Adam Bodor - The Sinistra Zone

“Can I take a look, too?”

“Sure, go ahead. But you won’t see anything worth looking at.”

“I just want to see what you do.”

“Here, take a peek. And tell me, if it’s not a big secret: which way are you headed?”

After scanning the meadows, the stranger raised the binoculars higher to take in the ranges, and finally to the single cloud, which was glimmering like mother-of-pearl above the ridge in the light of the moon.

“Which way? I’ve got to be in Sinistra by morning, at the market. Something will be happening there.”

“I’ve never seen you around here, you know.”

“You’ve never seen me? No, you’ve never seen me. I’m not, you see — to use your words — from around here. My father and I would dare to go only as far as the Kolinda forest to saw blocks of ice. Earlier, as you know, that’s where the border was. I don’t know my way around here. I wanted to take a shortcut but lost my way. And meanwhile that damn bus went by.”

Night was falling; Elvira Spiridon had set off from home. Although the stranger still held the binoculars, the woman’s path could be made out from the birds taking flight before her. When her sloshing steps could be heard in the mud, Andrei went down to the road to get her.

“There’s a man here,” he said.

“The one with the black bag?”

“Yes.”

Elvira Spiridon turned on her heels and headed back toward the house that was in fact her home. The road worker looked after her helplessly, staring with desire at the pleats of her skirt swaying back and forth over the curves of her behind. He kept his eye on her until she vanished amid a thicket of spruces and firs at a bend in the road. It was dark; every last cloud had disappeared from the sky; cold had descended into the pass; and between the rocks the mud began rustling as it hardened in the sudden freeze.

“I saw you send her away,” said the stranger, breaking into a smile. “What a shame. Where’s the poor thing going now?”

“To her husband.”

The stranger’s plum brandy was bitter. The steam surging from his nostrils as he gulped it down flashed hypnotically in the light of the fire. The road worker placed a tin plate in front of him along with a little water in a sheet-metal mug.

“If you get hungry, eat your cheese. I can smell it on you. You can get that sort of thing in your parts these days?”

“Oh, no. The only ones who got cheese got it on the road today. It would have been damn good to get to Sinistra by tonight. Like I said, something is happening there tomorrow.”

“Get yourself some rest. Then make sure you’re on your way before daybreak. Are you with the army?”

“With the army? I’ll find that out tomorrow, too. The league will tell us who we’re with.”

The stranger presently loosened his trousers at the waist, and the sharp-edged rock fell from the loop to the floor and rolled away. The road worker got a pair of long-nose pliers, and while helping the stranger set the rock back into its mount, he noticed that the wire belt wrapped around the man’s waist several times. The man sat patiently as Andrei tinkered at his belt.

“And what’s it you do?”

“I work for the mountain infantry,” said Andrei. “I’m in charge of this stretch of highway.”

“Well, that’s something! I thought it had to be this stretch of road. I figured you’re an important fellow.”

“Whatever you say, but you know, all the territory around here is off limits. It’s all the mountain infantry’s.”

“Yeah, of course. Who’s in command of the mountain infantry?”

“Coca Mavrodin.”

“A woman? You’re telling me it’s a woman?”

“You got it.”

“Well, it’s not out of the question then that tomorrow, as soon as we take power, I’ll have intercourse with her.”

“Oh yes, when she sees you,” said Andrei, taking stock of his guest, “she’ll really want that, too.”

The road worker now trimmed the wick on the hurricane lamp, lit it, and hung it on a long pole fixed to the gable of the cabin. They nearly had a falling out over this, for the stranger preferred that the cabin remain inconspicuous that night. But Andrei took the official list of road workers’ rules and regulations off the wall and stuck it in the other man’s face.

“All right already,” said the stranger, rejecting the gesture with an open palm. “You don’t seriously think I’m about to read all that, do you? Get it out of my face. All I’m saying is that I don’t want some drifter winding up here on account of that flickering light. I don’t mean the lady, of course.”

“Later on I might fetch her, but I’ll wait till you’re asleep. It would be nice after you’ve gone to find her warm backside near me. In the meantime you can stretch out on the bed.”

“Forget it. Don’t you dare leave this shack — get it through your head that there won’t be any more coming and going around here.”

“I usually stand on the porch to piss.”

“I’ll go with you. How do I know you wouldn’t be bringing some shady character down on my neck. After all, I don’t really know you.”

From the window the stranger had watched the road worker hang the hurricane lamp from the gable, disappearing around the corner of the cabin but soon reappearing out front, having walked around it. The moon was already above the ridgeline, the mud had frozen, and the pitter-patter of the stray dog’s paws could be heard from the clearing. When Andrei got back inside, the stranger happened to be browsing the wall calendar — an old, fly-stained calendar from many years before, left there with its curled yellow corners, from the days of the previous road worker, Zoltán Marmorstein.

“What is this all about?” asked the stranger. “What sorts of numbers are these?”

“These numbers just show the days of the year, that’s all.”

“Are you Hungarian?”

“Half.”

“Hm. That’s nothing.”

The stranger now stretched out on the plank bed, with his feet still in rubber boots propped on the headboard. Even while lying on his back he seemed to drink comfortably enough; only his Adam’s Apple kept jumping about wildly as the plum brandy in his bottle fizzled with thick bubbles. Slowly the fire waned, then died out, and the crackling of the flue as it cooled down lulled the stranger to sleep. His head nodded to the side, his mouth opened halfway, and drool began to flow, forming a narrow sparkling band to his shoulder. The league’s man had fallen asleep.

In his briefcase the sharp-edged rocks stirred, all by themselves.

Andrei the road worker tiptoed out of the cabin, removed the hurricane lamp from the gable, and carefully, to avoid crackling the veil-thin coating of ice under his feet on the freshly frozen puddles, crossed the road. On the clearing opposite him the stray dog’s silhouette tottered, its eyes sometimes flickering with the light of the hurricane lamp. For a while it trailed in the road worker’s wake, but midway there it sensed Severin Spiridon’s dog in the dark and, breaking into a lively pace, moved on ahead. By the time the road worker reached the gate, the two dogs were already silently chumming up. Severin Spiridon was crouching under the eaves, leaning up against the side of the cabin.

“You’ve crossed my mind several times,” he said to Andrei. “I’d gladly spend the night in the road worker’s cabin in your place. I couldn’t even shut my eyes; I just kept thinking of you.”

“The fellow is asleep.”

“But like I’m saying, I could have gone down right away, from the start — it just didn’t occur to me at first. I’m not afraid of these people. And besides, I’d do anything for you, you know.”