Toon Musiał

Paying Otto a friendly visit Toon Musial “So full of passion like a child So empty like an adult Still, both we were happy seekers Seeking each other” Special thanks to Damien Mc Ginley (paintings) Johan De Paepe (reading , correcting and introducing) Nicole Hunter, Lynn Mc Laughlin and Alice Devlin (reading and correcting) Dirk Kennes ( DTP) Paintings by Damien Mc Ginley 1. Rags and Ruin cover 2. Stress Fracture p. 22 3. The Smokescreen p. 41 4. Nowhereman p. 65 5. Libertango p. 84 6. The Shooting Gallery p. 109 7. The Heavy Area p. 128 8. Powderkeg p. 151 9. The Rising p. 172 10. You’ve a bad Rep...But I’ve 9 Lives p. 195 Paying Otto a Friendly visit 1. The meeting with Archie. Otto Gerald slammed the door behind him and the house across the street exploded. Splinters of glass and brick flew about. People were screaming. The house collapsed completely, except for a section of the first floor that stuck out of the adjoining property and was only partially supported by a fragment of the back wall. The roof fell down like a handkerchief that was carelessly dropped onto the pavement. Otto Gerald blew his nose and continued his way to the pub. He completely ignored the customers as he entered the premises. He looked at the clock on the wall above the price-list and compared it with the time on his wrist-watch. It was six to eight by the barclock. It was six and a half minutes fast. So he had plenty of time for his eight o’clock appointment with Charly Weaver. He carefully examined the goods offered on the menu and decided to have a cappuccino because it seemed appropriate for the occasion. He took off his Cashmere overcoat and hung it on the coat stand. He glanced in the mirror behind the counter, wetted his fingertips, and curled both ends of his moustache. He chose a table in the corner, pulled off his leather gloves and felt hat, carefully put them on the table, and settled down. Sitting with his back to the wall gave him a feeling of security. He liked to have an overall view of the surroundings: the room, the bar, the door, the people incoming, the window and the street, where a bedlam of wailing sirens and flashing lights had broken out. It made him feel at ease. He was ready to order and cleared his throat. The customers made comments on the toing and froing in the street, but got bored after a while. There was nothing much to see 5 6 from their angle. They could only guess and assume what had happened outside: a plane crash, a factory that had exploded, a terrorist attack. So they focused on Otto, the second best object to get their teeth into. One of the regular misfits (the knights of slither and gull, as they called themselves, comfortable with one foot in the grave and the other grasping at the footstool) bowed his head and smacked his drunken lips as if love had suddenly struck him. “I’m already married, Sir Lancelot.” His bearded lady blushed. This example of courtly display was copied hilariously. Hairy hands were kissed all over the place. They even drank to each other’s health. Otto ignored them and snapped his fingers at the barman who left the kiss and ride zone and came over after a while. Leaving the bar unattended was considered an act of heroism. “You called?” he said in a posh voice and without batting an eyelid. The knights applauded his opening line. “Do you know what time it is?” Otto challenged him. “Did your watch break down, sir?” the barman showed concern. “There’s a clock on the wall in case it did!” “Your clock is six and a half minutes fast!” “Is it now?” “It needs adjusting. The hands are rushing past each other. They’re worked up.” “I do apologise for this inconvenience, sir. I think they’re having a race at the moment.” “Having a race? What utter nonsense!” “Silly isn’t it? The minute hand is miles ahead and it doesn’t even know. It’s the same old story every day.” Otto tried to ignore the barman’s ludicrous comments and said firmly: “I’ll have a cappuccino and a newspaper. The cappuccino with a dash of black chocolate on top of the freshly whipped cream and the newspaper...” “Unfortunately we’re out of freshly whipped cream, but I can guarantee you that the container was freshly bought this morning.” “I should have guessed so,” Otto sighed. “The newspaper...” “Then again we’ve got a wide selection of newspapers.” The barman beamed with pride and started running down the list: “We’ve got Monday’s, Tuesday’s, yesterday’s...” “Today’s newspaper will do!” Otto interrupted him. “That’s very kind of you, sir. We can manage this. Although I don’t think there will be any reference to tonight’s events.” “As if I would expect that...” Otto wasn’t easily thrown off balance. “In that case: a coffee with spray-cream and today’s newspaper.” The bartender cleared his throat and grinned: “Just trying to keep my customers satisfied.” He returned to the counter, where the knights were inspecting their lances and preparing for the tournament. They paid tribute to King Fred, as they nicknamed the barman from that moment on. King Fred retired from his cheering vassals and their stamping horses to the mysterious clouds of a noisy coffee-machine. He put together the beans, the hot water, the cream and the chocolate and then gracefully delivered the magic potion to Otto. He had forgotten about the newspaper. He had to go back and look for it. He found it in a pile on a small table next to the counter. He brought it over, at the same time he presented the bill, but Otto mumbled: “I’ll attend to that later on!” Outside there was another explosion. The knights went pale and turned round. Otto took a sip from his cappuccino and was nicely surprised. It tasted wonderful. He lit a cigar and he started blowing tiny circles, cloudy formations gradually piling up and thus conceiling 7 himself. The smoke screen proved to be efficient. The excitement around him disappeared. The hot-blooded voices of his challengers faded. The people in the bar lost interest in fighting an invisible enemy. The mocking and snorting ebbed away... The arrival of Archie Brubaker fanned the fire. The man, with a portfolio wedged between his arm and chin, came into the bar. His hair was greasy. He wore a red jacket, a blue shirt and green trousers. A combination of loud colours and bad taste, according to the present corpses’ prevailing standards. Clumsiness was written all over him. He looked jumpy, as if he played an undercover agent in a B-rated spy film. He was spotted and exposed at once. The knights had found a new victim. “The name is Bond?” a Russian agent (the artist formerly known as Sir Lancelot) with deep blue eyes and golden hair approached him. He was a head taller than Archie and appeared to be the leader of the mob. “James Bond?” the mob startled and immediately went for their guns and knives hidden in various ridiculous places. “I’m A...Archie!” Archie stammered. The young blond God snapped his fingers and held back his hungry wolves... Archie could hardly see through his condensed spectacles. He stumbled over a chair, apologised excessively to God knows who, cleaned his glasses by means of a soaky handkerchief, regained his sight, examined the menu, and asked for a beer. “He wants a beer, Alexei,” King Fred mumbled. Archie looked at the barclock and compared the time on his watch. “He seems to be in a hurry,” the bearded lady observed. “Not a vodka-martini?” The Russian mob-leader growled. “No, no, a beer,” Archie insisted. Alexei nodded and King Fred 8 gave Archie his pint. When Archie started sipping it, he held the portfolio tight between his knees. He cleaned his glasses again with a drier part of his handkerchief and found the eyes of the world staring in his direction and eager to know what he was concealing. The trail of blood led towards him. There were swinging slimes on soaking jaws and hungry eyes everywhere. “I still don’t trust that guy, Alexei Alexeiovitsj,” a worried wolf, who had impersonated Lady Guinevere, whispered. Alexei Alexeiovitsj pushed him away. “Let me be the judge of that, Bitchy Boris!” he said as he opened Archie’s portfolio and took out a drawing he held to the light. He examined it carefully. There was a profound silence. Archie was all fingers and thumbs. The beer dripped down from his chin. The pack’s leader showed his teeth. Archie’s glass fell over. “It’s just a boat. A drawing of a boat,” Alexei smiled. That softened up the knights’ evil spirits. They burst out laughing. The first visors were pushed open. The beasts regained their human form again. The first friendly smiles and grins appeared. Alexei Alexeiovitsj, or whatever his name was, stood up and came towards Archie. “We love boats...” he tried to set him at ease. “Don’t we?” Dozens of hands were tapping Archie on the shoulder. They all loved boats and the sea. King Fred cleaned up the mess Archie had made on the counter. Archie blushed to the roots of his hair. He was thankful for all the concern, but was embarrassed at the same time. “Have you got a drawing of a submarine by any chance?” Bitchy Boris hissed in his ear. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t think I have...” “That’s all right, James, it doesn’t matter,” Alexei reassured him 9 and he pushed Bitchy away, as he checked the other drawings. (No submarines found.) Drinks were lined up and paid for by Archie without objecting. When he dropped his purse and coins were rolling all over the place, the group couldn’t help teasing him. “There’s one, James, under your stool.” “There’s another one, James, under the table.” Archie was crawling on hands and knees. He was searching every nook and cranny. The knights were enjoying themselves. “And there, near the door, Jimmy, where you can pick me up later on!” Bitchy Boris pointed at a coin she had kicked towards the exit. The silly pack kept on playing. That was a good sign. People who play, don’t fight. Archie’s attention was called to the cloud of smoke that hung in the corner and he remembered the purpose of his visit. He had an appointment with Otto Gerald, the distinguished artist. “Arrange a meeting!” as his boss had explained to him. “Go to a bar, any bar!” Archie had swallowed the bait hesitantly. Didn’t they shoot the bearers of bad tidings? From that moment on Archie became a knight errant. A hitman with a conscience. A priest with a gun. It was easier said than done: arrange a meeting, go to a bar, any bar, dump the artist. He had never met Mister Gerald personally. He only knew his posh voice from the phone and his pompous head from the posters. “Shoot first!” his boss had talked him into this. “Abullet between the eyes! That does the trick. Normally!” Archie broke out into a cold sweat, when he approached Mr. Gerald’s smoky table. “Normally,” he grumbled. 10 He took a deep breath, coughed, and aimed with the utmost tact. Sweet jelly bullets. “You are Mister Gerald? Mister Otto Gerald? The painter? The famous painter? Aren’t you?” Otto nodded: “I am the one. What concern is it of yours?” “I’m Archie Brubaker, Mister Weaver’s assistant. May I sit down?” “I was expecting Mister Weaver. Not his assistant.” “Mister Weaver had important matters to attend to.” “So this wasn’t important enough forMisterWeaver, was it?” The look in Otto’s eyes was piercing. Archie swallowed and shouldered his rifle again. “One can never foresee the death of a beloved one,” he fibbed. An awkward silence fell. Otto seemed disconcerted, but recovered easily, and grinned: “So there actually was someone who loved Charly, was there?” “...who Charly loved.” Archie persevered. He couldn’t stand Otto’s penetrating gaze and wanted to hand over the blindfold. Otto refused it. “Who was the unlucky one, if I may ask?” Archie showed some signs of nervousness. “Charly requested me to be discrete. He isn’t keen on publicity.” “Charly, not keen on publicity? I know he doesn’t like people.” “I wouldn’t say that.” Archie stood up for his boss. “The man he loved had a terminal disease.” “So why didn’t he tell?” “He was afraid of what people might say...” “Agh... everybody knows who Charly is. The queen of the valley. Anyway, sit down young man and tell me what Charly had in mind, what he ordered you to say. Shoot!” The convict had invited the gunner to present arms. Archie took a seat and laid down the portfolio in front of him. Otto rearranged his paper and his cappuccino and looked Archie 11 bravely in the eyes. “Did he like the pictures I sent him? Did he like my drawings?” he challenged him. He was willing to accept a quick death, Archie interpreted his question. Archie didn’t hesitate and took a clear shot. “No!” he replied frankly, “he didn’t like your pictures.” He stayed calm, as he saw the boat sinking and started whispering as if he was going to take the captain’s last confession. He straightened his back and bent forward to Otto. His head was almost touching Otto’s. To aim and to fire again seemed easy enough. “No?” Otto said, disconcerted Archie almost felt sorry for the old man, but he didn’t want to push it. He tried to ease the pain. “Art is the confrontation of men with God, Mister Gerald. Of birth with death. Of women with men.” Otto listened with only one ear. He had understood the message very well. He was waiting for the coup de grâce and was drowning in Archie’s hollow drivel about God, birth and the woman in every man. His paintings were cold and hard. He had to find the woman inside the man, the warmth in the cold. He was struggling with the bullet that had penetrated his self-esteem. The sweet jelly was sharpened. He was trying to keep his head above water. He should show fight, when being pushed under. The old warrior should show his teeth. “I still can swim, Mister Brubaker.” He cut Archie’s story short. “I’m not dead yet. And I’ll prove it to you, to Charly. To the rest of you...lot.” “So help you God, Mister Gerald.” Otto Gerald resolutely put on his coat and his gloves, had a last puff at his cigar, seized his drawings, and went out without paying. His pride had suffered a serious blow. Archie smiled. He wasn’t too unsatisfied with the course of 12 events and was brave enough to order a vodka-martini. He had done what he was supposed to do. He wasn’t triumphant though. He was aware he had hurt Otto Gerald but strange to say he was charmed by his fighting spirit. A strong opponent commanded respect. He paid for Otto’s cappuccino as King Fred drew his attention to it. He didn’t mind. A shaggy young man with long black hair in a tail and diluted eyes broke loose from the knights’ circle. He staggered towards Archie. “Allow me to introduce myself, my name is...” “Buddha,” Alexei Alexeiovitsj interrupted him, “leave Mister Bond alone!” “Yeah, leave him alone,” Bitchy supported him, “he’s mine!” “Can you spare a few coppers,” Buddha asked in a hurry. “I’ll call the coppers, if you don’t stop harassing people!” King Fred took Alexei’s side. “It’s all right,” Archie hushed up the barman and slipped Buddha some shrapnel. “Have you seen that?” Bitchy shouted. “He’s taking my customers!” “Thank you, thank you,” Buddha said as he was counting the money and added in a whisper: “I’m working undercover, as well. I’m disguised as a beggar.” Then he tried to vanish mysteriously into the anonymity of the masses, where (sadly) Bitchy grabbed him by the balls and kicked him out. Twenty minutes later, the police raided the place and checked the true identity of the persons present. Two illegals were turned in. 13 2. The hanging. On his way back home, Otto felt the weight of the meeting upon his shoulders. He almost stumbled over a kid on a green bike, who offered him a ride home. The kid wore a funny green hat, Otto noticed. He declined the proposal. The child continued his trip and rang his bell loudly. Otto passed by a postbox and posted Eveline’s cheque. A monthly routine. He realized his whole life consisted of routine actions. He had never questioned that before, because he felt quite comfortable with it. It only took a young assistant with a sharp tongue to turn that upside down. With leaden feet he tried to keep pace with time. What had he let himself in for, he wondered. It shouldn’ t be a race against time, a race between the minute hand and the hour hand, the younger and the older. Neither of the hands wins in the end. “Left - right, left - right,” a little voice commanded in his head. “One - two, one - two, one - two - three, one - two - three...” He was a brave soldier marching to the front, a soldier waltzing to the battlefield, a soldier staggering in the direction where the other soldiers went to die. The eager brats passed him by. Was there another direction? Yes, he could go back, with the wounded, the disabled, the men on crutches, the bodies on stretchers. He was an old soldier walking, an old man stumbling, looking for the woman inside of him... Ridiculous. On a bench a lady of his age stared at him. Her knitting-needles rested on her lap. The little socks she had started on, were of no use anymore. Was she hoping for any grandchildren? Or did she acquiesce in her fate? She seemed happy enough. A man, next to her, probably her husband had dozed off over a book he had read a hundred times. He kept his finger between two pages. Why? What for? It was irrelevant. He knew the story, he 14 knew the end. That should be reassuring enough. He should be able to pick up the thread on every page.Why did he keep his finger on that particular spot? In case he woke up?What if he didn’t wake up anymore? Can a story finish in the middle of it? Would that make it another story? Firemen were extinguishing the fire. The street was closed to all traffic. Hoses lay unreeled across the street. Two policemen were chatting as they kept people behind the blue and white line they had tightened around the debris of the exploded house. The front door had been marked with a red cross. The bomber had carefully selected his target. “Do you know who lived here?” the larger policeman asked. “How should I know?” his colleague replied. “It was a squat.” War in sight, no crime to fear for. Everything goes. No bigger game than war. You win points by the number of hits and the amount of enemy corpses. Only the dead can be robbed. Extra points. Waste as little bullets as possible. The use of Zyklon-b is recommended. So nobody complains. No complaints, no crimefighting. Just playing and keeping the people behind the blue and white line. Otto bumped against a young man and his girlfriend, who were kissing good-bye in the middle of the foot-path. A rock in the bed of a river. No fish is blind enough to hit the rock. Otto was. He apologized, but the kissing went on, as if he didn’t exist. Rocks don’t mind stupid fish. He wasn’t a stupid fish, he kept telling himself. He was Otto Gerald, the painter. “Otto Gerald, the painter!” he cried out aloud.Why didn’t people notice him? They should. That night he fell asleep on the couch in his studio. He was shivering all over his body, when the nightly hunters started invading his dreams. 15 16 He woke up in a cold sweat the next morning and stretched new canvas immediately. He resumed his work like a lunatic. He laid down layers of paint with his knife, searched for shapes and shadows, camps and ruins, victims and survivors, cannons and gunshot wounds, but the results didn’t satisfy him. He always reverted to his former pictures and his former techniques. Archie was right: they all looked the same, boats in a safe harbour, they were hard and cold. Tons of massive iron floating in the docks. What once was renovating, had become boring now. He tried out a new approach, tried the opposite, painted objects and people he would never have painted before, but it seemed messy and hollow. Was that what they wanted? He cut up his experiments. Find the woman deep inside yourself....repulsive. He invited over Charly Weaver, who sent Archie Brubaker. Otto had expected it. He wasn’t unhappy to see that young brat with his greasy hair again, though. In a way he admired his honesty and his courage. He was at least straight from the shoulder. “What do you think?” he asked him. Archie stood before the paintings, his hands on his hips, and shook his head. “These stink!” he said. Otto had to agree and disposed of them. Nowadays artists aren’t shot for a lousy job anymore. Should he resign? Doubts were troubling him again. Was he doomed to stagnate in the confined space of his talents? Why shouldn’t he spare himself the trouble of painting again, if nobody was interested anymore? Why shouldn’t he safeguard himself against the agony of creating? He drilled a hole in the ceiling of his living-room, screwed a hook into it, and looked for a chair and a piece of rope to hang himself. Suicide was a way out of his misery, he kept saying. Desperation had overwhelmed him as he heard a monotonous 17 tune being played on a piano nearby. Who was so merciful to play his funeral march? That wasn’t music for a burial, it suddenly occurred to him. The music reminded him of better times and happier days. (In his parental house there was a piano in the living room. Every Sunday his mum used to play when they came back from Mass, just before they’d have their Sunday dinner. They were all looking forward to that. Especially dad, who was dying for something to eat after a night of boozing. God rest his soul. Mother played divinely. God rest her soul as well. For the rest of the time the piano was locked, but sometimes it happened to be unlocked when Otto came back from school and then he seized the opportunity to hammer away on it just until his father punched him off the stool accusing him of profanity. Those were happy days. Nourishing the illusion of playing like an angel for a while and at the same time embracing the warmth of parental love.) The tune took his mind off death and suicide, as if his parents gave him a sign and warning from up there. His stomach started to rumble with hunger. He couldn’t die on an empty stomach, could he? He regained control of himself. He tried to put his feet back onto solid ground and foolishly enough forgot to take his head out of the noose. Mistake! He quickly hauled himself up and freed himself out of that awkward situation. He could still fight his own battles. He took off his apron, washed his hands and face, and put on a fresh shirt and comfortable boots. So he went out for a fabulous and memorable drinking-bout, around pubs he hadn’t been to for years and he hardly recognized. He didn’t wear his gloves or Cashmere overcoat anymore, but he still wore his felt hat. His moustache was impeccable, although a good viewer could spot some drops of white paint in it. In view of his age, nobody took notice. He was spending his money on rounds of spirits and beers. Every time he left a bar to go to another one, he was followed by an enthusiastic crowd of singing and slurring friends he’d never seen before. They were his brothers in arms, his witnesses of the last battle, his companions on death row. King Fred received him and his gang with open arms this time. Otto still had a lot of money to spend and King Fred spotted a good customer instinctively. “Shall I take your hat?” he asked. “If you wish,” Otto said. One of the last ones to stand straight was Ivan. Otto had run into him outside, in the street. Ivan was cursing and lamenting in front of an automatic food-machine. Doctor Ivan as they called him for obscure reasons, perhaps because he wore purple socks, that showed when he bent over to check the pockets of his patients at the same time he pretended to check their pulse. He was a Polish tramp, a small balding man, generally known for his terrible tempers. He could hug you sincerely one moment and knock your neighbour down the very next moment for giving him the evil eye. He was unpredictable. He seemed to have an outburst of intense sorrow. “God has forsaken me.” “Can I be of any assistance to you and your God?” Otto asked. Ivan explained the situation. He had put some money in the machine and the goddamned thing jammed. Otto was already slightly fuddled, ran towards the culprit and unjammed it with his right boot. He couldn’t believe he had done this. Three bottles of vodka came rolling down. His foot and leg felt sore. He suppressed a cry of pain. “This is a miracle. It is a sign from God. I only paid for two!” Ivan cheered. “God loves you,” Otto replied casually. “You see what true faith can do!” He took off his shoe and rubbed his sore foot. 18 In return doctor Ivan told him the story of the bear, as they sat down in a porch and digested the sacred water. It was about an old bear that was bought from a circus by the mayor of a small village in former Czechoslovakia to attract rich German tourists. The plan was that the bear would appear now and then at long range among the trees of the wood, so the Germans would have the illusion there was some big game in their village, since all the bears and wolves had disappeared from their region for years. Create an illusion and rake in the foreign currency, was their motto. After all: the economic crisis was getting worse. Shrewd advertising was the key. They ran off a stencil and pinned up the hand-outs on the trees at the border. As it happened, that day, at the opening of the hunting season, all the Germans were gathered before the local inn, ready to shoot some game, the bear managed to overpower his guard (a circus kid) jump on his bike and ride off brazenly, as it had been his performance in the circus for many years. He noticed the crowd, thought they were his audience, and started to make some rounds. One bewildered German tourist shot himself in the foot. That was the beginning of a series of unhappy events for the mayor and his village. The German sued them all. The entire village was sentenced to pay the costs and the mayor was sent to prison for ridiculing the German honour. The kid was exiled from his country. The bear led a happy life though. He was appointed mayor of the village (by the government) for the rest of his life. “Do you have a wife, Otto?” was Ivan’s conclusion. Otto tried to keep up with Ivan’s logic. This was a difficult one. There was a faint connection, assuming that the bear was on par with his wife and he with the village. “Had one, once,” he sighed. “So did I... Can’t forget her. I got over my stammer, though!” In a brothel he lost track of Dr. Ivan. Or was it the other way around? Did Ivan lose track of him? He remembered the red 19 lights, the floor show, the happy faces, the sweet savoury taste of warm human meat on his sucking lips. He even recalled himself phoning an enigmatic message to Charly Weaver ‘that he was in for a big surprise’. The big bang. Charly mumbled something ‘to get lost’. So he did. A taxi had to bring him back home. Across the street, dogs were looking for bodies, if there were any. None of the neighbours could precisely say who lived nextdoor. A black man and his wives, was a well-spread rumour, but nobody knew exactly. Probably foreigners, someone suggested, but he had never spoken to them. “Accusing the black of being foreigners, are you?” He was rightly talked back by the Chinese shopkeeper who was boycotted by some locals, because he wouldn’t play Frank Sinatra’s ‘Strangers in the Night’ in his take-away. When Otto opened the door - miracles do happen- and got to his bedroom, he was too drunk to hop on the chair and put his head through the noose. He thanked his dad for his wise advice and he decided to postpone his suicide until the next morning or whenever he woke up. 20 3. Loretta. It took him a while to come around, that next day. He’d heard phones ringing, but he hadn’t bothered to pick them up. He couldn’t recall him possessing one at that moment. After a while they stopped by themselves. The smell of his sheets pushed him out of bed. He stumbled into the bathroom and prepared himself for the confrontation with his own face. If it looked like he felt, it must be horrible. And it was. He stuck out his tongue: it was yellowish. His eyes were swollen. There were scabs on his lips. They tasted funny. Only his moustache passed the test. That disturbed him surprisingly. So he started to cut it off with scissors, then he shaved it with a razor. It made him look younger. Sweet deception. He took a shower and enjoyed the jets of warm water over his naked body. He was all confused. On his upper left arm he suddenly spotted a tattoo that spelled LORETTA. More confusion. “Who the fuck is Loretta?” he groaned. His mind was a complete blank. He moistened his finger and tried to rub the evidence off. It didn’t work. He cursed his foolishness. The solid facts were shouting at him and they hurt. As he wiped himself dry, he heard someone playing the piano with one finger. He remembered that tune from the night before. It had saved him from taking irresponsible action then. That couldn’t be his mum playing, could it? A new sign? A new warning? “You drink too much, son!” It reminded him of his dad as well and of the longing for breakfast. A cup of tea, two eggs and toast with marmalade. Back in his bedroom, he saw a girl sitting at the piano. She had 21 taken the chair from under the noose and sat down in a careless manner, wearing no clothes only jewellery and slippers. (She surely wasn’t the image of his mum as he remembered her. Mum would never wear jewellery while playing or whenever. She found all outward frills obscene. No rings for her, no pearls, no expensive clothes, no male genitals. That was probably why dad had been imprisoned: he was yearning for some human tenderness mum wasn’t capable of providing for. He had never meant to rape those girls in the woods. Not without a good beating beforehand anyway. He adored a good struggle before the love act. So did his fellow prisoners. Not necessarily in that order. They had the courtesy of finishing him off after sex. No witness à charge. Go with a blast...) The girl kept on playing that same tune with her right forefinger. She looked up over her right shoulder, as he stood behind her. Otto was bewildered and speechless. He had to restrain his hands from caressing her shoulders and breasts. The hangover helped. “You don’t remember me, do you?” she smiled. He shook his head. “My name is Loretta...” She gracefully stood up and laid some garments, that were scattered on the other side of the bed, over her left arm. She kissed him on his cheek as she passed him by. “I’m going to have a shower first. See you later.” Though he didn’t remember her, it explained a lot. The name on his arm for a start. Loretta. What had he been doing yesterday evening? Had he beaten her up like his father? Had he been a beast like his father? He was prepared for the worst. It was too easy to blame genetics. Otto was in a cold sweat. He quickly put on a shirt and wide trousers and waited for Loretta to come back. Anxiously. The glamour girl reappeared after a while, wearing a red transpar- 23 ent gown and feathers in her hair. Her shoulders were decently exposed, as were her half-moon breasts. Her kneecaps took turn showing themselves through the pleats in her dress. Otto saw no signs of bruises or injuries. That was a relief. He hadn’t beaten her. No excuses required. “Let’s have some breakfast,” he suggested. “What a good idea!” she smiled. She made him a cup of tea, two eggs and toast with marmalade. Outside they heard the noise of indistinct voices gradually increasing into orchestrated shouts and slogans as a demonstration of skinheads and people dressed up as soldiers came nearer. “Keep this city clean! Death to all terrorists!” They carried banners and flags. Windows of Pakistani shopkeepers got smashed. Polish cars were pushed over. Morroccan dealers were beaten up. Frank Sinatra was sung aloud and shamelessly. Clubs and guns were put up. Here and there shots were fired. There was also a political squadron of suits, smiling as they saw the trail of destruction and the fear of accidental passers-by around them. Thousands of fists were rhythmically accompanying the choirs of unsatisfied howling. Thousands of boots were stamping on the cobbled road. An occasional policeman stood aside and watched the mass passing by. They stopped at the open space across where a suit (a local politician called Liebrecht) took the loud speaker and incited his troops. “How much longer will we tolerate injustice? How much longer will we suffer under foreign rule and under multicultural laws?” A unanimous yell of approval resounded. Otto sighed and drew the curtains. He felt uncomfortable and insecure. Otto Gerald was not a current name in these parts. He 24 was a stranger as well. How long would it be before they’d turn on him? He sat down at the table and started buttering his toast. Waiting for the first brick to be thrown through the window? The tattoo on his arm began to radiate. It glowed in various shades of black and red. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” Loretta said. “What...?” “Being a coward...” Otto was taken by surprise. He was baffled. “They can sense your fear,” she went on. “Why don’t you fight them?” She knew. She knew he had given up. He wasn’t proud of it.What could he say? That he had become an old man, that his talents had been rejected? That he was drowning himself in self-pity? Otto was looking at the doors, expecting them to be thrown open any minute. She was right, he was a coward. Loretta poured another cup of tea and smiled knowingly. “That’s why I’m here, you never wondered?” “As a matter of fact...” “I’m your ally. I’ll fight with you. I can make your fear disappear.” Otto didn’t exactly know what to do. Laugh or cry? It was all pretty much the same to him. How could she possibly fight with him, save him, make his fear disappear? He didn’t believe in instant miracles. Then something incredible happened. Loretta went to the window, pulled open the curtains, and covered her breasts. She pointed at the crowd and gave them a piercing look. The dark warriors all looked up to her, as if she was their leader and they cleared off 25 without complaining. Otto was baffled again. “I can cure any pain,” she went on, as she saw the last skinheads turn the corner. She laid her hand on Otto and mumbled a couple of words. The pain in his arm wore off immediately. She made it clear, it was beyond doubt, that she was pulling the strings. She was overwhelming. She ran her eye over his paintings that were piled up against the wall. “What you need is a masterpiece. You’ve got to paint again. Fight.” All that womanly attention made him feel awkward. He didn’t want a second Eveline Unger in his back, a second millstone around his neck. Wasn’t there a catch? There was always a catch... And yet, in a strange way, he was attracted to her beauty and her powers of persuasion. “Don’t you want to put Charly Weaver in his place? Don’t you want to show Archie Brubaker?” she challenged him. “You play the piano?” “You noticed?” she smiled. “Yeah, I noticed.” “I’m learning... I heard you play it as well. You’ve got lovely fingers.” “I used to play in a band, when I was younger.What do you know about painting?” “Trust me. A lot! Can you cope with that? Can you accept that from a woman?” Considering where he stood yesterday evening, the noose round his neck, he had nothing to lose. Perhaps she was right. He had to trust her. Beauty didn’t need further arguments. After all she was his saviour. Why not put his fate in her hands? He had to fight. Show no fear. “I can cope with that,” he decided. 26 “You want to commit yourself? I’ll help you with your painting, if you help me to play the piano.” While she said that she was caressing his hands, fondling his fingers one by one. “We can help each other out!” He was almost slobbering. “Then our secret pact is sealed,” she said solemnly. So she made him paint. He worked like mad. He looked possessed. “I’ll be your model,” she said. Loretta posed in the background, being her lovely self. His passion for honour and glory was reflected on the canvas. She gave him a heavenly vision of angels sitting on clouds and guiding the mortal under their wings. Loretta throned in the middle of it. She was wearing her red gown. She pointed at him and touched his finger. The flock gathered round her. “More red!” she said. The brightness of the red colours exploded in the face as if heaven was on fire, as if all hell had broken loose in God’s garden. Two days and three nights it took him to finish his painting. Two days and three nights of continuous painting, measuring, comparing, brushing, mixing and putting on layers, thus creating depth and infinity. It simply fell into his lap. For the first time in his life he felt like a bold and proud conqueror, led by God through hurricanes, nasty winds and stormy seas, eager and impatient to conquer more and at the same time eager to show the treasures and wealth of the new continent he had discovered to his compatriots who were left behind in the safe surroundings of their native grounds. For the first time in his life he felt like a caveman, who had discovered fire and wanted to share his knowledge with his tribe. For the first time in his life he felt like a glider, delivered from the forces of gravity, floating high above all earthly sorrows and pain. Was this what Archie had meant? Find the woman inside yourself? 27 He was breathing God’s air and walking on holy ground. The result was there. He was exhausted. He stepped backwards, tapped his brush against his forehead, and growled satisfied. Loretta hadn’t lied. It was a masterpiece. “I think it’s finished,” he muttered under his breath. Loretta nodded her head. “Don’t forget to sign it! We want the world to know who painted it after all.” Otto signed it with his full name, Otto Gerald. Normally he’d sign with his initials, but not this time. So proud was he of his work. While Loretta was taking care of the practical aspects of the case (the artistic afterpains, as he used to call them), Otto had time to have a walk in his town. His checked shirt hung out of his trousers. He still wore his hat. That was a kind of trademark. He ran into the kid with the green bike and the even funnier green hat. “You want a ride Mister?” “No thank you.” “No problem Mister!” The kid rode away. He walked into the pub where he had had the meeting withArchie and where he had most likely ended up when he had painted the town red. He looked around, saw the same people, the same barman leaning over the counter. Alexei and Boris were still bitching around new customers. It was as if they hadn’t left since. King Fred immediately came over as Otto sat down on his spot, back to the wall. “With or without that funny moustache, I recognize you!” he began. “There’s a small bill to be settled first.” Otto didn’t want a few details to ruin his excellent humour and paid his bill without complaining. “Here you go, my good man, keep the change! And bring me a pint of your best ale!” 28 “That’ll be another...” “And don’t forget the customers at the counter or yourself!” Otto insisted. “That’ll be...” King Fred couldn’t figure that out at such short notice and strolled towards his friends. He announced the good news to them and took their orders. “Four whiskeys, three vodka-martinis and a pint of lager.” As the atmosphere was warming up, Otto saw a man rubbing his forearm over the window from the outside and pulling funny faces against the cold glass. Otto thought he recognized him and waved him in. He was right. It was Dr. Ivan, who had a good nose for parties and free drinks. And it looked as if it was going that way again, Otto being extremely generous, the people at the counter singing dirty folk songs. Ivan came in and sat down at Otto’s table. They exchanged greetings. After which it was impossible not to drink. Ivan pointed at Otto’s upperlip and said approvingly: “Nice touch!” “I felt like shaving it off.” “Yeah, sometimes a man has to do, what a man has to do...” Ivan said with a deep raw voice. Otto smiled. Ivan went into the kitchen for a moment and came back with a plate of sausages. “Out of my secret store,” he winked and offered him a piece. “Eat, eat,” he insisted. “It is good to eat while you’re drinking. Slavic tradition.We don’t get plastered after a few drinks like the natives.” “Let’s drink to that,” Otto agreed. After the usual chit-chat, Ivan suddenly grabbed him by the arm and started to whisper. 