ղľáԾ
(Extract)
Being trapped on arock face andthe routine continuation of ahike aretwo versions of apotential continuation ofthe universe: Schroedinger’s cat, dead oralive, trapped inside abag orrather abox or, toput itcrudely, acunt. If, however, weassume that theuniverse Ihave inhabited until now isthe oneand only universe or, more precisely, oneamong anentire universe ofpossible universes, itfollows that this universe must also include thesummer holidays atGrandma’s andGrandpa’s which Iused tospend right here, beneath Bear Rock, obviously not in aromantic secluded cottage but on anordinary provincial town housing estate where, indeed, most of mychildhood wasspent.
I don’t know what is itthat suddenly makes me souneasy about thefact that this summer my – orrather, our – sonJanko, isspending hisholidays athis grandma’s. Iused tofeel very much athome at myGranny’s: ifJanko is ashappy there as Iwas, there isabsolutely noneed toworry. Iwas also asecond-grader just asJanko isnow, that is, Ihad just finished thesecond form andwas about tostart thethird and, as aresult, Icould never come upwith anunambiguous answer tothe usual question asked bynosey ladies inthe street orsupermarket cashiers:
“So, which year areyou in atschool?“Or:“Tell me, what form areyou in?“My form isthe onewith ablackboard andwhite chalk.My best friends were Peťo andTonko wholived onthe sixth floor butthere wasn’t much love lost between usand Tonko‘s sister Eva – perhaps because Evawas older and nolonger hadmuch understanding forour world. Ourgang also included Milan and Peťo, whose dadused torepair lifts andwho had to besummoned whenever someone dropped aball into thelift-shaft. Thekey thing wasthat none of uswas allowed touse thelift because:
“The lift may beused only bypersons over theage oftwelve. Persons below theage oftwelve mayuse thelift only when accompanied by aperson over theage oftwelve.“
They could hardly have come upwith abetter wording at Transport Chrudim andperhaps, objectively speaking, abetter wording wasnot really possible.
“Tonko and Peťo gotstuck inthe lift,“ little Iveta shouted to me, herthin voice echoing inthe dank hallway. Idashed over totake alook atthe boys imprisoned inthe cabin, presumably because they hadshaken it byjumping upand down.
“We’ll have tofetch Peťo’s dad, “ Imused.“He’ll give usall athrashing,“ Iveta yelped. Ihave topoint out that theshaft wasnot walled inand wasenclosed merely bysome wire mesh that afforded imposing views ofthe ground floor’s vertiginous depths toeveryone wholived inour block offlats orcame tovisit. Iwas often haunted bythis view in mydreams, inwhich someone would remove theprotective mesh andthe hallway floor would suddenly tilt dangerously making meslide down itssmooth surface straight into theshaft. Nomatter howhard Itried tofind something tohold on to, Iwould getcloser andcloser tothe edge ofour high-rise abyss.
The cabin inwhich Tonko and Peťo were stuck suddenly started moving downwards – this was nolonger in mydream – quite spontaneously stopping oneach floor. Iveta and Iran downstairs. Theterrified boys hadalready landed onthe ground floor. Allthat separated uswas themesh onthe door, which would notopen.
“I’ll goand getyour dad,“ Iveta shouted.“What areyou doing here?“ Mr. Krištúfek’s voice suddenly boomed behind usbefore anyone had achance tocall him. Orwould have, as weused tosay. “Peter, what have youbeen up towith that lift? I’ll goand get myscrewdriver.... And mybelt too. Just youwait till Iget youout ofthere!“
Irritated neighbours started tobang onthe door demanding to know what hadhappened tothe lift. Ared light inside analuminium boxfitted oneach floor waslit up, signalling that something wasdefinitely broken. Iran upthe stairs tothe fifth floor, to myGranny‘s.
“Don’t befriends with Peter,“ Granny said. “He’s anaughty boy.“
* * *
“Peťo, let’s move over abit,“ Isaid to myfriend inthe shadow ofour six-storey block, looking uptowards ourkitchen window where Granny’s face wasbound to behiding behind thecurtain. Granny’s angry expression wasonly amask forher affectionate concern forher grandson, whomay have fallen inwith some dubious gang.
