Jáchym Topol - City, Sister, Silver

But then … I tried to be reasonable. I studied her escort. In times of turmoil it’s best to hone in on the adversary, render him an object of hatred. But he was … I had to admit, a likable guy … tall … after all, my woman wouldn’t spend the evening with just any old bum, that’s obvious, I set my mind at ease … he was dressed normal, didn’t overdo it, shoes, pants, somethin underneath, somethin on top … yeah, he’s alright … an me? All kindsa stuff under my nails, in my hair, yeah right, whores an spittoons … I was a spitboy, a Kanak … but if she could’ve seen through my rumpled warmup jacket into my wild red heart, she would’ve seen herself in there, reflected as if in venetian glass … she didn’t know about my tender, hungry, crooked arms … yet … I scoped the room and ducked under the table, the carpets blurred into a motley jumble … calm quiet colors melting into chaos … I struck out under the tables … cautiously, like a long-tailed monkey … eluding prying eyes … I got in there and listened … back home, on Charles Bridge … she’s some kina hat seller, one of us, I rejoiced, and then suddenly I froze: Sir! She called him sir! Since when does any Kanak woman, daughter of a free people, have a master, I just about lost it … and then I heard: cir, cus … oh I get it! Circus! She’s tellin him bout the Kludskys, from the good old First Republic, they must be pitchin their tent in the Pearl again … great … and then he let loose, speaking Kanak, but in reverse, he was learning her tongue! He loves her, it’s obvious, there’s no other possible reason, I let out a howl, they jumped … but then went on … he was feedin her all this talk about huge tours, unreal concert halls, rabid fans, schedules and stripteases … then I overheard … translatsion, reductsion … and so forth … I gotta remind her what happened to Švanda the Bagpiper,* I realized … sůstaň tady, ztay here, the man told her, you wir mate for sis citty … sis citty iss at yor fit … every city’s gonna be at her feet, but with me, dammit, I mumbled to myself under the table, I’ll arrange it somehow … or maybe just that one city, hers, the city of her mother tongue, that wicked stepmother … just hope she doesn’t have a screw loose, I mean it’d be curtains here for a girl like her … I gotta rescue her somehow, by force if necessary … but not like this, some creepy Kanak under the table, what I gotta do’s I gotta … disguise myself, yeah, an take her by storm … I knew I shouldn’t cause a rift right off the bat, but I couldn’t resist … licked her knee, she slapped him in the face. It worked! I scurried off. That knee tasted good.

I hopped on my bike. Not a minute to lose! Instead of cooling me off, the night air drove me into a frenzy. I’ll kidnap her. An marry her on the spot so she can’t run away. Kopic can fill in for the priest. I flew through Berlun like King Kong himself.

On your feet, Kanaks! I burst into the lair. Quick, everyone, gimme all you got! I gotta get duded up for a rendezvous, amour is here, big coucher avec ma femme, ma princesse, sheez grozz beeyutifull! I dragged some threads out of boxes and the Kanaks out of bed. Berlun’s the capital of bohemianism and hit parades. Subkulchur. It’s gotta work! I went for the alternative look. Kopic had a tie. That’s for the market, he protested. We tugged back and forth till the choker tore in half. I’ll fix it up somehow, where’s the sewing kit. There! You owe me 60 DM, Kopic pouted. I took his blazer, it was the only one we had, he swept in it. Lend me your Pi Beta Kappa hat, I pleaded. But he was pissed off. I took his kids’ ice skating cap, it was a good color. Wait, no, Chiharu, vayk op, help an merci, hilfe! Where’s that chic headgear a hers … she was in the shower … Shimako was eating snakes … they didn’t wanna be disturbed … they were always takin showers or eatin snakes or flyin kites. Chirina! Chirina! In Kanak that means: Hurry! Hurry! But it’s understandable in other tongues too … lend me your mikado … be a sweetie, sweetie, be muta, mutasana san, honto? Daivak! Iamb, dact. Hai? Hai! In the end I wore them down. They laughed pretty hard. But I didn’t care. I took Agent Šiška’s handgun … just to be safe … and he had the perfect suspenders! I put em on right away, my leggings were sagging. Jumped on my bike … shit, no socks or shoes … but off I rode … pedestrians stopped an stared … I called attention to my indigence … picked up a couple cigars an some change, that’ll get me off to a good start … snatched a robe off a clothesline an put it on … took the clothesline too, in case she put up a fight … people gawked … so what, assholes … gawkin at my multiculti garb … the hell with em … I rode like the wind, like a tempest, pedals squeaking … here comes the prince of the Kanaks! Burst into Teppich Bar, there she was! But … everyone was lookin at me … uh-oh, total silence … jaws dropped … an oh boy … maybe … I was bright red … mikado red … an my loved one … my loved one smiled as the others roared with laughter … just smiled … my heart ached … waiters came over, chefs … Have you any maté, mate? I got tangled up in Kanak … I was sweating, dripping, ran outside, the bike was gone. I had to walk, it was awful.

