Crumbs (8 page)

Her sister was dying with laughter, without a single sound coming out of her mouth.

It didn't look that bad at all. Not erotic, more funny. Nastassja's face on the imbalanced and short, rather tubby body. With a hand grabbing between her legs and scratching her pubic hair.

The guard entered the shed.

The performance ended.

We looked down at him from the top of the heap of paper. When we saw that he was making his way up the paper hill, we started running away towards the fallen wall. We weren't hurrying too much. We were only trying to run because of the feeling that it's right to run when you're trying to escape.

I was a good metre behind the Gypsies, looking for the opportunity to grab the magazine. That was the only thing she'd taken, holding it with both her hands. Her sister was carrying a bundle of paper.

We ran out, balancing on the paper ridge. The younger sister slipped. She tried to regain her balance. She waved her arms in the air. The magazine was in her right hand. I jumped and tried to pull it out of her hand. I missed. I pushed her down the slope. She didn't let go of the magazine. She slid down the paper slide, causing an avalanche which poured behind her.

In the middle of the slope, the chassis of a car was sticking out of the paper.

She was carried towards it.

Her sister had already thrown the bundle over the fence, slid on the paper heap which was as high as the top of the fence, and jumped over to the other side.

Using all my strength, I tried to stay at the top. The avalanche was moving too fast. My feet were giving way beneath me. Everything was moving and slipping down.

It carried me after the girl. She grabbed hold of the edge of the chassis and tried to get away from the main stream of the avalanche. She didn't let go of the magazine. Damn stubbornness.

Scrambling with both feet, she managed to move away from the avalanche.

The pressure of the paper had slightly shifted the
chassis.

I slid past on my back. My feet touched the ground. Immediately I jumped forward to avoid the paper slide that was just about to bury me.

I landed on my stomach. Everything was calm now. The silence was shocking.

I rolled over and looked up.

The other sister was out. She stood there looking at the centre of the slope. The moving chassis, having no firm support for its weight, pressed on the girl, who was half buried in paper. Her hands started to scatter the paper sheets. She tried to dig herself out. She didn't quite succeed.

Her right ankle retained under the edge of the chassis. She'd tucked the
Playboy
, which she'd been clutching in her hand all along, under her T-shirt. She tried to rescue her foot. She pulled the paper from under it.

It didn't help. The metal kept sinking in. She tried to lift it. There was no support for her anywhere. She stopped moving and looked at her sister.

Asking for help with her eyes.

Her sister didn't see her.

Her eyes were glued to the limping guard who appeared at the top of the ridge by the fallen wall of the shed.

He stopped.

Everything was frozen. Everybody was waiting for the first move.

At last he caught on. Something he'd been waiting for all his life has finally happened. They'd put him there to catch thieves. A very fruitless task if you've only one leg. Children used to come to tease him. They'd let him almost catch them and then run away. They toyed with him.

He wasn't swearing like he usually did. He roared like a
dragon. Launched forward forgetting two things.

That he didn't have one leg and that he was walking on paper. He fell and slid by the edge of the shed to the yard full of scrap metal. He got up.

Picked up a piece of metal pipe.

He growled.

I jumped up and climbed towards the girl. The nose of the chassis quivered. She moaned.

I let the paper return me to where I'd begun.

I started climbing in a long parabola that would bring me just above her.

The guard forced his way in a straight line. Over a line of old cars separating him from his aim. It's hard to do acrobatics with a wooden leg.

He realised that wasn't the way to do it.

He scrambled up to the top. He from the left, me from the right. I arrived quite a bit before him. He slipped back a good few times. He wouldn't let go of the metal pipe.

Slowly, with my arms spread wide, I slid down to the girl.

She looked at me with hatred.

‘Give,' I said.

Reached with my hand.

She spat at it. And then again at my face. The distance between us allowed only a spray to dampen my skin. I wiped my hand on the paper and my face on my sleeve.

Half sitting, half lying, I looked at her calmly.

The guard had finally managed to get to the top. He was crawling on the ridge. His face was a terrifying red mask. The veins on his forehead stood out in knots. He was wheezing. He was slowly approaching the right spot for the descent towards the girl, using the pipe for support.

I looked at the sister. She didn't move.

The girl heard the wheezing and the dull thuds of the pipe against the paper. She twisted her neck in vain. She didn't want to ask me what was happening.

I sat there waiting.

The guard wheezed into her visual field. With my arms spread out and the calm smile of a talk-show host, I introduced the guest on today's show.

She saw him.

He was crawling nearer. He didn't want to descend too early miss his aim.

He was looking only at her.

He wanted to kill.

To taste blood.

The girl tried to take off. Forgot about the trapped leg.

She displaced a few sheets of paper and gave up.

She looked at me. She was in no doubt. The guard was going to beat the shit out of her. There would be nothing left of her. She'd suffer for all those who'd escaped him.

‘Give,' I said.

I reached out.

She didn't spit. With a terrible hatred – her eyes bulging with terror – she screamed, ‘No!!!!!!'

I moved my hand away.

‘If you give me the magazine I'll save you.'

I calmly added the sentence that cleared her eyes. Changed her expression to that of mistrust.

The guard descended and missed.

The avalanche took him past us towards the left. Almost down to the bottom.

She looked me in the eyes. Took the risk. What else could she do?

She took the magazine from its hiding place.

A short moment of hesitation. Reached out with her
hand.

I took the magazine and Nastassja went under my T-shirt.

The girl watched me with fear.

The guard started climbing again. In a small arc towards us.

The girl's leg was trapped under the back wheel arch.

I started pulling the paper from under her.

I had the magazine and could have left. Indeed, I did think of that possibility for a moment. But only for a moment.

The foot wasn't hurt. The chassis kept sinking and pressing the foot into the paper.