“Granny doesn’t want us to befriends,“ Isaid honestly.“But why?“ Peťo shrugged hisshoulders.“Let’s move over, somewhere shecan’t see us,“ Iinsisted.We walked away from hervantage point atthe kitchen windows and to acarpet-beating frame next tosome rubbish bins.
“This place isfor beating carpets, notfor sitting around and things,“ Mrs. Uhláriková shouted at usfrom thesecond floor. Weignored herand were soon joined by Ľuba, Jara andTonko. Only Tonko’s sister Evakept herself toherself. Shewas onthe threshold ofadolescence, although it’s hard tothink ofworse timing than being onthe threshold ofadolescence inthe mid-seventies. That wasthe time when stuff like this played onthe radio:
“I’m drawing arose on abit ofpaper...“Or:“If Ihad asister shewould bepretty butnot aspretty asyou are.“And agirl had tokeep aneye outfor young menwith sideburns wearing terylene trousers whomight give her aride intheir Skoda 100, orEmbe, as weused tosay, andrely onstate-produced sanitary pads andstate-produced beauty products – that must have been whyEva wasalways sotense. “What have yougot there?“ Ľuba asked andindeed, Ihad forgotten Ihad brought something along – mychubby little boy’s hand wasclutching abroken oldcamera Ihad fished outfrom thedepths of awardrobe in mygrandparents’ bedroom.
“Is itworking?“ Tonko asked.“Oh yeah,“ Isaid, whispering into Peťo’s ear:“This button here, when Ipress it Ican take amoving shot... Doyou understand? Just like with afilm camera...“
“Let’s try itout,“ said Peťo. Wejumped offthe carpet-beating rack, everyone else trailing behind.
“What doyou think this is, atheatre show?“ snapped Peťo.I pointed thebroken oldcamera at arotund oldbus with atrailer that was struggling tomove from thestop. Itsmetal sign “Bratislava – Zochova chata“ glinted inthe summer afternoon sun.
“Take apicture ofthe Zochova bus!“ Peťo poked me inthe ribs.“Let metake amoving shot,“ Iwhispered andstarted following thepanting bus in avery realistic manner.
“You twokeep whispering amongst yourselves,“ said Ľuba. “Every time before you take apicture, youwhisper something to Peťo.“
“It’s asecret,“ Iretorted returning tothe carpet-beating rack.“A friend ofmine waswalking toLimbach theother daywhen achap whodrove past offered her alift...“ Jara wassaying in achoked voice. “Who knows what hewas going to do toher?“
Strangle her, cuther up, drown her, quarter her.All this immediately came to mymind since Ididn’t have aclear idea ofother acts grown menmight commit upon little girls, orany other things menand women might get up to. Even now Idon’t really have aclear idea. In myuniverse allthese things have remained somehow insignificant, unrevealed, shrouded inthe same mystery, bythe same veil ofincomprehensibility asthe story ofthe unknown little girl whom anunknown manwas trying tolure with unknown (but certainly evil) intent. Clearly, Imust have taken toheart ageneralized piece ofadvice received atschool from ourform teacher, oldMrs. Chobotova, in acivics class perhaps, ormaybe aspart of apractical lesson. Sheused tosay, with ameaningful grin onher face:
“If astranger ever calls you ortries toentice you bypromising youthings like sweets, youmust never follow! Youmust never even start talking tostrangers!“
At that point itwas clear that Iwas inthe second form butlater, during the holidays, itwas nolonger that clear. Am Istill inthe second form? Or am Ialready inthe third? ”Did youknow that ourblock offlats hasbeen shifted? They put it on these rollers andshifted it,“ said thefair-haired Tonko and weall burst outlaughing.
“Seriously,“ Tonko gotangry. “They did it innorthern Bohemia, too, they shifted awhole church. Seriously. They put it on these rollers andmoved itfurther away from thecity. Orcloser, Ican’t remember. Seriously.“
“How cananyone put achurch onrollers andshift it?“ said Peťo.“You betthey can!“ shouted Tonko. “My Dadsaid so.“Dad.... Ihad noDad, which waswhy Ilacked this kind ofinformation.“It might bepossible,“ Iagreed with myfriend. “You can doall sorts ofthings with technology these days.““By 2000 weshall fly tothe moon,“ said Peťo.“So there, whyshouldn’t it bepossible toshift ablock offlats?“ Tonko said triumphantly.“I read somewhere that mountains have been shifting too. TheLesser Carpathians. Byseven millimetres ayear. Orseventenths of amillimetre?“ Isaid with ascientific air.
