Jáchym Topol - Devil's Workshop

Alex helps me up and says, Don’t try anything stupid or we’ll tie you up. Besides, where would you go? You’ll freeze to death!

We drive off. A tap on the shoulder. Maruška opens the satchel with the red cross on it, offers me a pill, a sweet. I take it. She pops one too.

A big man stands by a spruce tree, its branches sagging with snow. Fur hat, rifle across his chest, dark glasses. He waves. We turn down an inconspicuous path into a forest so dense it takes a moment before I can even breathe.

A wooden cottage, a fence, a table with a roof over it, surrounded by wooden benches, a fire pit of glowing logs, some bearded guys in fatigues. One of them, in a red ski cap, clicks his heels and salutes. The commander leaps down from the APC. The men gently carry the professor, wrapped in blankets, his long thin legs dangling in slippers. Alex is giving them orders. Some other guys with beards are carrying plates and bottles to the table under the roof. I’m hungry and all of a sudden I realize that maybe I should hide the Spider someplace else, since who knows what’s going to happen to me? Out here in the wilderness. After I’ve given it to Alex.

The commander shakes my hand and says, I’m Arthur. Welcome to our partisan brigade, brother!

The burning wood is warm and tangy. We sit down at the table under the roof: Kagan, Arthur, Alex, and me. Maruška stands behind the commander like a new recruit waiting to report. Alex hands her a plate. She nibbles daintily while we wolf down our food. Then Arthur pours vodka all round. Kagan unbuttons his coat, plants a cigar in his mouth. We sit like that a while.

Forgive me the drama, brothers, Arthur says, hanging his head.

I think it’s just for show, he’s actually enjoying himself.

Nobody says a word.

I had to satisfy the mob, you understand, don’t you, brothers? He drops his head again.

We’re all still waiting.

I have my orders, I’m a soldier! Arthur cries. You know my only access to the president is as a soldier serving my homeland, he says.

Right, that’s why you’re the one who always leads the clean-up actions, Kagan says icily.

Oh, come now, brother! Don’t you believe me? Arthur lays one hand on his heart and grabs Kagan’s hand with the other.

No, says Kagan, and Alex laughs. Alex sits, legs stretched out, also puffing away.

I get results, Arthur says sternly. I saw the president and the president agrees.

Kagan and Alex act like it’s nothing, but they prick up their ears.

The president has an interest in utilizing burial sites and developing tourism. As do the opposition leaders. So it’s been decided. This entire zone — he waves his hand around the trees — will be off limits to both sides. Khatyn will be home to the Devil’s Workshop, a museum for Europe, for the world. And this partisan unit — he points to some of the bearded guys staggering around — will be neutral, and answer to no one but the Ministry of Tourism. Not bad, right? What do you say?

Arthur leans back and stretches his massive body, cracks his knuckles, folds his arms on his chest.

Excellent, Alex says finally. Smiling.

Let’s have a toast, then, Arthur says, rising to his feet. To the Devil’s Workshop!

We stand and drink. Alex gives Maruška a glass as well.

Arthur loosens his belt, lights a smoke.

We’ll remain neutral, whoever wins, the opposition or the president. One day this little civil war of ours will end. And the country will open up. With or without the president. We need to have something to offer the world. Something no one else has got.

Arthur steps behind me and throws his arm around my shoulder like we’re long-lost friends.

My Czech brother, he says, crushing my arm. Syabro! You’ve done a fine job! You captured the attention of the world. You turned — what is it called? He snaps his fingers at Maruška.

Terezín! she blurts out. In the middle of eating a plum. Nearly chokes. She puts down her plate.

You turned Terezín into a real cause célèbre. You had contributions from politicians, governments, arms dealers, pacifists, nationalists, Madonna, and all within a short time, eh?

Five months, Maruška peeps.

And how much was it? Arthur asks.

Maruška says a number that takes my breath away. I feel for the Spider. Still there. In my sock. I had nothing to do with the money. The board members and the eggheads from the Monument probably gobbled it up.

Brother — Arthur leans towards me, breathing in my face — you know how many tourists a year come to Belarus?

Three thousand five hundred and something, Maruška answers for me. I have no idea.

It’s high time that changed, Arthur says. Guess who had the most casualties during the war? We did! Guess who had the most people murdered under communism? We did. And guess who still has people disappearing, eh? We do! That’s the division of labour in the globalized world of today, dammit! Thailand: sex. Italy: paintings and seaside. Holland: clogs and cheese. Right? And Belarus? Horror trip, right? Don’t look so serious, for fuck’s sake! Arthur bellowed. You could tell he was used to giving orders.

Visit the Devil’s Workshop, the European monument to genocide! Arthur declared in a booming voice, pouring everyone another round of vodka.

Do we have the sea, the mountains, historic buildings? No, all our historic buildings were burned. So we’ll build a Jurassic Park of horror, a museum of totalitarianism. Belarus will get on the map thanks to our bags of bones, our bundles of blood and pus. Good, right? Catchy, right? What do you say?

I think Arthur would’ve been happier giving his speech from on top of the APC.

We drink a toast. And another. Arthur gets his breath back.

It’s a disgrace! he says, slamming his fist down on the table. They’ve got burial sites from the war in Western Europe. The concentration camps were all cleaned up ages ago. In Dachau you can eat off the floor. I know, I had experts look into it. Do you realise the cleaning ladies in Drancy — those black bitches — earn higher salaries than our teachers? Look at Auschwitz! Those whores the Poles, they know how to do it. A nice little hotel, bus ride from Krakow, tour of Auschwitz, lunch included: fifty-two euros, please. That’s how it works! And our burial sites? We’ve still got ravens pecking skulls, and the devil only knows who’s in those pits. It tears at a man’s soul. Arthur grips my elbow and I see tears have suddenly sprung to his eyes.

This is about the souls of our ancestors, he whispers.

I keep quiet.

Syabro , friend. Do you know what is written in The Song of Igor’s Campaign ?

I still keep quiet.

Until the dead find peace, the living will live in shame.

Mm-hm.

Will you help us? Arthur cries, tears streaming down his face. He’s only talking to me now.

Sure! What else can I say?

All right, Arthur says. Give your contacts to Alex. You’ll be project secretary. Just like you worked for Terezín, now you’ll work for the Devil’s Workshop. Tomorrow you leave. He nods his chin at Alex.

Arthur lays a hand on Kagan’s shoulder.

There is one thing, though, that our president strongly insists on, Arthur says, using his free hand to wipe his tears with a napkin.

What’s that? Kagan says.

You and your people need to step aside for now. Just for now!

Kagan’s spine stiffens. He’s furious.

I will explain! Arthur roars. Where is that girl from the ministry? Christ!

Maruška hasn’t moved from the spot.

How many millions were killed? he snaps at her.

Under the communists? she says meekly.

No, the Germans.

In 1941 the population of Belarus was 9.5 million, in 1945 it was only 5.2, Maruška recites.