29 “I heard that something happened to you. Besides the moustache. It’s something else. You look happier than before. Is it an inheritance or possibly a woman? Either way: we can share it...” “Does it show that much? I must be an open book.” “I’m Don Ivanovitsj. I’ve got special sensors in my head and last time you told me the story of your life. So, it’s not a big deal. I know.” “Did I?” “O yes, you were dead drunk.” “You told me the story of the bear, I remember.” “Did I really? It’s a good story, isn’t it? Should I tell it again?” “No, I still ...” Otto waved his memories into place. “So, tell me, what happened? Is it money? Is it a woman? Something you want to share?” “If you must know: something did happen, but I’m not allowed to speak about it...but I can show you...” 30 4. Ivan’s visit. Ivan felt ill at ease when they reached Otto’s place. He looked stealthily at the activities around the exploded house. “Don’t be afraid,” Otto reassured him, “It won’t explode twice...” As he put the key into his front door keyhole, Otto warned Ivan that beauty was the equivalent of danger. That statement alone gave away how much they had been drinking. They were in phase two: earnestness had taken over (again). “Yes, yes, I read Oscar Wilde as well,” Ivan understood, “In Polish of course.” “Once I was young and beautiful,” Otto sighed. He turned over to see Ivan’s reaction. There was none. “Now, I’m only beautiful!” Otto smirked. “I’m terrified,” the ugly man said. Otto pointed to a door in the passageway. “That’s my basement,” he explained. Ivan heard a distant moaning. Otto banged at the door. The moaning stopped. “Every man should have his own basement!” he chuckled. “I suppose so.” Ivan shrugged his shoulders. Otto winked Ivan to go upstairs. “Beware. Nobody has seen this before...” Those words made a much greater impression on Ivan than Otto could have expected. Ivan sensed the danger. He crossed the treshold with caution. There was no light in the passage. Suddenly he stood still and started sniffing, as if there were toxic smells floating around. He carefully examined the walls and the floor, as he went further into Otto’s house by touch. He looked up at the ceiling. A cold shiver ran down his spine. “Sorry, for the inconvenience, just follow me!” Otto said. Ivan had a few sniffs before he entered the room. There was definitely something wrong, but he couldn’t tell what. Perhaps he 31 had to throw up. Otto opened the door of his studio, invited him in, and showed him the picture. “Behold, the work of the master!” he exclaimed. Ivan, who had accompanied Otto merely for sharing women or money and eventually a good laugh afterwards, was unexpectedly exposed to Otto’s masterpiece. His legs were trembling, as he stood before the painting. Otto thought to recognize the clean effect of elaborated and excessive drinking and offered him a chair (and a bucket). Ivan refused to go and sit down. He kept on trembling on his feet. “I sense the presence of evil,” he mumbled. Otto was puzzled by Ivan’s reaction. The presence of evil? Ivan’s aversion to the heavenly creatures surprised him. The angels seemed to have stirred in the deepest pits of his mind and manure was floating on top. Perhaps it was Ivan’s mood of the hour. The painting certainly had some effect on him, but not the intended. Crazy Ivan went on. He stared at the emptiness behind the painting and pointed into the dark. “She is here. I can sense her. My beloved one, my devil, death’s breath!” Trembling forefinger. Deep throat. He managed to remove a knife from the workbench and gazed wildly. Eyes wide open. Lips shivering like a wobbly rucksack. Fingers squeezing the wooden haft. Otto seized him by the arm and was trying to calm Ivan down. They were both trampolining simultaneously. Ivan trying to get by Otto, Otto trying to stop Ivan butchering his painting, as Loretta interrupted (out of the blue) with a much lower voice than normal (due to the slow motion): “Protect me!” The voice of Loretta had surprised Otto. Who was that screaming? It had distracted him. Pearls of sweat fell from his forehead as he turned around to see where the sound came from. Then he saw Loretta. Face in a deadly scream. Arms swinging wildly to 32 33 avoid a fatal stab. Ivan took advantage of this hesitation. He broke loose from Otto’s grip and charged at the painting like a wild bull. Leaden feet moving about. Instinctively Otto grabbed the hammer he used for putting together his frames. He didn’t want to hurt his friend, nor did he want to lose his painting or his beloved Loretta. The hammer weighed a ton. “Stop him!” Loretta howled, “stop him!” Otto did. He hauled the hammer and swung it from behind his back. He hit him violently on the head. Ivan dropped down like a sack of flour, blowing up a cloud of dust in the air. Little particles of madness. “I think I killed him,” Otto said, as he tried to turn over Ivan’s body. He heard his father laughing at him from wherever he was: “Son, I’m proud of you!” Loretta stood up and kneeled down next to Otto, who was still sweating, trying to recover from a strain. She stroked his wild locks and comforted him. “It’s all right, Otto, don’t be sad, we’re safe. Nobody’ll miss him.” She kissed Otto gratefully on his mouth and gently pulled him down on the floor. Old man down. She tore his shirt from his body, jerked his pants open and down, and twined her steaming legs round his bottom. She pushed and drowned his griefs in a goading compulsion to come. Old man being raped. The sorrow of a lost friend, was quickly forgotten. After a while Otto raised his head and saw Ivan’s face staring at him with a big smile. He scrambled to his feet and checked Ivan’s pulse and breath. “He’s still alive,” he said amazed, “The lucky bastard is still breathing.” “You could finish him,” Loretta suggested. Otto poked him in the ribs. Ivan groaned. He looked like a helpless puppy. “No, let’s keep him,” Otto said with a tender heart. “Slaves are not easy to finish. You see. There’s nothing wrong with him. Come and help me put him back on his feet.” Loretta was very reluctant to help him. Nevertheless, she got up, put on plastic gloves, and grabbed Ivan by the feet. They dragged him to an armchair, where he sat down, not knowing what had happened to him. His rage had completely vanished. Otto put a wet cloth on his forehead and tried to make conversation. It was a hopeless task. Ivan filled the chair with his weight and smiled at them. That was about the only thing he did the following hours and days: sit in that armchair and smile. Otto took care of Ivan’s gaping wound expertly. He had to put thirteen stitches into it. When Ivan started to dribble, he fed him some soup, because liquid appeared to be the only substance he could keep down. Soup, water and from time to time a sip of vodka or beer, which he seemed to appreciate a lot more, considering his broad grin. He didn’t like potatoes or any other solid food. They just splattered down from his lips onto his chest, where they congealed. Otto had taken off Ivan’s trousers and had put a bucket between his feet, approximately the place where his pee would land, because he didn’t want Ivan to wet his trousers or the floor.When the tinkling against the metal sides started, it needed a few inches of adjustment. Everytime it was an annoying race against time. When he was too late, he had to clean up the floor and scrub Ivan’s hairy legs, two tasks he didn’t look forward to. That’s why he kept him within earshot. Loretta came up with the idea to put on nappies and change him on a regular base, since he didn’t want to get rid of him. That appeared to be the more practical solution 34 in the end. When people came over to look at his painting (mostly gallery owners Loretta invited), he’d put a white sheet over Ivan. It lent style to the room. Man under blanket. He named it a living sculpture. On one subject they all agreed. The painting was a masterpiece. The following days he had the visit of a few journalists, two local ones and one nationwide. They covered the story in their papers. Especially the nationwide paper wrote a large article full of praise and there was a photograph of him and a glimpse of the picture. That had also aroused CharlyWeaver’s curiosity. Charly even did the honour of visiting him personally this time. “Got lost?” Otto welcomed him. “Show me this new picture of yours,” Charly talked agitatedly. “It is a new one, isn’t it?” He tried to rush into Otto’s workshop. “You read the newspapers nowadays, Charly?” Otto smirked and cut him off. It felt great to put Charly in his place. “Where is it?” Charly had a nervous look in his eyes, as he jumped to look over Otto’s shoulders. Archie drew in his belly, shuffled sideways past them, and waited aside. “You were not so anxious the last time, Charly. How was the funeral, by the way?” “What funeral?” Archie lifted up his eyes in a cry for mercy and turned round. Otto laughed up his sleeve, let Charly pass by, and followed him to his easel. He removed the white cloth he had hung over it for the occasion. “Eh... voilà, here it is!” he said triumphantly. Charly started inspecting the painting from all sides. Otto could see the sweat dripping from his eye-brows. “You ... painted a woman. People like that.” 35 “You don’t?” “But, I do,” the big poof maintained. “What do you reckon, Archie?” Archie knew all the right words. He analysed the painting in a way that beauty wasn’t mowed down. Otto liked to put a seal on his lips when people were speculating about his paintings and his themes, as Archie was doing at that moment on Charly’s request. “I like your new style,” Charly said in the end. “When will you be able to transport this painting into my gallery?” “Your gallery? What are your options, Charly?” Otto chuckled. “The usual ones, Otto. After all, we go back for a long time, don’t we?” In the background Loretta was shaking her head. “I was offered more, Charly,” Otto kept him off. Archie started whispering into Charly’s ear, after which Charly cleared his throat and announced that he would exhibit Otto’s painting at any price. Otto looked at Loretta. She nodded her head. Otto came up to Charly, shook his hand and said: “Next week, we’ll run over the last details.” Charly made a great show of his newest discovery. He had invited the cream of the nation’s cultural society. It was even on television. He made a glorifying speech Archie had probably written for him. He focused on the supporting and essential part his gallery played in the initial period and the final realization of this masterpiece. The word was out. A masterpiece was born. “And there’s a lot more to come, the artist reassured me,” Charly promised them. A murmur of delight went up. 36 37 “This is only the beginning,” Loretta whispered in Otto’s ears. During the reception she moved up and down the hall. None of the guests noticed her. She kept her ear to the ground as she held eye contact with Otto all the time. Otto was flooded with questions about who his inspiration was, where he got that new élan from. He couldn’t resist thinking little of them. Were they blind? Didn’t they see that lovely lady in their midst? He took refuge in commonplaces. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Women are an artist’s inspiration. One is never too old to be young at heart.” The journalists noted it diligently in their little black notebooks as if he was preaching a new religion. People he knew by name, were suddenly interested in him and his work. What have you done before? Where do you come from? Didn’t they have memories? Were they struck by lightning? He didn’t just fall out of the skies. He had a history. “I’m a Martian,” he said jokingly. “From time to time I come and visit your planet.” They laughed politely at his remarks and wrote them down. Headlines for tomorrow’s newspaper. He was overwhelmed with buying proposals. The evening was a smash hit. Charly was radiating joy. Archie came towards Otto. “You certainly surprised us, amazed us, and astonished us, Mister Gerald!” he said cordially. “Yes, didn’t I? We must have that conversation again, soon!” “We certainly will! By the way, may I present you to my friend Lukasz. Lukasz Vandervorst. He’s a talented carpenter. He could help you out to make the frames. Various other artists appeal to him already. He turns out excellent work.” The carpenter had a crooked nose and showed him some samples of his work in a portfolio. They seemed all right. “I think I’ve heard of you before. A salesman was telling me 38 about you!” Lukasz said. “I don’t know any salesman,” Otto replied quite curtly. “He knew about you!” Lukasz was amazed to hear. “How’s your wife doing?” “I make my own frames, Mister Lukasz, but no thanks. I’m not interested!” Otto was glad to get rid of him, his wife not being his favourite conversation subject. He’d rather nail his own frames, than have them done by an expert who was nagging about his wife. Archie introduced another friend of his. Mister El Zjerbia. Otto wasn’t too keen on meeting him, but he managed to remain polite. This Arab fellow didn’t speak the language that well enough to annoy him with his wife. “Nice to meet you!” “I like your painting very much!” He appeared to be a rich carpet salesman and overwhelmed Otto with kisses on both his cheeks. “You should come and visit me soon!” Archie smiled. “Have you met before?” he asked Otto casually. “As you could see,” Otto said jokingly and he wetted his lips. Archie disappeared in the crowd and let Otto mingle with other possible buyers. The painting was put up for auction and sold to the highest bidder. A museum in the capital bought it. Otto could live with that. He even posted Eveline’s cheque this time with a big smile. It didn’t matter that much anymore. He could afford to pay her off now. Pain came, pain disappeared, as the days and nights did, as light and darkness did, as friends and family did, in a natural way. He got calls from all over the world. They were waiting for a succession. There was work to be done. That was the good news. He set their minds at rest. “I’m working at it.” After a while he didn’t even bother to answer the phone. He was confident about the future. Ivan was still sitting in his armchair, waiting to be pampered, waiting to be fed. He started to make some shaking movements with his right arm and his head, as if he wanted to enlarge his action radius. Otto had to watch out for those twitching gestures, when he changed his nappies or spooned up his soup. He thought he could distinguish two tones in Ivan’s groans. One of approval, one of disapproval. He blamed his imagination. There was some improvement in Ivan’s condition, though. Ivan started to follow Otto’s moves through the house with his eyes. Light came and disappeared, as pain did. The wound on Ivan’s head was healing. Otto noticed Ivan’s heavy spasms when Loretta was in the neighbourhood. Ivan became restless and agitated. His eyes looked anxious. She never stayed longer than necessary, but Otto understood he considered her a nuisance and vice versa. Ivan’s eyes rolled when she started to play the piano. After a while, because she didn’t or wouldn’t stop, he closed them and fell asleep without the blanket. Otto started his second painting anyway. Inspiration came by itself. He painted sleepy, miserable, pitiful and dribbling doctor Ivan in his armchair. He couldn’t resist putting Loretta behind him as a caring and nourishing nurse. The bald ugly Polak and the lovely sexy maiden. When Ivan saw the painting, he nearly had a heart attack, but he survived, as Slaves usually do. 39 40 5. Buddha. Otto heard a stumble in the passageway. It couldn’t be Loretta, since she was practising the piano. It had to be somebody else. He opened the door and a young man with long black hair, sunken cheeks, bloodshot eyes and a pale face tumbled into his arms. It gave him a fright at first, but no harm was done. Otto dragged him into the living room, though it was more the other way around. The weight of the person pushed him a few paces backwards. “How did you get in?” Otto wondered. “The front door is locked!” “What front door?” The man was lost in amazement. “I opened it.” “Who are you?” Otto went on. Conversation was a bit awkward, since they were talking face to face. “You can call me Buddha. I’m an undercover agent,” Buddha winked. “My name is Otto Gerald. What do you want?” Buddha freed himself from Otto’s arms and tottered towards Ivan. He flopped into the couch next to the doctor, where he seemed to feel comfortable. “I’ll have the same as what the others are having, thank you.” Buddha winked again. “What others?” Otto was annoyed. “You don’t fool me. I saw the fuss at your doorstep. People queuing up to get inside.” He talked to Otto as if he was some kind of a dealer. Otto took a chair, sat opposite him, and suddenly understood: “I’m a painter. That’s the only thing I sell: paintings. I haven’t got the stuff you want.” “Didn’t you see me winking? I’m not really an agent.” “I’m not really a dealer.” “I’ve got time. Plenty of time.” Buddha closed his eyes and started chanting: “O-o-o-m!” and put both his hands breast-high. At that moment Loretta came into the room. “Who’s that character?” “A guy named Buddha. I don’t know him.” “You have to get rid of him.” “I’m trying.” “Try harder.” After his transcendental meditation, Buddha had a friendly chat with Ivan, who only answered with groans and convulsions. It was time for Otto to change Ivan’s nappies. Buddha grumbled: “This is not...hygienic.” Otto threw the nappies in front of Buddha to breathe in the odour. “Is this the shit you had in mind?” Buddha definitely resented the new events, but he stood his ground. “I’m not leaving, and moreover I’m not saying a word from now on. You hear me? You know my demands.” “What demands?” “I...” He swallowed his words and mumbled ‘not a word’. Buddha had got his teeth into the situation and he didn’t intend to give up. Otto was stuck with two odd customers and couldn’t care less. He had finished his painting. He put a cloth over Ivan and Buddha, who failed to protest because he had been undercover before, went to the bedroom, and had sex with Loretta. A bit of womanly attention. Next morning Buddha was still present. Otto saw him and Ivan sitting side by side in their armchairs, snoring under the blankets: they formed the ideal couple. Otto grinned. He went into the kitchen and prepared Ivan’s breakfast, as he didn’t know whether Buddha was having any. He took the cloths from their bodies and recoiled in horror because of the smells they’d been treating each other to. He opened a window and let the city breeze in. Two 42 repulsive smells mixing. He went to the cupboard, opened the door, took out a box of cigars, lit one, inhaled deeply, and came back. The aroma of the cigar dominated the stench. It made it more tolerable. He started feeding Ivan milk and soaked biscuits. Ivan could already keep half of the biscuits down. The rest dripped on his shirt. There was an improvement, broadly speaking. Him having a companion and all that, was a bit of encouragement. Otto felt Buddha staring at him. “You want some?” he asked him. Buddha maintained his silence.After a while he started dribbling. “Appears to be contagious,” Otto mumbled. So, he scraped off the rest of the biscuits from Ivan’s shirt and gave it to Buddha out of compassion. Buddha swallowed the goodies greedily. “That’s about all the service you’ll get here,” Otto warned him. Buddha’s sobs gradually died down, as his pants became wetter. Otto told him off and pushed a bucket towards him. “If you’re too stubborn to use the toilet, use this bucket, for Buddha’s sake!” Loretta came out of the bathroom. She was stark naked. Ivan began to flap his arms and legs. Buddha was filling the space with spiritual singing and other nasal sounds. “My dear, be considerate, we have guests!” Otto urged her. She ignored his remarks, showed off her perfect body, and went to the bedroom. One hour later, Archie rang. Otto opened the door and let him in. Archie saw the bandage on Otto’s hand. “What happened?” “A small accident.” “Nothing serious, I hope?” “Lost a finger.” “That must have hurt a lot.” 43 “It wasn’t so bad.” “Is it finished?” “The painting you mean? Yes. Finished, done, completed,” Otto smiled. Archie tiptoed to the picture and suppressed a shout of surprise. He watched with bated breath and said: “The woman in the picture intrigues me.” “Does she now?” “She’s all woman. Don’t misunderstand me. It’s the expression in her eyes, I think. There’s something cold in her warm-heartedness. It makes her so vulnerable.” Archie clapped his hands together before his mouth. He recovered quickly and changed the subject. “Same conditions as before, Mister Gerald?” He put his portfolio on the table and opened it. They put their signatures at the bottom of a pile of papers. Archie filed the documents up and suddenly noticed the two landmarks, Ivan and Buddha, sitting in the back of the room. “Who are they?” he asked. “That’s the guy from the picture, the one with the satisfied grin, he’s a doctor, who was so willing to pose for me.” “He looks so peaceful...” “He likes it here. It must be the air.” “I think I know the other one.” “The other one’s Buddha. Buddha doesn’t talk!” “He told me once he was undercover.” “Not really. Anyway: he doesn’t talk.” “He doesn’t talk to you,” Buddha firmly corrected. “I feed them from time to time,” Otto explained this miraculous change of course. “It’s always a pleasure to hear the dumb speak.” Buddha turned his head away and shut up. “You see how easy life is with those two?” Otto continued. 44 “What about me?” Loretta suddenly intervened. She was wearing a black negligee. “Are you hungry, my dear?” Otto asked her. “I’ve already eaten, thank you,” Archie replied. While Loretta was studying Schumann’s Träumerei, the national press was informed about Otto’s new work of art. They were delighted. They spoke in their articles of a new movement, the Gerald movement. A Japanese museum bought the painting. When Archie brought him the good news, he saw Buddha and Ivan sitting, side by side (in perfect harmony) on the couch. “Are they still here?” Archie was surprised. “Apparently. You’re welcome to adopt them, though. I’ll make you a good price.” “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve got my own worries.” He started cleaning his glasses. “You don’t have to feel contempt for us,” Buddha objected. “We all have a purpose in life, as little and insignificant as it may be!” “I don’t hold you in contempt,” Archie answered and put his glasses back on, “I only wondered why you were still here.” “I’m on a mission. The person next to you knows. The painter! Ask him,” Buddha jested and blew some imaginary cloudlets of smoke into the air. “I can only deal you a hard blow on the chin,” Otto replied. “ I’m very good at it. Ask my wife!” “You know I’m not talking to you, until I get it. My nose has never let me down.” “That was when you needed it to sniff cocaine.” They were bickering like a married couple. “You agree on pretty much everything, I hear,”Archie established ironically. “Charly asked...” “Yes, let’s hear that for a change,” Otto sighed. “Tell me about your worries!” 45 “He asked me when to expect the next painting.” “Tell Charly true art cannot be rushed. As you see, I’m working on it.” Archie saw the unpainted canvas on the easel and knotted his brows. “Just give me some time,” Otto requested. “He’s going through an emotional reversion,” Buddha mocked. “Don’t mind him. It’s just...” Otto showed him his hands. There was another finger cut off. He had to keep his end of the bargain. Loretta scratched his back and he scratched hers. “Another accident? You should go and see a doctor.” “Ivan is a doctor. The guy with the purple socks.” “He doesn’t look much like a doctor to me.” “He does what every other doctor does though. He picks your pocket when you’re down.” Archie touched Otto upon the shoulder on his way out. “Go and see a real doctor,” he whispered in his ears. The idea of painting two drug addicts, with Loretta as their happy dealer took Otto no more than the evening to come to him. Inspiration from heaven or wherever it came from. He got carried away by circumstances and impulses. Colours and paint were flying about. Buddha caught a glimpse of it. “I can see that you’re painting me,” he said. “I’m not posing for you. I protest with great emphasis.” “I thought you weren’t talking to me.” “I’m not talking to you as an individual. I speak on behalf of the oppressed. This matter has to be settled.” “You’re free to go.” “I won’t go.” “Shut up then and sit still.” 46 “As long as you know I’m not posing for you. I’m not a cheap model. I’m a customer, a very unsatisfied customer.” Buddha got angry, felt uncomfortable and looked at Ivan, who, considering the state he was in, didn’t show many signs of oppression. The view of Ivan and the prospect of happiness calmed him down. Otto continued observing Buddha and Ivan. He took great pleasure in annoying Buddha, measuring him through his mutilated hands, finding the right proportions. Buddha, for his part, tried to disturb Otto’s concentration and kept changing positions. He and Ivan lying arm in arm, sitting back to back, Ivan with the cloth over his head, left leg over right, right leg over left. He invented the Kamasutra of posing in group on site. It didn’t bother Otto at all. “Since you are painting me, I want a fee,” Buddha demanded. “So you are a cheap model!” “Now that I’m at it: I’d prefer to consider myself an expensive model.” “I’m not painting you,” Otto defied him. “I’m merely painting a character, who happens to sit in my studio.” Buddha consulted Ivan. He tried to convince him of the gravity of the situation. He got a few groans and a few syllables out of him, which was more than could be expected. “My friend wants a fee, too,” he translated. “Let him speak for himself!” “My friend has chosen me as his spokesman. The vote was unanimous.” “Painting and democracy don’t agree.” “That’s pure exploitation.” “Call it what you want. For me, it’s an opportunity.” “You’re taking advantage of us, poor working class.” “As I said, you’re free to go.” “My friend is not free to go. He can hardly move. I have to show 47 solidarity.” “He’ll be happy to acknowledge that. The country he’s from has got a great history of solidarity.” “Is he a foreigner?” Buddha suddenly realized. “You don’t trust foreigners, do you?” Considering Buddha’s facial expression, Otto seemed to have touched a soft spot. “Why don’t you just give me the stuff he’s on and you are rid of me.” “Why don’t I just do that?” Otto mumbled. The hammer lay on the cupboard. The temptation was great. Buddha was swivelling round in the couch as if he wasn’t so sure of his case any more. Had he misjudged the situation? He observed Ivan again carefully and had a good look at his eyes. Ivan smiled. “You won’t leave me, now I was getting used to you, will you?” Otto teased him. The reverse psychology had a reverse effect on Buddha. “I see what you’re up to. You won’t trick me.” He decided to stay. Otto continued painting and stayed in good spirits. He hummed a tune to himself and was quite delighted with the result. He took a cigar out of the box and lit it. Buddha was stretching out his nose for a few Havanna-smells. Otto puffed away and blew a couple of tiny circles in the air. “You want to see it?” he asked Buddha. Buddha’s eyes grew bigger at once. Even his nostrils broadened. When Otto added ‘The painting, I mean!,’ he closed them again. Otto insisted and finally Buddha gave in. Meanwhile he sniffed at Otto’s sensual tobacco odours. “You like it?” “Very much.” “The painting!” “As well, as well,” Buddha resumed his consciousness. “That 48 woman in the red dress,” he wanted to know, “she knows her stuff, I can tell. What is she on? What does she sell? Perhaps I should approach her with my problem.” “Why don’t you?” “I don’t know any women like that. You should see mine. Poor simpleton. Can I have a smoke?” “You want a cigar?” “Anything.” “Here you go.” He gave him the butt of his cigar. Buddha seemed delighted and decided to take a closer look at the painting. “How did she lose her fingers? An angry Japanese client? A Yakuza? Or is she just clumsy like you?All fingers and thumbs?” Otto decided not to reply. The crack troops of art and politics gathered again in Charly’s gallery and event hall, as he loved to overrate his showroom, to drown themselves in champagne and wine. It was fashionable to attend an Otto Gerald’s exhibition and meet the great of the earth. Otto wasn’t particularly fond of that fussy excitement. He stood aside with Archie, next to the bar. “Fill them up again, bartender!” “You should do something about your working conditions,” Archie advised Otto. “You should take some safety measures. I’m worried. Look at your hands.” “A crippled artist should arouse more sympathy, shouldn’t he?” He drank his glass of wine and put it back on the counter to be filled up again. “People start asking questions.” “That’s good for their education. Let them ask questions. Just don’t answer them. It keeps their minds working. Let’s find out what Charly thinks of it.” 49 Otto showed Charly his hands, who welcomed him with a broad smile. “Here’s my talented protégé.” Charly invited him into his circle of acquaintances, who were stuffing themselves with chocolates and hors d’oeuvres. The carpet salesman was there as well. He kissed Otto extensively on his face and gave him the number of his room in Hotel Oriental. “Isn’t that marvellous?” Charly cooed. Otto stuck his hands under his nose. Charly tried to lower them and offered him a glass of champagne. “You don’t see anything odd, Charly?” Otto asked him. “You don’t drink?” “I’ve got a drink over there at the bar.” Otto raised his hands again at Charly’s eye level. “Take a close look, Charly. Tell me what you see.” “There are a couple of fingers missing, old chap, aren’t there? What have you been doing? Sawing them off? Laying bombs?As long as you don’t blow up my house! As long as you don’t mark my door with a red cross.” Charly and the art factory immediately burst out laughing and Otto joined in. “Doesn’t this worry you?” Otto enquired. “Not at all, you’re an artist. Artists do crazy things.” “Archie is worried.” “Archie even thinks that Dorian Gray is for real. For God’s sake. He’s the worrying kind.” Charly calmed down and whispered in his ear. “Prices are going up. I think I’ve found an interesting buyer for this chef d’oeuvre. The Arab. Stinking rich!” He tapped Otto on his shoulder and winked. “You see, nothing to worry about.” Otto went back to Archie and grinned from ear to ear. “You see, nothing to worry about! Everything is under control. My kissing buddy is going to buy. He’s stinking rich!” 50 “That’s very good news.” Otto grabbed a glass of wine and knocked it back. “He comes from the East, you know, and he sells carpets!” He filled up his glass again. “I was aware of that.” Archie kept his head. “Why don’t we go home, before Charly puts us on his selling list?” “Good idea, Archie my boy!” Otto had to admit. He was getting drunk. Archie drove him home. Good soul! Otto sat in the back with Loretta. On their way they overtook the little kid with the green bike, still without a passenger. “What’s he doing up so late?” Otto wondered. “Who?” Archie asked. “You didn’t see him? That kid with the bike? He should be in bed by now.” “Oh, that kid? You know what parents are like nowadays. Ir-respon- sible. The streets can be dangerous at night!” “That’s a nice word, Archie. It’s the way you say it, I think.” “Ir-res-pon-sible?” “I love the sound of that word.” He asked Archie to stop for a while at Fred’s. “ Don’t touch Loretta! She’s my woman!” he warned him. “What am I saying? Sorry Archie. You’re Charly’s boyfriend!” Archie mumbled and waited in the car with Loretta, while Otto bought some dope for Buddha who had been boring him to tears for weeks. The local dealer was in, so that was a matter quickly solved. Back in the car, Otto seemed relieved. Archie hadn’t touched Loretta. At the front door Archie asked him if he was able to go up on his own. “I could accompany you upstairs, if necessary.” 51 52 “Don’t you worry, Archie my boy, I’m not as old as you think. Besides: what would Charly say if he found out and... Loretta is here with me...” “Who?” “Loretta will look after me.” Otto kissed Archie good-bye, bumped into the door, but managed to go up without further accidents. Archie closed the door behind him and looked at the ruin of the house across. He was not the only one. People stood quietly, respectfully almost piously at a distance and gazed. They looked exhausted. This was the place were it all began. The first red cross. The first bomb. One woman stood out. She didn’t show interest in the piles of stone and wood. She wasn’t a regular pilgrim. She looked the other way. She looked at him and at Otto’s house. It made him feel uncomfortable. 6. Irene. The next morning there were three people in Otto’s studio. There was Ivan, there was Buddha, who sat brotherly next to Ivan, and there was that woman. She wore a short leatherish skirt, high heels and was either chewing gum or loosening her jaws. “Who are you?” Otto asked. “I’m Irene, the Irish siren.” It was definitely gum. It stuck between her teeth like a cobweb, Otto noticed. “Because of your charming attraction?” “No, because I always shout.” “How do you people all end up in my flat?” he wondered aloud. “I keep the door locked.” “I gently pushed it with my shoulder,” she explained. “So where is he?” “Who are you looking for?” “My man. Buddha, the brutal beast in bed.” She spat every b in his face. “Bonzo told me he was here.” “Bonzo?” “Bonzo the black Beduin, who likes to beat up blonde babes. By the way: my throat is dry!” She looked around for a drink. The glasses on the table were empty. Otto grabbed a towel and dried his face. “Oh, that Bonzo...” He didn’t have a clue... “Your man’s over there, under the cloth. He’s asleep, I think.” He went to the kitchen and poured some lemonade in a glass. She pulled off the cloth. Buddha woke with a start. When he saw Irene standing straddlelegged before him, he started fumbling for words. “I’m here for... business, Irene. Strictly for business.” He looked frightened. “Sitting under a cloth,” she sneered, “is that your business nowadays?” 53 “I work as a model. He has painted my picture.” He pointed at Otto. Irene burst out laughing. Otto brought over some lemonade. She sniffed at it and put it aside. There was no alcohol in it. She got serious. “She’s probably a model as well?” she pointed at Ivan. “As a matter of fact...” Buddha pulled Ivan’s cloth off, “she is a he!” Ivan opened his eyes and mumbled a couple of sounds. “Very convincing, you Buddha!” “There’s another thing...” Buddha tried to justify his presence over there. “I know that humbug from the pub.” Irene suddenly recognized Ivan, “Ivan, the Polish prick who likes to pinch purple panties. Having a party without me? You Buddha. You good-for-nothing. Where is the booze, where is the food?” “I’ll get you some sandwiches,” Otto suggested and he went back to the kitchen where he could easily follow the debates. She kept rattling on. “I’ll tell my sister Fiona about you. She likes flowers, my sister Fiona.” Irene remembered and hummed in a mellow way. “Flowers you’d never give me...” Otto tried to picture Fiona, the romantic sister, picking daffodils in the spring in her hometown, wherever that might be, as he was preparing breakfast, but knowing Irene, Fiona’d probably like to fuck foreigners in front gardens filled with flowers. Luckily, he didn’t have a front garden. “There’s another thing...” Buddha insisted. “What other thing?” Irene shouted. Buddha started whispering into Irene’s ear and she got very excited about it. Otto sighed. He could guess what Buddha was telling her, taking the amount of ‘Reallys?” she let slip into account. He came back 54 with breakfast. He put the plate on the table. As nobody showed any intention of eating or drinking, he started feeding them, one after the other. He was used to it. Even Irene shamelessly aped her man and sat there with her mouth wide open. She kept the gum behind her lower molars. Otto had to spoon over it. “You’re not leaving, I suppose?” he asked her. “I’m with my man. He told me he’s got some unfinished business over here.” “That’s what I assumed,” Otto sighed again. “You’re easy to convince, aren’t you?” “Some say I am. Some say I’m not.” She grinned from ear to ear. “Have you got any croissants?” she continued with an imploring look. “I’ll have to fetch them. There’s a bakery on the corner.” “I don’t mind waiting,” Irene smiled. “And patient as well!” Otto went shopping and left the door ajar. He returned on his steps and peeped. He saw how Irene managed to remove her gum from her mouth and how she stuck it under the armchair, where she’d probably pick it up later on. Then she jumped onto Buddha’s lap and kissed him like a mare on heat. Mrs. Simpleton indeed. He couldn’t imagine Eveline doing this. Eveline had never been an agile gymnast. It was like watching National Geographic. The beast within. He found it remarkable that two people bickering ended up kissing each other so passionately. “If we could only kill passion and live like humans again...” he mused. He saw Loretta entering the room, standing behind them, trying to calm Ivan down. It didn’t quite turn out as she intended. Ivan didn’t calm down. Loretta was the madam, Ivan became the hungry client, another desperate male, another unsatisfied customer. Otto had seen 55 enough. Too much excitement for him. He locked up the picture in his mind and cherished it. Outside on the pavement, the kid with the green bike came to a theatrical standstill just in front of him. Otto started. The kid smiled and took his hat off. “A ride, sir?” “No, I’m going to the bakery.” “I know where that is. It’s across from that Chinese take-away.” Otto remembered Archie’s ‘irresponsible’ speech and decided to investigate the matter more closely, for the sole purpose of satisfying his curiosity as a painter. He accepted the invitation, sat down, and let the kid drive him to the shop. “What does your father do?” he asked. “I live with my mother.” “What does she do?” “She’s an artist.” “An artist, is she?” Otto sighed. It left him speechless. “How old are you anyway?” “I’m fourteen.” “You look much younger!” He decided to enjoy the ride, though the little one had great difficulties in keeping his balance. Nevertheless, the kid took over conversation: “What’s the story with that Polish fellow? Does he still live at your place?” he asked casually. He apparently knew about Ivan. “Until he gets better. He’s very sick.” “Not too bad, I hope?” Otto pretended he hadn’t heard the question. The kid luckily didn’t insist. Finally they reached their destination. Otto looked for some small change in his pocket, but the kid refused it. “What an unusual kid,” Otto mumbled. 