But no, I didn’t give up. I acquainted Kopic with my plan. I’ve discovered the Queen of the Kanaks, I told him. I described her. Told him what she was like! He believed me, why not. We’ll wrap her up in a carpet an drag her back to the lair. I can handle that man a hers, hah. We’ll attack from the roof. Chiharu an Shimako’ll disguise themselves as flower girls an cover for us. Siska’ll iron things out up top if the plan falls through. We’ll take the Dutchmen along for backup in case there’s any screwups. An Deringer’ll be the commander … he’ll scare the wits out of em! Rosie Simonides’ll push a fake baby carriage … Petrák’ll draw up a map, plot out the directions an distances, to head off any mistakes … Everyone was in favor. Except for Chiharu and Shimako … they’d gotten used to our intimate community … didn’t want to get off track … I had to promise them the Queen of the Kanaks would be their slave, that they could put her in their movies … then they gave the nod … promises are sworn, fools are born … we set out … that night, in raincoats, with ladders … but she wasn’t there! Just the carpets … she’d vanished … my love … and I never saw her again, I don’t think.

Enough already, I told myself. Quit thinkin back on your youth, there’s other things, Potok. But … it struck me, if a guy like Jícha can write a book, why not me. Only I’d write mine in Kanak. On the body of a changed world, in the ruins of the former time, I’d open the first glorious chapter of Kanak literature! I’ll write the book in raw post-Babylonian, the way I heard it on my wanderings through the past, present, an future.

Sure … it’s all been written before … but a guy’s gotta try, as my fellow warrior, the worm lover, put it … it’s all been done, it’s all worn out, I’ll have to go round an round … over an over, but that doesn’t matter, no one listens anyway … an the crates full of my book, no, make that stacks of crates, will read: Fragile! Very fragile! Seulement pour Kanaks!

I had visions of moola, piles of loot, from publishing groups, sages an literati, subscribers. I mean everyone speaks it now … I mean we’re all … Kanaks. That was the idea my reminiscing gave me. Silly idea.

I SEARCH AN SEARCH, ALL I COME UP WITH IS KNIVES. SPIDER’S RIDDLE. OTHER CLUES. VASIL. JÍCHA. THE WELL AGAIN. LOVED ONE IN WATER.

I looked up and realized I’d reached the part of town where my little sister supposedly lived. I made my way down a few Gypsy streets, the last one with a straw mattress burning on the sidewalk and a group of dusky children hurling mud at one another. I carefully bypassed them. Then came factories. And sparse grass, dust, old fields. More blocks of flats, in rows. Chebků 33 was the address. Once I find the building, I’ll track her down easy enough. It’ll be a pleasure. My hands were cold but not clammy. There was a pounding in my throat. The ground floor of no. 33 was all glass. Office space. A sign announced: RUTHENIAN UNION, CZECHOSLOVAKIA. The last word had a line through it. CZECH, someone had shortened it to. That was also crossed out and scrawled over with: Czech never! And another citizen left the message: Russkies go home! The office was empty. I rang the buzzer. Immediately a woman opened the door. What can I do for you? I described my sister. What’s her name, asked the … office worker. I don’t know. You don’t know your own sister’s name? We’ve been apart a long time. Separated. That might’ve moved her a little. I lived a long time … ajiz … owverseez, I said with a Western accent. Ah. She fell for it. I’m tryin to find my sittle lis … little sister. I’ll tell you what, I don’t know anyone here in the building, she said … but Miss Mariaková matches your description almost perfectly … she helps out here at the Union … You mean she’s your cleaning woman? I asked sympathetically. She wrinkled her eyebrows. Excuse me, she said, but Miss Mariaková has a degree in computer programming, she set up our database … guess it’s not her, I said ruefully. Does she have a little scar on her chin, the Russian lady went on, from falling off her bike? Yes, I blurted. That’s definitely Miss Mariaková then, my informer declared. But she won’t be back for another two weeks. Tat’s teddible, I said. I have to go to Brussels on business. Why don’t you stop over and see Mr. Meždek then? He’s … Mr. Meždek is an architect, he’s the young lady’s gentleman friend … What?! Well, your little sister’s not so little anymore … Mr. Mariak, why she’s all grown up now! So Ruthenians’re Russians, right? I displayed interest. No, she said, bristling slightly. We’re primarily from Subcarpathian Ruthenia. Yep, they’re Russians, I said to myself … the Carpathians, Romanians, Dracula, Ceauçescu, yep … I thought silently. She handed me a piece of paper with an address on the other side of town. All right, thank you very much. We parted the same way we’d met: coolly.