“Hello,” his raspy voice croaked, “How’s it going? Is there anything you need?”
In the square the pseudo-mothers with baby carriages came to a standstill. Everyone stared at me. My heart paused. That was HIS futile attempt to avoid the inevitable, to stop me from doing my duty, to beg a miracle. The attempt was senseless; the dragon couldn’t stop everything forever, all the same someone had to move. Martynas’s lips moved first:
“It’s a wonderful life!” he said clearly. “The only thing missing is bird’s milk.”
“Ha, ha!” the guide laughed gently. “We manufacture this candy that everyone likes, called ‘Bird’s Milk.’ Apparently, we ran out of it today.”
HE continued to stand right there, I could stretch out my hand and strangle him, but I stood there unmoving and did nothing. I could have said something, I could have spat on him at least, but I did nothing. It was all pointless. He stood right there, and I did nothing. Next to us it reeked of the camp’s vomit, next to us crawled Bolius with his shaved head, next to us glared the straw-haired men’s kanukish eyes. My hands were free, I definitely knew what I should do, but at the same time I knew that no actual retribution would encompass even a millionth part of his guilt. Or perhaps — like a genuine Lithuanian — I literally stood there and waited for everything to slowly resolve itself on its own. And everything did resolve itself: he felt he was free, tipped his hat and slowly swayed off past the cash register. Martynas poked me with the pineapple and snorted. The broad-shouldered men bustled around us, the handles of their pistols finally released. The mechanism moved again; I was its only motionless detail. Fate had given me a single chance, and I did nothing. The procession crawled along the square, dissolved among the sun’s reflections in the puddles, climbed back into the black ZILs, and sailed off. Martynas and I already stood outside. The optimistic young men quickly parted, the young women abandoned the baby carriages, the broad-shouldered men collected them and slung them into a covered truck. Others, after locking the doors to the store, set about unloading the colorful boxes and cans from the shelves. The militia at the cordon lit cigarettes and released the real Vilnius crowd into the square. People rushed headlong to the door of the store and pressed up against the window, trying to discern, from a distance at least, the miraculous cans disappearing in front of their eyes, and stood there, disappointed.
The two broad-shouldered men, panting, caught up with us.
“Hand over that pineapple,” growled the dark one.
Yes, yes, despite it all we still had the pineapple. I watched indifferently as they looked around anxiously and wrenched it and the can of lobster away from Martynas.
“Give me back MY pineapple!” Martynas quietly babbled. “I paid money for it! Give me back my pineapple!”
The light-haired one marched off with the plunder, while the dark-haired one, intrigued, raised his eyebrows.
“Are you a complete fool? What money? The merchandise doesn’t belong to this store. They don’t even have a price. You really gave them money?”
“Give me back my pineapple,” Martynas repeated, louder this time.
The dark-haired one’s expression suddenly changed and he hissed like a snake:
“You’re still talking? Get lost, you rat, or I’ll write you up for provocative activities. Understand? Get lost while you still can.”
I believe I was the one who dragged Martynas off to the side. I believe I mumbled something to him; maybe to calm him and keep him quiet, but he kept going on like a broken record:
“Why did he take my pineapple away? He ought to give my pineapple back. Why did they take my pineapple?”
“Listen,” I finally said. “Was that really Suslov, or was I just imagining it?”
Martynas looked at me as if he had just now awoken.
“You didn’t recognize him?”
“That REALLY was Suslov? REALLY?”
“Of course. I completely forgot. . You know, everyone was talking about it. . His first visit after who knows how many years.”
Martynas suddenly started shaking all over. Shocked, I stared at him, while he kept trembling harder and harder, slowly swayed forward and grabbed at the air with his arms, until he finally fell to his knees on a wet, dirty bench and started jerking as if he was being wracked by spasms. The shocked face of an elderly woman looked at us through the window of a nearby house. She blinked frequently, as if she were trying to chase a hallucination away. It seemed to me that anything could happen now. I expected that woman to fly straight out through the glass and flutter above my head. I expected a monstrous patrol of Theirs to jump out of the stairway and devour me. Or a tank, caterpillars smiling, to crawl out from around the corner and crush us. Anything could happen, but nothing happened, absolutely nothing. The sun shone like it was summer; a gust of wind drove a few yellowish leaves towards us. It was quiet, except that somewhere someone panted and moaned as if they were being strangled. I didn’t realize at first that it was Martynas.