56 57 “What an unusual man,” the kid mouthed. Otto saw the Chinaman discussing music with one of his customers, on the other side of the crossing. In the end the Chinaman broke a record and spat on it. The customer left the shop enraged. Another Sinatra fan humiliated. Otto went into the bakery and bought the croissants, headed home and walked a few times round the block, before he came in again. He timed it to perfection. The ships were ashore and moored. The goods had been successfully loaded and unloaded. Buddha and Irene were still bathing in sweat. Ivan smiled as usual, but he had bruises all over his chest. The animals had calmed down... Archie joined them for breakfast. He dropped by to see if everything was all right with Otto. Otto introduced him to Irene. There was still an exchange of heat and passion going on between her and Buddha. There were gusts of flaming desire floating in the air. “Where do those people keep on coming from?” Archie wondered. “If I only knew...They’re like mildew on the wall. Suddenly they’re there...” In the room next door, Loretta was playing Debussy’s Clair de lune. Ivan threatened to doze off between two feeding turns. Otto had to wake him now and then. “Where is my husband’s painting?” Irene started up conversation with Otto. “It’s not here. It’s on display in a gallery nearby.” “When can I see it?” “You really should ask Archie. He works over there.” Irene questioned Archie about it. He fed her the opening hours and explained the way to the gallery. Otto fed her with croissants. Archie stood up and discretely went round Otto’s studio. While he was browsing through old paintings, he found himself in Otto’s bedroom, where he discovered some surgical instruments on the bedside table. He saw the blood stains on the cloth where they were displayed. Could Otto have mutilated himself intentionally? What would he have done that for? He also found a cheque Otto had addressed to Eveline Unger. He knew her. What was Otto Gerald paying Eveline Unger for? He was amazed at it and put it back in its place. His hand was shaking. He realized he had seen things he wasn’t supposed to see. Back in the studio, he saw Otto had given Buddha dope, probably to appease him and to urge him and the siren to leave. He allowed himself to sit down for another short while. He was struggling with his conscience. Should he ask Otto about the knives and the cheque? Should he ask about the dope? “I told you, I told you!” Buddha grinned with delight at Irene and rolled a joint. They were in heaven. Otto awaited the outcome. Irene and Buddha showed no intention of leaving. They enjoyed blowing. Archie was fidgeting. He didn’t smoke. He finally got up and went towards the door: “Charly’s expecting me. It’s after nine.” On his way down, he passed four Arab looking fellows, sunglasses, djellabas and white keffiyehs, one of them being El Zjerbia. They were in a hurry. They didn’t recognize him. He rushed back to the door and listened to what they had to say. The salesman took his time to kiss Otto and all his ‘models’. He drank tea and seemed to be very happy to see where his painting was made. He chatted with Otto about art and wanted to see his brushes. Archie frowned. What was going on behind that door? Should he go in and give Otto a hand? He hesitated. The moment he decided to enter, the door was opened for him and the four Arabs left Otto’s room chitchatting, discussing and probably swearing as well. Archie couldn’t understand them that well, crushed behind the door. 58 In the afternoon Loretta reproached Otto for his passive attitude. He should have got rid of Ivan, Irene and Buddha a long time ago. Why hadn’t he wasted Ivan in a back alley? Why hadn’t he dumped that Buddha parasite from the first day on? She particulary took offence to him for not kicking Irene out at once. Irene wasn’t reliable, she said. Irene twisted him round her little finger, as well as Buddha. She’d most likely squeeze him dry. Loretta couldn’t tolerate the presence of another woman under the same roof. She couldn’t put up with other people having sex in the same house. Otto was far too lax. “You’re not jealous, are you?” he teased her. “Me jealous. You must be kidding!” Otto took her along to the pub to calm her down. It was a rainy day. She sought shelter under his umbrella as they walked to the pub. “I don’t need to be calmed down,” she took offence. He pressed her against his chest and kissed her on the lips. “In the end they will all go. Then there’s only you and me,” he reassured her. The rain dripped from the umbrella onto her shoulders. “In the end,” she whispered, “there will be only you and me!” She sounded determined. He pulled her into King Fred’s pub. His usual spot wasn’t available, but people automatically made room when he entered. “For the moment they don’t bother me!” he tried to soothe her. “They put you off the one thing you should be doing. That’s painting,” she argued. “They’ve given me inspiration.” “They’ve served their purpose.” “Eventually.” Otto felt the customers staring at his table. They were overhearing his conversation. He wasn’t happy with it and looked angrily 59 in their direction. They immediately turned their heads away and minded their own business. Even Alexei turned away and put his hand on Bitchy Boris’s shoulder. It was nice to be famous. Otto emptied his glass. Loretta left hers. He knocked it back. Beer shouldn’t be wasted. “He’s an artist,” King Fred explained when they were gone. His customers nodded understandingly. When they got back home, they found the place turned upside down. There was no doubt about who the perpetrators were. Buddha and Irene had left the building. That was one problem less for Otto. Nothing seemed to be missing. They just rummaged through his things in order to find more dope (in vain) and they cleared off with the disappointing knowledge there was nothing around. That must have been a shock to Buddha who had frittered away his valuable time, Otto could imagine. Buddha had emptied the fridge at least, to cover the expenses. Ivan’s departure on the other hand was a matter of time, he supposed, him recovering day by day. Otto began to tidy up his place. He couldn’t possibly work in sloppy circumstances. It took him the rest of the day. At nightfall he tried to start a new painting. He tried to remember Irene and Buddha, the expression on Ivan’s face and Loretta’s confident but cold attitude. He couldn’t put one streak on the canvas. It was as if all spontaneity had left him. He was running on dead batteries.Was it because of his quarrel with Loretta? The tattoo on his arm was tingling. He rubbed it with his mutilated hand and showed a twisted smile. He still had seven fingers left. “How many fingers does it take to hold a brush?” he wondered. He knew people who painted with their feet, even with their mouth if necessary. His future was assured. 60 He got Archie on the phone at the crack of dawn. Charly took over at once. “What a coincidence you called me, Otto. I was going to call you. Have you heard the news?” Otto didn’t know the first thing about it. “There was a burglary in the gallery last night. Your painting has been stolen. I’ve already informed the police about it. Can you imagine the publicity that will bring us?” Charly seemed more excited than worried. “It’s a setback.” “Not at all, Otto. The painting has been paid for. The Arab guy was supposed to collect it this week. It’s a matter of insurance. He’ll recover his money or his painting, if the police catch the thieves. Who knows? At all times it’s a stroke of luck for the gallery and for you, don’t forget that. It’s a gift from God and Allah. We’ve struck gold.” Otto informed Loretta. She already knew. She took away the pain on his arm. They were back in business... 61 7. The Dwarf. The sun was shining, after days of continuous drizzle. Otto felt confident again. He breathed more freely. He couldn’t resist the impulse and went to the park. “A ride, sir?” “To the park!” The kid had expanded his business. He had mounted a rotating bar and two wheels under the tub of a wheelbarrow and was the proud owner of a bike with trailer. He had also fixed a horn on his steering wheel, which he blew every ten seconds. The extra weight required more effort, but the daily rides had developed his muscular strength, especially round the calfs. The park was only five hundred metres away from where he lived. It took the kid about ten minutes nevertheless. Otto didn’t care a hoot. He enjoyed the scenery, the bumps and people passing by. The pedestrians initially tended to curse the odd biker and his passenger on the pavement, but when they recognized Otto Gerald, they controlled themselves, and waved hellos and goodbyes to them in good spirits. He was an artist after all. “Is that Polish fellow getting any better?” the kid informed casually. “Yes, he is. Do you know him?” “Not at all. Just trying to have a conversation,” the kid excused himself. In the park, another passenger, a dwarf wildly gesticulating in the middle of the path and urging them to stop, came aboard. He climbed upon the seat behind the driver and whistled to his dog, a black mongrel who happily jumped out of the bushes and started running about around the bike. The kid was clearly not prepared for that. He turned his steering wheel in panic and fell over. The trailer capsized and Otto ended 62 up with his full weight on the cracking ribs of the squeaking dog. The dwarf managed to rescue himself from a desperate position with his little arms and legs and after he had given the kid a serious bawling, he started whining about his dog. “You’ve killed my Adolf. You’ve killed my Adolf.” The kid was also upset. He was seized with a cramp and held his head with both his hands. “Are you all right, kid?” Otto asked. “My head hurts!” Otto scrambled to his feet and inspected the kid’s head. “There’s no blood showing!” “I’ll be all right. I’m used to these headaches!” Otto turned to the dwarf, whose anger was infectious. He became upset as well. He wasn’t too fond of that nameAdolf.All that crying for a dog named Adolf. “He’s still breathing. Steady on!” He tried to calm down the dwarf. The little man suddenly brightened up as he recognized Otto and stopped whining. He pointed at him. “You’re that painter everybody is talking about.” Otto had to admit he was. “Yes, I’m Otto Gerald.” “My name is Mischu the dwarf. I’m a dwarf, as you have probably noticed.” “Mischu?” “Yes, it means, little bear in some foreign language. I’m so happy to see you in person. My friends won’t believe me.” “We have to take care of your dog, Mischu. We have to bring it to a vet.” “The dog needs help!” the kid sulked. “Of course he needs help, but not from a doctor or from a vet,” Mischu replied, “they’ve treated me badly once, not twice.” He firmly held his ground. 63 64 “We could take him home. Where do you live?” “I live on the other side of town.” “I live nearby. We could take him to my place.” That suited Mischu well. The kid as well. He seemed more concerned about the dog than the dwarf. “You heard the man, kid. We’re going to his place. Don’t forget to ring your bell.” “We’ll probably be faster on foot, Mischu.” “No way, the kid owes us a free ride. He’s responsible for the accident, after all.” The kid picked up his bike and trailer and put Adolf in the back with Otto. Otto pushed his felt hat in the dog’s wound trying to staunch it. Mischu sat behind the kid and waved to everybody who passed them by and poked the kid in his back to ring the bell more often. The kid did his best: he rang his bell, squeezed his horn, and kept up his pace. “Hello, Fiona!” Mischu saluted a barefooted woman who was embracing park trees. “Look who’s with me.” Fiona turned around and smiled. Then she saw the dog and her face darkened. “Hello, Bonzo!” he saluted a fierce looking black man with a turban and a roughly carved walking-stick. “Do you know him?” The dwarf pointed at Otto. Bonzo turned around and growled. He didn’t know him. Otto had heard nicer growls before. “Hello Frank!” He saluted the Chinaman from the take-away. The Chinese shouted something back. Foreign language always seems so aggressive. It took the kid less than five minutes to get to Otto’s place. The kid was worn out. Sweat was pouring down his face. He wiped it off with his funny green hat. Otto wanted to pay him for his effort, but Mischu stopped him. “You don’t want to pay for a clumsy ride, do you? Scram, kid, scram!” The kid was puffing and blowing. “I don’t want your money,” he replied offended as usual. “He doesn’t want it anyway,” Otto apologized. “Stupid kid...” Mischu said. The kid helped carry the dog upstairs. They laid the dog on the table. Otto went to his bathroom where he kept bandages, disinfectants and all his other pharmaceutical stuff. He attended to the dog’s wounds as well as possible. He managed to stop the bleeding and had to put two paws in splints. In the end he wasn’t too displeased with the result. The rest was up to the animal. They’d have to wait and see. The kid sat next to Ivan and stared at him. His head still hurt. Unconsciously he made odd faces at Ivan. Mischu saw him: “Are you still here? Scram, kid, scram!” The kid hurried outside. “You did a good job,” Mischu congratulated Otto. “Thanks.” “For a painter, that is.” “Well, I’m not a trained nurse,” Otto urged in his defence. “You could easily be one.” “We’ll have to wait and see... what the outcome’ll be,” Otto quickly added. “Can I stay over until he recovers? Adolf needs my attention. He’s a vegetarian.” “That’s quite unusual, for a dog I mean.” Otto felt partially guilty for Mischu’s discomfort. It was after all his weight that had crushed poor Adolf and it wouldn’t be advisible to move him in such condition, he thought. “You’re the first to ask. Yes of course you can stay over. There are some vacancies for the moment in my humble sickbay.” He showed him around. “Meet Ivan, my other patient. You can install yourself next to him. He’s a Polish guy, but nobody has ever complained before.” 66 Ivan stared vacantly into space and welcomed Mischu: “Hello!” “Hello,” Mischu replied, “I’m Mischu, nice to meet you. So you’re Polish. My mother was Polish. What village or city are you from?” “Hello,” Ivan moaned. “He’s got amnesia?” “You can say that.” “That explains a lot.” “Yes, he’s good at chatting, once you get to know him,” Otto affirmed. “I can look after him at the same time,” Mischu proposed. Mischu suggested, contrary to the other present and previous guests, lending a helping hand in the household. That was a relief to Otto. Despite Mischu’s height, he managed to do the dishes, while Otto was painting. He even fed Ivan properly. A bond grew between Ivan and the dwarf. Mischu gradually taught Ivan how to eat by himself. He sat on Ivan’s lap and stuck the spoon, filled with porridge between his fingers. In the beginning a lot of food was spilled, but in the end, his attempts proved useful. Ivan could finally splash a part of his food into his mouth by himself. Ivan was enjoying his time with Mischu. One day Mischu called Otto to come and watch. “We’ve been practising something for you,” he said mysteriously and he stood a couple of metres in front of Ivan with outstretched arms. He hummed and rolled the drums. He then asked Ivan to stand up and to approach. Ivan stood up, still shaking on his legs and made two hesitating steps, after which he fell headlong. Cymbals! “It’s a miracle,” Mischu shouted enthusiastically. “Did you see that?” 67 Otto nodded and smiled as he saw Ivan smiling and crawling back to his seat. Mischu insisted on going to the park every evening in Otto’s company. He cheered up during these walks. Otto took him on his shoulders and followed Mischu’s instructions where to go. Mischu knew the park like the back of his hand. “Now people notice me, sitting on your shoulders,” he beamed and tapped Otto on the front of his head to go straight forward. Otto quickly learned the commands. Pulling his left ear was ‘go to the left’. Pulling his right ear meant ‘go to the right’. Pulling both his ears was ‘hold on’. Rubbing over his hair meant ‘go slowly’. Knocking was ‘speed up’. “Before people came over to my dog and eventually had a short chat with me. Adolf was an attraction.” “Hopefully your dog’ll get better soon.” Otto had high hopes. He had called for a vet anyway, without Mischu’s knowledge. The vet didn’t seem too much displeased with his operation. Mischu pulled Otto’s nose. “What does that mean?” Otto asked him. “Sorry, nothing. I lost my balance.” People came over to Otto to have a conversation with him because he had been on television and in the newspapers and they’d seen him. Imagine their surprise when they discovered he wasn’t doing the talking, but the top storey was. Mischu didn’t beat about the bush. His sole aim was having sex with the passerby as soon as possible. Amazingly some people did jump at his proposal. Either they were intimidated by Otto’s presence and Mischu’s smooth talking or, and it has to be said, they just wanted the thrill of having sex with a dwarf. When a potential customer presented him or herself, Otto kneeled down, so that Mischu could jump off and disappear with his love victim into the bushes. He waited patiently reading a book on a bench. 68 On one of those occasions the kid with the funny green hat stopped in front of him. “How’s the dog doing?” he informed. “He’s getting better,” Otto reassured him. “And the Polish fellow?” “As well!” “That’s good news!” The kid heaved a sigh of relief and took off. Afterwards Mischu’s sweethearts all loved chattering with Otto. Some of them wanted to know about the robbery or what his connection was with the dwarf. “I kind of stand in for his dog,” Otto answered without turning a hair. “He’s even better, he is,” Mischu confirmed. A guy wanted to talk about the weather and how great Mischu was. “It could be worse,” Otto tried to leave that aside. “It’s not the size that matters!” Then he paid Mischu and left. “You do guys as well?” Otto asked. “I can’t be choosy with my looks, Otto,” Mischu explained, “and I do great blow jobs.” Otto could imagine: no kneeling down for Mischu. There was that Marvin guy Mischu picked up, just when it started raining again. The park ground was too wet. They were talking about sick animals. Marvin wanted to come over to Otto’s place and look at the dog. Otto estimated him far under twenty. “Can he?” Mischu blinked. “He seems a nice guy. Why not?” Otto yielded. “We won’t make a mess, I promise.” “Just don’t go into the basement, that’s all I ask.” “Is that your secret room?” “Nah, it’s too dangerous. It’s rather messy. You could easily trip 69 over something and break your neck. I don’t need another patient in my house.” Charly was highly pleased with the fourth painting. He was already counting his benefits. Archie was impressed by the painting itself, but didn’t make a secret of his concern. He didn’t like Otto’s bizarre housemates for a start, he didn’t like the dog. Why didn’t Otto fix his front door? He was also worried about the knives he had found, the dope and Eveline’s cheque. He felt he had to protect the old man, especially because of his sudden fame. So he slipped him a revolver. Otto first refused, but Archie insisted. “My father took it from a German, it’s still in working order though!” “A Luger,” Otto said, “Genuine German craftmanship!” He couldn’t refuse. “You never know when you stumble upon a criminal mind. Wealth attracts thieves. Don’t let them harm you. Don’t give them an opportunity.” “I’ve got no money here!” “Exactly. That’s what they don’t know, but you’ve got your paintings! They are worth a lot.” “I’ve never handled a thing like this before.” “It’s a piece of cake. You put the bullets in the magazine, you feed it into the breech, aim, and pull over the trigger.” “I don’t like guns.” “Accept it for my peace of mind, please!” Otto did Archie a favour and put the gun in the closet where he stored his paint and brushes. “A Luger,” he kept on mumbling. Though he didn’t like pistols, he loved the Luger’s design and shape. Marvin, who occasionally came over to visit the dog (although 70 the dog looked askance at him) and at the same time Mischu, had a cleaning disorder. The loverboy spent more time in rearranging stuff and hoovering and dusting and putting lids on open cans and cleaning brushes in turpentine than in tumbling about with Mischu. Otto had no reason to complain. His bedroom always was impeccable. When Marvin had taken a shower or when he had gone to the toilet, the bathroom and the pot were spic-andspan. He even changed Otto’s bandages. Otto looked forward to Marvin’s visits. So did Mischu. With Marvin in the picture, there was no need for Otto to go out to the park that often anymore. Mischu preferred to stay in. They were inseparable. Marvin didn’t mind, but he kept a subtle distance. Adolf took care of that. “Marvin, why don’t you stay?” Otto once begged him. “The dog doesn’t like me. That’s the beginning of the end!” “He’s worse than a mother-in-law!” Otto smiled. “I’ve got a lot of work to do at home. My mother would make a scene if I left her. The dog wouldn’t!” “If you should ever reconsider. My offer always stands. Your mother can always stay in the basement, if she wants. It’s a good place to hang out.” Otto chuckled to himself. “In fact, it’s a good place for dogs as well!” “Thanks for your hospitality. Look! Ivan has spilled some food on the ground. Have to put that right.” Mischu and Marvin were a lovely couple. In the evening, when Otto was painting and Adolf was asleep, they sat on the couch, hand in hand and watched television. Ivan often sat between them with both their hands in his lap. He seemed to be able to follow the broadcasting, because when there was a romantic film on, all three of them sat crying buckets. Marvin kept on handing out the kleenex. Ivan blew his nose. One day (Mischu had to go to the supermarket) Otto casually 71 asked Marvin what he found so attractive in Mischu. Marvin let the cat out of the bag: “Small people make a small mess...” Surprisingly Loretta hardly objected to Mischu’s and Marvin’s presence. She didn’t even mind them playing around, when she was practising her finger work. They kind of moved and danced on her music like two ballet dancers. She enjoyed people appreciating Chopin’s Fantaisie Impromptu and getting excited by it. The dog Adolf had probably also touched a tender spot, with its imploring eyes, following all her movements when she was around, begging for her tender caresses. That she had in common with Mischu. They shared the affection for that helpless creature Adolf, who could already raise his right paw painlessly. It has to be said: the dog preferred Ivan to Marvin and to Archie (He growled at them). Love’s not always mutual. Ivan wasn’t wild about Adolf. He couldn’t keep the dog off him. The irresistible scent of Poland! Otto couldn’t resist grinning every time Ivan spilled his hot soup over that loyal beast. The day Adolf stood on his four paws was almost taken for granted. The dog was staggering at first, but determined to find his way to a bowl of water Loretta had put there. It was a miracle, the vet admitted later. He’d never thought the animal would survive the accident. Ivan, on the other hand, took much more time to progress, but his condition was better. He was still not up to normal standards, but his skills in communication had improved. His vocabulary had extended, not spectacularly, but considering the state he had been in, every word was a gift from heaven. He also managed to copy Adolf’s first steps, but had to acknowledge the dog’s superiority in matters like these. There were some wonderful and thrilling moments though, before he fell. 72 The situation in sickbay was brightening up a little. That was for sure. Only Otto was going the wrong way... One morning that weekAdolf’s quiet but persistent barking drove Otto out of Loretta’s embracing arms. Marvin had gone home as usual, Mischu and Ivan were asleep under their cloth.Adolf stood wagging his tail at the window. Two men with long coats, as if they didn’t have any legs, just coats and feet, were pacing up and down the footpath across the street. They kept on walking from one streetlight to another and back.Adolf couldn’t figure out why they didn’t lift a leg when they passed the lampposts. Every time they missed an opportunuty to do so, he reminded them of it by a swift bark. They stopped people passing by, inspected their documents, and ended up meeting each other in the middle, where they compared notes. From time to time they looked up at Otto’s apartment. Adolf had probably caught their eye. Otto withdrew a pace so they couldn’t see him. He tried to lure Adolf away from the window. “Here, boy, here boy.” Adolf reluctantly took shelter next to Ivan. It became a daily routine, the two of them standing guard in front of his place. Otto got used to them. He had given them names: Walker and Daniels. John and Jack. He even began to like them. Adolf certainly did not. Strangely enough, every time Otto wanted to go out and have a word with them -they were humans after all- they had disappeared. “Have you seen Marvin lately?” Otto asked Mischu. Mischu shook his head. Otto could see he was worried, too. It was not typical of Marvin to stay away for days and days, nor to leave without a message. He was always so considerate. 73 “I’m taking the dog out for a walk,” Mischu said. Otto understood it was an excuse to go and search for Marvin in the park, to make some inquiries about his whereabouts. “A bit of fresh air will do Adolf good,” Otto approved. “Be careful he doesn’t bite John and Jack!” “John and Jack?” “Our two guardian angels.” “Police?” “Probably.” Mischu grinned: “I’m taking the dog out for dinner!” The walk pepped the dog up. The mere sight and smell of the trees and the bushes revived it. He was wagging his tail, while he was marking his borders again and sniffing up the fresh scents of bitches’ heaven. In contrast to Mischu, who didn’t find anyone to his liking. He was too busy making inquiries. Nobody had seenMarvin or heard about him. Mischu felt uprooted and abandoned. Otto had to comfort him. That was not easy. Mischu was beyond consolation. The dog tried to cheer him up by licking his balls, begging him to go out for walks. Even Ivan felt there was something wrong with the dwarf. In an attempt to show his compassion he laid his arm round the little man and almost strangled him. “I’m going,” Mischu said resolutely one day. Otto understood he was leaving. Mischu had given up waiting for Marvin. He had no reason to be there anymore. Adolf was cured. The park was his destiny. “You know where to find me. If Marvin shows up... Anyway I’ll come by to visit Ivan from time to time. I want to be kept informed of his progress.” “That’s very kind.” “He’s recovering, isn’t he?” “Little by little. He’ll be out soon, like your dog.” That reassured 74 the dwarf. He went up to Ivan and kissed him on the forehead. Ivan seemed to like that. “See you soon, ugly Polak!” he smirked. The ugly Polak smirked back. “By the way, I like your new painting. You portrayed us sharply, as we were. Physical imperfection in its perfection.” “The one does not exclude the other. Look at me.” Otto showed him his hands. Another finger was cut. The dwarf wasn’t impressed. What was worse after all: being a dwarf or having a few fingers cut off? “I’ll be a star from now on. Me and my dog.” He loved Otto’s painting. Adolf agreed and followed the dwarf with a gentle bark. Archie seemed a bit troubled when he came by to collect the painting. “What’s eating you?” Otto asked. He saw Archie hesitating. “It’s Charly,” Archie finally admitted. “What’s wrong with him?” “We broke up.” “Trouble in paradise?” “I’m looking out for a place to stay.” “I can help you... I’ve got a vacancy.” “The dwarf has left the building?” “Yes he has.” “I would consider it. There’s a problem though. I’ve got a new boyfriend, Marvin. You know him.” “Marvin. Our Marvin?” “The same...” “No problem at all, we like Marvin, don’t we, Ivan?” Ivan clapped his hands. They all liked Marvin. 75 76 8. Marvin and the ex. Marvin was whistling in the kitchen. He’d done the dishes from the night before, mopped the kitchen floor, and was making breakfast. He was in a cheerful mood, as he was gently stirring up hot water and poaching some eggs. The tea-kettle was on. Sausages were sizzling in the pan. He was everybody’s sunshine. He was setting the table for four as Archie entered the room. Archie yawned and stretched out. He pulled up a chair and sat down. Marvin went to the couch, where Ivan and Otto sat sleeping and pulled off their blankets. They rubbed their eyes as they were struck by the sudden light and tried to remember where they were. They looked around and saw each other. Then they saw Archie sitting at the table. “Come over here and have some breakfast!” Archie gestured to them. Otto put Ivan straight on his feet and grabbed him under the arms. Or was it the other way round? Because Ivan had noticeably recovered. They reached the table together. Otto looked pale and had bags under his eyes. He painted too much. Marvin had warned him again and again. “Don’t overdo it, Otto. Calm down.” Archie had probably incited him to say so. “Try to keep up with my pace,” Ivan grinned. Otto slept next to Ivan on the couch and just awoke to have breakfast and to work. He hadn’t seen Loretta for days. She slept alone. She preferred to eat later, when everybody had showered and eaten and gone to work. Marvin had a part time job in the local supermarket, where he filled the racks and sat at the checkout from time to time, when the cashier was on a break. He was always the first to get back home. Archie often put in long hours at the gallery. Charly kept him dangling. That situation couldn’t last forever. Archie came up with a cunning plan. He proposed to give Otto a new contract. “Do what you think is best,Archie!” Otto had put his trust in him. Archie suggested to get rid of the old contract with Charly (‘Get rid of old Charly!’) and to cooperate exclusively with him. He had all the contacts on the scene after all. They didn’t need Charly’s gallery nor Charly’s experience. There were more places in the world and Archie was an expert on the matter. Archie knew the exact words! They could both benefit from a new arrangement. So they did. Archie became Otto’s personal agent and he tried to leave his mark on him from the first moment. He tried to convince Otto to slow down. It was difficult to get that across to Otto. Charly grumbled about it at first, but he couldn’t take legal action against it, because Archie had put a clause into the old contract that stipulated Otto could resign from it at any time. Nonetheless he exerted all his strength to recover his goose with the golden eggs, but had to reconcile himself in the end to Archie’s ingenuity. The fifth painting in the row became a hot item, especially because the robbery of the third one remained unsolved . Otto had his suspicions about who the offenders were, but Archie advised him to keep silent about it. Mystery was to their advantage, even though the police lamented. “Shouldn’t we consider El Zjerbia. It’s his painting after all.” “Has he contacted you?” “No!” “Why bother then?” So Buddha and Irene were off the hook for the time being. One morning (Archie and Marvin had both gone to work) Otto heard a thumping on the stairs. 77 78 He thought it was Mischu, coming over to visit Ivan but it appeared to be two old people, hauling themselves upstairs, a man and a woman. Halfway up they rested for a while, gazed at the remaining steps to climb, and gazed at him, patiently waiting at the top. The woman didn’t look her age. She was in fact much younger, but life had left its scars. The man had been through a lot and acted accordingly. He seemed tired and burnt-out. The two joined Ivan on the couch. Ivan was still asleep. She took her knitting-needles out of her handbag and started knitting. He picked up a book out of his pocket, removed the bookmark, and started reading. The woman was looking around while she was knitting and said: “It’s quite tidy over here.” “Thank you. It’s not my merit,” Otto had to admit. “Can we win a prize by any chance?” “We’re actually Marvin’s parents,” the old woman began to explain their being there. “That picture was on the telly. We saw it. With Marvin and that dwarf. Your name. They all say it’s art. We don’t know anything about it, but Marvin is our son and we are worried. We don’t particularly like this neighbourhood. It’s a dangerous area, with all those bombings. You understand?” “The bomber marks the doors with a red cross. Did you know that?” the old man sighed. He held his finger on the last word he had read. “I’ve heard of that,” Otto nodded. “It’s like in the old days.” The old man removed his finger from the page and resumed reading. “I suppose you want to see Marvin? Marvin’s quite a jack-of-alltrades, isn’t he? I don’t know what time he’ll be back. Why don’t you go and meet him in the supermarket where he works? It’s nearby.” “We don’t want to bother him there. As a matter of fact we came over to ask you a question. Is he happy?” “I suppose so.” “You set our mind at rest, Mister Gerald,” she said. The husband agreed. She stood up and thanked Otto. Her husband did the same. “Tell him we miss him.” “He’ll be happy to hear that. That was it?” Otto was still waiting for the point of their visit, but there seemed to be no further point. “That was it. We’re just simple folks, Mister Gerald. Goodbye, and goodbye...” She hesitated to take leave of Ivan, who had woken up. Otto helped her out: “ Just kiss him on the forehead. He likes that.” Ivan pursed his lips. It was difficult to avoid them. “I love you, too, toots,” he said. He was definitely getting better. After their departure Otto incorporated the couple and their concern in a painting. Two old people, worrying about their son. He envied them. They had someone to worry about. That week somebody rang the doorbell. Archie looked dazed. He was late for an appointment -Marvin had already left for work - and it was the first time anybody used the doorbell since he had lived there. He couldn’t place the sound at first, but after a while, when it was accompanied by heavy knocking on the front door, he realized it must have been the doorbell. “Who is it?” Archie shouted from upstairs. Nobody went downstairs anymore to open the front door. “Open up, you lazy bum, it’s me. Eveline. Eveline Unger.” Archie stayed bewildered upstairs. He didn’t know what to do. He surely didn’t want to meet her. “Wait a moment,” he shouted. Then he entered the living room and woke up Otto. “There’s somebody to see you at the front door. An Eveline Unger.” 79 Otto sighed. “I’ll have to open the door before she knocks it off its hinges.” He went downstairs and banged at the basement door in passing by. Archie hid himself in the bedroom, as Otto came back with a fussing woman on his tracks. He left the door ajar so he could observe them. Eveline was gesturing wildly as she was trying to make her point. Otto sat down and let her say her say. That took a while. Otto was hardly listening and read the headlines in the newspaper, while she was yapping. (The police had found a new clue in what they called the robbery of the year. There were no names, though. That looked promising. More free publicity.) His reading got on her nerves. “I want more allowance!” The woman ended her miserable story of abandonment and how she was alone in educating their child. She stood straddle-legged before him. She had smelt money and she wanted her part of it. “First of all, I didn’t abandon you. You left me for another guy. A rich guy. A salesman,” Otto replied. Eveline suddenly appeared to be nervous. “Don’t you forget you punched me into the hospital. I’ve got proof of that. Felix has nothing to do with that.” “You’ve always been a great actor, Eveline.” One punch in her face, had determined the rest of his life. He blamed himself that he hadn’t been able to restrain his anger. He blamed himself for taking after his father at that moment. He blamed genetics. Eveline threatened Otto with a battery of legal steps she would take, with the lawyers she would saddle him up with. Otto pushed her gently towards the door, because she wouldn’t leave on her own. “Do you want to give me another beating? Please do!” she challenged him. 80 Otto didn’t fall into the trap, this time. She kept on cursing at Otto and the rest of mankind as she was descending the stairs. He stayed upstairs and waved her goodbye. “Don’t forget to close the door behind you, dear!” he said in good spirits, but his blood was boiling. “You haven’t heard the last of me.” Then she slammed the door. Otto went after her to make sure the door was closed. On his way up he banged again at the basement door. “Did you hear that?” he shouted. “What was that all about?” Archie suddenly stood behind him. “A woman in distress, it appeared, didn’t it?” Otto’s hands were shaking. “You handled her very well, if I may say so. At one point I thought you were really going to hit her.” “Never give a woman what she’s asking for, Archie. I made that mistake once.” “I must leave now, I’m already late.” Archie kissed Otto briefly on the cheek and left. Otto had prepared a tray with bread and cheese and a bowl of soup and put it opposite the door of the basement. He searched for a key in his pocket, opened the door, and carefully took the tray downstairs. It was dusky in the cellar. Two bulbs against the wall shed a scanty orange light. Nevertheless, he had to look where he was going. The stairs were covered with boxes filled with old school books, rolls of early sketches and jars with dried up brushes. At the back of the cellar sat a man. He hardly looked up when Otto put the tray on the table. He sat on a camp bed. He was chained up. Achain around his ankle, just to make sure he couldn’t escape from his cage. He could easily go to the toilet Otto had provided for and the 81 chair and the table, where Otto had put the latest newspapers and some magazines. There was also a number of cleaning products, neatly stacked in the corner. The cage was very tidy, the floor was impeccable (Mr. Proper), the bars shone (brass polish) and the toilet was odour free (La Croix). Otto’s tenant was one in a thousand, a landlord’s dream. Otto pulled the tape off his mouth, so he could eat. “I don’t like the tape,” the man said. “It is necessary,” Otto replied. “You’re not the only guest in my house any more.” “When will all this end?” the man sighed. “When the bank doesn’t pay out your cheques any more.” The man pointed to the newspaper. “What do you need my money for? You’ve become rich and famous. It makes no sense!” Otto shoved him a couple of cheques right under his nose. “Sign here and here. It’s a debt of honour.” Felix signed the cheques. “She was here, wasn’t she? I heard her.” “She was... and she’s still keen on your money.” “Did she say something about me? Anything?” “Let me think carefully... Your name was mentioned in passing. She didn’t tell me you were missing, though!” That day Otto had a conversation with Ivan while he was painting and Loretta playing the piano. Beethoven’s Für Elise. Ivan had a selective loss of memory. He did remember what had happened before the accident in Otto’s room and what had happened after Mischu’s and the dog’s stay. In between there was a gap. Otto had made some tomato soup. The pot stood simmering on a low fire in the kitchen. From time to time they filled their bowl, and dunked slices of bread in it. Gastronomic heaven! Otto was actually painting two pictures at the same time. One of Marvin’s uncomplaining parents and one of his angry ex-wife. 82 83 The beauty of anger. His unfaithful woman. “Have you ever been married?” Otto asked him. Ivan nodded as he was struggling with a piece of carrot that stuck on his chin. “Any children?” Ivan put up one finger. “One boy. He’s dead. Blown up. There were more than forty casualties, mostly children. His body was never found. He’s never had a proper burial,” he said. “He had sent me a letter that week to meet him, but he wasn’t there anymore. I came too late. That day my life ended.” “Do you miss him?” “I think of him every day. I wonder what he’d have said to me. He has never seen me. I’ve never seen him. What can a child say to a father who has abandoned him? What would I’ve said? Would he have forgiven me, would he have understood? I imagine what he would be like today. He would be fourteen now.” “And your wife, was she beautiful?” “Ahh...” Ivan slobbered. “A true artist. I hated her, I adored her, I wanted to kill her, I wanted to cherish her.” “You left her?” Ivan nodded. “That was even before my son was born. I wanted them to have a future. I took my chances. Go west, as they say. Seek fortune. It turned out otherwise. I’ve written her a letter to explain.” “And?” “She didn’t answer. She doesn’t want to see me anymore. I can’t blame her!” Then he dozed off. Otto took the bowl out of his hands and put it on the table. After two weeks Otto had a new visit from Marvin’s parents. They just wanted to know if Marvin was still all right. Otto explained the situation to them again. “Marvin just sleeps here. That’s better than spending the night in a park or in a building among perverts or addicts. He’s got a job. He’ll turn out all right.” They reconciled themselves to the facts. The old lady noticed the painting Otto was making of them and stood up. She pointed to it. “Look there, Thomas! Look at those old people!” “I wonder what they’re looking at!” Thomas replied. “I think they’re looking at us...” She sat down again and addressed herself to Otto: “We had to raise nine children, Mister Gerald. It wasn’t that easy. Eight girls and one boy. Marvin is our youngest. We were so pleased to have a boy at last. ” It was as if they blamed themselves for Marvin’s condition. As if he was the result of their poor education. They slipped him something that looked like a present. “Can you give this to Marvin?” “Of course!” Otto tried to put them at ease by saying what a responsible young man Marvin was and how lucky he was to be with Archie, a kind and tender and caring man. They would loveArchie, if they knew him. “We thought the dwarf was Marvin’s friend!” “Not any more!” “That’s a relief.” “It’s a relief,” Thomas agreed with his wife, “because we don’t believe in dwarfs that much.” “So you sang my praises?” Archie said casually afterwards. He wanted Otto to repeat them. “Couldn’t put my manager in the wrong, could I?” Otto smiled. “What did they actually want?” Marvin asked. “They left a box for you. It’s in the kitchen.” “I wonder...” 