Jáchym Topol - Devil's Workshop

Alex sat with me at the computer in the bunkroom.

He must have had the plan in his head for a long time.

He quickly realized the only one with a full list of our lucrative network, from whales to minnows, was me.

Not all of the Comenium’s activities were suitable for television and the eyes of the world: the evening sittings in our squat were just for us.

Every evening the newcomers, as well as the old hands, would sit in a circle around Lebo.

Anyone could enter the Main Tent for a fee, but the evening sittings were just for the core of our community, the Comenium. Evenings were for the bunk seekers — we could always pick them out among the ordinary tourists and prying types, Sara and Lea the Great without fail, and even Rolf by now. They were the ones who brought the bunk seekers to Lebo. It was only truly worth it for the unhappy and ill. Here in the house of Comenius, in our squat, it was all for real. Lebo would sit on the bunk where his mother had given birth illegally and he had acquired his name and talk about the long-ago horrors of the town of evil, the death of tens of thousands within the walls where we now breathe, and all those who walked out of these walls to the trains that carried them to their death. Then he would pass around the objects, so we all had a chance to touch them, bringing his tale of the past so vividly to life that images of what had happened flashed before our eyes. Some would cry out, yes, many shed tears, but Lebo had a way out for even the most hopeless: It happened and it’s impossible to grasp, but despite all the horror you can live on. Look at me! I was born here and I’m still alive! Lebo’s words pierced the black clouds in the heads of those hypersensitive youths like a red-hot iron, and Sara got the idea of lighting the night with candles, so Lebo’s ideas would make even more of an impression. Lebo’s talk was more powerful than all the displays and textbook pages put together. Yes, the students loved his teaching, and during those long evenings in our squat, stoned on rampart grass, they trembled in their bunks, inserting their minds into Lebo’s like fingers in a wound.

But then something changed.

As our fame advanced around the world, as our fame increased, it happened.

The footage of our games, the images of dancing girls, flew around the world. We were famous. But a lot of journalists weren’t writing the same thing as Rolf and his friends. Newspapers still ran front-page photos of Lebo, proud and upright in his black suit, but surrounded by a group of girls in flowing dresses and skirts, adorned with blades of grass. ‘Hippie Commune in Town of Death’, read one caption. ‘Old Jew Operates Harem’, said another. And then they really started to write about us a lot, and we were getting too many people, and some of them were calling us names. According to our enemies, we were shamelessly milking people’s misery to pay for our orgies. They sent detectives and a taxman and the financial guard to investigate.

Naturally, accounting wasn’t our organization’s strong point.

Our strong point was enthusiasm.

Several investigations were opened. Inspectors raided our stalls and confiscated our goods, saying they wanted to ascertain if they were legally acquired. Hygiene officials, disguised as tourists, purchased large quantities of ghetto pizza and sent samples to a lab. We were forbidden to sell any more till the results came back. And more charges followed. There were summonses to interrogations crumpled up in little balls and tossed all over the place.

It wasn’t a good time for me.

I knew I couldn’t go to jail.

But where would I go?

Then I got a package. With a letter and a return address.

I thought maybe someone had spotted the picture of me as Lebo’s right-hand man, the way Sara had. No one had ever written to me before, let alone from America. I walked through the grass, taking Bojek with me, and opened the letter.

Dear co-worker,

I know your sentence is over. I found work in the US and I work in more than one state, so I’m confident that our profession has a future. The game that you once helped create has met with some success, so I’ve decided to pay you a small sum as a token of my gratitude. If you would like to continue our work, please let me know.

Sincerely,

It was signed Mr Mára. Bojek nuzzled the envelope. I pushed him away and grabbed it. A CD-ROM. Hidden and Dangerous Deluxe 5 . Ha! That was the game the students at the Comenium played the most. Not me, I didn’t have time.

I didn’t read the letter again. I crumpled it into a little ball and threw it away. Let the wind take it, I thought.

I was sitting by the ramparts with Bojek, the only one left of my flock, blind and lame, poor thing, in his frayed collar.

All of a sudden Alex was standing there in front of me. With Maruška. She was smiling.

He offered me a job. In his country, Belarus. He said all I needed was the data from the Comenium, the contacts we had made with the generous financial world, tucked away inside my head and in the Spider, the flash drive, that tiny little piece of technology.

I’d get the details when I arrived.

Alex sat down in the grass and Maruška just stood, looking at me. I gazed up at her as Alex explained to me that the Comenium’s situation was untenable.

He talked about accusations of embezzlement, tax evasion, extortion, obstruction of government administration, contempt of court, occupation of public property, destruction of public property, disturbing the peace. He mentioned a section of the penal code on corruption of youth, and many other sections that would swoop down upon the normally tranquil surface of our lives in Terezín like gluttonous cormorants on a muddy pool swarming with fish.

He added that, according to his sources, it was already decided and the bulldozers were on their way.

How do you know? I said.

Alex motioned towards the ramparts, where a group of Happy Workshop workers were lounging around a sandy pit shaded by bushes, drinking and smoking, indulging their usual habits after calling it a day.

When?

Tomorrow.

Alex smiled and gestured towards the homeless group again.

I shut my eyes and believed him.

The mental cases were still shuffling back and forth between our damaged town and the state-sanctioned territory of the Monument. They had eyes and ears everywhere. If there was something in the offing, they would know.

When I opened my eyes I saw the beautiful face of Maruška. She held my gaze for an instant, then shut her eyes. I lingered in the gentle movement of her eyelids as long as I could, then nodded.

Alex handed me the key to a locker at the airport and described what was in it. He told me when and where to wait for my go-between, who would take me to their homeland.

I said to Alex I thought the best go-between would be Maruška.

We looked at each other. I had no idea what he was thinking.

Doesn’t bother me that you guys are going under, Alex said. You had a good plan. Didn’t work out. Authorities weren’t on your side. Where we live it’s different. You’ll see.

I was really wishing he’d walk away.

I made up mind to go to see Lebo before I left. Maybe Sara, too. I’d already told Alex yes, but still, what would Lebo say? I had to ask.

As soon as the two of them had gone, I grabbed Bojek and crossed the grass to the mental cases, a few dozen metres away.

As I came close, they stiffened. All of a sudden they shrank into a hushed knot of tattered blankets, limbs and rags, booze fumes, a mix of eyes, hair, beards. Now what?

One of them chuckled.

Dumped, huh, big man? I heard a voice hiss from the hole. Got used to marchin’ around like the big man, didn’t cha? And now it’s over, huh? What cha gonna do now, eh?