sneakers, or I would’ve woken up Mom.”
Dejan pulled off his brown shoes and socks. He put his shoes back on and gave me his socks. We sat there like that and stared at the water.
“See anything?”
“Nope. But I wasn’t looking too close.”
“I can’t see nothing,” said Dejan grumpily, and I had the impression he didn’t want to stay long. He was scared, like me, but of other things. If his father found out, he’d take my friend’s head off. We sat there in the middle of the night, morose.
“I wanna go home,” said Dejan. He’d had the gumption to show up, and now he wanted to leave. Meanwhile, I was staring into the water, and my father’s face was looking out at me, clear as a bell. It wasn’t the living face I remembered, but the bluish-pale puffy face of the dead doll on the bier in our living room. I thought of the valley of dreams and the treasure in the hills, the fish restaurant, and the monkey wrenches. The voice in my head was whispering that I was scared to go home and ring the doorbell and see Mom crying and shouting that she didn’t know what to do with me and why wasn’t I like other kids. If I was going back, it had to be with Dad.
“Hold on. They’ll come.”
“Who’ll come? Are you crazy?”
“They’re in the water, we’ll call them… One of us needs to jump in, then they’ll come.”
He turned to look at me. Now he knew why I’d asked him to come. If I wanted them to give me back my dad, I had to have somebody to trade. And it couldn’t be me, because then I’d end up dead, and Dad would be back among the living, so we’d miss each other. I wasn’t scared by the idea of going in, but it couldn’t be me. Simple. So it had to be Dejan now, I reckoned, and then later I’d return with somebody else and bring him back. I’d bring somebody old, somebody who was fixing to die soon enough anyway, or a bad person nobody liked. I knew this was a big favor to ask, but I’d swear on my life that from that day forth I’d be Dejan’s servant once it was all over—I’d do his homework for him and keep his bedroom clean. Of course, I could have traded my granny for Dad. I loved my granny, but I had the feeling she’d be willing. She already had her name engraved on Granddad Matjaž’s headstone, with the dates: 1913–19__. Uncle would tease her that he wouldn’t be paying for another headstone if she lived beyond the year 2000, and she’d snap, “I’ll be glad to be gone. I’m nothing but a burden anyway.” Sometimes she told me she’d be dying soon, and she’d look me straight in the eyes. I thought she wanted to see how I felt about it, so I’d hug her and say she was never going to die. That cheered her up, and she’d pat my head and give me grated apple with sugar and cinnamon. So that’s why Dejan was here.
“Listen. Strip down and stand in the water here. Hold on to this stick, and I’ll pull you back up when they come. The water ain’t that deep here.”
He stared at me frozen, then began moving slowly backward. His back was against the wooden wall of the mill. Now, on top of my own breath, I heard his. The socks were snagging on splinters.
“Come on, let’s do this. The sooner we do it, the sooner we can head home. See? We’ll all have our sodas together at the Sunday soccer game, just like you said.”
“Quit it, stop.”
The sweeter my voice, the more he inched away. I grabbed his sleeve.
“Come on, we agreed. It ain’t deep around here, not, like, over your head.”
Dejan tried pulling away, but I managed to grab him by one arm. I just wanted to explain.
“Wait, wait.”
Dejan lunged to run, but he tripped and fell onto the wooden board closest to the water’s edge. I let go of his arm. I stood over him so he couldn’t get up unless I stepped back. A weird feeling, I can only barely remember it. I stood over him and looked at him; he was no longer my equal, but a means to an end. It felt like his existence didn’t matter as much as mine.
“I’ll come back for you,” I said calmly, leaning forward to push him into the river.
At that moment, a force pulled me up into the air and threw me down so I hit the ground flat on my back.
“What? Are you crazy? You goddam sonofabitch!” roared a voice from the darkness above me. Dejan’s dad. He lifted his son into his arms, hugged him close, and whispered something I didn’t hear. He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, still holding Dejan, and pulled us back a good ten feet from the riverbank.
“Crazy… plumb crazy…” He sobbed and panted over and over, and Dejan and I eyed each other in the dark.