85 Marvin went to the kitchen and came back with the box and a big smile on his face. There was a cake in it.Acake for his eighteenth birthday, as the chocolate numbers on it indicated. He was radiant when he cut into the cake, despite a trickle of sadness Otto noticed. It quickly disappeared when Otto uncorked a bottle of champagne they all enjoyed. “I like strawberries,” Marvin said. “You can have mine!” Ivan was in seventh heaven and tried to join Archie in singing. It was a good thing the walls were properly insulated. That night Archie and Marvin went out for a drink in the hotel Oriental where the Arab guy stayed and came home in the small hours, as they said. There was some kind of party going on. They had great fun. Although he was the birthday boy, Marvin couldn’t resist doing the dishes before he went to bed. “Can’t sleep in a mess,” he explained. “I think I saw Mischu around tonight, I heard his dog barking,” Archie said. He was lending Marvin a helping hand. “He was probably looking for me.” “Do you think he could put a spoke in our wheel?” “We should always be on our guard.We mustn’t forget why we’re here. Is Ivan asleep?” Archie checked to make sure. The next day Marvin stayed in bed, while Loretta played Chopin’s magnificent Polonaise in A major. He was running a temperature and had spots all over his face and body. It happened overnight. Archie was panic-stricken. He asked Otto to take care of Marvin while he was away (he had to go to a gallery), a task Otto didn’t mind taking upon himself. “I’ve got a specialist at hand,” he said, “doctor Ivan!” “Doctor Ivan?” Archie didn’t seem convinced. “I’d prefer...” 86 Otto persuaded him. He’d keep a look-out, in case Ivan went crazy. Nothing of the sort happened.Archie submitted under pressure. Otto and Ivan prepared tea, gave Marvin antibiotics, and stayed at his bedside. Otto quickly forgot his own pain. Ivan felt useful again. “It’s something he ate!” he claimed. “It will come out, e-ven-tu-al-ly!” Loretta was in a bad mood. She was worried, not about Marvin’s condition, but about Otto’s painting performances. “They slow you down,” she reproached him. “It’s time to make a decision, Otto!” “I’m working at it, woman!” “I don’t see you working!” She went out for a so-called walk. It turned out to be a long walk. “I’ll come back, when things are back to normal!” To lend weight to her words, his tattoo started to hurt again. Just to remind him. Otto had other priorities than painting. Marvin’s fever wouldn’t pass. The spots just grew bigger. Marvin was suffering. He could hardly speak. Archie called for another doctor who took some blood samples. From that moment on the days were anxious, the wait for the results seemed infinite.Archie was a nervous wreck. He feared for his health as well, Otto could tell. “We have to do some more tests. He has to go to the hospital!” the doctor finally decided. “What’s wrong, doctor?” “Everything is under control,” the doctor evaded the question. “It’s something he ate,” Ivan insisted. So Marvin was taken to the hospital. That resulted in more pressure on all. Otto hurried to and fro between his home and the clinic, between Ivan andMarvin. In the hospital Otto was confronted with Marvin’s sisters and parents, all dressed in black, as if they had already given up on him. 87 88 Archie had things on his mind, other than working, talking, eating and sleeping. To be more certain, to feel more safe, he had his blood examined as well, he told Otto. He timidly waited for the results. There was sniffing and barking at Otto’s door. Mischu and Adolf came over to visit Ivan. The dog looked all right. So did Ivan, according to Mischu. He had brought a present for Ivan: black binoculars. “If the weather is nice, you can most likely see as far as Poland!” He was pulling his leg. Ivan was pleased as Punch. He moved his chair towards the window and started naming things he recognized and people he saw passing by or standing right in front of him. Adolf stood upright at his side, two paws on the windowsill, barking whenever Ivan said something. Ivan didn’t mind. He was too pleased with his present to mind the dog. “Your two guardian angels, John and Jack tried to inspect my papers when I came up here,” Mischu told Otto. “Yes, I know, that’s what they do.” “Adolf spotted them in time. Good dog!” Mischu patted his dog. Adolf heard his name and started wagging his tail. “Yes, he has recovered very well,” Otto agreed. “So has Ivan.” “Heard any news of Marvin?” Mischu asked casually. “He’s in hospital,” Otto answered. “A car!” Ivan shouted. Adolf turned around and barked to agree. “What has he got?” Mischu was curious about Marvin’s health. He was clearly not informed about it. Or was he just pretending? “What hospital is he in? What room is he in?” Otto gave him name, address and number and added: “For the moment he can’t have that many visitors. He’s heavily sedated, but there’s always someone with him. He’s got a lot of sisters.” “I’ll wait a couple of days.” Mischu recovered his calm. He didn’t quite fancy meeting Marvin’s sisters. “What’s the matter with your arm?” Mischu noticed. “Never mind. There is worse.” “Two men coming out the car!” Ivan and the dog seemed upset. “Shut up Adolf!” Mischu shouted. The dog pulled his upper lip and showed his teeth. Adolf stayed alert and kept a watchful eye. Jack and John stepped into the car. Two other men stepped out. The changing of the Guard. “You remember Archie?” Otto casually tried to change the subject. “They’re going steady. Marvin and Archie.” Otto failed to break the news gently. He failed to show some consideration for Mischu’s feelings. He was as sensitive as a surgeon with an axe, as tactful as a bull in a china shop. Too many emotions bring a man down. There was a hush. The message needed some time to get across to Mischu. The damage was done. Otto felt the urge to be totally honest about them and admitted: “They’ve been living here in my place for more than a month now, untilArchie finds a new place.” Two knock-outs in the same minute. Mischu went away in utter mourning. “Watch out. There are two fresh coppers,” Otto issued him a warning. “Never mind,” Mischu smiled, “Adolf will take care of that.” Shortly afterwards, Archie came home. He had been to the hospital. He felt down as well, probably because of what he had seen there. Marvin lying down almost lifeless, in the midst of his praying family. It was not a happy sight. Otto knew. “Mischu has been here, with his dog...” “Has he now?” Archie wasn’t impressed. When Loretta came back, she saw the lot sitting and feeling gloomy and looking dismayed. She sighed. This was hopeless, 89 she realized. She took Otto aside in the kitchen. “How’s the pain?” she said. That was cruel. Otto grinned. She continued: “Why aren’t you painting?” “Can’t keep my mind on it.” “I thought of a solution that will benefit us both. Marvin is in hospital, isn’t he? He’s being well taken care of, isn’t he?” “We’re not sure about the outcome.” “Would it be better if he were dead? Then you would be sure of the outcome.” “I would do everything in order for Marvin to survive,” he proclaimed at random. That was music to Loretta’s ears. She loved wild promises. “Let’s make a deal,” she jumped on his proposal. “You finish the paintings you’re supposed to be busy with and Marvin lives and as a bonus the pain in your arm will disappear!” Otto looked astonished. “Can you do this?” he asked her after a while. “I made you famous, didn’t I?” “This is far beyond....” “I can cure your pain, can’t I?” She silenced him. “The pain yes, but Marvin?” “Take it or leave it. It’s up to you. The faster you sell your paintings, the sooner Marvin will be alive and kicking again. I need your full commitment.” “It’s a deal,” Otto said without hesitation. It was more difficult to persuade Archie to focus back on business. Archie refused at first, he couldn’t accept, then he doubted, he couldn’t decide. He didn’t see the connection between Marvin getting better and Otto working harder. Otto pulled him over the line, arguing that he had to trust him, that he had to believe him. There were no rational arguments, he admitted. But there were probably no other arguments. 90 So, Otto started working again, day and night. He looked hurried and passionate, as if it was a matter of life and death. It was in his eyes. His own pain disappeared. Archie got infected with Otto’s zeal and set up an exhibition. Strangely enough Charly gave the best conditions and they didn’t have to worry: “I’ve installed the latest alarm device” and “I’ve got a new Italian help”. Archie got to know this Italian boy Mario Montebello well as he arranged all practical affairs with him. It ended in him doing most of Mario’s work and making all the calls, because Mario hardly spoke two words of English. He had a beautiful name and smile though. So, Charly’s gallery it was. Charly took this opportunity to announce a substantial reward for the recovery of the third painting. The paintings and the exhibition got splendid reviews. The critics just wondered why the painter was absent at the exhibition. Archie did his best to represent him. Still they hoped to interview Otto Gerald. Archie managed to keep them off at least for the month to come. Otto was not to be disturbed. He was praying for Marvin and looking for a compassionate God. So did Archie every time he came to visit him. It almost went without saying. In silence they prayed together for Marvin. 91 9. The son. Otto needed more and more time to recover from his wounds. He had only three fingers left. One painting, one finger, that was the standard rate. When he was at home, he was nursed by Ivan and Marvin who had miraculously recovered from his exhausting illness. Praying helps. Otto knew better. Loretta kept her promises. His reputation was sufficiently spread all over the world. His credit was more than good. He didn’t see the point of getting richer or more famous. He travelled and occasionally lectured on modern painting. Archie and Marvin backed him up in that matter. Loretta didn’t. She accompanied him on his trips abroad and continuously urged him to paint. She was his conscience. She made his tattoo radiate. A suffering even more painful than the mutilation of his fingers. “You’re not a painter, if you don’t paint!” was her motto. That didn’t make him feel any better. On the contrary. By some amazing good fortune, the third painting was found by then. An anonymous repentant sinner had discovered it hanging on his or her wall and returned it to Charly’s. He or she wasn’t averse to rake in the reward. Charly and Mario had their picture on the front page, posing in front of Otto’s painting and they kept silent about who the perpetrator was. In fact, whenever questions in that direction were asked, Charly gladly turned to his Italian help, who parried everything with a charming ‘Yes, thank you’ or a ‘No, thank you’, which occasionally led to hilarious situations. “Who did this, Mister Mozarella?” “No, thank you.” “How much exactly was the reward?” “Yes, thank you.” The earnest press quickly cleared off. The importance of being earnest. There was one clever journalist though who saw the 92 funny side of it and took advantage of Mario’s innocence to write a story about his private life. “Do you prefer older guys?” “Yes, thank you.” “You don’t want to end up naked in bed with a girl, do you?” “No, thank you.” Charly didn’t feel strongly about it. Even bad publicity, was publicity in his eyes. There was also a picture of El Zjerbia in the paper, kissing Charly and Mario. Arabs were obviously fond of kissing. Buddha must have struck some gold, because he moved to and fro in cabs. He even went to the pub by taxi and he generously gave rounds. “It’s an inheritance,” Irene explained to King Fred. She was chewing gum and blew a bubble that exploded in her face. “Blimey!” “Who died?” King Fred asked. Irene recovered the bits of gum and gathered them in her mouth. “Who died?” she shouted above the noise. “We’re all dying for a drink,” Buddha replied. He sat down at a table with Fiona and Bonzo. The empties needed to be cleared, but King Fred was on the go. “What’s keeping you, Irene?” “King Kong!” “Ding dong, girl, hurry up. We’re thirsty!” Before she went back to the table with the refreshments, she noticed a flashy red poster: Katerina Kajewska was to give a piano recital at the concert hall. She didn’t like that kind of music. Fiona probably would. Buddha turned to Bonzo, who sat on Otto Gerald’s spot, as King Fred had named that particular area of the bench, according to the 93 metallic label that he had fixed above. It had become a touristic attraction. “This is the spot where Otto Gerald gets his inspiration. So says the label.” “I don’t know that man!” Bonzo raised his shoulders. “He’s a famous painter,” Buddha explained to him. “ The most famous one. I met him. As a matter of fact, we both did, didn’t we, Irene? We modelled for him.” “And a marvellous man he is!” she agreed. “His paintings are worth a fortune!” “How many women does he have? Is he married? Has he got cattle?” Bonzo asked, immediately associating fortune with wives and camels. “He’s got none!” “Poor man!” Fiona laid down her head on his broad shoulder and cherished him as she would cherish the trees, the earth, thunder and lightning. Bitchy Boris did the same with Alexei. “I love the way you talk, Bonzo,” she supported him. “And I love the way you walk, dear...” King Fred came along with a tray, a sponge and a polaroid camera, while the knights of slither and gull were sticking fingers in their mouths as a sign of appreciation. “You want me to take a picture?” he proposed. “You sitting on O.G.’s spot? Five euro!” “No problem,” Buddha agreed. “Take one of me as well!” Otto got a couple of letters by registered mail. They were Eveline’s. She carried out her threat. She wanted her part of Otto’s funds. Otto passed them on to a lawyer’s office to be attended to. Master Houdini took care of it. It seemed an appropriate name, if you 94 wanted to escape from the claws of a frightening dragon. TheWalt Disney poster behind Houdini’s desk caught Otto’s eye. Mickey Mouse as Superman. He kind of liked it. “She doesn’t have a leg to stand on,” Houdini reassured Otto. “Are you still married?” “Officially we are, but she left me twenty-five years ago.” “At present you’re tied up with this ridiculous verdict of guilty as long as she lives...” “Do you suggest I should kill her?” “That would be a solution, but I’d rather suggest we take legal action..” “She wanted to live with a successful entrepreneur, who could provide for her!” “That’s irrelevant.” “Not for me. It isn’t. I hope she chokes on his wealth.” “Then there’s of course the matter of the child, its education. According to her he still goes to school. Either he had stayed down every class or he’s studying to be a nuclear engineer.” “I’m aware of it. She was pregnant when she left me. I pay her every month, dutifully.” “A bit too much, I should say. She’s also sueing you for moral damage, irresponsible parenthood and negligence.” Houdini continued. “How can I be an irresponsible parent? She wouldn’t let me near the child.” “Your wife was admitted to a mental clinic, I see, the first two years. She holds you responsible for that.” “I’m probably responsible for world ‘Unger’ as well.” “I see, quite amusing, Mister Gerald.” “Do you think so?” “Above all I think you have a case, a just case.” “That’s what I wanted to hear from you.” 95 “Would you like a drink?” Otto nodded. Master Houdini poured two vodkas. He seemed to like it very much. When he left Master Houdini, it stuck in Otto’s throat what might have happened to his son. Where was he living? Was he married? Was he happy? Otto approached Archie on that matter. He needed some advice. The kid with the green bike gave them a lift to King Fred’s. He turned around to see if Archie sat comfortably. “You’re that kid.” Archie recognized him. “From the hotel Oriental. You deliver the mail.” “Yes, I’ve got several jobs,” the kid answered casually and dropped his clients at Fred’s. “Remarkable...” Archie said. “He’s a remarkable kid” Otto agreed. “Did you know he’s already fourteen. You can hardly talk about a kid at that age anymore, can you?” “I saw the dog!” the kid smiled. “Yes, he’s okay. So is Ivan, you know, that Polish fellow!” The kid rode away and they went into the pub and sat down. “What would a son’s reaction be, when he saw his father after twenty-five years?” Otto came straight to the point. Archie was taken by surprise. He had never expected a question on that level from Otto. He had abused him as a painter, he had felt sorry for him as a painter, he had admired him as a painter, he had been worried about him as a painter and lately he had been thankful for admitting him with open arms at his place, what he rightly considered to be profitable for both and he had been thankful for saving Marvin’s life, which had been a revelation to him that a painter was capable of such unselfish sacrifice. It totally surprised him that Otto could have feelings beyond his paint- 96 ing and that he wanted to share them with him. Feelings were, as far as he was concerned, an unnecessary pain in the ass. Otto hadn’t made a good job of being a father so far, he told him. Wasn’t it too late to start with it now? What if his son rejected him? At least he would know. There was always the possibility that they would grow closer to one another. The beginning of a beautiful friendship could be there for the taking. He had a chance to make up with the past. He weighed the pros and cons against each other. It was a battle worth fighting, he decided in the end. He had avoided too many battles in the past. Those days were over. He wasn’t afraid to die anymore. Otto went on. “I’ve probably reached that stage in my life where I need a father-son relation.” Archie smirked. “Isn’t that a bit late?” “I’ve never had the opportunity to know my son.” “Don’t you find it odd, your son hasn’t been looking for you? What would you have done if he had come to see you?” “Embrace him?” Otto said without much conviction. “You’d scare the shit out of him!” Archie laughed. “Yes, you’re right. He’ll probably hate me and think I’m a jerk,” Otto realized. “It cannot be easy for a kid to meet a father he doesn’t know.” Archie started laughing: “A jerk...” Otto couldn’t disagree with him. It had never occurred to him before that he was a father. He had always been too busy painting. A selfish jerk! “...but you’ve changed since I first met you,” Archie adjusted. “You’ve changed a lot!” Otto put the question to Loretta, who acted expediently as usual. She seized this opportunity to get Otto at work again with both hands. 97 “If you’re so anxious to see your son back, why don’t you?” she challenged him. “There’s a slight problem. We don’t know where he lives, we don’t know his name.” “I can find that out for you. No problem. If you finish the three paintings you have in mind.” Loretta’s credibility was beyond all doubt. She did make him famous, she did take away all his pain, she did cure Marvin. Finding his son, wouldn’t be in the least impossible. Loretta was in the miracle performing business. She delivered the goods. “It’s a deal,” he said. “He’ll be there at the dinner party.” “What dinner party?” “You’ll see! Archie will arrange one after the exhibition.” Ivan sat next to the window whenever possible and gazed into the distance with Mischu’s binoculars. He observed the bypassers’ doings and showed particular interest in the activities on display in the window just across. Especially round six, when the girl came home from work and took a shower. “Playing Hitchcock?” Otto asked him. “Nah..” Ivan put him off. “The woman has great tits.” “Let me see!” Otto borrowed Ivan’s binoculars and approved. “I wonder...” Ivan said, “often I wonder how I ended up here, in this place, with you. There seems to be a part of my life missing.” “You were out for a couple of months.” “How did that happen?” “You had an accident, you... fell from the stairs.” It was the best Otto could come up with. He kept Ivan dangling. He wasn’t so sure that the truth would be wholesome for both Ivan and himself. He knew about Ivan’s sudden outbursts of rage. In the near window he saw Walker and Daniels snooping around in drawers and 98 99 closets. They were sniffing at woman’s underwear. When the lights were switched on in the hallway and the boyfriend came home with an axe on his shoulder, they immediately sneaked out of the room. A few houses further to the right, excavators were clearing up the mess the explosion had made. The remains that stuck out were demolished and the walls of the adjointing buildings were shored. No bodies were ever found. Fiona and Bonzo were strolling around through the piles of rubble and rubbish. They managed quite well doing different things at the same time: strolling around, hugging each other and avoiding the excavators and the falling bricks. He gave the binoculars back to Ivan. Ivan’s attention was drawn to the bill board, where the town workers pasted up the latest events. Katarina Kajewska coming to town seemed a big issue, according to the large amount of posters. “A fellow countrywoman?” Otto asked. Ivan nodded. “Don’t like the posters, though!” he said. “She’s much prettier in reality.” “Do you know her?” “Of course. She was my wife.” “You’re right. They’re way too flashy,” Otto had to agree. Ivan’s condition had remarkably improved the last days. He was still slow. He reflected on everything and executed his plans at his rate. His brain was warming up and assuming power over his bodily functions. He was trying to reconstruct his fall from the stairs. Otto took him for his first hesitant walks round the block, across the street, nothing farther than ten minutes from home. Ivan pointed to the ruins of the exploded house. “Did you know I lived there?” “I didn’t.” 100 “I lived in a lot of places,” Ivan added. A lot had changed since then in the neighbourhood. Front doors had been marked, houses had exploded, the Chinaman was playing Sinatra, policemen were patrolling the park. From time to time Ivan glanced at his window with his binoculars, to make sure he was still on the right track, that he wasn’t beamed up to another dimension. They shuffled side by side, arm in arm. Ivan enjoyed that, but it took him half an hour to recover from that effort afterwards. Luckily there was always the kid on his bike to take them back, when they had passed by the ten minutes’ limit. Their own private taxi. He had a good nose for business. Otto resumed painting to the utter dismay of Archie. He couldn’t be put off, even though Archie strongly insisted and tried his utmost to divert him. Otto’s mind was made up. He had to finish the paintings he had in mind. He had enough material. The nightly hunters had come by. He was painting the kid and his passengers, Bonzo and Fiona strolling around, Loretta playing the piano. Archie found a flat on the other side of the park, where he moved in with Marvin. Otto got his bedroom back, but he only went in there, when Loretta was around. He had got used to the couch and Ivan’s company. He wanted to inhale the smell of paint and thinner again. It was as if a last breeze of passion and creative force had flared up in his mind and was controlling the movements of his arms and hands. Sometimes Ivan had to help him to open the paint pots and to clean the brushes, because working with only three fingers was no easy matter. Ivan took care of that in the mornings before he went out for a walk or to buy goods in Marvin’s supermarket, as he called it, and in the evenings before he cooked dinner. Mostly ready made food. Ivan ran a more or less tight schedule. One proper meal a day turned out to be sufficient for the both of them. The rest of the day they drank tea or coffee. Ivan regained his strength day by day and occasionally drank a vodka in the pub when he had money left over from his shopping. Sometimes he bought a bottle in the liquor shop which he drank with Mischu on a bench in the park. He recognized Mischu as the man who had given him the binoculars. Happy encounters with the dwarf and his inevitable dog and endless stories about what he had seen through them. He didn’t recognize Buddha though, nor Irene. They had vanished from his memory. They were new people in his world, new kind people who bought him drinks. Therefore he began to read about the new events in the papers, the sports results, medical articles, the coming shows and films. That reassured him. He tried to catch up with life by listening to Buddha and his pals. He had to accept their truth with growing amazement. For instance, he recognized the addresses of the houses that had been blown up. He had lived in all those houses at a certain point. It was as if someone was after him. This sobered him up. He was always surprised at what had happened in the time being: a new explosion, an attack, the rise of Otto Gerald. It was as if a part of his life had been blown away. He was always surprised by what had probably been erased in his mind like the friends who seemed to know him. “You’ve been on a holiday, doctor?” King Fred enquired. “No, I’ve fallen from the stairs,” Ivan replied. “On your head?” “That’s why I don’t remember,” Ivan smiled. He bought two tickets for the Kajewska recital. One for himself. He wanted to see his wife, he wanted to hear his wife. The other one for Mischu. He wanted to thank Mischu for the pair of binoculars he had given him. Mischu was delighted. He loved classical music. Lucky guess? “You’re a real pal!” Mischu thanked him. 101 Loretta looked pleased with the progress in the paintings. She showed it by playing the piano enthusiastically while Otto was working. At night she whispered tender words in his ears and caressed him over his body, but he was too exhausted and fell asleep almost immediately. He was busy thinking about his reward. He was worrying about what the future might bring, how his son would react. There was only one way to find out: he had to finish the paintings. So he did. Archie commented on his tenth painting that it was remarkable. “The resemblance between you and the woman in red is ingenious,” he said. Otto saw his point. The woman looked more like him wearing a dress and sitting behind the piano, than like Loretta playing. That was creepy, he suddenly became aware. He was the crippled female piano player. He hadn’t even noticed. My God, was that really him? “You asked me to stir up the woman in me, didn’t you?” “It’s touching. It goes right through the heart.” “It’s a pitiful portrait of a man in a robe,” Otto said with a resigned look. “That constitutes the brilliance of it.” “It’s the last one I’ll ever make.” A silence fell. Archie nodded and patted Otto on the shoulder as he hugged him. “Finally. I always told you you worked too hard. It’s time for you to enjoy life!” Otto was getting emotional and tried to restrain himself. He wiped off his tears with his elbow and started laughing. They were as much tears of madness and despair because he had created a monster as they were tears of happiness and joy, because of the approaching reunion with his son. “We should celebrate this moment,” Archie suggested. 102 “Celebrate?” Otto said sarcastically and he pointed at the picture. “Celebrate an old crippled man in a dress? There’s no cause for celebration.” “Celebrate a work of art!” Archie said. “It’s the devil’s work. Can’t you smell the breath of Death?” “A dinner party, after the exhibition,” Archie insisted. “I’ll ask Marvin to cook.” “Let’s invite Mischu as well,” Ivan said. “We’ll have a drink first and go to the concert together afterwards. Can you guys look after the dog then?” Archie and Otto looked at each other with a look of understanding. Ivan couldn’t take the dog with him to the concert hall. Or could he? “We’ll keep the dog,” Archie gave in. It was all like Loretta had predicted.Adinner party after the exhibition. Otto went to the bathroom to have a shower. He broke out in a cold sweat when he watched himself in the mirror. He looked bad. He got cold feet like a young groom. He was ashamed of himself and his appearance. He was looking for an excuse. He didn’t want his son to see such a monster. One would run away for less. He smashed the mirror. “Look at my fingers. I can’t eat properly.” On the other hand he was dying to see him. If he could only watch him through a peep-hole. If he could only talk and listen to him, without being seen. Like a priest during confession. He was torn apart by doubt and fear. Threatened to be carried away by his nerves and his uncertainty. He had a lucky flash of inspiration and a solution for his problems as he saw Ivan sitting near the window. Ivan was making faces to the people in the street he didn’t like. He stuck out his tongue and laughed at them. That was the answer, Otto thought: a masked party. He would be 103 able to hide himself behind a mask without showing himself. He would be able to hide his emotions of guilt and impatience. His dried up tears and his nervous laughter. He presented the plan to Archie. “I’ll only accept on that condition...!” he insisted. Ivan was enthusiastic. He saw the possibilities of dressing up and was looking forward to put on a costume and disguise himself. Archie had to go along with them, because he realized it was the only way Otto would agree to have a party. Archie had put on the record of Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater. Ivan was dressed up as a jester. Every time he moved his head, little bells tinkled. There were red dots all over his costume. He hopped around and amused the crowd. Archie and Marvin were two medieval gents. A baron and his page. They were showing off their tights. Otto was a Venetian character with a white mask. He covered every expression on his face. Old muck-hills will bloom. He was looking for Loretta in vain. She wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen her leave. She hadn’t left a message. It was as if she had vanished from the face of the earth. There was nothing that indicated her presence. There was no sign of his son either. What was worse? Her absence or her failure? The prodigal hadn’t turned up. It was as if the promises had disappeared with her. His heart was sinking. “See something, Ivan?” Ivan tinkled his bells. He had scanned the street with his binoculars. There was nothing to report. No Loretta, no son. “NoMischu either!” Ivan deplored. “No Adolf either. We should really start eating,” Archie insisted. Marvin agreed. “Give it another few minutes,” Otto asked. The ticking of the clock became agonizing. The hands were hav- 104 ing a race in slow motion. Otto felt uncomfortable. This was not customary to her doings. She had always kept her promises. Had she double-crossed him? Had she betrayed him? As the minutes kept ticking by, he gradually became more convinced of this possibility. “If we wait any longer, dinner will be ruined!” Marvin almost begged to get started. “All right,” Otto finally gave way. He felt despondent. They looked at each other indecisively. “I’m going to the Kajewska recital.” Ivan tried to get the conversation going again. “I wonder where Mischu is. He promised me he’d come and pick me up.” “He’ll turn up,” Archie backed him up. “He has to turn up!” Otto was all at sea. He took a gloomy view of his future. He had been there before. The hook and the rope. The rise and fall of Otto Gerald. He was gasping for breath. He had leaden feet. Everybody passed him by. The hero came back from the battlefield, with the wounded, the disabled, the men on crutches, the bodies on stretchers. Wounded by his feelings, disabled by his passion. He stood up and opened the door of the closet where he stored his painting materials and tools. He managed to take his Luger out imperceptibly and went to his bedroom. He sat down on the bed and looked at it. Without any fingers left, he couldn’t even pull the trigger. So useless was he. He called Ivan in and gave him the gun. Ivan was amazed. “It’s a gun!” he established. He didn’t know what to do with it. Otto tried to explain. “You have to help me out, Ivan. I’m at my wits’ end. You’re my only hope. Loretta has betrayed me. She has abandoned me. Can’t you imagine how I feel now my beloved has left me?” Ivan nodded quietly. He could easily imagine that. He had the 105 same problem. His wife didn’t want to see him either. Otto continued: “My son hasn’t turned up. I’ll never see him. You’re a father, you had a son, what’s a life without children? Do you understand?” Again Ivan understood, and he felt Otto’s pain as if it were his own. “I’m doomed, Ivan. Look at me. I’ve got no fingers. Can’t even kill myself properly.” “You can’t ask someone to do your killing for you,” Ivan opposed. “ This is not about my woman, this is not about my son. Do your own killing, if you want to. I’m not going to stop you. I intend to go to the concert with Mischu. See Katerina Kajewska play the piano. She may not speak to me anymore, but there’s always hope. I’ve never stopped hoping.” “You go to a concert? See a woman... play...the piano...” Otto slowed down. He suddenly started weighing every word he said. “You don’t even like that kind of music.” Ivan hesitated. “She’s my wife and Mischu likes the piano.” Otto realized Ivan wasn’t easy to convince. He changed his tack. “Tell me Ivan, you remember the first time you came into my studio?” he asked. “Cannot say exactly.” There was still a black hole in his memory. Not for long. Otto decided to fill it up. “I wanted to show you a painting. A painting with angels. In the middle there was a woman in a red gown. There was another woman in the room. You kept pointing at her. You wanted to kill her. Remember?” Ivan had climbed the stairs in his mind a hundred times. He tried again. By amazing good fortune he reached the top this time, without a nasty fall. “I’ve survived the stairs,” he smiled. “I didn’t fall!” “Then you came into my room, remember?” 106 Ivan tried to remember. He came indeed into Otto’s living room and saw a picture. “I see the picture!” There was something wrong, though. There was an evil spirit in the room. “I remember,” he mumbled. “Do you see her? Do you hear her... play... the piano? Try to picture her. Do you recognize her?” Ivan grasped the gun more firmly in his hand, as the film began to play. He remembered the painting, the woman in the red transparent gown, the evil spirit. She jumped out of the picture. She had different faces. He recognized Irene, the cashier in the supermarket, his wife, even Otto. “She didn’t play the piano...” Ivan hesitated. He remembered a voice shouting ‘Stop him! Stop him!’. That was her voice. He remembered someone grabbing a hammer. He turned round and saw Otto coming up to him. He couldn’t repel the attack, he couldn’t avoid the blow on his head. The agonizing pain. The expression on his face tensed up. It was finally getting through to him. He didn’t like the truth at all. He tried to resist his most deepest feelings of extreme anger and disgust. The jester looked nervously at Otto. “Tell me how vicious she is, that Kajewska woman, tell me why you left her! The truth this time!” Otto insisted. He was a bull in a chinashop. He was just starting. “Tell me about your worthless son, tell me why you let him die! Ivan was fulminating. He was breathing heavily. He was building up his rage. An outburst was bound to happen. “Or do you prefer to tell me a bedtime story? The story of the bear for instance? Shoot. Feel free!” That was the last straw. “Nobody laughs at the bear!” Ivan growled and he shot as being requested. A bullet through the mask, just between the eyes. The gun hardly trembled in his hands. Ivan spat at his victim and 107 threw the Luger carelessly in the bedroom, next to Otto and his cape. He saluted Marvin and Archie, who sat baffled at the table, on his way out, shut the door behind him and saw the kid with the green bike coming down the street. “Nobody makes fun of the bear!” Ivan shouted again. “Loser,” the kid mumbled. There was a huge traffic jam in town. Sirens were wailing relentlessly. It appeared that everybody wanted to hear the great Katerina Kajewska playing at the concert hall that night. So did Ivan. 108 Tailing Archie. 10. The Brubakers Mr. and Mrs. Brubaker took their parental obligations very seriously and although Archie was their only child, they never spoilt him. He remembered, once, when he returned from school with only an eight for religion, they made him copy the entire lesson five times (that was about fifty pages) and when he had finished, they locked him up in the (wine)cellar where he could meditate on his bad result, but the next test he had a ten and a hangover: happy memories. On another occasion, he had to trim the lawn with regular scissors, because the grass was too high to cut with a mower after their holidays in the Black Forest, result: he never had to go to Germany again. No more holidays wasted! In the evenings he had always to return home before midnight, as if he was the male version of Cinderella, result: he stayed out of trouble. Resourceful times. Though he missed a lot of the usual entertainment a boy of his age would get, he considered Mr. and Mrs Brubaker fair and reasonable. They’d never overwhelm him with hugging or cuddling. They kept a distance. This was how they were, this was his relationship with them: he tried not to upset them and when they were, he accepted the consequences. Archie had never blamed Mr. or Mrs. Brubaker for his education. They had meant well. They had made him feel at home. At the age of sixteen, they told him he was an adopted child. He wasn’t alarmed, because it was just one of those things that happened to him and that he had to deal with. The only thing he could come up with, was to ask them who his real parents were, what his real name was. 110 They fed him with a lot of unnecessary information, as why they had adopted him, that he had always been a sick child (he couldn’t keep his food down and they had to feed him with a drip, the medical staff had already given up on him) and in the end they passed him the information he really wanted, his mother’s name: Eveline Bates. It was the only thing they knew. Archie was clever enough to find out where she lived. She hadn’t moved out of town and lived in a house in a rich suburb. Eveline Bates lived together with Felix Unger, an executive of a firm that sold cleaning products all over the world. She had adopted his name to avoid backbiting. Felix was always on his way, apparently. He was the invisible man. She played his faithful wife. His rich faithful wife. They seemed an odd couple to Archie, but not odder than Mr. and Mrs. Brubaker. One day (he had to sell pies for the local boy-scouts),Archie summoned up his courage and rang their doorbell. She opened the door (Felix wasn’t at home, as usual) and looked at him suspiciously. “I sell pies,” he started. She fobbed him off: “No hawkers!” She wanted to close the door, but he put his foot in between. “I’m Archie,” he introduced himself properly. That rang a bell. She stood riveted to the ground as she looked him up and down. “I don’t buy at the door,” she repeated herself. “I want to know who my father is,” Archie insisted. “Why don’t you ask your mother?” “That’s what I’m doing right now!” She was foaming at the mouth as Archie stuck to his guns. She recognized the determination. The snake and its egg. “He’s a useless scumbag, boy,” she suddenly hissed. “Do you know where he lives?” he carried on asking regardless. 