“Just look at it,“ Tonko went on. “Just take alook, there, theblock next toours isright bythe carpark butours hasbeen shifted half ametre further away. When Iwas little, they put it onrollers andshifted itaside abit. Iremember them doing it atnight. Seriously.“
“Otherwise both blocks arethe same... Theelectrics inside are thesame too, Iknow about those things, myDad hasshown me,“ said Peťo, pulling at my T-shirt. “Let’s goand have alook atthe electrics. We’ll take pictures of it.“
Only thetwo of usran tothe block next door, heading straight forthe boxwith itsmetal door sporting apicture of ared spark. Anelectric spark. Electrons with their ownenergy, their spin, their clearly – oractually not soclearly – defined quantum state.
“It won’t open,“ Peťo rattled thedoor. “Have yougot a crown coin? Acrown coin will dothe trick...“
“What areyou doing here?“ avoice belonging to abadtempered oldwoman came from above. Andthere shewas, waddling down thestairs, coming straight towards us. “Stop messing about with it! Yourascals, youscallywags, you!“
The woman came up to usand slapped both Peťo and me on theface. Red-faced, weran outand went back tothe carpetbeating rack. Ourfriends were gone. Iran into ourshifted block andtook thelift, which “only persons over theage oftwelve were allowed touse andoperate“ up tothe fifth floor, toour flat, toGranny, andcomplained about theinjustice Ihad just suffered.
“That must have been thephotographer’s wife,“ Granny said. “The lady photographer.“
Or should Isay, Mrs. Photographer?(Or amotorgrapher, ifshe produced graphic images of motors.)
That surprised mebecause thephotographer was afriend of Grandpa’s and Iwas sure hiswife knew who Iwas. And Iwas sure sheknew Iwas agood boywho never messed things up. Imay have gone on tomess up myown life andthat of mywife’s, aswell as myson’s childhood – butsurely notelectrics?
“She probably didnot recognize you,“ said Granny and went on toserve mydinner.
The photographer used todevelop photos myGrandpa had taken with hisfunctioning camera, which hadone ofthose accordion-style pullout lenses. Thephotographer hadtwo protruding front teeth like arabbit, and aberet with alittle antenna. Thephotos hedeveloped were grey andgrainy butwith abit ofeffort youcould tell what was onthem. Forexample, they showed alittle Grandpa infront of ahuge hotel. OrGrandpa in agarden, tiny as anant. OrGrandpa standing at anangle andposing with acannon atTrenčín Castle. OrGrandpa standing upright outside adangerously leaning winery building against aslanting background. OrGranny, with astreet lamp protruding from herhead. Or me, looking like alittle prick with abig pair ofsunglasses and arucksack on myback. Inanother universe Iwould have asked thebroken oldphotographer todevelop thenon-existent film from mybroken oldcamera – I’m sure hewould have done itfree ofcharge tomake upfor theunfair beating Ihad suffered atthe hands ofhis hysterical wife. Andwho knows, perhaps somewhere inthe other universe hedid develop thefilm since Ican still seethose pictures soclearly, sodistinctly, inspite oftheir dubious quality. They move infront of myeyes, like themoving shots Itook with thetacit approval of myfriend Peťo, while I amhopelessly stuck here inthis rock recess, drawing hope from thecalculations Ireally didread in amagazine as achild, andwhich said that Bear Rock, along with theentire massif ofthe Lesser Carpathians, wasshifting byseven millimetres, orseven-tenths of amillimetre each year, meaning that after acertain amount oftime, or acertain amount oftime multiplied byten, with noeffort on mypart, Iwould arrive somewhere closer tocivilization, inBratislava orVienna, inLeipzig orLjubljana. Depending onthe direction inwhich theCarpathians areactually shifting.
Translated by
Julia andPeter Sherwood
