The Dead Have No Shadows (9 page)

“We haven’t seen the groom yet,” laughed Mickey.  He sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off his trainers.  “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“No idea,” said Pester.  “You can afford a wee bit of time.  But no more than a couple of days.  You do have a deadline to meet – pardon the pun.”

Raised voices from below interrupted the conversation.

“Sounds like an argument,” said Mickey.  “It’s probably about me staying.  There doesn’t seem to be a lot of food in the house.”

“You could be right,” said Pester. “They don’t look as if they can look after themselves, never mind having a guest to stay.  It’s not as if they can stock up with food after you’ve gone.  Everyone will be using the food that came over with them.  There’s no new food here.”

Pester left the room curious about the cause of the commotion.  While he was waiting, Mickey went to the small window.  It looked out over the rear of another row of homes similar to the one that he was in.  On the far right hand side of Mickey’s view the streets opened out on to a larger square.  This square looked like it might be the centre of the village or at least the focal point of this part of it.  In the centre of the square stood a bandstand.  On the very edge of his vision Mickey could make out rows of chairs in front of the bandstand.  It was odd that most of the seats were occupied even though there was no band playing.

Pester returned to the room with a look of amusement on his face.

“They’re not arguing about you,” he said.  “We were right about one thing though.  Elena doesn’t want to get married; and her mother is taking her side.”

“So is old
Janic
trying to get rid of her to save food, do you think?” said Mickey.  “If she was mine I’d never want to let her go.”

“Ah, but you’re talking like a lover not a father,” Pester replied with a smile.

Mickey flushed again which brought a laugh from his guide.

“I don’t think it’s as simple as preserving the food stock,” said Pester.  “It sounds like a matter of honour.  Our friend
Janic
seems to be a stickler for tradition.  He wants to cling to the old ways.  It’s sad really.  He’s refusing to accept things as they are and thinks that this sham of a marriage will somehow change things.”

“Why do you say it’s a sham?” Mickey asked.

“Because nothing can come of it,” Pester replied, wiping his finger through the dust on the night stand.  This place is dead.  There is no life here and new life can’t be created.”

“So does
Janic
think that he can keep the village going by marrying off his daughter?” asked Mickey.

“Possibly,” mused Pester.  “But we don’t have a groom at the moment.”

“What?” Mickey had turned back to the window but spun round at the revelation.

“There’s to be some kind of ceremony tomorrow to decide who Elena will marry,” said Pester.  “The wedding will take place the day after.”

“And I take it that Elena isn’t happy with some of the candidates,” said Mickey.

“I think there’s more to it than that,” Pester replied.  “I think that mother and daughter are against the idea of the marriage at all – irrespective of who the groom might be.  They seem to have other plans.”

A short while later there was a knock at the door.  Mickey opened it to find Elena standing there.  He smiled broadly.

Elena didn’t return the smile.  “Father says that our meal will soon be ready.”

“Thank you, Elena.  I’ll be straight down.”  Mickey replied.

The girl turned to go but Mickey put a hand on her arm.  “Don’t look so sad.  I’m sure everything will work out ok for you.”

“Do you think so?”  Elena said.  She stared at Mickey defiantly but her eyes were moistening.  She turned away quickly and hastened down the stairs.  Mickey watched her until she was out of sight then closed the door.  Pester was smiling at him.

“What?” said Mickey.

“Nothing,” the guide replied, his smile broadening.

“Fuck off,” Mickey growled.  Then changing the subject, “What are you going to do for food?  You can’t eat with us.”

“I’ll be ok.  I’m going for a walk round the village,” Pester replied.  “You should concentrate on trying to put a smile on the pretty bride’s face.”

The meal consisted of meagre portions of heavily salted lamb with dried vegetables that had been boiled back to some semblance of tenderness.  In the middle of the table were slices of a flat, dry bread.  Mickey hadn’t seen that type of bread before; it certainly wasn’t something Mum used to get from
Asda
.  The lamb was tough and all four diners had to chew their meat long and hard before they could swallow it.  Each mouthful was washed down with a tepid sweet red wine.  Mickey was sensible enough to only take a small first sip.  The wine had long ago turned to vinegar and Mickey struggled to not screw his face up in distaste.

The tension at the table was palpable and Mickey became increasingly uncomfortable as he vainly tried to find topics of conversation that wouldn’t reignite the family row.  He rejected each idea and finally opted for safety and ate in silence. 
Janic
was also feeling the pressure and tried several of his own attempts at small talk.  Each line dried up after a few exchanges.

“How long have you been dead, Mickey Raymond,” Elena suddenly asked.  It was the first thing she’d said since the meal began.  Her question raised a howl of protest from her father. 
Janic
was furious that his daughter should speak without permission and then embarrass his honoured guest.  Olga didn’t say anything but Mickey sensed that her concern wasn’t for his embarrassment but for something else entirely.