111 112 “Scram, kid. I don’t want to see him or you again!” she said and slammed the door in his face. He observed her for another couple of weeks, hoping to catch her in a better mood. In vain. Archie tailed her to the supermarket. She was even nasty towards the cashier. He couldn’t detect a sparkle of kindness in her behaviour. He would have been surprised if there was any. After all, she had abandoned him. There ought to be a good reason for that. He was rather relieved he could blame his mother’s bad nature and he reckoned his father wouldn’t be much better. Once or twice he rang her doorbell, when she was away shopping. He saw shadows behind the curtains. Felix appeared to have come home, but he never opened the door. So he settled for Mr. and Mrs. Brubaker, who supported him as best as possible through his further career. Everything considered, he had a quite happy (a hardly problematic) childhood. After secondary school, he went to the police academy, where he learnt about laws, self-preservation and where he improved on his skills of communication (shoot first, then talk!). He became an excellent inspector. 113 11. Charly. One of his first assignments was the surveillance of Charly Weaver. They suspected him to be the centre of an international art swindle. Because of Charly’s reputation as a confirmed believer in male attraction, the colleagues drew lots for the job: Archie lost. He had to get close to Charly, to map his business patterns, screen his contacts and his financial transactions. (It appeared to be exaggerated afterwards, because, apart from some occasional deals with dubious traders from abroad, Charly and his companion Eric were small fry.) It was not so difficult for Archie to infiltrate. His colleagues put the pressure on Eric because of a not so kosher sale to a Danish brewery and a secret affair with one of its executives. Eric panicked and wisely decided to go on a long holiday. “I want to broaden my horizons,” he explained to Charly. In fact he had to recover from a couple of fractures as well. He was never seen again. Charly was at his wits’ end because there was an exhibition at hand. He couldn’t manage alone. So the job as an assistant became available on the spot. By amazing good fortune he had an eligible candidate at once: Archie. Archie fulfilled the conditions for the job. Charly was an easy target for a charming, young and good-looking man like Archie. Archie turned out to be a clever illusionist and manipulator as well. He attracted and rejected. He played hard to get and at the same time he managed to keep Charly off (his back). At parties or at openings, Archie didn’t mind that Charly showed him off as his new assistant and his new boy-friend. It was all in a day’s work. “You dress awfully, Archie,” Charly reproached him constantly. “You should see me undress, Charly,” Archie teased him, before he went to his locker and called it a day. He knew how to juggle 114 with Charly. What Charly didn’t know was that Archie had to go back to the police-station to write down his report. Archie turned out to be an excellent organizer. He meticulously kept up with Charly’s accounts and he was a wizard in smooth talk and twisting artists and clients round his finger. (This skill also helped him to ward off some sneering remarks at the station.) His zeal didn’t pass unnoticed to Charly, who asked him to reorganize his gallery, to make it more efficient. He wanted to expand. Archie’s superiors advised him to maintain his surveillance and his credibility. So he had to put up with Charly’s plans. He combed out the books and selected the different unprofitable products. New management at its best. He happened to come across Otto Gerald, an older painter who had proved himself throughout the years, but had never been a surplus-value to the gallery. He was just one of those skillful but boring artists they put too much energy in. He suggested the idea of losing him and Charly didn’t object. “Arrange a meeting, go to a bar, any bar, and dump him.” Charly gave him some drawings and paintings, Otto had brought in to be valued. He asked Archie to take a closer look at them and return them to their owner with the suitable comments. Archie searched for feed-back in the library to be able to confront Otto Gerald. He felt he owed the painter a reasonable explanation. It was all in a day’s work. He arranged a meeting with Otto Gerald on a Thursday at eight o’clock in a pub on Main street. On his way he saw one of his younger colleagues who seemed even more nervous than he was. “What’s eating you, Gilbert?” “I know something is going to happen tonight,Archie. Something terrible. If only I knew where .” Policemen were like honking geese: they could sense an imminent disaster. A couple of minutes later, a house exploded. 12. Otto. The entire town was in uproar and people were running up and down like headless chicken. Archie had to restrain himself and went dutifully into the pub. He knew his priorities. Abunch of drunks almost blew his cover when he entered the bar. He kept calm and played along. Like a reed he could bend with the wind, but he didn’t break. Police training. He announced the bad news to Otto and tried to explain to him that his work was out of date. The old man took it rather personally. When Otto had gone out, Archie took a drink with the knights of slither and gull, who saved him from a funny fellow named Buddha. Undercover agent, my ass! At the station there was excitement and confusion about the bombings. They received a letter from an organisation who assumed responsibility and in the meantime announced more bombings to come. Neither ransom, nor any demands for the release of fellow-fighters were formulated as was usually the case. Just a few words: “I’ve come from the East to set things right!” The letter was marked with a red St. Andreas-cross and signed by the KGB. A national specialist in the fight against terrorism was called to the rescue. There was a meeting. He looked like an eighteen year old kid, but in fact he was much older. His name was Dr. Barnes. He explained the different strategies commandos applied. He was convinced it was a small group of warriors who wanted to destabilize society for political reasons. KGB had nothing to do with the old Russian secret service, he said. It was mere strategy to mislead them. “The letters stand for something, though!” Gilbert suggested. Linguists and criminologists were investigating the matter, Dr. Barnes reassured him. “All the usual suspects have been arrested 115 and interrogated, but we came away none the wiser,” he had to admit. “I’ve come from the East, was in that letter. Could it be a personal reckoning?” Gilbert put forward. “We looked into the owner’s affairs very carefully, but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. The house was a squatted building. We don’t know who lived there, but we’re making inquiries in the neighbourhood. However, we’re watching Mr. Kaufmann’s other properties as a precaution.” “Kaufmann? Isn’t that Jewish? Could that mean some kind of Holy War?” someone suggested. “Mr. Kaufmann is a Jew. A slum landlord. The cross could be an indication, but let’s not jump to conclusions. It could be a diversion as well. Next bombing will tell us more.” The crowd buzzed with excitement. Next bombing? The owner of the house was a Jew? This was the first they heard of it. Dr. Barnes insisted that this information didn’t leak to the press. It would alarm people unnecessarily. It was in the public interest to act in an orderly manner. Archie already suspected what tomorrow’s headlines would be. (Facts proved him right.) Dr. Barnes added: “This time, we were lucky, gentlemen. There were no casualties! You should be aware, there’s a war going on and that we are at war!” A special squad against terror was put together around Dr. Barnes. He’d be the co-ordinator: the general, Marvin, as he called himself. “Marvin is my field name. I’ll be there with you.” (Enters Marvin. Exit Dr. Barnes.) He ended the briefing with this urgent and alarming appeal: “Keep your eyes and ears wide open!” General Marvin was applauded politely. The day afterwards, the general took Archie aside. 116 “Right after the bombing, we received an anonymous call. The bomber was said to be in a pub nearby. You were there in that same pub.” “I was undercover for another mission.” “I know. Art swindle, isn’t it?” Archie nodded. Marvin knew about his undercover work in the art industry. “I know who probably made that call,”Archie suggested. “ It was an odd fellow, named Buddha, who was thrown out by the barman and by one of the clients.” “We checked that and you are right. Nevertheless, we should keep an eye on this art phenomenon. We are observing the flows of money, inspector Brubaker. Without cash, there’s no terrorism. I want you to stay on that track. I want you to approach someone: an Arab businessman we suspect of having connections in certain subversive circles and who happens to stay in this town as by amazing good fortune. He’s known to be an art collector. Get close to him, find out what he’s after, find out what he spends his money on. Find out his weak points. I suspect him to be the head of a greater network.” Archie started tailing the Arab, who lived in a luxury suite in hotel Oriental. Achmed El Zjerbia was his name. He once visited Otto’s place quite unexpectedly. He wanted to see Otto’s brushes. Otto’s brushes? This fellow didn’t drink, didn’t gamble, and didn’t visit any prostitutes. He put up a good front: he sold carpets. He was quite boring. “I sell a carpet that automatically points itself towards Mecca!” Was this a sort of code? Archie spent more time on deciphering messages and on screening the visitors, who were all of irreproachable conduct, than on getting down to the very root of the issue. He felt he had to go about it differently. He started to intercept his letters, thanks to a 117 delivery boy with a funny green hat who was in charge of the mail. Afterwards he discovered it was the same kid who rode around with his green bike. A fine sample of young entrepreneurship. “Got something for me, kid?” The kid was always very helpful. He was eager to help. He gave El Zjerbia’s letters without muttering. After a while Archie got the support of inspector Gilbert, who could tell the contents of a letter by taking a sniff at it. His nose proved to be very useful, as far as time was concerned. El Zjerbia couldn’t possibly suspect them of intercepting his mail. A few weeks later, Charly took Archie aside. “We’re not yet rid of Otto Gerald. He called me to come over. Go and see what he’s up to.” So Archie went over to his place. Otto Gerald lived across from the building that had exploded, he was surprised to establish. That rang a bell. There could be a connection between his art investigation and the bombings. Otto Gerald was friendly but still looked very shaken by their first meeting. He had been painting and wanted to show him some new paintings. They were rubbish. Later on, Otto Gerald took him by surprise. It was as if the painter had been struck by heavenly light. Archie was stupified and petrified. Otto Gerald had completely changed. He had made a masterpiece. Archie immediately saw an opportunity to get the ball rolling and to approach his suspected terrorist leader. He persuaded Charly to exhibit the painting in his gallery and invited El Zjerbia for the grand opening. The businessman didn’t jump at the proposal at once, but he was interested, Archie could see. The bait was out there in the water for him to swallow. It was as if the Arab sensed danger. He was not an easy fish to catch. In the end, he came. 118 That was entirely Archie’s merit. Archie’s agenda was pretty much overloaded. He slept only a couple of hours a night. There was his work in the gallery with Charly, the tailing of El Zjerbia and the developments around Otto Gerald. Investigating art and connecting it with bombs was an exhausting but interesting exercise. That was why he had become an inspector in the first place, he kept motivating himself. As a policeman he always had to be suspicious. Suspicious about Charly’s transactions, about El Zjerbia’s doings and about Otto Gerald’s weird guests. He was intrigued by those people who were sitting in Otto’s studio and sponging on his sudden success. He couldn’t think of another reason why Ivan and Buddha were staying there. It went on: Irene joined the lot and in the long run Otto was feeding an army of parasites. Archie knew he shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but there was something odd going on. In Otto’s head anyway. Otto Gerald acted strangely. He had lost two fingers in a row. Was there a connection with the bombings? There was Otto mumbling about a woman called Loretta, when he brought him back home from the exhibition. Had Otto gone mad? There was Otto constantly playing the old masters’ records very loudly. Or was that just all common in an artist’s soul? What was he hiding? Archie had never experienced such behaviour before. Even if they all seemed to find it very normal, he didn’t. Or were they just fooling him around? In that case, they played it well. Remarkable actors.Was there a connection with El Zjerbia? He doubted it at first, but then there was El Zjerbia’s visit to Otto’s place and that one letter the boy had given him. It trembled in his hands, while he read it. “Blind surrender, foolish love. You know what passion can do to young minds. I came from the East to set things right. For me it 119 was no betrayal: I tried to make this world a better place for us. I was your invisible warrior and did it for a good cause. If I had to do it again, I would probably do the same. I followed you all over the world and bad luck followed me. I suffered misfortune, I was in the Southern Mountains, where our son died. I had to survive with all the available means. You’d probably condemn me for it. London, Paris, Madrid... I was there. For you. I enjoyed listening to you. You were my shining example. My inspiration. You still are. We have to meet, soon. Please don’t say no! My life is like a time bomb. You’re the only one who can defuse it. I yearn for peace and quiet. I yearn for the serenity of your presence. P.I.” He was amazed at it and tried to understand it. He couldn’t. Another coded message? Who was ‘our son’? Who was P.I.? A misguided freedom fighter? A terrorist? A man or a woman that worshipped El Zjerbia? At the same time Archie made a remarkable discovery in Otto’s bedroom: a set of knives, you’d normally find in hospitals and a cheque for his mother. This was getting personal and interfered with his job. Who would pay his mother off? It became clearer when Eveline paid them a visit later on. He thought she didn’t know where he lived. Liar! Otto Gerald was his father. And yet the old scumbag she didn’t want to see, sent her cheques. This was an event he couldn’t have foreseen. Old wounds were torn open. He had to set things right. He informed Marvin. The general urged him to continue his investigation. The salvation of a whole town was at stake. His personal relations shouldn’t interfere with his professional duties. It was an exhausting but interesting exercise, he encouraged him. Dismantle your feelings and get focused on the job! El Zjerbia finally snapped at the bait. He was interested in Otto’s third painting and paid in advance. Time for some action, time to 120 hurry up the process, time to let him bleed, Archie thought. When he saw Otto leave for the pub, he gave Irene and Buddha his spare keys of the gallery. He talked them into stealing Otto’s third painting, since Irene was fond of it. He convinced Buddha he could buy as much dope as he wanted with the reward for the painting. When Ivan was asleep under his cloth, he turned Otto’s place upside down to divert suspicion from himself. 121 13. The mother. Eveline’s visit to Otto had stirred up memories and anxieties. So when Archie rang her doorbell shortly after, he had an acid indigestion of revenge and on the other hand he wanted to know the ins and outs of the matter. Eveline’s first reaction, as he showed her his credentials, was short and sweet: “You can’t come in without a warrant!” She left the door ajar. She only showed her nose and her mouth. “I’m not here on official police-business,” he tried to set her at ease. She hadn’t recognized him, so he added: “My name is Archie Brubaker.” She hesitated and felt uncomfortable, Archie could tell. She had raised a natural barrier between her safe habitat and the rest of the world through the years. She had locked herself up in a fortress and nobody was to disturb her. No attachments, no relations, no diverting longings. The instinct of self-preservation. Who was he to judge her? He was a solitary wolf as well. “You were here before?” she said. Fragments of their meeting trickled into her memory. She was loading down a darker file of her life, as her eyes gradually lost their glow and narrowed. Then she started blinking. Download completed. She opened the door a bit and showed the rest of her face and a shoulder. She looked him up and down. “A long time ago...” he appended, “I came over to sell you some pies.” “I don’t buy pies at doors.” “I asked you about my father. Brubaker is the name of my stepfather. My original name is Gerald. Archie Gerald.” She gasped for breath. “Did your father send you over? The scumbag I mean?” she asked. 122 Archie felt he had to put her in her proper place. “My father sends you cheques,” he said. “So?” “Perhaps he’s not such a scumbag.” “I’m entitled to those payments,” she justified herself. “He has beaten me within an inch of my life.” “I’ve heard otherwise.” An awkward silence fell. “Anyway...” She seemed disconcerted. “Have you read how much his paintings are worth nowadays?” “A sudden twist of fate!” Archie clarified. “A cruel twist of fate,” she replied. “Loveless but happy we meet in the end,” Archie dreamed aloud. “Don’t talk garbage. Love doesn’t exist.” “That’s what I meant. How is your lovely husband Mister Unger nowadays? Is he at home?” Eveline Bates seemed nervous all of a sudden, as if he had touched a tender spot. “Mind your own business,” she snapped. “You don’t see much of him, do you?” “You’re as unbearable as your father,” she said and she shut the door in his face. Later on, that evening, as he happened to drive past her house, Archie saw shadows on the second floor, slowly moving behind the curtains. There was somebody else in that room. Was it Felix? Her invisible lover? Archie was curious by nature and mostly on account of his training. He couldn’t restrain himself. He climbed up the drainpipe to a small balcony where he assumed he could see and weigh the man for whom his mother had abandoned them.What did he look like? Was he as gorgeous as he was rich? He took a peep through the curtains and had a bit of a shock. He didn’t see a rich attractive entrepreneur, nor did he see an ugly but romantic vagabond. None of those! 123 Eveline (who else?) had turned a hallstand into a sort of nodding donkey. It was a most ingenious construction. The moving suit on one of the hooks gave the false impression there was somebody else in the house. From time to time Eveline pulled it towards her with a piece of string. The hallstand rolled upon a small ramp. At its highest she let go and it rolled back. It had fooled him all right. It was certainly an effective deterrent for possible thieves and robbers, but it didn’t answer his question where Felix was and what sort of man he was. 124 14. Mischu. Marvin’s team announced they had a breakthrough. They showed a photograph of a more than probable suspect everybody was to look out for. “We think he is an important link in a criminal organization! The KGB, as they call themselves now!” It was a dwarf, called Michal Poliansky. He had no fixed address and was constantly on the move. He had recently been seen in town. He was suspected for a number of bombings in the Southern Mountains, London, Paris and Madrid, but was never caught. “I know where he lives,” Archie interrupted Marvin’s explanation. “It’s Mischu, the dwarf, he lives in Otto’s place. Otto picked him up in the park.” The crowd buzzed with excitement. Honking geese. Marvin conferred quickly with his team members and decided to wind up the meeting. Archie had to stay. He informed Marvin of Mischu’s doings and particularities. He told him about the dog and Ivan. About the letter he had intercepted. (“It’s all in my report,” he quickly added.) About Otto and his paintings. The knives and the cheque. Marvin was a nice, bright and determined man, Archie found out. He listened attentively. He was keen on knowing every detail. He gave the matter a great deal of consideration and disclosed his plan to Archie. The dwarf was under no circumstances to be arrested yet. “The initials in that letter were P and I,” Archie remarked. “Yes, you’re right, we’ve not quite solved that one. At least we’ve got the P right. Perhaps the I stands for a nickname: itchy, invisible, instant pudding. I’m just guessing. Anyway, the dwarf comes from the East. He could be working for El Zjerbia,” Marvin was thinking aloud. 125 “They both come from the East...” Archie said. Marvin would make the dwarf his personal concern. He wanted to find out if he had made contact with El Zjerbia and finally roll up the entire cell. “It’s our game, Archie,” the general said pugnaciously. “It’s our turn!” Archie realized that Otto was just a harmless pawn in this game. He was concerned about him and gave him an old weapon Mr. Brubaker kept in his attic. Otto was his father after all. The situation was expected to be unstable and he wanted to give Otto a kind of protection against his weird and unreliable visitors. He worried about him with the best of intentions. At first Otto Gerald was unwilling, but in the end Archie could convince him with an excuse, and Otto accepted it reluctantly. The general made his entry with bravura. He got acquainted with Mischu very well. Too well, Archie thought, because it was not intended thatMischu’d fall in love with him. Or was that all in the game? Mischu hardly left Otto’s house anymore and still the bombing continued. There had to be another contact, Marvin stipulated. It had to be connected with the letterArchie had intercepted. Marvin started to investigate Ivan. “He’s harmless,” Archie muttered. “Not so harmless as you believe!” Marvin said. He had ‘borrowed’ Ivan’s passport and compared the dates he had left the country with the dates the bombings had taken place in London, Paris and Madrid. They matched. “A coincidence you think? Look here: his name: Poniatowski Ivan. P.I., remember?” “We’ve got them both right, this time...but why would a terrorist sign a letter with his own name?” Archie still had his doubts. “His own initials,” Marvin corrected him. “They sometimes think they’re invulnerable.” 126 Marvin changed his plans. He set up his new headquarters nearby in the local supermarket and broke up with Mischu. Mischu was tailed day and night by inspector Gilbert. They got a lot of information on unfaithful husbands, aldulterous wives and unhappy households. “It’s a dead end,” somebody said. “Be patient,” Marvin kept on encouraging his troops. “I remember a dwarf in a case of a missing child two years ago!” inspector Walker intervened. He went on. “We couldn’t find the dwarf, though.” “Where was that?” Marvin asked him. “In a village called Valley, in the Southern Mountains. An institution was blown up. I remember interviewing a carpenter and a bald Polish doctor. I don’t know their names. I have to check in my files.” “Please do,” Marvin urged him. Otto’s house was kept an eye on constantly, from the outside as well as from the inside. Marvin moved in with Otto as Archie’s so called new boy-friend. “Call me Marvin. You’re my new play-mate,” he teased Archie constantly. “Remember Charly!” “Remember the dwarf...!” Archie was ill at ease in playing his part. He had already sacrificed himself, when he had to observe Charly. Marvin wasn’t a plain gallery-owner though. He was his superior. Archie thought he had done enough for the good cause. Marvin put him at ease. “We only have to keep up appearances, Archie!” “It’s all in a day’s work, I suppose...”Archie sighed. He found out Marvin was a man of many talents. Marvin wanted to observe Ivan inside out. Ivan couldn’t fool him. He wasn’t sick and helpless as he pretended. They tried to catch Ivan redhanded while conspiring. Ivan didn’t flinch. 127 To make their story more credible, Mr. and Mrs. Brubaker were involved. They had to play the part of Marvin’s parents. They did that splendidly. It fitted all in the general’s plan to deceive Ivan. Archie had a poor opinion of that part of the plan, but according to Marvin all was perfect. Facts proved him wrong. Marvin got sick. He was poisoned. Something must have escaped him. Someone wanted to get rid of him. He was standing in someone’s way. It proved they were on the right track, though. On the other hand, the general was out of circulation. Could that be Ivan’s doing? Archie doubted it. Or Mischu’s? He had seen Mischu the night he and Marvin went out to observe El Zjerbia in hotel Oriental on Marvin’s so-called birthday. He was sure of it. He had heard the dog. Did he poison Marvin? They drank a coffee at the bar... He couldn’t make head or tail of it. It was a difficult period for Archie. He was very worried about what might happen, but then he didn’t want to give up. He couldn’t blow his cover. He had to play along. Mr. and Mrs. Brubaker were so nice to play along as well and sat at Marvin’s bedside the whole time, together with some hurriedly summoned sisters from colleagues. More extras! At the same time he had to organize an exhibition for Otto. The number of bombings increased. The KGB made the most of its opportunities. The general was eliminated, they thought. Miracles happen. Marvin was stronger than they suspected. 129 15. The party. The general recovered and immediately took charge. He had to strike back. That was the prevailing opinion on the force. It didn’t take him long to sound the alarm. Archie and Marvin had to move out of Otto’s house. A tactical retreat. It had become too dangerous. “They’re planning a great coup, this time,” he said to Archie. “El Zjerbia has left the country. I suppose all preparations have been made. I’ve been reading all reports on the matter and putting things together. Didn’t you notice anything out of the ordinary while I was away? It was your report that opened my eyes, Archie!” Archie was surprised. He must have missed something. “Ivan got binoculars from Mischu. Otto started painting again. He made a wonderful painting of a man in a red gown playing the piano. There’s Otto’s exhibition,” he enumerated, “and the masked dinner- party you organized.” “Concentrate on Ivan and Mischu,” Marvin helped him out. “Ivan has bought tickets for a concert! They’re both going to a concert! We have to baby-sit the dog, by the way!” “Ivan has had several meetings withMischu in the park. We overheard them. They were talking about the Kajewska concert. He gave the dwarf a ticket. Thousands of people...can you imagine?” Marvin thought out loud. “The concert hall! An ideal target!” Archie suddenly became aware of the gravity of the situation. “He has invited Mischu to come over to the masked dinner party first!” “That’s where they’ll meet and that’s where we’ll intercept them. We’ll kill two birds with one stone. For once and for all! It’s a pity we lost trace of El Zjerbia. I’ve warned Interpol.” That evening they surrounded Otto’s place so nobody could 130 escape. However, Mischu didn’t turn up. Marvin and Archie observed Ivan’s doings carefully. Otto called him into his bedroom. Was Otto also involved? They had to make sure. After a while they heard a shot. Archie wanted to run into the bedroom, but Marvin instructed him to stay down. “We want the dwarf as well,” he whispered. “We don’t know his exact whereabouts!” Ivan pushed them aside and walked away with a grin on his face. As soon as he had gone out, Marvin instructed his troops by mobile to follow him. “Ivan Poniatowski will probably go to the concert. Wait until he meets the dwarf to arrest them!” The special squad started following Ivan on his way to the concert hall. Archie found Otto lying in his bedroom. The white mask covered a bullet wound. It smiled at him. He saw the gun he had given him and was thrown off his balance. He regretted he had never had a real opportunity to talk with his father. Marvin tried to comfort him. “Perhaps it’s better this way!” he said. Archie sighed and came back to his senses. “He looks peaceful...,” he said. He put the cape over Otto’s head and signed Marvin he was ready to go into action. Nobody, however, had taken notice of the Kid with the Green Bike marking Otto’s front door with a red cross, just after Ivan had left the building. 131 Cross-examining Ivan. 16. The escape. The death of two police inspectors stirred the town. Especially the death of Dr. Barnes, head of the antiterrorist cell. No newspaper could come up with a proper explanation. Why had the bomber chosen Otto Gerald’s house? What were two police inspectors doing in his house in the first place? Why were they wearing tights? Who had shot Otto Gerald? On one point they all agreed, the bomber was still on the loose. Direct action was imperative. The police couldn’t allow to lose face. The special squad arrested Ivan on his way to the concert hall, immediately after they’d heard the explosion. Four policemen fell on Ivan so quickly he didn’t know what hit him. The joke was on the jester. The sound of tinkling bells on his hood was smothered by the beat of falling bodies and diving uniforms. Good tackling by inspector Gilbert. The commissioner congratulated his youngest inspector. Five officers ran back to Otto’s place, where they discovered the corpses of their colleagues buried under the rubble. They kept nosy and frightened people at a distance. The rest of the squad rushed to the concert hall in order to arrest Mischu the dwarf. In vain. No Mischu in or around the concert hall. They couldn’t take the risk. The concert with Katerina Kajewska was cancelled as a precaution. Further searches for Mischu were set up. The investigation didn’t deliver any results. The dwarf appeared to have vanished from the face of the earth. 132 17. The verdict. Things were made hot for Ivan. He was put on a grid. His whereabouts were checked and double-checked. What had he been doing in the Southern Mountains, in Paris, London and Madrid? His joking days were over. “I admit, I admit. I was there. I lost my son in the Southern Mountains. Forty children killed. I came to see my son. I was too late! The bomb had already exploded.” The inspectors dug in their files and came out with a list of names. “There’s no Poniatowski amongst the victims!” “His name was David. He was sick. He lived there under his mother’s name: Kajewski!” The inspectors dug deeper. “The only thing we have on a boy with that name, is a request for information regarding his whereabouts. He was missing before the actual bombing took place. Even if it’s your son, you’ve probably taken him out of the institution before you blew it up, as any father would do.” “I couldn’t have. I’ve got witnesses. David is dead. That’s what they told me.” “Don’t act the injured innocent with us! He’s not on the list.What were you doing in Paris, London and Madrid? Looking for your dead son again? You weren’t playing the innocent tourist there, were you?” “It was hard to get to Paris, London and Madrid, I had to get in touch with my wife, even though she didn’t want to see me,” Ivan explained. “I was and I am a poor bum, since my son died. I managed to save some money for the tickets. I wanted to talk about David. That didn’t work. Is it possible that my son is still alive?” The inspector didn’t answer. He just stared at him. 133 “You’re cruel.” Inside Ivan was dying. He couldn’t handle the uncertainty. For so many years he had assumed his son was dead. It couldn’t be. They were pulling his leg deliberately. It was common practice in police interrogations. “You’re joking, aren’t you?” “Let’s stick to the facts. What were you doing in Paris?” “I wanted to see my wife playing the piano.” “Your wife?” “I was married to Katerina Kajewska.” “She denies that completely!” “Have you spoken to her?” The inspector didn’t blink an eye. Ivan continued: “She’s a liar. I was on my way to see her, when you picked me up.” “After you bombed a house!” “I don’t know anything about bombs. I’m a peaceful man.” “You’ve got a criminal record.” “All minor incidents. I had to survive and save money to go to her concerts.” “You know what they say, Mister Poniatowsky: One thing leads to another. First you steal a penny, then you steal a car. Why did you murder Otto Gerald?” “That was an accident, I assure you. It was an accident. He gave me his weapon and it went off.” “How convenient. We’re supposed to believe such rubbish? How did you meet with Mr. Gerald?” “He was in the neighbourhood when the first house exploded.” “So you were in the neighbourhood when the first bomb in this town exploded. You’re always in the neighbourhood.” “A coincidence...” “Another one. You used to live in that house. The list of the houses you lived in as squatter is identical to the list of the houses that 134 were bombed. What are the odds?” “I don’t remember exactly... I have lived in lots of places. I lived amongst squatters for about two years. A lot of people don’t like the homeless. A lot of people don’t like the poor. I was a bum, since my son...” “But he didn’t die, did he?” “You can’t be sure of that. His body was never found.” The inspectors shrugged their shoulders and turned another page. “Mister Otto Gerald wasn’t a squatter, was he?” “No, he was a very nice man. He let me stay in his place, after he struck me down.” “So he harmed you? You shot him and bombed his house to take revenge!” “I wasn’t aware at first, you have to believe me...” “Too many coincidences, Mr. Poniatowski.We don’t believe you. And the dwarf? Michal Poliansky? He was also reported missing after the bombing in the Mountains. You see, people incline to turn up after their dissappearance in the same town as you. Isn’t that surprising? Stop lying! Is he your accomplice? Where is he? You could make it easier for you if you confess and tell us his whereabouts.” “I didn’t see him when I was in the mountains. He was there at Otto’s when I was recovering. He’s given me the binoculars to keep me busy. He’s been very nice to me. I don’t know where he is. We were supposed to go to the concert together, but he didn’t show up.” “How convenient again. Did you murder him as well?” “I couldn’t possibly have murdered a friend.” “What’s your relationship with Achmed El Zjerbia? We know you met him at Otto’s place. What did he instruct you to do?” “I don’t remember!” “We know about the letter. Denying won’t help you, Mr. 135 Poniatowski. On the contrary.” “What letter?” “Blind surrender, foolish love. You know what passion can do to young minds. I came from the East to set things right. For me it was no betrayal: I tried to make this world a better place for us,” he read aloud. “I wrote that letter to my wife to explain...” They all burst out laughing. The judge and the jury didn’t show much mercy to Ivan Poniatowski, who kept on claiming his innocence. Events proved them right: the bombing stopped. So Ivan had to stay in his cell for the rest of his remaining days, where nobody heard him howling and where he slowly pined away. That was the official version. One of his inmates claimed that Ivan had ordered ‘The count of Monte Christo’ from the prison’s library and that nobody had heard from him since then. Otto Gerald got a statue on Main street, just across from King Fred’s pub, thanks to all his friends who had paid him a friendly visit. 136 Having a drink with the King’s son. 18. The bastard. Unpleasant people say that some children shouldn’t have been born, that they should be killed straight after birth. They say that the dregs of society, even entire races should be castrated or sterilized, to guarantee the rich and mighty a carefree life in a safer world. On the other hand nicer people say not to bother about the ‘lower rankings’, because they’ll end up in ‘removing’ each other. They prefer to observe the rats in labs, enjoy the slaughter, rather than have blood on their hands. The terminology is more refined. The result however is the same. Well, Lukasz Vandervorst was such a child that shouldn’t have been born. He grew up nevertheless and was thirty-three years old. He was allowed to breathe, to steal the oxygen, probably because a white coat had forgotten to pull the plug out. He lived in a small house in a small town, together with his mother. He was not married, he was a carpenter, a man without a past, a boy without a father, a child with his mother’s name. Vandervorst was a royal name, according to her. Who cared? No one was impressed by it. On the contrary. At school he was mocked and bullied. “Is that blue blood pouring out of your nose?” The girls found his crooked nose rather attractive. He was being mocked, when the boys stuck his head in the toilet. “Do you like another royal flush?” His long and splendid hair excited their envy. He was being mocked even later on, when he was at work. It was more subtle, according to their standards, but the cruelty remained. 137 “Hey, Vandervorst, what’s your father doing in my deck of cards?” He had never liked to play card games anyway. Neither had most of the women he knew. The worst part were the children imitating their fathers. “You are a bastard! You are a bastard!” They couldn’t even spell the word properly. The survival in a confined cage was a tough game to play. It was a puzzle of little revenges. At school he used to write down the wrong answers on purpose when he saw they were copying from him or he changed his solutions constantly, just to drive them crazy. At work he repaired old fences and holes in shabby porches and fucked the mockers’ wives afterwards! The women didn’t mind. They even paid him for a job well done. He’d never fucked Germaine the doctor’s wife, even when she felt alone. He had too much respect for doctor Gabriëls, because he helped out with his mother. He was a kind and gentle person, unlike the others. “Hey Vandervorst, why aren’t you married? Can’t you find a suitable bride?” He let them believe they were in control. Inside he laughed. His town was a prison with invisible warders and invisible bars, but they were there: he could smell them. At night, when he laid down on his bed and counted the stars through a little window, he played on his harmonica and heard voices, shouts, loving husbands slapping their women, fellow prisoners being tortured, jingling bunches of keys, dogs howling and barking, his mother blaming him for his father’s departure, his mother crying when she was in pain, shots being fired, boots stamping on the cobbled road. He tried to drown those nocturnal noises with his music. He cried for silence. He yearned for silence. He played for silence. Then a miracle happened. His mother died. Jeanine Vandervorst 138 died early in April. Everything else was coming to life. Flowers were blooming, the trees were blossoming, migratory birds were returning from a long journey. She decided otherwise. She decided to put an end to her life. Lukasz saw her struggling in the noose. At her funeral he played Morricone’s ‘The Man with the Harmonica’. Some people were stunned and said it was inappropiate and cruel. He couldn’t care less. The crying was over. The yearning was over. He got his silence all right. It felt like a relief. It was a great weight off his mind. By dying she gave him his freedom. He was grateful to her. He could finally break out. Afather should probably be his son’s God. Lukasz’ father wasn’t. He was the cause of all his misery and misfortune. Lukasz had already imagined a thousand of cruel deaths for the fellow he reluctantly referred to as his father and who was no more to him than his biological begetter, a coward who had mounted, impregnated, and abandoned Jeanine Vandervorst and himself. He wanted to confront him, face him. He wanted to ask him why he had abandoned them. He wanted his crown. That was his instinct, that was his destiny. Find the king, find the crown. ‘The king is still alive!’ as the local Chinaman used to say. Freedom is like standing at the crossroads and choosing a direction. He found a letter and an old photograph in a tin box: mum’s hidden secrets. There was a postage stamp on the envelope, the town where the letter was posted. That was a start. That was his direction. There was also a name at the bottom of it: Joseph Kròl. He made some inquiries. Rose, the woman of the pharmacist confirmed his father’s name and dropped a remark that Joseph was a talented carpenter like himself: skilful and goodlooking. She even brushed away a tear. Heidi, the woman of the Volvo dealer confirmed the relationship 139 between Joseph and Jeanine. She had never expected the relationship to last, Jeanine being that strict and stubborn. Luckily Lukasz didn’t look like her, she said in the same breath, while she pinched his buttocks. Mary, the butcher’s wife, confirmed Joseph’s sudden departure. She couldn’t say exactly why, even though she had heard there was another woman involved.What a waste, she sighed. They were turning his father into a legend. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?” he insisted. They all were. They were clearly exaggerating, he was convinced. Except for Claire, the only single woman in town. She didn’t sing his praises. She tried to warn him he shouldn’t leave. It just turned out she had never had it off with his father. She begged him to stay. She felt cheated. He quickly righted that wrong. Germaine, doctor Gabriëls’ wife, smiled at him and caressed him on the cheek with one finger: “What can I say? You’ll do it your way anyway. Nothing can stop you.” Germaine was right. The events drove him. It turned out to be a longer journey than expected, Joseph Kròl moving around a lot and never staying in the same place for more than a week. Lukasz’ rovings led him through the country. He went from town to town, in the footsteps of his biological begetter. Carpentry was the trail he followed. In the long run he recognized Joseph’s hand. The master hand. Joseph was more of an artist. An artistic rat. Wherever Lukasz saw a wooden sculpture out of the ordinary, he asked the people if Joseph had made it and if they knew where he had gone to. Especially the women seemed to remember him. The dirty bastard had conquered lonely hearts everywhere. ‘He was so nice with the kids’, was a phrase that came up a few 140 times. He managed to track him down in a place called Valley, in the Southern Mountains. It was early in the morning when he arrived there. He noticed a little girl following him. She was barefoot, her face was covered with dirt and mud and she had bright green eyes. He thought her to be eight or nine. He walked towards her to have a friendly chat. When he reached out to her, she bit him in his fingers. He bled. He swore loudly. When he tried to grab her, she showed a clean pair of heels. A man of his age sat on the well in the village square. He held a flute in his hand. He saw what happened. He beckoned him to come and gave him a white handkerchief with a look of compassion. Lukasz wound it round his finger. “Those filty rats!” The man felt scandalized. “Thank you.” Lukasz tried to dab the blood. “Never try to be nice to them!” “They’re prowling about and wait for the right moment to rob you.” “I just wanted to talk with her. What possessed that girl?” “One should take care of them. Definitely, I mean. They’re a disgrace to civilisation.” Lukasz felt ill at ease. He wanted to agree with the flute-player, but he resisted that impulse. His solution was rather drastic. The man saw him having doubts and changed his tone. “What’s your business here anyway?” Lukasz showed him his father’s picture. The man sounded suspicious: “What do you want from this man?” “I want to know where I can find him.” The man looked at him disapprovingly and said: “Wouldn’t you rather chase little girls?” Lukasz felt offended: “What for?” 141 The flute-player smiled without words: “Because little girls are easier to chase.” Lukasz couldn’t appreciate his sense of humour and persevered in his questioning. “Do you know his address?” “Why don’t you ask the postman?” The man made it clear the conversation was over and shut himself in his music, the way Lukasz used to do. Playing for silence. Lukasz understood, left him alone, wanted to return to give back his handkerchief, but decided to keep it. The man had other things on his mind. He was entertaining a dwarf and his dog who were moving and dancing to his music. The postman didn’t know his address either. “He never gets any mail,” he explained. “Ask the shopkeeper!” The shopkeeper wasn’t sure. “He never comes in,” he said with indignation, “I wonder where he buys his goods. My shop is the only one in the neighborhood. Ask the priest!” “Never goes to Mass,” the priest informed him as he glanced at the clouds. “May God have mercy on his soul.” “A man is not a God!” Lukasz mumbled, meaning he shouldn’t show any mercy. “You’re so right,” the priest said praising Lukasz’ humbleness and added in a whisper: “but sometimes he can get so close!” Joseph Kròl appeared to live around, nobody knew exactly where. Were they protecting him? Why would they protect The Evil One. Joseph worked in mysterious ways. Lukasz felt he was getting close. His best lead came from a woman who smelled like the rotten flesh boiling in the cauldron in the fireplace behind her and who was surrounded by flies. “Go to the Voody,” she whispered with a crack in her voice. “Go to the Voody! They’ve got the answers.” 142 “What’s the Voody?” “It’s a pub!” “Does Joseph come in the Voody?” “Everybody else does,” she winked. “Who can resist a Voody?” Lukasz grinned nervously and shivered as she withdrew into the darkness of her cave. Her finger pointed to the sun. “Go to the Voody, turn left behind the chapel,” she kept repeating with a shrieking laughter that gradually changed into sad wailing. He followed her instructions and went east. The flute-player walked the other way. The dwarf and his dog had already gone away. There was a small path just between the chapel and the graveyard. (A rather impressive graveyard for a town as small as Valley, Lukasz noticed.) It winded among the trees, it went up and down for at least an hour, and led to a small pond. He washed his hand in it and threw the handkerchief away. The bleeding had stopped. Lukasz thought he was lost. There was no pub to be seen, no music to be heard, no drunks to be dodged. It was still early, but he had expected a sign, a beer can or a puddle of vomit beside the path. Nothing of the kind. He took off his shoes and socks and put his feet into the water. That was refreshing. A huge gaggling resounded. Some geese flew off. A duck and her ducklings swam in a hurry towards the other side of the pond. Lukasz smelled at his feet. Silence finally took over. A gentle breeze whistled through his hair. The sun beamed on his face. He closed his eyes, enjoyed the moment, and dozed off. Happy dreams took over from silence. He was flying above the woods and circling over the pond together with a flock of geese. He enlarged his radius and circled over Valley and its graveyard, the postman and the flute-player, the witch and her cave, Rose, Heidi, and Mary and their deceived 143 husbands and Claire with her appealing eyes, not looking at him, but at his father. And of course there was Germaine. Gentle Germaine. He was floating with the warm flows of air. Controlling nature and space, almost without the beating of a wing. Suddenly he heard two, three, four shots. A hunter shouldering his rifle. Claire fell down: nice shot, he thought.Atelephone rang. His mother hung up. Lukasz woke up and saw a man with a red cap at a small distance on a beach hitting the sand with a shovel. Bang, bang, bang! He had probably been digging a hole for a while, hidden something in it, and was now trying to cover up his tracks. Lukasz sat up and looked at the man. The man noticed him, flattened the bumps in the soil, and walked towards him with his shovel. He didn’t look happy at all. Lukasz had disturbed him in his activities, whatever they might have been. He came closer with hasty steps and switched his shovel from his right to his left hand as if he was getting ready to hit Lukasz with one stroke. Lukasz had still time to take to his heels, but he didn’t. He had suffered so many attacks in his past life that he should be able to make a stand this time as well, he assumed. He was not a coward. The man with the red cap stood before him and ran his eye over him. He was chewing tobacco. He was in his sixties. That was a relief. “You’re a stranger,” he said after a while. “You’re a stranger to me as well!” Lukasz replied. The man’s age had put his heart at rest. “I live here!” the man made a knowing remark and he stared Lukasz in the eyes. What was Lukasz to think? In his thoughts Lukasz was anticipating a vigorous shovel attack by the old rheumatic man. He already heard his joints creaking. “It’s my first time around,” he 144 confessed. “What’s the shovel for?” “For digging!” The shovel became too heavy and fell. Lukasz started back. The stranger smiled: “You’re a city boy, aren’t you?” “A small city...boy. I mean, not a small boy, but... for digging?” Lukasz fumbled for words. The old man didn’t. He sounded resolute as he interrupted. “What’s your business here?” Lukasz cleared his throat. He mustered up his courage and said boldly: “I’m looking for someone. Joseph Kròl. Do you know him?” “It depends.” The old man wasn’t thrown off his balance. “What’s your name?” “My name is Luke. My business is with Joseph Kròl. Only with him. What’s your business? What’s your name?” The man opened his mouth and picked up his shovel. “What happened to your hand?” he evaded the question. “A little girl bit me.” “Did she now?” “She was probably hungry.” Gradually the man showed two rows of dark brown teeth and roared with laughter: “Kids can sometimes be cruel and thoughtless. That’s the way they are. They either love you, or they don’t. I sure like people to be straightforward from the start and I sure like a fellow who can tell a joke. I think I like you, Luke. My name is Marshal!” Marshal had one tooth missing in the upper row. That was where he kept his wad of tobacco. He stuck his shovel into the ground and started shaking Lukasz’ hand. “Fancy a Woody, Luke? We can talk over there!” He winked and he pointed to a couple of trees further on. Lukasz didn’t feel the need to rush blindly into a new adventure. 145 What were the old man’s intentions? Fancy aWoody? At his age? The kinky devil. “Come on!” Marshal urged him. Then Lukasz remembered. “You mean a Voody?” he said hesitantly with a sparkle of innocent relief in his eyes. The old man was overcome with laughter again. “You’ve met the old vitch in the village, haven’t you? Have you seen her vhiskers?” He put two fingers under his nose. It was getting through to him. Lukasz smiled and nodded. He felt more at ease. The man wanted to go to the Woody and have a drink. Marshal patted him on the shoulder and turned round. He already walked towards the trees. Lukasz hadn’t given it a moment’s thought yet, but suddenly it occurred to him that the Woody was not a usual name for a pub. What kind of bar was the Woody anyway? What kind of people went to the Woody? Fancy a Woody? Should he be concerned? (“Concerned? Concerned?” The rapist said to the little girl as they walked into the dark woods hand in hand. “You shouldn’t be concerned. I’m the one that should be concerned: I have to come back on my own.”) He put on his socks and shoes and he followed the old man with the red cap, the shovel and a small rucksack to a cottage hidden behind the trees. Lukasz heard a rustle in the bushes. Two bright green eyes were observing him. He realized it was the little girl he had met earlier. He put his hands in his pockets. Keep those sweets out of sight! He shouldn’t forget his objective after all: finding Joseph. 146 19. Day 1 in the Woody Marshal ordered a cup of tea. So did Lukasz. They sat down at a table near the window. They were the only customers. Lukasz heard two voices in the kitchen. That of the bartender and that of a child. The child was getting told off. Marshal spat the tobacco he was chewing through a hole specially made for that purpose in the window. Lukasz heard a clinking sound. The spit had landed in a brass pot on the porch. Lukasz tried to spit through the same hole, but missed it by an inch. “See that shovel?” Marshal began. He sat quietly on his chair, took the shovel in his right hand as if it was a relic. Lukasz nodded: “I can see it!” “Got it from Joseph, way...way back. It still shines, doesn’t it?” He shoved it under Lukasz’ nose to show. “It does...” Lukasz had to admit. He noticed it was sharp as well. “I’ve taken care of it. It was a present. It sure helps me out.” “What with?” “Digging!” Mike the bartender came out of the kitchen. A boy with a funny green hat tried to sneak out past him, but Mike blocked his route. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” The bartender bent over. The boy kissed him and ran outside. Lukasz saw the little guy disappear into the woods. Mike put two cups in front of them and poured the tea. “Lemon, milk?” he asked. Lukasz saw he already held a bottle of milk in his left hand and anticipated. “Milk please...” He pointed to the door and asked: “Your kid?” “No, just a kid.” Mike apparently didn’t feel like examining that matter any further and poured milk into the cups. “Last time someone asked for lemon we hung him by the balls in our special 147 lemon tree,” he said without turning a hair. Marshal started laughing. “That sure was great fun, Mike. I remember it as if it was yesterday! Meet Luke! Fresh meat in town.” “Whatever happened to his hand?” “One of the kids bit him. She was probably hungry.” Marshal stole Lukasz’ joke. Mike grinned. “And to his nose?” “There’s nothing wrong with my nose!” Lukasz answered. Mike and Marshal started laughing. Lukasz let them have their laughs. He was used to it. He grabbed Mike’s hand and said: “Luke! Nice to meet you! A truck ran over my nose, if you really want to know. They had to have the truck towed away to the junkyard! The driver is still in hospital!” Marshal bursted out laughing: “He sure is funny, isn’t he?” Mike agreed and he slapped Lukasz on the back. “That kid must have been very hungry! Look how thin he is. He’s all skin and bone!” Lukasz almost choked and spilt some tea on his shirt. “Mike Walker, pleased to meet you, too. What’s your business here anyway?” Mike continued as he cleaned the window around the hole. “His business is with Joseph Kròl. Only with Joseph,” Marshal spoke for him. Mike addressed himself to Lukasz. “Joseph who?Why should we know a Joseph? Who told you that?” Marshal turned pale. Lukasz had caught his breath again and answered. “Marshal did. Joseph gave him that shovel over there.” “For digging,” Marshal tried to back out. Mike swore under his breath.Marshal had apparently made a slip. “If you don’t mind me asking: what kind of business? We’ve got 148 149 to be careful. There are a lot of weirdos hanging around in those woods.” “Personal business!” Lukasz said. Mike wasn’t convinced. “You won’t find Joseph. Stop looking for him. He will find you in the end but I wouldn’t count on it too much!” “I don’t want him to know. It’s a kind of surprise!” “It isn’t anymore, kid, the moment you stepped in here.” “Has it been a long time since he...?” Lukasz insisted, “I really need to...” “As I told you, it’s up to him. Joseph is a free spirit, a very free spirit. You won’t find him, unless he wants you to.” “I’m not a weirdo!” Lukasz pleaded his case. In his wild enthusiasm he knocked over his cup of tea. That got across very ridiculous and Mike and Marshal were roaring with laughter. “We caught us a normal one, Marshal!” “A normal city boy!” After a while they calmed down. Mike tried to put Lukasz’ heart at rest: “Don’t mind us joking around, Luke.” “I do mind being caught!” “It’s just a figure of speech. Marshal caught himself a Chinaman once. He was a great Elvis imitator.” “Yeah, the king is still alive!” Lukasz played up to him. “He didn’t like Sinatra though. You know Marshal has been studying Chinese since then? You should hear him talk Chinese. He has a book in Chinese. Keeps it in his bag.” “The China man wouldn’t fit in! Too small a bag even for a China man. He invited me over to his place! One should understand the lingo before one goes abroad...” Marshal elaborated on the subject. “He wants to go to China! That’s why he’s digging all day!” That was an original way to explain Marshal’s digging behaviour. “I’m prospecting, Mike, where to dig! Not every place is suitable to dig my way down to China. China isn’t Rome. Everybody knows that. Besides, I know only a couple of words in Chinese. So, I’ve got plenty of time. I sure have.” He didn’t twitch a muscle, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to tunnel one’s way down to China. “In what town does that Chinaman live?” Lukasz informed. He had great difficulty not to burst out in laughter in turn. He kind of liked their sense of humour. He had to play along. “Suppose he has moved...” Lukasz managed to keep a straight face, “...to Graceland.” “Just the other end of the tunnel, Luke. Besides, once I get there, I can ask. I shall know the lingo by then!” Marshal put down his cup, immediately adding a loud burp. This was a sign for Mike to bring over a couple of beers. “There’s no drink, like home-brewed beer!” Marshal said. “Don’t you agree?” Lukasz agreed and took a gentle sip of the brew. “You have to keep up with the grown-ups, boy,” Marshal started to speed him up. They sat down and drank. Lukasz was not used to heavy drinking. A couple of beers already did the job. They started to work in Lukasz’ head. He felt dizzy and he started yawning. Some people start to fight, when they’re drunk, Lukasz became tired. Mike saw him suffering. “I’ve got a room for rent upstairs,” he suggested, supporting his words with another slap, “if you don’t mind the noise and the price.” “How much is it?” Lukasz asked. “I think we caught us a city boy!” Marshal sneered. “Don’t you worry, young friend,” Mike said, “it’s not so expensive!” 150 “If you don’t mind sleeping in a dump!” Marshal added silently. Lukasz grinned from ear to ear. He had to admitMike had a point. He was desperately in need of a bed and agreed to rent a room in the Woody for the time being. He wanted to find Joseph after all. He stood up and nearly fell over. Mike helped him upstairs and put him in a bed. The room wasn’t as bad as Marshal had predicted. Lukasz didn’t wake up until late in the evening. When he came down, there were five, six people in the bar. Two at the counter, three at a table, and Marshal still sitting near the window, swigging beer, chewing tobacco and spitting through the same hole in the window. Mike stood behind the counter and was entertaining two people, Bill and Bob, two fishermen, Lukasz assumed, considering the rods standing next to them. Bill and Bob looked rough and terrifying. “Rats come out at night, don’t they?” Mike welcomed him back. The fishermen laughed. “Is it that late already?” Lukasz said with a sour smile. He felt like a fish with his head cut off. “You’d like some breakfast, Luke?” Mike asked him. The fishermen laughed again. Lukasz didn’t understand the joke at first. So he smirked. “Yes, please!” He was dying for a bite to eat anyway. Then he remembered the time and understood. “Of course, breakfast!” He went to Marshal’s table and sat down. He wasn’t in the mood for talking. Marshal grinned. “How was life in the dump?” “It could have been worse. Can’t stand the drink, though,” Lukasz excused himself to him. “Yet!” Marshal corrected him and he ordered another bottle of beer. “Start the day with the last drink you had the night before.” “How long have I been away?” 152 Marshal counted the empty bottles.”For about fifteen beers...” “The day is not over yet...” Lukasz started to gather a load of spit in his mouth, but wisely decided to swallow it. “That’s the spirit. Cheers Luke! Cheechee-yeza, that’s how they say it in Chinese.” “Cheechee-yeza to you, too!” Lukasz pursed his lips. “You’re sure the China man didn’t want your money, when he said that?” “He didn’t get it anyway.” Marshal sneered. He saw Lukasz knocking back the bottle. He spilt half of it. “You’ll get used to it. Trust me! The more you drink, the better you sleep. Did you sleep well?” Meanwhile Mike placed his breakfast in front of him. “Like a baby,” Lukasz had to admit. “Do you want another dummy?” Mike asked and he stuck his thumb in his mouth. “He’s just teasing you,” Marshal explained. “It’s our second nature.” “I know, I can stand a joke! Give us another two bottles, Mike.” “Now, you’re talking!” Marshal praised him Mike was already cracking jokes at the counter with Bill and Bob. Lukasz took a bite. The food was surprisingly tasty. Very tasty indeed. “Mike’s the best,” Marshal read his thoughts. “He can make a king’s meal out of nothing. Cheechee-yeza!” “Mmcheechee-mm..” “His speciality is River Rabbit. Ever eaten that?” “Nwoompf..” “You can’t get it anywhere else. People come from far away just to eat his River Rabbit. Comes with baked potatoes and carrots! River Rabbit à la Mike.” The fishermen split their sides laughing, roaring like a juke-box, as if some one had injected coins into their veins. 153 “Succulent meat,” Marshal continued. He wasn’t distracted by the fishermen laughing. “Don’t forget the sauce, woo...” Marshal closed his eyes and smacked his lips. “Red wine sauce, goes well with game. Mike’s the best. He sure is.” “I’ve never heard of River Rabbit before,” Lukasz had to admit. Mike came over to clear the table. He gathered the bottles in one hand and took Lukasz’ plate in the other. Marshal kept on lecturing, because being a city boy Lukasz wasn’t supposed to know. “There’s a great deal I can teach you about nature. Male rabbits for instance have built their love-nest by now and they’re desperately searching for a female.” “Who isn’t?” Lukasz had to agree. “Isn’t that romantic?” Marshal started humming. “I think of women all the time!” “That’s when I hit them on the head with my shovel, when they’re off their guard,” Mike filled him in. “Love hurts!” Lukasz sang. Marshal looked up. “Hey, Mike, I was just telling him about your...” “I heard you. You were telling Luke about your sex life, weren’t you?” “No, no, about your river rabbit!” “Can make you one by tomorrow, if you want some, Luke.” “Seems all right to me.” Lukasz wiped his mouth and took a sip of his beer. “I’m such a sucker when it comes to romance. I like the way you catch them, though!” “They can be a real plague those muskrats nowadays!” Mike added with a frown. “Muskrats?” Lukasz turned up his nose. “I’ll be happy to prepare one for you!” The fishermen started giggling, when they saw Lukasz tensing up 154 155 the moment Mike pronounced the word muskrat. “Can I come and hunt with you?” Marshal asked. “That’ll stop you blabbing with our young guest.” Mike mumbled. “Nobody wants to know about an old man’s mating habits!” “My clockwork is still ticking!” Marshal bragged and grasped his shovel. “Who’s arguing then?” Marshal seemed satisfied and called out: “Fill them up!” He took Lukasz with him to the counter where they continued discussing Marshal’s fertility and Mike’s recipes. From close by Bill and Bob looked even more terrifying. They had glassy eyes, as if beer or whatever they had been consuming had washed away the colour out of their pupils. “So you want to get in touch with Joseph, don’t you?” He heard them asking. “We don’t like people snooping around.” One hour later Lukasz fell off his stool. Bill and Bob were overcome. “I hope it’s not catchy.” Mike frowned. “I’ve just cleaned the floor.” “I sure hope not,” Marshal agreed. “Cheechee-yeza!” “That’ll be sixty-five euro then!” Mike had already opened his till. “I’m not leaving yet,” Marshal said. “Sorry. I thought you were asking for your bill.” 20. Day 2 in the Woody “We had quite a party yesterday after you hit the sack,” Mike said. He was doing the dishes. “Should I help?” Lukasz proposed. His head felt like a watermelon. “If you’re able to...” He pointed to Lukasz’ right hand. “No problem,” Lukasz said. Lukasz took a towel and started wiping the glasses dry. He could tell by the number of bottles that there had been a big crowd over last night. “I didn’t hear anything.” “That’s amazing, because after I’d told them that a new guest had arrived, everybody came up to have a look at you. You slept like a baby. No dummy though.” He grinned. It took a while before it got across to Lukasz. Watermelons tend to have a thick skull. Once you’re through, there’s nothing but pits and pulp. “They came up and had a look at me? In my room?” “We stood around your bed. Especially the women were difficult to keep off. They always show great interest in men lying down. You know how they are.” Even city boys knew. Lukasz muttered something indistinctly. Mike noticed his concern and tried to put his mind at rest: “There’s one coming back for you this evening,... if she remembers. No promises. Her name is Lola.” He started singing. “Lololololoo- laa...” After a while he stopped. “Anyway, you made an impression on her in spite of the fact that you were drunk and asleep. You want breakfast? Tea with lemon? Beer? You should always start the day with the last drink you had the night before.” “No thanks. A large glass of cold fizzy lemonade. That’s all I need for now. I’m going for a walk. I’ll have a bite later on, when I return.” 156 “It’s good advice, though!” Mike put a glass of lemonade in front of him. “Lemonade is not good for you!” Nevertheless, Lukasz knocked it back. “Thanks Mike, but no thanks. Lemonade is heaven. Joseph Kròl wasn’t here last night by any chance?” “It’s unlikely you’ll ever meet him. He has to be careful.” “Careful? Why?” “Someone could harm him. There are a lot of people who don’t like him!” “I can imagine that,” Lukasz mumbled. Mike knotted his brows. “Do you want to harm him, Luke?” “I mean, you can’t remain on good terms with the whole world. I had a lot of enemies.Mostly deceived husbands. I just want to see him and talk to him.” “What’s your connection with him? What’s your relationship with him?” Lukasz kept quiet, so Mike continued: “You’re not helping us. Why do you want to talk with him?” It sounded more like a police interrogation. Lukasz started to feel uncomfortable. He weighed his words. “Because I’ve heard of him before, when I was younger. Everybody kept on talking about him. He has been haunting my head since then,” he finally said. “You’re chasing a ghost! Give it up!” Lukasz couldn’t be more specific. If he told the truth, he’d lose every chance to see him. He wasn’t even sure himself what he would do with his anger and hate, should he stand face to face with him. “I can’t help it. It’s my destiny to see him.” He stood up and went outside, leaving Mike at the table. “Be careful in those woods!” he heard Mike warning him. Outside Lukasz saw a lean dog drinking from the brass pot on the porch. It was the black mongrel he saw before. Lukasz heard a 157 sharp whistle. The dog heard it as well. He jumped up and ran towards the treeline, where the dwarf was waiting for him. Lukasz got a breath of fresh air walking along a brook which he tried to follow up to the source, but the freakishness of nature didn’t allow him. There was too much undergrowth. He heard a branch snap behind him. Was there anybody following him? He was trying to locate his pursuer. He heard someone whispering. Was it that little girl again, with the bright green eyes? Who was she whispering to? He grabbed a stick and stuck it up. “I know you’re there. Show yourself!” he shouted a couple of times, but she remained invisible. Perhaps she wasn’t that hungry anymore. After ten minutes he gave up his search. On his way back he saw a barefooted woman embracing a tree. She held the trunk with both her arms as if she was trying to pull it out. She caressed it as if it was a huge phallus. He was intrigued by her and her doings. Her eyes were closed. Yet she saw him. “Do you hear the voices?” she began. “You heard them as well? Have you seen any children?” “They’re inside the trees. If you listen carefully, you can hear them talking.” He put his ear against the bark and listened. He heard nothing. He knocked on it to find a hollow spot. Nothing. “There’s nobody inside!” he had to conclude. “You have to feel with your whole body, if you want to understand the meaning of the words!” “What are they saying?” “They want to grow, grow stronger every day, but evil forces are trying to stop them.” “What evil forces?” “Mankind doesn’t care for nature anymore, but Fiona does!” She 158 started elaborating on the subject of nature. That was far beyond him. A carpenter needs the trees to be chopped down after all. When she was about to explain what her ideal nature man was (she liked them dark and tall), Lukasz decided it was time to go back to theWoody, before she went into any further details of her intimacy. It was past midday when he returned. Mike was waiting for him. He sat at the table. There was a damping pot in the middle of the table near the window. Lukasz sat down and shared a plate with Mike. The famous River Rabbit à la Mike. They sat quietly facing each other. Lukasz had to overcome the horrifying concept of eating rat. It is just a rabbit, he kept repeating to himself, a nice little bunny. He managed to swallow the first bits. The sauce was divine. Marshal hadn’t been exaggerating. It was succulent meat. The flesh fell from the bone. It even tasted like rabbit. They drank half a bottle of red wine with it: the half Mike hadn’t poured into the sauce. When he finished his meal, Mike asked him: “Did you like it?” “I actually did!” Lukasz said. Mike smiled. He looked satisfied and proud of himself. “That sounded convincing.” “Convincing enough to reveal me where Joseph lives?” Mike didn’t answer that one. He opened another bottle of wine and poured two glasses for dessert. When Lola came in, she had long black hair. She did her utmost to keep her breasts in a bright silvery dress and occassionally showed the upper end of her black stockings. She sat on a stool at the bar and winked Lukasz to come over, which he did. He joined her at the counter. Mike cleared the table and took his position behind the counter. “AMartini, Lola?” 159 “The usual, Mike. The same for our new guest.” Lola was not the girl to accept a refusal, so, Lukasz drank his first Martini, and a second one, and a third one. “Are you all right after all that lemonade?” Mike jibed. “It’s refreshing,” was all Lukasz could come up with as he pulled himself up a stool. “It’s like lemonade.” Mike was in league with Lola. They giggled. Nobody ever tasted the vodka in the Martini. They already knew what was bound to happen. “Our friend has been out in the woods today!” Mike started off. “He should be more careful!” “That’s what I told him, but he wouldn’t listen.” “So, Luke, you’re looking for Joseph, aren’t you?” Lola asked. “Is he living in the wood then?” Lola hesitated. Mike answered for her: “We actually don’t know where he lives. Nobody knows!” “You know him by any chance?” Lola hesitated again. She looked at Mike. Mike nodded. She showed Lukasz a dried forget-me-not wrapped in plastic. “Your lover?” he assumed. Lola took a handkerchief out of her bag and with a tip of it she started dabbing in the corner of her left eye. “For services rendered,” she said casually. “He’s such a sweet man.” “Is he now?” Lukasz wondered. “Don’t you believe me? He’s so good with kids. He takes care of my two little boys.” Lukasz was silent as the grave. Lola started crying, as she had expected more consideration. “You’ve upset her,” Mike reproached him. “Sorry about that.” “It’s all right. You couldn’t know,” Lola sobbed. “One must man- 160 age with what one has. I can see them whenever I want to. They’re so lucky to be with Joseph.” “I’m a city boy,” Lukasz apologized. He realized that was a rather cheap excuse, but he refused to agree. He couldn’t lie. Telling the truth would hurt even more. Should he tell her his father was evil and screwed every woman he met, left her, and got away with it? Should he question Joseph being a sweet man? Should he question her logic? Female logic? He couldn’t think of any other consolation than putting his arm around her. It worked. She appreciated it, laid her head on his shoulder, and stopped crying. He felt the martini melting his core and sending strange signals to his brain. The nearness of a warm human being and an overdose of martini appeared to be a deadly combination. Anyway, they ended up in his bed, where he was bound up by the wrists and the ankles. “Is this tight enough for you darling?” Lola was making a knot. He remembered her pouring liquid into his mouth and asking him questions about Joseph. He tried to keep his head. The ceiling was bouncing, the walls were moving from left to right. “Is it not too tight, darling?” Lola sat on top of him. “I shall take care of you!” He remembered Lola’s face decomposing and her make-up running out. Her voice changing. He was floating on waves, endless waves. “Why do you want to speak with Joseph?” “I’m a ghost,” he cried out. “I’m a ghost!” The sea carried him, caressed him, and fondled him. The wind finally took him out of the water and pushed him upwards to the skies. He was chasing a ghost, he was flying again in search of his crown, above the woods, and circling with a flock of geese. He was floating with the warm flows of air. Controlling nature and space, almost without the beat of a wing. 161 21. Day 3 in the Woody Next morning Mike came and cut him loose. Lola had already gone. “Had a good night?” he chuckled. “What happened?” “Lola happened!” Lukasz covered his naked body with a blanket. He was soaking wet. “I don’t remember much. We talked a bit, we kissed a bit. She’s a nice woman.” He wasn’t used to revealing the details of his nightly escapades. He had learned to be discreeter. “She’s a nice guy,” Mike rectified. “Didn’t you notice?” Lukasz was overwhelmed and dumbfounded. He remembered the booze, Lola’s moisted lips, her blond hair, her succulent tits. River Rabbit à la Lola. Blond hair? Black hair? The watermelon was fusing its pulp. “She had...” Lukasz looked at his hands. He was doubting. Weren’t they tied up? He smacked his lips. Succulent tits? “They do look real, don’t they? I shouldn’t bother too much,” Mike reassured him, “ She gave you the nice treatment considering the position I found you in. Other people couldn’t sit down for days. You’re lucky. She likes your face. Martini for breakfast?” Lukasz stood rooted to the spot. He had a dry mouth. He wanted a glass of cold fizzy lemonade. “Remember what I told you about lemonade!” “She told me she had two little kids.” “That must be her two little brothers. She always refers to them as her own.” “Why don’t they live with their parents?” “They don’t have any parents!” “Are they living with Joseph?” “I remember her saying that.” 162 As usual at dusk, the Woody got crowded. Lukasz had already wondered where those people kept on coming from. Valley was such a small village. Did they all live in the woods? In well-camouflaged bunkers, in trees, in caves and holes? “They come from everywhere,” Mike explained to him. “Some people come to eat, some people come to relax, some people come to have it off. I don’t care where they come from or why, as long as they have a drink!” That night Lukasz was on his guard. He still felt a bit uncertain after last night’s experience. He saw Linda sitting at the counter. She was a pale woman. She had a friendly face, short black hair and twinkling eyes. She wanted to talk to him. His self-confidence had taken a terrible blow. Lukasz doubted. He searched for Mike with an imploring look. Mike saw his anxiety. He winked and gave his thumbs up. “One hundred percent woman!” he whispered. That put him back on the right track. She was about his age. She had a nice figure and small hands. She saw him looking at them. “You’ve got small hands as well,” she smiled. “You know what they say about men with small hands.” “They’re bad piano players?” Lukasz replied. She was drinking red port. He had the same. He noticed a few bruises on her forearm. “What happened?” “Ran into a door!” “Really?” “No, my husband beats me up.” “That’s more like it...” Lukasz ordered another port, then he realized what he’d just said. “Your honesty, I mean, I like, I appreciate your honesty.” “You don’t mind me being married?” “Not at all. I love married women. Same woman, but in a box!” 163 In a way she was attracted to him. She fondled his nose and whispered: “My husband knows the man you’re looking for: Joseph. They used to chop down trees together.” It didn’t occur to Lukasz at that moment to seize the opportunity to obtain valuable information on Joseph. He was too much concentrating upon the woman touching him and fondling him. He was enchanted by her smell, her body and her touch. “Personally, I prefer the gentle touch,” he played along. “I can’t imagine why a man takes his anger out on his woman and still chops down a tree. You never know who lives inside them. If I would stumble upon such a man, I would give him a taste of his own medicine.” She kissed him on the cheek: “You’re a nice man, Luke! My husband is sitting over there at the table. His name is Harold.” She pointed at a robust guy in a green overall with a check shirt and a child’s head sticking out of it. He was drinking coke and sniggered. “I hold you to your promise!” she added, got up, and went to the toilets. Did she really expect him to fight that child-headed tree? Or did she want his gentle touch? The oak took the first step. Not towards him, but to the toilets. That was a relief. Even trees must have a leak now and then and he was not after him. He looked angry though. Lukasz was curious and decided to sneak behind him. Just in case his courage was needed. His gentle touch. With the utmost caution he opened the toilet door and was overcome by their conversation. They were arguing in a booth. “I didn’t tell him anything!” “Why are you doing this to me, Linda?” “I’m a bad girl, Harold. I’m such a bad girl. Why don’t you hit me?” “I don’t want to hit you. I love you.” 164 “You’re not a man, if you don’t hit me, Harold. You’re a wimp.” “Don’t say that, Linda.” “You want to be a wimp for the rest of your life, Harold?” Lukasz heard a few slaps and smacks, followed by a cooing voice: “Yes, Harold, now you’re a man, yes, Harold. Let me have it. I’m a bad girl!” Lukasz sneaked out as he had sneaked in. He went back to his place at the bar and kept one eye on the toilet-door. After a while he saw Linda coming out with a black eye. She had probably run into a door again. Lukasz looked at Mike and gave his thumbs up. One hundred percent woman. Thanks for the information. Linda looked happy and joined Harold at his table, where they started cuddling one another. She didn’t dare to look at Lukasz. Harold had completely won her over. “Has she let you down?” Mike teased him. “Everybody is entitled to live his own life.” “That’s the way to take it,”Mike encouraged him. “You’re adjusting yourself.” It was as if he was congratulating Lukasz on his good