I tried to rock the chassis.

But I couldn't find any support.

The whole thing was probably supported by a bale of compressed paper. I didn't have enough time to dig my way to it.

I was beginning to panic. I didn't know how near the guard was.

It seemed to me he was right behind me, growling into my ear. I kept looking towards the front part of the chassis.

With all my strength I tried to lift the back part. The girl was frantically pulling paper from under her foot.

I pushed up but was knocked back down onto the paper.

The guard couldn't be heard.

I stopped and looked around. Everything was frozen.

Blood was pumping in my ears.

Where the fuck is he?

A crow cawed in the woods.

First, I saw a hand grab the front of the chassis.

A moment later a body leaped up.

Screaming, he struck with the pipe.

The girl screamed.

He was too short. He was bent over the car.

The blow had dented the metal. I was covered with flakes of paint from the car and fragments of glass that had been left in the window frame.

He tried to climb on top of the car. Roaring, he kept hitting out with his right hand.

Because of his weight the back of the car lifted.

With all my strength I pushed it up.

It threw me on my ass.

The girl crawled away on all fours at an incredible speed.

The rocking of the car caused another avalanche.

The chassis started to slide down, carrying the guard with it.

I ran away so quickly that the sheets of paper flew around like virgin snow behind a skier.

The guard slid away, growling with despair. He saw us escape. The party was over. We wouldn't be having any more fun.

He hurled the pipe after us. It flew high above our heads, bounced off the fence, and rattled on the scrap metal.

The front of the car hit the ground. Stood on its end. Ejected the guard in an elegant arc.

At last he shut up. He was waving his arms in the air and opening his mouth. His prosthesis detached. Flew away in a different direction. The empty trouser leg waved at us. It looked as if he was going to hit a wrecked van, but he flew over it onto a heap of newspapers. He dug into it. An avalanche immediately covered him.

The sheets of newspaper settled down slowly.

The sisters stood looking at each other.

I felt for the magazine. It was stashed in my trousers. And the book was in my pocket.

I ran along the fence back towards the town, away from the Gypsies.

Maybe they'd change their minds and call for reinforcements. You never know.

The paper on top of the guard moved, and out popped his head. All you could see were the whites of his bulging eyes. He howled like a factory siren. Foam sprayed from his mouth. His hands, which were trying to dig out his body, threw the torn paper high into the air.

A light breeze blew them around.

Selim, this was worth three crates.

I felt cold, which made me realise I was sweaty. I was completely wet. My balls were swimming in sweat, which was running in torrents down my back. I put off my visit to Selim's till later and went to the flat to have a shower.

The bar was still empty. I sat at a table in the corner and gazed through the window. The waitress peeped out of the kitchen. When she saw who it was, she immediately disappeared again.

The crackly radio played the current pop successes. First, three pensioners came in. They drank their spritzers, explaining how many people they'd kill and who would be shot if they were presidents of this country. They had a terrible argument about methods of execution. The winner was the one who suggested they should all be covered in honey and thrown on an ants' nest. Having calmed down they ordered another round.

I took Nastassja from under my T-shirt, briefly looked at the photos, turned to the interviews. It was a French edition of
Playboy
. I soon gave up and read only the
cartoon captions.

She moved a chair and sat next to me.

‘What'll you have?'

Some women really do know how to play the right tune.

She went to get two beers. I tried to remember her name. In vain. All I could remember was that she was easy. It may be true, how should I know. I only knew her by sight. Once we had waited together for a bus, and I'd fucked her twice, both times at a party, pissed out of my head.

We poured the beer and started talking. Had she been born forty years ago, she would've been considered a great beauty. Then, her square face surrounded by curly hair would have been used as the epitome of a heroic Red Army soldier, a young Komsomol who had surpassed her norm by 315%. I looked at her, and martial music rattled through my head. Cheering masses shouted slogans under large banners. Tanks rolled down the roadways. Her face looked out from the turrets. People threw flowers. She reminded me of the screaming pathos of the bright future. Of victories. Only victories.

A terrible bitch.

It wasn't her fault. You're born the way you're born. But I could only force myself as far as medium niceness during our conversation.

She said she was waiting for her boyfriend. She was half an hour early. I felt sorry for her. Real women make their men wait.

I put my elbows on the table and rested my head on them. I was looking at her from below, like at an old movie newsreel.

As if she was aware of my associations, she had even accentuated her face with a shapeless gray jacket and a
shitty light brown skirt. Probably a present from her grandmother. She didn't smoke. When I mentioned cigarettes, she went and bought a packet. She didn't have a bad figure. A nice, well proportioned ass. Under the straight-cut loose cardigan, you could just about make out large breasts. Not drooping, judging by her cleavage, which was in the right place. As she was bringing my cigarettes, I noticed knee-high white socks. I sighed sadly. Women who dressed as boringly as that were usually themselves boring.

I looked in front of me. I couldn't stand her loving look. A tender look as if it was intended for newborn kittens. What she wanted most was to cradle me in her arms, stroke me behind my ears. I regretted those two times at the party. Alcohol drives all my blood into my prick. Because there is a law which says that the same thing can't be in two places at once, my brain stays without blood. As my lower head is smaller than the one on top, my intellectual capacities become correspondingly smaller. Thinking of one thing only. Maybe she wasn't a whore and agreed to fuck me only because she wanted to tie me to her. I felt like a bastard.

Oh, justice, where are you these days, we never see you around here anymore.

Poet joined us. Immediately he got a beer.

Your friends are my friends, too. The influence of cowboy stories is still very strong on some people.

I finished my second beer and a third one was already on its way. Poet started rambling. He pulled his latest booklet out of his pocket, turned a few pages, and then started reading, ‘Soil…'