Mickey was caught by surprise at the nature of the question.  At the same time he was pleased by the girl’s directness.  He also liked the sound of her voice.

Janic
was still ranting at his daughter.

“Please, Mr.
Kovaks
–
Janic
,” said Mickey.  “It’s alright.  I’m not offended.”  He then turned his attention to Elena.  “I died two days ago.  It’s still a strange feeling – especially talking about it.”

“How did you die?”  Again, the directness of Elena’s question enraged her father and pleased his guest.  Mickey found
Janic’s
discomfort amusing and had to concentrate on keeping a straight face.  It also gave him time to think how to frame his answer.  Elena and Olga were watching him expectantly and with interest.  He didn’t want his reply to sound flashy or contrived.  In the end he decided that a simple response was the best answer.

“I was shot,” he said.

Mickey was grateful that Elena didn’t press for more details but she did look as if she was impressed by the violent manner of his death.  She explained to her mother the nature of Mickey’s death.

“
Mislite
li
da
 je gangster?” Olga asked her daughter.

Mickey couldn’t understand any of what the old woman said but one of the words sounded like ‘gangster’.

Elena laughed. “No, on
izgleda
previ
š
e
lijepo
.”  She didn’t translate fro Mickey’s benefit.  She wasn’t going to tell him that she thought he looked too nice to be a gangster.

“Are - were you a fighter?” Elena asked, changing the subject slightly.  She had put down her knife and fork and her attention was entirely fixed on Mickey.

“Well, I can take care of myself,” Mickey replied with uncomfortable modesty.  He wasn’t sure where this line of questioning was going.  He didn’t want Elena to think he was a thug.  Neither did he want her to think he was soft.  He decided not to offer any more information and chose to wait for another question.

Elena seemed happy enough with Mickey’s answer, as did Olga. 

“On bi
mogao
biti
jedan
?” said Olga.

“
Mo
ž
da
,” Elena replied.

Olga wondered if Mickey could really be the one that she and Elena had been waiting for.
 
Elena thought that he might be.

The head of the Kovaks family however, was far from happy.  Janic scowled at his daughter and spent the rest of the meal looking as though someone had put salt on his ice cream.

Mickey finished his food as quickly as he could without making it look too obvious.

“Thank you for the meal,” he said to Olga.  “You’ve been very generous.”

He didn’t know if the woman understood what he’d said but Olga looked very pleased with the praise.  It was short lived though as
Janic
stepped in to claim the plaudits.

“You are welcome, my honoured guest.  It was only a humble offering.  Now you and I, we will drink.”
Janic
rose from the table and reached for a bottle that contained what looked like a couple of fingers of brandy.  Mickey remembered the taste of the wine and decided not to risk it.  He made a show of stifling a yawn.

“I’m very tired,” he said.  “I’ve been walking all day.  If you don’t mind I’ll go to bed now.”

Janic
looked crestfallen but made a fuss of helping Mickey out of his seat.  “Of course, of course.  You are my honoured guest.  My house is your house.”

Though the words didn’t sound at all sincere, Mickey thanked his host and shook his hand.  Then he made a point of turning to Olga and Elena, bidding them both a goodnight.  As he left the room, Mickey glanced at
Janic
.  As he suspected, his host was offended that Mickey’s final words had been to the two women.  Mickey turned away and allowed himself a small self satisfied smile.  He knew
Janic’s
sort – and despised them.

Pester was already in the room when Mickey got there.

“Good meal?” the guide asked.

“No it was shit,” Mickey replied.  “Everything was tough and tasted old.  Did you find anything out while you were wandering round the village?”

Pester nodded, almost eagerly.  “Aye a wee bit.  Elena’s groom will be decided by some kind of trial by combat.”

“Sounds medieval,” Mickey remarked.  “Mind you, the whole place seems years out of date. 
Janic
kept referring to me as
his
honoured guest, not
our
honoured guest.  He’s one of those men who treat women as second class.  And I bet his neighbours are no different.”

“It’s the culture of the village and the region it’s from.  Have you got a problem with that?” said Pester.

“Don’t you?”  Mickey replied without actually answering.

Pester shrugged.  “I’ve been over here a long time.  Attitudes change.  I don’t really have an opinion about anything anymore.”

“Well I do.”  Mickey’s blood was still up.  “I’ve seen too much of what happens when women aren’t treated properly.  To me, we’re all equal.”

“Very noble,” said Pester.

“Meaning?”

“What I said,” Pester replied.  “You should remember what you said.  Things are likely to get tough going forward from here.  That attitude could work for and against you.”

“So you do know what’s in store for me,” said Mickey, pressing a quickly taken advantage.  “Don’t you think you ought to tell me?”  He climbed onto the bed and leant against the wall with his hands behind his head.

Pester sat in a corner of the room.

“I know a wee bit,” he conceded.  “But I can guess a lot more.  There’s only so much I can tell you.  If I give too much away it could change things for you.  So don’t ask.”