behaviour. That was the pin-prick Lukasz needed. He ordered another port and went to their table. He patted Harold on the shoulder. Harold turned around. Linda was beaming with selfsatisfaction. This was her moment. “I’ve been told you know Joseph Kròl,” Lukasz started. “So, what if?” Harold snapped. He still seemed to be in a whirl of excitement. “I have to find him.” “Find this!” Harold stood up and punched him in the face. Lukasz heard Linda tittering. Then his lights went out. 165 22. Day 4 in the Woody Felix was an impeccable dresser: white shirt, a three-piece suit, matching tie, matching socks, shiny shoes. A black briefcase lay in front of him on the counter. It was open. Some papers were sticking out. Felix was a salesman. He sold cleaning products for all purposes. He’d just made a delivery and was waiting for Mike to pay him. Meanwhile he was cleaning the area surrounding his glass with a coaster. He drank whisky, single malt. He saw Lukasz observing him and took the opportunity. He was a bit of a blabbermouth. No subject was foreign to him. “Do you like paintings?” he asked him. Lukasz shrugged his shoulders. “ It depends...”What was he talking about? Lukasz was more concerned about his nose and the damage in his face caused by Harold. He held a bag of ice against it. “Neither do I,” Felix continued. “They’re so messy, aren’t they?” Lukasz raised his right eyebrow. His left eye was swollen. Felix didn’t wait for an answer. “You should see my wife’s husband. He’s a painter.” “Your wife’s husband?” Lukasz shook his brains up. Even thinking hurt. “He is quite famous... as a painter. His name is Otto Gerald. He is my wife’s husband. You don’t understand. I don’t blame you. Few people understand. We’re not married actually. We’re living together. Not the painter and I. His wife and I. Can’t see the purpose of a man painting anyway. That’s why she left him. A salesman on the contrary. We sell products. We help people out. Not with silly pictures on canvas. No, with honest merchandise: a bar of soap, washing-powder, washing-up liquid, detergent. Everything that make’s life worthwile. That’s the key of our suc- 166 cess.We’re down-to-earth fellows. That’s why we are so successful with the ladies. That’s why they choose us. You’re not a painter, are you?” “I’m a carpenter,” Lukasz managed to get a word in. “Painters are odd devils. That’s what my wife keeps telling me. I’ve never seen the poor bum personally. Are you drinking out of a pub glass?” He didn’t notice Lukasz shaking his head -he wasn’t drinking at all- and continued in a whisper. “Saw two guys peeing into a glass once. The very thought of it makes me shiver. They were having a contest. The first to fill it, got the prize. Ever since, I carry my own glass with me whenever I’m having a drink in a pub. What was your profession again?” “I’m a...” “Anyway, you shouldn’t be afraid to drink out of Mike’s glasses. Mike has good cleaning products. I should know. They’re mine. They degrease, they disinfect, and they restore the old shine.” “...carpenter.” “Mike’s a good client. A very satisfied client, as all my customers are. I know a carpenter. Comes here now and then.” Lukasz’ interest was arisen. “What was his...?” The ice in the bag was melting and water was dripping out of it on the counter and Lukasz’ trousers. “Can I have another bag of ice please, Mike?” he shouted. “Don’t like him, though. He’s too much of an artist. Never needs any of my products. Never buys anything. I often wonder how people like that can survive. It must be a mess where he lives. A focus of infection. Tables and furniture, all greasy. Dirt and leftovers, all caked to the walls and the floor. Especially with all those children.” Mike came down the stairs and interrupted Felix. He put down the bottle of whisky next to his glass and gave Lukasz a fresh bag of ice. 167 “Stop complaining, Felix, do you want another one?” He didn’t wait for his answer and filled up his glass. Felix smelled at his whisky and drank from it with utmost care. “What was his name?” Lukasz managed to complete his question. “Felix is talking about things he has no knowledge of,” Mike said. “You must be kidding. No knowledge of it?” Felix went on. “It’s my business to know everything. Not one mop to clean with, not one brush to sweep with, no detergent to make your glasses bright and shiny, no spray can to freshen up the air. What a place of disaster it must be, where he lives. My name is Felix by the way. Here’s my card. Felix Unger as you can see.” He slipped Lukasz his business card. “The carpenter’s name!” Lukasz insisted. “No, my name!” Felix shouted. “It’s my name. Don’t you love the silvery print and the font on that card? It’s so straightforward and... clean. Cannot say that about the carpenter. I’m not sure he ever mentioned his name to me. Artists are so careless and impolite. They don’t know the essential rules of communication. Me, I’m always busy communicating with people. It’s my job. It’s my second skin. Everybody wants to know about the things I’ve done and what I’m about to do. They want to know about my products. What their effect is on metal, on wood, on plastic, on clothes. Do they remove blood stains, candle-grease, chocolate? Do they bring about a protective layer? Is there a special price when you order larger quantities?” “Was his name by any means Joseph Kròl?” Felix pauzed for a while and grabbed Lukasz by the shoulder. “What can I say?.... Yes, of course...They do remove bloodstains, candle grease and chocolate. They do bring about a protective layer. There is a special price when you order larger quantities.” “Where does he live? Have you been there?” He took Joseph’s 168 picture out of his wallet and shoved it under Felix’ nose. Felix didn’t look at the picture. He seemed annoyed he was interrupted. He wasn’t used to it. “I’ve been everywhere. The carpenter is not in my files anymore, since he refused to recognize the quality and the necessity of my products.” “You must have an idea!” “He doesn’t know where he lives. Nobody does!” Mike came to Felix’ rescue. Quite unnecessarily, as Felix kept on talking. “I’ve got lots of ideas. For instance, did you know there is an average of two thousand spiders per house. I’ve got the solution. Do you want to get rid of bugs and other such vermin? I can help you!” “What about the children? You mentioned them: especially with all those children, you said. Has he got children?” “You must have misunderstood him,” Mike answered in his place. “Joseph doesn’t have any children.” “We don’t get rid of the children, yet.” Felix said. “I don’t like children. They mess up the place with their dirty feet and fingers, but they’re good for business. I sell more products thanks to them.” Mike handed over an amount of banknotes to Felix. Felix immediately started counting. “I know I can trust you Mike,” he said, “but I just love the touch of those beauties...” Mike looked at Lukasz and winked. “Do you want a whisky, Luke?” “Yes, why not?” Lukasz accepted the fact he wouldn’t get any answers out of Felix. “You want some ice in it?” “I’ve got plenty! Thank you.” While Felix was counting, they were drinking a single malt 169 whisky. Mike pulled a banknote out off Felix’ hands and said: “That’s your contribution to mankind. I love a clean slate.” “How many did I have?” “As you said: you can trust me, Felix.” Mike ripped off a sheet from his notepad, crumpled it up, and aimed it in the basket. “Whatever happened to his face?” Felix whispered, when Mike got back to him. “He asked the wrong person the wrong questions,” Mike confided. Felix turned towards Lukasz and said: “If you ever need an address to fix your nose, call me! I’ve got a brother who’s a plastic surgeon.” Felix arranged the money in his wallet and the papers in his briefcase. He gulped down his drink, dried the glass with a kleenex, put it away, and stood up. “That’s all settled then. See you next month, Mike. Goodbye...uuh..Mister. What’s your face again?” He pushed his stool towards the counter and wiped the arms clean. He left a trail of neatness behind him. The shiny slime. “New customers to satisfy!” he said and raised one arm while leaving. “New dumps to be cleared up.” He shut the door behind him. The room breathed again as silence set in. “My face is Luke Vandervorst,” Lukasz whispered and he sipped at his drink. “What did you say? You want some more?” Mike asked him. “No, I said my name was Luke. Luke Vandervorst.” “First time I hear that name around. How do you spell it?” “Like you pronounce it! My mother used to say it was a royal name. Mothers!” “Yeah, my mother used to say I was a pretty baby, too. Look how I turned out. Can I have a look at that photograph?” He pointed to Joseph’s picture on the bar. “Be my guest!” Lukasz held his breath. 170 Mike looked carefully at it and said nothing. “That’s it?” Mike nodded, but had second thoughts: “How did you come by that picture? It’s an old one.” “As old as the world!” Lukasz confirmed. 171 23. Day 5 in the Woody As whisky had agreed with him the evening and the night before and he didn’t suffer from a hangover the next morning, Lukasz started the day with it. “Finally coming to your senses?” Mike smiled. “I’m adjusting... at my pace!” Round midday the flute-player came into the bar. Three customers sitting at a table near the window went out. He stopped playing, when he saw Lukasz sitting at the bar, came towards him, and sat down next to him. Mike turned on the radio. “Sorry for last time,” the flute-player apologized to Lukasz, “I was rather rude. My name is Talerot.” He held out his hand. “My name is Luke and I threw away your handkerchief, in case you were looking for it.” Lukasz shook his hand. “Whatever happened to your face, Luke or should I say Lukasz Vandervorst?” Lukasz sensed that Talerot hadn’t come over just to apologize. There was more. “Call me Luke. People have been working on it,” he mumbled. The flute-player grinned and ordered another whisky for Lukasz and a glass of vodka for himself. Mike completely ignored him. That was rather rude, Lukasz thought. “He doesn’t like me to come in here,” Talerot whispered. “Doesn’t he like your music?” “He doesn’t like us meddling in local affairs!” Lukasz could see Talerot knew more. He was curious about the outcome and ordered a whisky and a vodka instead of him. “Who is the vodka for?” Mike asked him. “Are you expecting someone?” “Do you have a squint or what?” Lukasz felt uncomfortable. “It’s 173 for my friend!” Mike shrugged his shoulders and poured a whisky and a vodka. “Adjust as you want, just don’t annoy the other customers,” he added with a wink. “What other customers?” Lukasz looked around. Since Talerot was the only customer, Lukasz addressed himself to him. “Am I annoying you?” Talerot shook his head. “You see, Mike? I’m not annoying anyone.” Lukasz grinned. Mike turned away and went to the kitchen. The flute-player continued softly. “You probably had a dispute with the locals, didn’t you? ” He pointed to Lukasz’ eye. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” “Did you make any progress in your search for Joseph Kròl?” “So you actually know him?” “By name. Not personally. The first time I met you I wasn’t sure why you were looking for him. Now I know. I know who you are.” “You know who I am?” Talerot kept on whispering: “You’re Lukasz Vandervorst. You’re looking for your father. You want to revenge yourself. I’m not amazed. I know what he stands for.” Lukasz was amazed. How did he find out? He tried to keep his head. “You know who I am. Big deal. I’m more interested in what you found out about my father. What does he stand for? Where does he live?” Talerot began to play a tune on his flute. Lukasz automatically covered his ears with both his arms. His head was still aching. Mike came back. Talerot stopped playing immediately. 174 Mike turned down the radio and said: “Sorry about that, music can be evil, after a heavy night! Your friend still hasn’t shown up, has he?” Talerot stood up and went outside. Mike took his glass and emptied it. “Thank you for the drink!” “I’m going to look for him outside!” Lukasz said. “Be careful, Luke. Like I said, there are a lot of weirdos hanging around in the neighbourhood.” Mike tried to justify himself. “I often wonder where the weirdos actually are! My friend has got some information about Joseph Kròl. Some serious information you won’t give me. I’ve got the ‘vague’ impression you’re shielding Joseph.” Mike’s face grew gloomy. “Even a weirdo can tell the truth!” Lukasz added. “There are perhaps things you’d better not know. In your own interest.” “Can’t I be the judge of that?” Lukasz stood up and left Mike grumbling. When the door shut, Mike went to the phone, dialled a number, and said: “Can I talk with Joseph, please? It’s urgent. He isn’t in? Give me the doctor then. Hallo, doctor, I think we’ve got a problem...” Talerot was waiting for Lukasz outside. “Let’s go for a walk, Luke. So we can talk freely.” Talerot started walking in the direction of the village. Lukasz followed him. They didn’t say a word. When they got to the pond, Talerot turned around and invited Lukasz to sit down. “We can talk there,” he said and pointed to a rock. “This is where I met Marshal,” Lukasz smiled. “He was digging his way to China, over there on that beach.” “Conceiling the village’s secrets, more likely.” 175 “You mean?” “That he was burrying corpses. That’s what I mean. It sometimes happen, you know, Lukasz. People die.” “Marshal is a nice guy.” “You’re so naive, Lukasz. Do you really believe everything those people tell you?” Lukasz had to admit that the China story was rather implausible, but it fitted Marshal’s character. “What’s going on between you and Mike?” he changed the subject. “I sensed some electric sparks! It was as if you didn’t exist at all.” “Mike is an important person in this village. He sees and hears everything that happens. He is the vital link between the village and Joseph. He doesn’t like meddlers and busybodies. He’s Joseph’s banker. He’s protecting his client. So is the rest of this village. “I had the same impression.” “They’re protecting this infamous creature that your father is.” “My father is evil.” “I know. I’m on your side. I want to help you to find him and to get your revenge.” “What’s it to you? Why would you help me? He’s my father.” “Joseph Kròl is not just your malicious father. He’s the leader of a criminal network. He’s exploiting young children for his benefit. They’re stealing, prostituting themselves, even murdering. He’s keeping some children against their will on a secret location. He’s a modern Fagin character. In fact Fagin was a much nicer person.” At that very moment Lukasz heard a shrill bird’s scream. There was an immediate reply from three different corners. Four children jumped out of the wood. Two of them were dressed like fierce warriors and carried sticks and stones. Their faces were 176 painted red and blue. They were about thirteen, fourteen. The two smaller ones had catapults and they had a sack attached to their trousers, filled with munition: small sharp pebbles. They immediately fired a couple of shots to calculate their shooting range. Then they carried out a heavy bombardment. The two bigger boys with the sticks came closer. It became more difficult to avoid the pebbles and the strokes at the same time. There was another birdcall. The little girl with the green eyes showed up from behind the trees and pointed at Talerot. The boys started to concentrate their attacks on Talerot. One hit him on the head with a rock, the other was aiming at his knees with a stick. Talerot dropped down. When Lukasz went to his recue, they sounded the retreat and fled into the woods. The siege lasted no more than two minutes, Lukasz guessed. It was a very well prepared and executed hit-and-run. He was not intimidated. “Do we follow them?” Adrenaline poured through his veins. Talerot sat down and rubbed his leg. He was mumbling: “Denise, Denise!” “Who’s Denise?” Lukasz asked him. “The knees hurt.” Talerot pointed to them. Lukasz didn’t want to leave him behind and kneeled down at his side. “Why don’t you inform the police?” he asked Talerot. “Because the police are involved. Don’t underestimate Joseph’s power. He is contaminating this whole area and could even contaminate the rest of this land if we, well-meaning citizens, don’t stop him. You could be the key in this story, Lukasz. You can stop him.” He accompanied Talerot to his sleeping place, an army tent, hidden behind some bushes and left him there to rest. “I’ll be all right,” Talerot reassured him. “Watch your back on 177 your way!” “Don’t worry about me. I can handle those kids! I’ll come and see you tomorrow!” Lukasz didn’t hear a sound or a noise on his way back to the Woody. The kids had probably crawled back into the trees. Joseph knew he was there. He just wanted to let him know. He was afraid of him. That filled Lukasz with even more strength and convinced him to persevere. Talerot had given Lukasz something to think about. Lukasz felt they were on the same side. It made his personal search even more interesting and noble. He could not only revenge himself, but he could save the world at the same time. When he came back to theWoody,Mike was surprised to see him. “Another whisky and a vodka?” “Yeah, why not! I deserve it.” Lukasz guzzled both. “You’re quite a stubborn fellow, aren’t you? Did you find your friend?” “My friend found me. Fill them up please.” 178 24. Day 6 in the Woody. “You’re a policeman, aren’t you?” Lukasz asked a man sitting at the counter. “What gave me away?” “Your sharp looks, the way you were sitting and observing..., and of course your uniform and the police car with the wailing sirens outside.” The police man grinned, grabbed his beer, and went to Lukasz’ table, where he sat down. He took off his kepi and put it on a chair next to him. He was about Lukasz’ age and an athlete. Some signs of body building were showing on his chest and arms. He had a nice face, a boyish smile, dimpled cheeks and sparkling eyes. “You don’t mind?” “Why should I? Where’s your colleague?” “My colleague?” “Yes, aren’t you supposed to walk in pairs?” “Inspector Daniels is making a tour of the premises, just to make sure. There’s a case of a missing child, David Kajewski, 12 years of age, small boy, 1m 60, brown eyes, green woollen hat, blue sweater, black pants, white sneakers. My name is John, by the way.” He shook Lukasz’ hand. “You didn’t happen to see a child matching that description, did you?” “We were attacked by a bunch of kids yesterday. No one with that description, though.” “Probably just kids playing,” he waved Lukasz’ complaint aside. “You said ‘we’?” “I was the lucky one. They missed me. Talerot was badly hurt!” John became more interested and started asking questions about Talerot and his condition. “Who is Talerot?” “Talerot is a flute-player. Ask Mike.” Lukasz said. “I hate flute-players!” Mike responded out of the blue. “I don’t 179 know any, though.” “How badly was he hurt? Could he still walk?” “I’m not a doctor, but he was badly hurt. He could hardly move.” Mike said: “My money is on the flute-player, if you’re looking for that boy! I don’t like strangers. Don’t you know that story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin?” “That’s a legend, a fairy tale!” John refuted. “And by the way: he was a ratcatcher, like you are!” Lukasz made a knowing remark. “I still don’t like him. Everybody should stay on his territory.” “Where did you last see him?” John insisted. “In the woods, near a pond, I don’t know exactly! He was in here before!” Lukasz looked at Mike for confirmation, but Mike didn’t back him up. “How well do you know him?” “The first time I saw him was at the village well with a dwarf and a dog. They were dancing to his music.” “It gets better and better,” Mike chuckled, “a pied piper, a dwarf and a dog. What an imagination!” “Can you be more accurate, Mister Vandervorst!” “The flute-player was dressed in bright yellow and red clothes. The dwarf was rather small, as most dwarfs are and the dog was a black mongrel.” “We’ll make a request for information regarding the whereabouts of those people.” “...and animal!” Mike added. “...and animal,” John continued. “We haven’t found that boy yet, but that’s just a matter of time. Daniels is investigating all possible options. If he finds any tracks of Talerot or the dwarf, we shall have to put them on the grid.” “Don’t forget the dog!” Mike kept on sniggering. “Don’t forget to put the dog on the grid! That’ll make my customers happy!” 180 181 “Why are you looking for tracks outside?” Lukasz asked John. “Like I said: the boy is missing.” “The boy has broken into my kitchen and stolen a considerable amount of money,” Mike grumbled. That made it clear. “Probably just a kid playing?” Lukasz uttered. “We don’t take burglary rashly, Mister Vandervorst!” John said in a reproaching tone. “Where does the kid live then? Why don’t you go and look for him there?” John looked at Mike, Mike shrugged his shoulders. “He lives in an institution for kids.” “Run by Joseph Kròl?” “We’re not investigating Joseph Kròl or the organization, Mister Vandervorst. They’re beyond all doubt.” “I thought that in police business everybody was a suspect.” Mike came to John’s rescue. “My money is still on that Talerot fellow.” “We check out every lead!” John concluded. “Like you said, everyone is a suspect.” John’s colleague came in and took him aside. They were discussing the case. Daniels appeared to have found two sets of tracks. The boy was not alone. One person had held the ladder, the other one must have climbed it, broken a window, taken the money, and then they both had run away. “I remember a kid fitting that description,” Lukasz suddenly remembered. The two inspectors turned towards him. Lukasz addressed himself to Mike. “He was talking to you the first day I came in here.” “That’s the very one,” Mike said. “He was doing some small jobs for me at that time.” He took over John’s questioning. “Did you see him afterwards?” “No, I didn’t.” “I believe you, Luke, but honestly...” He lowered his voice. “a dwarf, a flute-player, a black mongrel? The police are trying to do their job. There’s a boy missing!” John sent his colleague back outside and came towards them. “Can I ask you gentlemen, if you happen to come across little David or the flute-player or the dwarf or the dog, that you notify me. Here’s my number.” He gave Lukasz his card and added: “I’m available day and night.” That sounded very official. “Have you found out anything outside?” Mike asked John. “I can assure you that every lead will be followed up carefully.” John kissed Mike on the cheek, gave Lukasz a firm hand shake, put on his kepi, and went outside to join his colleague in the car. He switched off the siren and took off. “What do you think of him?” Mike asked Lukasz. “Of whom?” “Of my son, the police inspector?” Mike was swollen with pride. “Doesn’t he take after his father?” That afternoon Lukasz went for a walk in the woods. He made sure he wasn’t followed, and made a large detour to Talerot’s secret camping place. He roughly remembered its location. Due to Talerot’s ingenuity he couldn’t find it at once. He was poking with a stick into the bushes, trying to locate its exact position, as Talerot suddenly appeared from behind one of the trees. He beckoned Lukasz to come. They walked for another five minutes through the undergrowth. Talerot walked with a limp. He had changed his camping location. When they arrived, Lukasz saw two mattresses in the tent and a fire with a kettle on it. “The police are looking for you!” he warned Talerot. “Tea?” Talerot wasn’t at all surprised, as if it was the most natural thing that the police were looking for him, and poured tea in a cup. “Lemon?” 182 183 Lukasz hesitated, but consented. “There was a police man,Mike’s son, and his companion Daniels, who were investigating a burglary in the Woody and a missing child from Joseph’s institution who had apparently robbed the place.” Talerot sat down, legs crossed, and started playing the flute. He wasn’t trying to interrupt Lukasz’ fiery explanation. On the contrary. His music added lustre to it. “This can be an opportunity, Talerot. If we find that boy, he could lead us to Joseph’s settlement.” Lukasz sounded very enthusiastic. “What would you do when we find Joseph’s hideaway?” “Probably burn it down!” Lukasz was surprised he said that. His words were quicker than his thoughts, but he didn’t regret saying them. Talerot smiled and began to play another tune. A boy gave a cry, climbed down from a tree nearby, and shuffled towards them. He was smoking a cigarette. Talerot pointed at the boy and said: “Luke, may I present you: David Kajewski, the missing child!” David was a nervous kid, Lukasz noticed straight away. The kid stared at the intruder. Lukasz recognized the fear in his eyes and remained where he was. He avoided making any physical contact with the boy. He wouldn’t scare the roe. David tried to keep up the appearance of being cool and careless. Lukasz saw he was in pain. His left eye was red and he was sweating heavily, as if a thousand needles were pricking in his eye, his cheek, his ear and his neck. David held on well. The moment Talerot stopped playing and rested his hand on the boy’s head, the pain seemed to vanish. The boy calmed down and put his head on Talerot’s shoulder. “David is a tormented kid!” Talerot took the cigarette out of David’s mouth and threw it away. “He has those periodical attacks. Always the same period of the day. Nobody took care of him in the institution. I found him in the woods and rescued him. I healed him. They thought it was just a headache and it would pass by. They thought he was simulating.” “It must be awful for a kid, for anyone, when people don’t believe them!” “I hate those people of the institution,” David explained. “That’s why I ran away. I’ll never go back!” “I can understand, I won’t give you away!” Lukasz reassured him. “Were you mistreated? Did they abuse you?” “I’ve got bruises over my entire body. My arms, my back, everything hurts. For more than a month my head was killing me, every night, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t phone my mother. They wouldn’t let me. She promised me I could come home whenever I wanted to. It was too expensive, they said.” “So,” Lukasz guessed, “You stole some money in that pub to pay for the trip.” David nodded. He seemed embarrassed with it. “Why did she put you in the institution in the first place, David?” Lukasz insisted. “She thought they could help me.” “It was on my advice!” Talerot helped him out. “It was a mistake.” David pouted. “What about your father?” David’s eyes started to blaze. “The bastard left us, even before I was born. He abandoned us.” Lukasz recognized the pain and the hate. Another kid abandoned by his father. He felt sympathy for him. “Can you tell us where the institution is?” “Why?” David looked suspicious. “I’ll help you to ease your pain. I’ll burn the place down!” Lukasz promised. “Then I’ll take you home!” Talerot stood up and started playing on his flute again. The dwarf and his black mongrel entered at that stage. 184 “Your intentions are good, Luke,” Talerot started elaborating, “but why change a good plan? We already have a plan. Here’s Michal. Michal came over to help David. He’s from the same village as David’s mother. He’s going to take him home after we take care of your father. Michal’s an expert in bombs. He has already worked out an ingenious plan.” “Hello!” the dwarf introduced himself. “I used to work for a circus in Czechoslovakia. I did a trick with a bear riding a bike. Big success in those days. Unfortunately an accident happened. I had to flee from the country and change my lifestyle. David’s mum helped me out. Now I can repay her. By the way, I do great blow jobs!” Michal winked. “David is my assistant!” David giggled. “I learned a lot from Michal,” he confirmed. “I learned him how to ride a bike and how to blow up ... things!” “If you’re interested? We’re about the same height.” “I’m the expert!” Michal protested. The dog barked approvingly and looked up as if he was waiting to be introduced. Michal pointed to him: “This is Adolf. He hates policemen. He’s got a great future in front of him, haven’t you?” The dog wagged his tail. “Let us concentrate on the institution,” Talerot put them in their place. “For the moment!” Michal and David agreed. So did Lukasz. He wasn’t in the mood for a blow job. Not from David anyway. The institution had clearly fucked him up. Lukasz quietly resolved to do something about it, but first things first. There was work to be done. “It happens that Lukasz has an account to settle with his father!” “So have I,” David smiled. “I sent him a letter. He’ll soon be here!” Lukasz was bewildered. “Is Joseph your father as well?” David reassured him. Joseph hadn’t to answer for him. He was not Joseph’s son. They were both abandoned by a different bas- 185 tard. Lukasz appeared to have misunderstood the situation. Talerot finished David’s sentence for him: “You’ll meet David’s father very soon in the Woody.” Lukasz’ thoughts wandered off. The kid and he had a bond. Both abandoned by their fathers. Talerot didn’t give him much time to reflect on that. He continued his speech with great zeal. “So why not combine forces? We all have the same objective! The destruction of the institution!” “The destruction of our fathers,” David rectified. “It’s a bargain! Two for the price of one!” the dwarf smiled. David had drawn a map of the institution and had marked Joseph’s office with a red cross. It was in one of the two main buildings. He knew the premises well. Michal would make the bomb and David would place it at night, when everybody was asleep. Lukasz kind of liked the simplicity of the plan, but would he have time to face his father, to confront him before they’d blow him apart? “Have you got the institution’s phone number? I want to speak with my father first.” “David has it!” Talerot said. He signed David to gave him the number. “So, David has to go back to the institution?” Lukasz asked. He was worried. He knew that the kid wasn’t eager to return to the institution at any price. “He’s the only one who can get into the institution without arousing suspicion. Don’t you worry: David is a smart kid. He’ll get out in time,” Talerot said. “Will you make that sacrifice for us?” Lukasz insisted. “It’s not a sacrifice. I’ll be glad to do it. If I must, I will. It’s the only way, I assume. I’ll turn myself in, smuggle the bomb in, place it, wait for the right moment, and then BADABOUM!!!” Little David rubbed his hands. 186 “That’s very brave of you, David!” Lukasz uttered. He wasn’t convinced David could do it on his own. He was only a boy for God’s sake. “He’ll just have to wait until Joseph is in!” the dwarf said. “When will Joseph be back?” Lukasz wondered. “He went out a few days ago,” Talerot clarified. “He won’t be long now.” “How will David know when is the right time to set off the bomb?” “He’ll be in the institution, won’t he? He’ll use his eyes and ears.” “We must wait for my father to be around as well!” David put him right. “Lukasz will warn us when he arrives, won’t you, Lukasz?” Talerot said. “How will I know who David’s father is?” “He’ll tell you himself. He’s got the letter! David’s letter.” “My father’ll be in for a little surprise!” David whispered. “I’ll blow up the institution, and he’ll take the blame for it.” He looked at Michal and grinned. They had thought of everything. It was a perfect plan. “Let the bastard rot in jail for the rest of his life!” David’s determination steeled Lukasz’ feelings of revenge. At the same time it frightened him that a little boy could already be so strong-willed. It had taken him thirty-three years to come to the same conclusion. “As you see, Lukasz,” Talerot summarized, “David is a smart boy!” “Smarter than me!” Lukasz agreed. Michal grabbed a bottle of white wine from his tent and filled the glasses. “Katerina would love it,” he was sure. “That’s my mother,” David explained to Lukasz. “Is she in as well?” Lukasz asked. “Who do you think put us up to this plan?” David smiled. 187 “Your father. His father. His mother. The institution. It’s just a combination of circumstances,” Talerot concluded. They all put their hands together and repeated: “The destruction of the institution!” The pact was sealed. It was early morning when Lukasz returned to the Woody. Mike was just about to close. “Did you come across any more dwarfs, elves or pixies during your rambles?” he asked him. “Yes,” Lukasz answered, “and I’m a lot wiser!” 188 25. Day 7 in the Woody. Anew guest had arrived while Lukasz was away in the woods. He slept next door to Lukasz. Lukasz heard him snoring up to his room. Luckily, Lukasz went out like a light, because he was so tired from the long walk, so he didn’t have to listen to the entire concert. The musician on duty gave him a hearty welcome the next morning at breakfast. He was properly dressed and looked distinguished. Nice suit. Purple socks. He had removed his hat, so his bald head was showing. “Let me introduce myself. I’m doctor Ivan P...Poniatowski.” He had a light stutter, kissed Lukasz on both cheeks, and conjured up a bottle of vodka out of his jacket. “Isn’t that harmful to our health, doctor?” “Not when consumed in good company!” Before Lukasz was aware what was happening, he had already drunk two glasses of holy water with his next door neighbour. Mike joined them after a while. Ivan could charm anybody. He did most of the talking. He took some Polish pork sausages out of Mike’s fridge as well as pickled gherkins that he had put in the night before, and started dividing, cutting and distributing. Everybody should have a taste of Poland’s fine gastronomy, he proclaimed. It was excellent for the digestion and it went well with the drink. He should know: he was a doctor. He examined Lukasz’ eye. It had different colours of the rainbow, but it didn’t hurt anymore. “Beautiful,” he concluded, “that’ll heal by itself! I like people who stand up for themselves.” He told the story of the bike riding circus bear and elaborated on the matter. “It’s a true story to show how inventive people can be, when they’re driven into a corner. I left my wife when I was thirsty, some twelve years ago.” 189 “Thirsty?” Mike asked him. “Yes, I know, I look much older. Nature hasn’t been kind to me. I had a large p...practice at home. Being a doctor in P...Poland in those days, and even nowadays, is not a lucrative activity. When I heard she was p...pregnant, I decided to go on to the bitter end. I wanted my wife and my kid to have a better future, a better p...perspective in life than I had. I p...packed my bags, only one bag, and ran away to the West to make fortune. I would send for them once I had settled down. Unfortunately, the West hasn’t been kind to me either. Language p...problems. Labour problems. Eating problems. They wouldn’t accept me as a doctor. Foreigners are supposed to clean, to do dirty work and hard labour. That’s what I did. After a while my wife stopped answering my letters. She blames me for my failure.” “Now the borders are open,” Lukasz said, “ why don’t you go back?” “I’m too ashamed to go back.” “You have still got a wife and a son.” “My wife is now a famous p...piano player. She performs in the whole of Europe. I have tried to contact her in vain. She doesn’t want to speak to me anymore. I’m history. Still, I keep on hoping. My son sent me a letter last week. He asked me to come and get him out of some kind of institution here in the neighbourhood. He’s very sick and they treat him badly.” “Kids tend to exaggerate,” Mike tried to weaken his story. “And what if not?” Lukasz questioned him. He knew about David’s headache and his bruises. “What would you do in the opposite case? Children can’t defend themselves. Someone has to stand up for them.” “The institution has got the country’s best doctors!” Mike persevered in defending the institution. “Do you know where the institution is?” Lukasz asked Ivan. 190 “David has drawn me a map.” Ivan took a piece of paper out of his jacket. Mike looked worried. “Let me see that,” Lukasz said hopefully. Before Mike could intervene, Lukasz spread David’s map on the table in front of him and examined it. Mike stood behind him and had a quick look at the map. “It’s a map of the neighbourhood, all right,” he grinned reassured, “but the only thing that is marked, is the village church and the Woody.” “That’s where I’m supposed to wait for him. Here in theWoody,” Ivan said. “David, you said?Would that by any means be David Kajewski?” Mike enquired. “That’s his mother’s name,” Ivan confirmed. “David has been missing since yesterday. I don’t assume he’ll dare to show himself here in theWoody again,” Mike put forward and he explained to Ivan the mess the kid was in. “That’s a bit of a setback,” Ivan muttered and he filled up the glasses. “I shall wait anyway...” “My son leads the investigations. He will trace him and bring him back to the institution. That’s your only hope!” Mike said. Lukasz was distraught, that nice and charming Polish doctor being the bastard David was after. On the other hand it was good news. David’s father had arrived. They could carry on with their plan to blow up the institution. He should warn Talerot, but there was a bottle to be finished first. Staying in Ivan’s company was never dull. The Polish doctor managed to get the entire pub’s attention with his stories. He was in the limelight and the customers watched and listened. That changed when Liebrecht walked into the Woody. He had parked his BMWoutside. It must have taken him a lot of courage 191 and drive to go that far across the mountains and the forest trails. He was bound to have an excellent insurance agent. He sat at the bar and separated himself from the regulars. Lukasz had sized him up in a second. He sensed danger, a row on the way, and went to him to have a chat. He didn’t want someone to interfere with the plan. That went rather well initially. They drank a beer together. Liebrecht was one of those slick politicians, one of those smooth talkers, who knew how to manipulate people with words and emotions. He poked Lukasz in the ribs and pointed to Ivan. “He begins to get boring after a while, doesn’t he?” Liebrecht said casually, but loudly enough. “Not really, he’s a rather interesting chap, if you listen to him...” Lukasz urged in Ivan’s defence. “I’ve only been in ten minutes and I’ve already heard that bear story twice.” “Each time he tells it in a different way. That makes it so exciting.” “Look at him how he treats the local women. He can’t keep his hands off them. That’s what I call exciting!” “The women don’t seem to object. Look at them laughing.” “He’s just a P...Polish p...prick! Look where his hand is. P...patting her p...posterior.” He was aiming for a cheap laugh. Lukasz was on to him. Ivan’s hand was in fact touching one of the ladies’ asses. A big ass as a matter of fact. “You shouldn’t laugh at someone’s disabilities! The woman can’t help it. He’s trying to shield her big behind from the outside world. It’s an act of mercy. It’s really the fault of advertising. They saddle us with all those slim and anorexic models. Blame advertising, that’s what I say.” Liebrecht lost track of his reasoning, but took it up in seconds. He started preaching. It was as if he read his words straight from a bible. “Can a million people still laugh with guys like him, when 192 they’re on the streets, when their jobs are taken away by cheap foreign labourers, when they haven’t even got the money to buy medicine for their sick children?” “Ivan can help them out. He’s a doctor. That should take care of those sick children then.” “If those foreign rats weren’t stealing our jobs, there wouldn’t be any sick children!” “At least the cheap foreign rats work. They cover our backs. That should be good for our economy.” “Do you think it’s funny to lose your job?” “Not funny at all!Wouldn’t you think there’s work enough for us all?” “What planet are you from? Don’t you see they bring along three, four, five, if not more so-called relatives on welfare, their wives, their kids, their grannies, their cousins, their nieces, their neighbours, their friends! They steal, they murder, they rape our daughters, they deal drugs.” “They drive around in big BMW’s.” “Exactly! They’re the rats of our society!” Liebrecht said with an air of satisfaction and reached for his pint. The very next moment he sat down on the ground, bleeding from his nose. Ivan had whacked him. “Exactly my point! They’re aggressive, they take our jobs and you do nothing! Nothing at all. You’re all sheep!” Liebrecht kept on shouting indignantly. Mike proved him wrong and put him outside. Liebrecht screamed in protest: “You’re all cowards!” Some customers started bleating, as Liebrecht took off. “Did I already tell you the story of the b...bear?” Ivan resumed his stand-up performance in the Woody quietly, as if nothing had happened. “Actually it’s not a story against the Germans..., though I don’t hold them in high esteem!” 193 194 Talerot already knew Ivan had arrived in theWoody. He had been talking to a guy with a black eye. “In a BMW?” “Exactly! He seemed upset. We’re waiting for Joseph to be in! He’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Can you imagine what he’s been selling?” Because Lukasz didn’t reply (he was so excited that the moment of revenge was near), he gave the answer himself: “He’s selling kids, innocent kids like David. He’s exploring the market where he can put them to work!” “Two days!” Lukasz mumbled. He was dreaming aloud. “So, my father knocked down that fellow in the BMW?” David enquired. “One blow. The guy deserved it! You have to give your father credit for a job well done.” “My mother warned me about him. He takes you in before you’re even aware.” “Another thing,” Lukasz changed the subject, “I would like to speak with my father, before we blow the place apart.” “If you insist.” Talerot reassured him. “You have his number! Just don’t wait too long!” Lukasz was not happy with that aspect of the plan. He’d have preferred a face to face, but he has reconciled to a phone call. Everybody had to make a sacrifice. “How shall we set about Ivan?” Lukasz wanted to know. “Let him wait in the Woody, Lukasz. Hold him there.” “What would be his motive to bomb the institution? How are the police going to believe he’s the actual bomber?” “You’re going to provide him a motive, Luke. You’ll tell him about the institution and about your father. You’ll tell him about David, how they’ve treated him. You can easily make him mad. You’ve seen his temper, haven’t you?” 196 “It’s not certain, is it?” Lukasz wondered. “It’s not certain Ivan’ll be arrested.” “You can always drop a hint, can’t you, Lukasz? Point the good inspector in the right direction.” “Won’t they suspect me?” Lukasz asked. “Who’d suspect a son who lost his father in the explosion?” Talerot answered laconically. “Is that a problem?” “No problem, whatsoever.” That evening a man in his sixties entered theWoody. There was a little girl with him, who didn’t leave his side. It was rather late for a little girl to be still awake, Lukasz thought. She looked very tired and shy. The old man was caressing her blond silky hair very gently and whispered words into her ear. A cold shiver ran down Lukasz’ spine. Ivan observed the scene as well and joined them. He sat down next to the girl and tickled her chin. That broke the ice. Lukasz was amazed. It could just as easily have turned out the other way. He remembered the little girl biting his finger. Ivan got away with it and started clapping hands with her. She seemed to enjoy it. “Is she your granddaughter?” Ivan asked. The old man seemed very jumpy. “No, she’s not my granddaughter. I’m just bringing her back!” “Bringing her back to her p...parents?” “To the institution. We’ve had a day out, haven’t we?” The little girl nodded and smiled: “He bought me an ice cream!” “I have a boy at the institution! David. Have you ever heard of David?” The little girl started snivelling. The old man immediately comforted her. “Now, now, don’t be upset. Have you ever met David? You can tell!” “David’s very sick,” the little girl faltered. “Isn’t that the boy who ran away?” the old man quietly enquired. “It seems so,” Ivan sighed. “I’ve heard of it. How awful!” “So, why are you bringing her here?” Lukasz butted in. In his view the old man was a pervert, who had his way with that little girl. He had hired her and was now returning the merchandise. Little girls are easier to chase, as Talerot had said. “Aren’t you a bit ashamed of yourself?” The old man turned red in the face and fumbled for words. “What are you implying?” “You want me to draw a picture?” Ivan calmed Lukasz down and spoke in an undertone: “I’ve already checked the girl, she’s all right! Let me handle this.” He managed to soothe Lukasz and to get him back in his chair at his table. “Please excuse my friend. He’s upset to see a little child this late in a p...pub. He blames you for that!” “I understand. It’s a normal reaction. I’m not happy about it either. It’s not my fault,” the old man apologized amply. “My car broke down, that’s why I am so late. At this hour of the night everybody is asleep in the institution. We didn’t want to wake the other children. So, Mike agreed to let her stay here overnight.” Mike came to their table. “It’s time for little Lisa to go to bed, isn’t it?” He took her upstairs into one of the remaining rooms. Lukasz sat by and watched. He watched how the old man grabbed his belongings together and took off. He sat by when Ivan joined him at his table and put another bottle of vodka on the table. “We must talk, my friend!” he said. “I can tell there’s something wrong!” “Indeed,” Lukasz admitted. “I have a few things to get off my chest. It’s about David. Let’s go to my room!” 197 26. Day 8 in the Woody. Next morning, Lukasz checked little Lisa’s room. She had already left. Mike got there before him. Lukasz swore under his breath. Ivan was having breakfast. Lukasz joined him. “You’ll have to make the coffee yourself! I couldn’t find Mike,” Ivan explained to him. “Mike’s probably brought Lisa to the institution.” “Yeah, probably!” It left him cold. He was thinking about his son and how to meet him. “He’s an early riser!” Lukasz was a bit angry at himself, because he had slept so long. “Do you suppose David wants to see me?” Ivan asked Lukasz. “He wrote you a letter, didn’t he?” Lukasz opened the fridge and took out a bottle of vodka. He left the coffeepot where it was and poured himself a drink. “When can I see him? Can you take me to him?” “We’ll have to be careful. The police are also looking for him.” He tried to put Ivan off. He wasn’t supposed to meet David personally. Anyway, Lukasz was happy to establish their talk had made an impression on Ivan. Ivan could have been a good ally, if he hadn’t been David’s father. He had his ways to convince people. They changed the subject when Mike got back. “Good news, Ivan!” Mike greeted him. He seemed in a good mood. “They’ve found your boy. A masterly example of police investigation. My son, you know! They brought him to the institution. He has lived outdoors for several days.” Lukasz tried to suppress a smile. Luckily, nobody was taking notice of him. A masterly example of police investigation. Who was not being serious now, he wanted to ask him. David had turned himself in. He kept quiet. He wasn’t supposed to know. 198 “Can I see him?” Ivan was impatient. That was no surprise. “Not for a couple of days. The police want to ask him a few questions. He seems a bit shaken up and must rest.” “Afterwards?” “I’ll have to ask Joseph first. I think he’ll make an exception for you. David is a very special child.” “I have to get him out of the institution. The institution is d...definitely not good for D...d...him.” “Hold your horses, Ivan. The institution is probably the best thing that could happen to him. They’ve got the best doctors, as I already told you. He’s well taken care of.” “They’re making him sick. I have to get him out. My boy has written me a letter!” Ivan maintained. Lukasz acted the injured innocent. Talerot’s idea of briefing Ivan appeared to be not such a bad idea. Ivan was talking himself into a real corner. He didn’t even realize. “Take me to him. I’ll get him out. If necessary by force!” “What force?” Lukasz added fuel to the flames. “Whatever force is needed to get my boy out!” Ivan was in splendid form. David would have his revenge. Could there be a better witness than Mike Walker? His son the inspector would certainly believe him. Mike saw Ivan was being serious and would cause trouble if he didn’t take action. “Let me make a phone call!” Ivan simmered down. They heard Mike talking in the kitchen, but they couldn’t understand what he was saying exactly. He was probably phoning to the institution. Lukasz knew Joseph was not in, so Mike had to consult with another member of the staff on David and Ivan. It’d soon be clear. Mike came back. “There’s someone coming over from the institution today. He’ll 199 talk with you about David’s condition,” Mike summarized his conversation. “I must see David!” “He’ll give you further details!” Mike said. “I’m sorry about that, Ivan, but that’s the way it has to be, in the child’s interest.” Lukasz was surprised to see doctor Gabriëls come into the Woody. In his view the doctor was a fair and irreproachable person. The doctor meant well. The doctor recognized him and offered his condolences. “Your mother was a... remarkable person, Lukasz. She was a person with great... strength of character. Cancer is a vicious assassin.” “She took a short cut to death.” “In a way I understood. The pain was infernal.” “She’s never complained about it.” “It always hurts when you lose somebody. Even a patient. It’s like a defeat. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” The doctor’s grief was sincere, Lukasz could tell. Still, the doctor managed to keep a distance. His tone didn’t give away any emotions. “So, doctor, what brings you here, into these mountains?” “My work, Lukasz. Always my work. I work for the institution.” That hit Lukasz like a sledgehammer blow. He fumbled for words. The good doctor working for Joseph Kròl? “We are old friends. We help each other out!” Doctor Gabriëls explained. Mike joined them and gave the doctor a hearty reception. “Thanks for coming on such short notice, doctor. I know how busy you are. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.” “His mother was my patient!” the doctor explained. “I want you to meet David’s father!” Mike went for Ivan, who 200 was upstairs in his room. “Do you work for Joseph Kròl?” Lukasz asked the doctor, when he got over his initial shock. “He’s a great man. If there could only be more people like him. The world would be a much better place.” “A nicer place?” Lukasz couldn’t hide his scepticism. “Keeping the orphans from the streets. Giving them a proper education. Giving them a home.” “Kids stealing, prostituting themselves?” “That’s what most of them did. We try to keep them out of the hands of crime. A lot of people are not so happy about that, you can imagine. We’ve taken the kids out of the market. That’s your father’s realization!” “What about David?” Ivan came down the stairs and joined them. Doctor Gabriëls got up and shook hands. “You must be David’s father? That’s a lucky break. We were just talking about him. Please sit down. We have tried to contact your wife, but she’s a difficult person to reach.” “Tell me about it,” Ivan grumbled. “I’m doctor Gabriëls. I’m taking care of David.” “Where is he? I want to see him. I’m going to take care of him.” “David is in the institution, he needs specialist assistance, Mister Poniatowski.” “I’m a doctor!” “Then you’ll understand. We had a series of tests done by a neurologist. David appears to suffer from cluster headaches. A very rare disease.” Ivan hesitated: “I know what cluster headaches are.With the right medication, you can keep it under control.” “That’s my point exactly, doctor. We’re still trying to find what the best medication for David is. That needs time.” 201 “My son wants to get out of the institution. He wrote me a letter.” “It’s not easy for a child to be patient, but you have to trust me on this one: we want the best for your son!” “The best for my son is to be with his father at this moment. Are you holding him there against his will? I’ll take action! Have no doubt about that.” “The institution is not a prison, though it sometimes appears to be. We have to protect our children. David is free to go whenever or wherever he wants to, but for the child’s sake, let him rest today. He has had a hard week, living on his own in those woods. Let him regain his strength. Come and see us tomorrow. So you can see with your own eyes. Mike will give you a lift, won’t you Mike?” “If you want me to!” Mike said unconvincingly. “We’ll travel on Shank’s mare!” “Mike’s a very suspicious man. The events have proved him right. He’s our guardian angel. What would we do without him?” the doctor explained and patted Mike on the back. “Can I come, too?” Lukasz asked. “We try to limit the contact with the outer world,” doctor Gabriëls said hesitatingly. “I must see Joseph Kròl.” “He’s not in the institution for the moment.” “I must see him. He’s my father!” “It’s true,” the doctor admitted. “Your mother told me. I couldn’t tell you. I was sworn to secrecy. When did you find out?” “Shortly after her funeral. I found a letter and a picture in a tin box.” “A father has a right to see his son! Hasn’t a son got the same right?” Mike and the doctor looked at each other. The validity of Lukasz’ argument convinced them. Sons and fathers belong together. 202 “Joseph will be there tomorrow! Come along with Mister Poniatowski, Lukasz,” the doctor made up his mind, “tomorrow at one o’clock. He’ll be in then!” The doctor took leave of them. That afternoon Lukasz took a walk. He had to go through the different points once again. His horrible youth because of his father, the continuous humiliations he had to suffer. The institution led by his father. What kind of institution was it?Were they exploiting the children or were they straightening them out? There was Talerot, David and the dwarf, who wanted to destroy it. They had a pact. Joseph was the bare devil in their eyes. On the other hand there was Mike and doctor Gabriëls who stood up for it. Joseph was a God, a hero. They’d probably erect a statue for him.Who was he to believe? Lukasz couldn’t imagine that his father had changed that much over the years, that he had suddenly become a good person. That seemed impossible. People don’t change that much. Characters are moulded in the early years. The kids attacked him and Talerot, the little girl bit him, little Lisa sat in the Woody with that old man who was bringing her back. David was willing to do a blow job. Not exemplary conduct you would expect from children being straightened out. Then again, he trusted doctor Gabriëls. He had taken care of his mother. Yet, he hadn’t told him the whole truth. He hadn’t told him he was Joseph’s son. Sworn to secrecy? He didn’t like their secretive doings. His father and the doctor were old friends. What were they hiding? Or were they protecting the children, as the doctor claimed? What would Germaine say, he wondered. You’ll do it your way, anyway? Gentle Germaine. Would she know what her husband was up to? He shouldn’t forget he had to settle an old score with his begetter. That was his objective. 203 He heard kids screaming at a distance. What were they up to this time? He was on his guard. He edged his way through the wood towards the noise. Twelve kids were playing musical chairs. Two nurses were singing and clapping hands. The kids were dancing happily around the chairs and rushed to sit down when the nurses stopped singing. They were clearly enjoying themselves. The little girl with the green eyes was still in the running. Two of the four boys who had attacked him and Talerot were already eliminated and were cheering on the other two. Lukasz was envious of them, of their uninhibited joy, because he had never played that much when he was young. He enjoyed watching them. Kids playing was much nicer than kids fighting. He saw how the little girl tripped her last opponent and won the game. That created a bit of a row but the nurses ended it in an efficient manner. They lined up the children in two rows in front of them and gave everyone a piece of candy, a kind of peppermint. The children hushed up and they all set off back to the institution, Lukasz presumed. He decided to follow them. The institution was well hidden behind a hill and some trees. There was a small sandy track, where the kids had to walk one after the other. The institution lay in a valley. It was built like a Roman camp. Four towers at the corners and a drawbridge, made of wood. There were no guards posted on the towers or at the gate, though. The enemy was not likely to find this location. The ditch around the camp was deep but dry. Lukasz didn’t have to jump over it, he could just walk through it. The palisades in between the towers were equipped with sharp-pointed stakes that were decorated with red and green flags and festoons. Were they going to celebrate Joseph’s homecoming? It appeared so. Lukasz managed to climb over the fence. Inside there were six blocks, each with a main entrance and two floors. One block in each corner and two central blocks, exactly as on David’s map. The kids 204 went into one of those. The blocks were very clean. The floors shone. The walls were white as a sheet. On a central wall hung a huge portrait of a man surrounded with kids. Lukasz recognized Joseph Kròl. Through the speakers resounded music and a man’s voice. “You’re in your happy place now. Breathe in the good air. Feel the vibrations. Joseph is your father. He’ll take good care of you!” The kids were lying on their beds. They stared at the ceiling. A couple of doctors and nurses were connecting them to an intravenous drip and to electrical appliances, that made annoying sounds. Peace and tranquil seemed to have set in. Little criminal brains were being moulded. Doctor Gabriëls made notes for every patient and caressed their heads in a fatherly way. Lukasz wondered where David was. Had he been able to smuggle the bomb into the institution? Was he as numb as the rest of the kids? Would he be able to trigger the device? Lukasz found him in the other main block, in the room opposite Joseph’s office. He heard a groan and cautiously opened the door. He surprised David and David was surprised to see him. The boy covered his legs and his belly and smiled. “Did you come to visit me?” he asked. “I came to make sure everything is all right with you!” “Couldn’t be better!” David gave his thumbs up. “They think I take my medication, but I don’t. So, I keep quiet for the moment. You want to see the bomb? It’s under my sheet.” “I believe you!” “Mischu is an expert. I can set it off any time I want.” “Joseph will be in tomorrow.” “So, tomorrow?” “You still have to fix it in Joseph’s office!” “Plenty of time tonight, when they’re asleep.” “Give me a couple of minutes to talk with my father first! I’ll 205 phone him before we’re off to the institution.” “No problem! I’ll wait for your call and for Joseph to answer it.” “Tomorrow!” Lukasz nodded. He became thirsty at once. Thirstythree. He was dying for a glass of water or beer. He wanted to get out. He had seen enough. He had made up his mind. Ivan was drinking with Mike at the counter. He was speaking loudly. He was very anxious about his son’s health and shouted at the world. Mike tried to appease him. The vodka did the trick. A third person was drinking with them. They already knew each other, Lukasz could tell by the look on their faces and the empty bottles. “Come and join us, Luke!” Ivan invited him. “You’re just in time. We need a fresh bottle! Meet my new friend. He works in a circus.” “I’m a lawyer actually,” the third man apologized. He had difficulty shaking Lukasz’ hand. His head almost fell off. “Isn’t your name Houdini then?” Ivan spluttered. “It is!” “Meet the great Houdini, the Handcuff King! A great p...performer! He works in the circus.” Houdini ignored his remarks, which was the smartest thing to do, because of Ivan’s and his own advanced condition of drunkenness, and tried to fill up the glasses. “Don’t give him your money, though, he’s a Jew!” Ivan whispered. He patted Houdini on the back. “Isn’t that so, my friend?” Houdini nodded, his head nodded, but that didn’t mean he agreed. Mike was constantly mopping up, but he didn’t seem to mind. It was a hopeless task, though: Houdini kept on spilling his drink. “I can’t deny that! I plead guilty as charged.” “He can free prisoners from a jail!” “That sometimes happens,” Houdini had to admit. He splattered 206 his drink on the counter and sang: “Here I come to save the day!” “He can free David, my son.” Ivan’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “You’ll see him tomorrow,” Mike hushed him up, “No need to carry out daredevil feats!” “You never know, Mike! Just in case... we have Master Houdini to fall back on, haven’t we?” Houdini nodded and mumbled unintelligibly. Ivan shook him up: “Here I come to save the day!” Houdini replied immediately: “Mighty Mouse is on his way...” Then his head dropped down on the counter and remained there for the rest of the night. “I don’t think we’ll be needing Master’s Houdini’s services anyway. You’ll see David tomorrow,” Lukasz comforted Ivan. “Everything is under control, isn’t it, Mike?” “Of course. We’ll go to the institution together. First thing in the morning.” “Don’t forget to wake me up!” Ivan tried to stand straight, gave Houdini a good shaking and smiled at Lukasz: “We’ve finished him up!” Lukasz recognized the symptoms. He almost began to feel sorry for the poor lawyer, but, hey, everybody has to go through that phase, if he wants to grow up. Ivan staggered to his room and slammed the door behind him. “He’s up to something,” Lukasz put out a feeler. “He’s up to his bed!” Mike responded. “He’s capable of doing anything to get his son back!” “He’s just loud-mouthed!” Lukasz emptied the rest of the bottle with Mike. Next morning they found Houdini where they had left him. 207 27. Day 9 in the Woody. John Walker was conferring with his father on the matter, when Lukasz came down to have breakfast. He immediately signalled Lukasz to come over. “Did you have a good night’s sleep, Mister Vandervorst?” he enquired. “I slept like a log, thank you! Is Ivan awake?” “I haven’t seen him yet. I’ll wake him in a moment,” Mike said. “I hope he’s quietened down!” “Did he snore that loudly again?” “He was so anxious to see his son! I wonder what he’s up to...” John let Lukasz’ allegations pass and resumed: “I was just talking with my father about that flute player and the dwarf.” “What about them?” “We combed out the woods, we checked our files and the birth registers in vain! Are you sure you saw them?” “I understood David was back. What’s the point?” “David couldn’t remember neither Talerot, nor the dwarf.” Lukasz didn’t mind they hadn’t found them. In fact, he was rather glad. David hadn’t given away a thing. It was better for their plan. “Perhaps I was imagining things...” “I can confirm that. He has a lively imagination!” Mike agreed. “I came across a circus on my travels and I was confused,” Lukasz uttered. “You associated an earlier meeting with David’s disappearance,” John was guessing. Mike pointed at Houdini: “There’s your circus!” Houdini woke up with a start and mumbled: “MightyMouse is on his way!” “Shit happens!” Lukasz admitted. “That’ll probably be it!” John concluded. “So, how anxious are you to see your father, Mister Vandervorst?” 208 “Like I said before: he’s my father. I’m his son. I’m excited to meet him at last. He has become a legend.” “A son should be proud of his father!” John agreed. “And vice versa,” Mike nodded. He kissed John on the forehead. “Stop arousing me!” Lukasz begged. At that precise moment Ivan came down the stairs. “Who needs some arousal?” he volunteered his services and wished everyone, including Houdini, a good morning with a hearty kiss. Doctor Poniatowski was fresh and lively, as if the previous night of heavy boozing hadn’t taken place. He was dressed up to the nines and smelt flowery with a hint of mint. He kissed Houdini who was smacking his lips. “Can I have another glass of vodka, please?” he asked. When Mike got ready to leave, Lukasz was preparing to make a phone call to his father. He was rehearsing what he would say, but he didn’t go much further than ‘Hello, I’m Lukasz, your son!’. The number was burning in his pocket. He was very nervous. At that moment the phone rang several times. He started at the noise. Mike picked it up. He nodded a few times. “Yes, he’s here. I’ll pass him to you. Luke, it’s for you! It’s your father!” Lukasz got a tight feeling in his chest. His father was on the phone. He wanted to talk with him. He was ahead of him, as if he knew. “I’ll take it!” “We’ll wait outside,”Mike shouted. He tried to drag Houdini outside, because he had to close theWoody for a while. He took care of it with Ivan’s help. They hauled him to the porch and put him down next to the brass pot. “A p...place to sit and a p...pot to drink. What more does a man need?” Ivan tried to cheer up Houdini. “We won’t be long. Just 209 wait here for your friend Ivan!” Houdini adjusted easily to his new habitat and stretched out on the ground, getting ready to save the day, with his head in the pot. Meanwhile Joseph was beginning to get impatient. “Hello....hello... hello?” Lukasz cleared his throat. “Hello!” “Lukasz, is it you? It’s me. Joseph Kròl. I’m your father!” He sounded very excited. “I’m Jeanine Vandervorst’s son, Lukasz. Do you remember her?” There was a long silence before he got an answer. “Of course, I know Jeanine, she was my first sweetheart!” His father’s voice sounded sad. That surprised Lukasz. Sadness from the Evil One? Remorse? He wouldn’t fall into that trap. He would settle his hash for once and for all. “So, why haven’t we heard from you all that time? Had you forgotten about us?” Again, Joseph Kròl hesitated. Lukasz was waiting for his poor excuse before he’d call him everything under the sun. “I know Jeanine died. Your mother. Doctor Gabriëls told me. I so much wanted to go to her funeral and meet you.” He did his best to come across sincere. His voice faltered. Lukasz could even hear a weak sob. “So, why didn’t you?” “I respected her wishes. She forbade me to ever see her or you. She had made that perfectly clear to me when she kicked me out. Things can be different from now on, son. I want to talk with you, have a drink with you, look at you, hold you! I know that must seem odd to you after all these years, but I have longed for this moment. I have fulfilled my promise to her. But now she’s dead, I no longer feel obliged to her.” It was Lukasz’ turn to hesitate. That put things in a different light, if it was true what he was saying. 210 “She told me that you abandoned us!” he kept on harassing him. “I understand your anger, Lukasz. I don’t want to talk badly about your mother. Just try to look at the matter from all sides. Reconsider your opinion on me. I don’t know what she told you, though I can imagine it. The truth always has two sides. Let’s talk about you. How are you? I heard you’re coming over. I’m looking forward to that.” “Let’s talk about you! Let’s talk about the institution! Since I arrived in Valley, you’ve been working against me, you’ve been trying to pester me until I’d leave. What are you hiding? What are you doing to those children?” “I didn’t know you were here, until doctor Gabriëls told me an hour ago. I would never pester you, son. I would never stop you from seeing me. On the contrary. And as far as the institution is concerned: we’re not hiding anything. We just have to be careful. I think Mike has explained that to you. We carry out a controversial project that could revolutionize the world!” “You’re brainwashing those children!” “We’re trying to make them better persons. You have to consider the whole picture. The educational values: fairness, cordiality and faith are the tree pillars of our project. You have to consider their backgrounds. Most of those kids are put in by court order. Some kids were abandoned by their parents and left to die in the streets. We pick them up. We give them a new life and a new future. You have to consider the medical support. We have the best medical staff in the country. The personal commitment and dedication of several volunteers. You’re coming over with Mike and David’s father, I heard. Come and see with your own eyes, but please come quickly. I can’t wait.” Joseph spoke inspiringly about the institution and kept on defending it for several minutes. Lukasz started to recognize and even appreciate his devotion. He became interested and wanted to question Joseph Kròl, not about why he 211 had left him anymore, but about his life and his interests. He wanted to tell him about his dreams as well, that he was a carpenter like him. He wanted to tell him about his miserable youth and about his fears, he wanted to have a drink with him and eventually hold him, if he didn’t smell too much, as he heard a big bang on the other end of the line. The bomb had exploded. It took him by surprise. He had completely forgotten about it. “Father? Father?” he said in a quavering voice. Nobody answered. He hung up and went outside, where Mike and Ivan were making a fuss about the explosion they had heard in the distance. “It’s the institution.! It’s the institution!” Ivan went into hysterics. “My David! My David!” Mike tried to calm him down. He felt uneasy about it as well, because he knew Ivan could be right. The explosion came from that direction. Houdini put in his two cents worth. He wasn’t aware what had happened, tried to stand up straight and in an attempt to save the day again, he crashed into the porch’s rail. It broke into smithereens. They helped him onto his feet and laid him next to his pot again where he dozed off. Lukasz came outside. He seemed composed, but inside he was in shock. He notified them: “I heard an explosion. I had Joseph on the line and suddenly... we were disconnected!” “We must hurry!” Mike urged them to follow him and he took to his heels. They did their utmost to keep up with him. Luckily, Mike was not the most sport-minded type. By the time they arrived at the institution, the emergency services were already very busy evacuating survivors and extinguishing the fire. They set out for the distant screams and groans. Ambulances were driving back and forth, but had great difficulty getting to the institution and leaving it as well. 212 A couple of children were telling their stories. The police tried to listen. John was there as well. He took care of Ivan, Lukasz and his father, the moment he saw them. He explained the situation, as far as he knew. There had been an explosion in one of the main blocks. Joseph’s office was completely destroyed and they had found fifteen corpses... so far, he added and he heaved a deep sigh. There were still kids buried under the rubble. “I’m sorry to tell you, Luke, but your father is dead!” Lukasz started weeping with grief. He realized he had reached his target, but he wasn’t that happy about it anymore. His father was dead. He hadn’t told him everything he wanted to tell him. “And what about David?” Ivan asked. “We’re gathering the survivors in that white tent! You can have a look over there. Inspector Daniels has a list of the persons who have been carried away to the hospital. You can check there as well. We’ll have a word later on, Mister Poniatowski.” There was no David on Daniels’ list and no David in the white tent. Just a bunch of scared kids. Two nurses and one doctor worked themselves to death. Doctor Gabriëls was not among the survivors, Lukasz noticed. Poor Germaine. Poor Gentle Germaine. He saw how Marshal was digging tunnels with his shovel. The sweat was running off his face. He saw Lola. She had red hair this time. She was comforting her little brother. They were embracing each other and crying. One brother was dead. He saw Harold chopping down trees and dragging trees. He had the strength of a horse. Mike started moving bricks from one place to another. Lukasz and Ivan followed his lead. It was better than grieving. Grief strengthened them. The physical labor chased away the pain in their minds. It was their remedy for sorrow. Lukasz found the little girl with the bright green eyes. He stuck his finger between her teeth. She didn’t bite anymore. He closed 213 her eyes and held her in his arms lovingly. Ivan hit upon little Lisa. He blew the sand off her face and her hands and tied her shoelaces. He was humming a lullaby as he brought her over to the patch of grass, where all corpses were put peacefully side by side. The sun shone on their faces. They seemed to enjoy it, just before meeting Eternal Darkness. 214 28. Back to Otto. David was never found. Ivan waited for weeks in the Woody. They found shreds of his pyjamas. There were a couple of unidentified limbs. They presumed they were his, because they knew he slept close by Joseph’s office. They notified Ivan. “We find it most regrettable to inform you of your son’s death.” That was the day Ivan stopped looking for David in the rubble. That was the day he lost his stutter as well. He sat hours on his stool, without saying a word and drank vodka. He just stared. He was filled with an inner void. Lukasz couldn’t say a thing because of the pact. He couldn’t help Ivan because of his own involvement. David’s target was only partially reached. Ivan was heartbroken but he wasn’t imprisoned. John Walker didn’t take his earlier threats into account. He understood they were idle threats. Ivan couldn’t have placed the bomb, because he hadn’t left the Woody. Mike testified on his behalf. Justice has been done. Mike also vouched for Lukasz. He didn’t doubt Lukasz’ honesty. He was right: Lukasz’ sorrow was sincere. So Lukasz was off the hook as well. John was very understanding. Lukasz tried to locate Talerot, the dwarf and David in vain. He looked for them every day in the woods, but it seemed as if they had disappeared from the globe. He started repairing the porch’s rail. He hauled thick branches out of the wood and proved his craftsmanship. When the job was done, he returned to his hometown where he married Germaine. Rose, Mary, Heidi and Claire tried to make a pass at him, but he stuck to his guns. He was with Germaine. Gentle Germaine. Thanks to her his business began to flourish. Doors were opened and people started respecting him. He became a man of distinction. He was invited to many parties and barbecues. 215 When Germaine got pregnant, he was as proud as a peacock. When the baby was born, even more. He spent hours sitting next to the cradle, watching his son. Taking him in his arms when he cried. Feeding him milk when he was hungry. Changing his diapers, when they were wet. Rocking the cradle when he was tired. He had long conversations with his son who smiled at him even though he didn’t understand his father. “You know, you have a royal name?” he used to say to him. The athmosphere in town gradually changed. The bombings started. People became afraid. That didn’t affect him personally or his work, but inside he suffered. The events in Valley were indelibly fixed in his memory. It was as if Talerot, the dwarf and little David were chasing him. In such troublesome days he turned to his son and found comfort with him, just by holding him and imagining a future for him. One day Charly Weaver phoned him. He wanted to speak to him. Lukasz knew the man only from reputation. He was a famous gallery owner. He went to his place. “Can you make frames for my paintings?” Charly wanted to know. “I can make anything from wood! Anything you want!” “Excellent,” Charly chuckled. He called for his assistant. Archie Brubaker came into his office. He carried a tray of coffee. They sat down and drank together. “Archie is my first assistant. You can make arrangements with him. He takes care of all practical stuff.” “We want to place an order for about ten paintings,” Archie pushed off. “ What’s your price and how soon can you deliver?” “When do you want them and how big are your paintings?” Archie opened his portfolio and showed him snapshots of the paintings. The size was written under each picture. “There are different kinds of frames. You can almost state that 216 every painting requires a different kind of frame. The art is to find the frame that makes a painting stand out best.” “You have to consider that those paintings will hang together in the same room. We want a sort of unity.” “You can have harmony in colour, harmony in moulding, harmony in...” “What would you choose for those paintings?” Archie interrupted him. The cooperation with Archie went like clockwork. Archie liked his choices and his craftsmanship. Lukasz appreciated Archie’s promptness of payment as much as how much he paid him. One day he had the opportunity to meet the great Otto Gerald himself. He remembered the conversation he had had with Felix Unger a couple of years ago and thought that would be an excellent occasion to initiate a conversation and eventually an interesting order. He was nervous that evening. Archie introduced him to Otto Gerald. It came to nothing. He couldn’t impress Otto Gerald. Luckily, there was no shortage of orders for him. Germaine backed him up when he felt a bit gloomy. One day she gave him tickets for a concert. A piano concerto by the famous Katerina Kajewska. He was looking forward to that. Regrettably the concerto was cancelled due to a new bombing. Afterwards he read in the papers that the police had arrested Ivan Poniatowski and that they were looking for a dwarf Michal Poliansky. “History had repeated itself!” he said to Germaine. She didn’t understand. He lacked the courage to explain. The police never found the dwarf. Lukasz wasn’t surprised. He took his son in his arms and fed him. “You’re a prince now. Once you’ll be a king!” If the police had bothered to check Polish cars at the border they would have come across the dwarf, in the same car as Katerina 217 Kajewska and the kid with the funny green hat. But nobody checks the borders anymore. “They’ve arrested Ivan,” Mischu said triumphantly. “He finally gets what he deserves,” Katerina Kajewska grinned. “May he rot in jail for the rest of his life!” “It was difficult to spot him this time, but we succeeded. Who’d imagine he’d be bedridden for months. “Yes, it took a while, before we got what we wanted,” David agreed. “It was a good thing you kept his letter, mum, and you sent it!” “I had a good advisor!” Katerina made a knowing remark. “It took a while before the police could add two and two,”Mischu added. “Valley, Paris, London, Madrid. They could have taken action much earlier.” “It’s like a flower. You have to be patient. You have to water it from time to time,” Katerina smiled. “David was grand. He carried on. He never gave up!” “Good bombing as well!” David returned the compliment. “Speaks for itself! I’m the expert!” “Finding Ivan was a coincidence, that last time,” David explained. “I saw the painter leave his building and I had the intuition to follow him. One evening he came home with Ivan.” “You discovered all his whereabouts. That wasn’t so easy!” “I have my ways,” David accepted with thanks. “I’m just a kid on a bike.” “You were so right.” His mother kissed him lovingly. “I still feel sorry for the dog!” the kid sulked. “The accident with the dog. That wasn’t necessary.” “That was an accident. Aghh, he has recovered well!” his mother comforted him. “Haven’t you Adolf?” Adolf barked and licked the kid’s cheek. David lit a cigarette. His mother put it out: “Don’t smoke. It can damage your health!” 218 Katerina and the kid led a carefree existence in a small village in Poland close to the German border. Katerina stopped performing. She felt like retiring. She started enjoying life. She was blossoming like a wild orchid. The kid became a successful entrepreneur and ran his own transport company. Mischu joined his old circus and Adolf invaded Poland. “Relieved from all passion, we walk our separate ways.” 219

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