Кристиан Новак - Dark Mother Earth

Hard to say whether I truly came to understand something in the dark and nothingness. It would be better to say I gave in to it, recognized it, embraced it. Perception-wise there were no insights, I no longer had the strength for a fight. This was the first time I said out loud that Dad was gone for good. Still, I was no coward. If there is a hero in me somewhere, it’s that small boy. Never again did I have as much courage, never as much as when I was most frightened, when everything I’d known turned out to be wrong.

A piece of me stayed forever in that forest. That part of me goes on searching for him in the place where it lost his tracks. Sometimes it feels as if that darkness is where I belong, though I did survive that night. There are times even now when I hear the dark place calling to me, to come back to the forest floor, soft with fallen leaves and branches soaked in damp and rot. I go there in my dreams. You, of all people, know that because you were with me when I’d wake up some spring nights terrified and stare into the darkness, trying to discern a shadowy outline. I don’t go there of my own free will, just as things rarely happen in dreams the way the dreamer would like them to happen.

Since I didn’t know where I was, I kept going uphill, and this decision may have saved my life. After an indeterminate time I came to the top of a hill, where the trees were sparser, and again I spotted several lights far away. This was an upside-down world I was seeing, the world of the will-o’-the-wisp folk. I needed to leave the village to be able to truly see it.

My eyelids were drooping, and for each step downhill, as I headed toward the lights, I needed all the strength I could muster. The snow had stopped falling.

I had somehow made my way back to the road leading toward the village, but my hands, feet, and head were so damned heavy that they pinned me to the snow. Suddenly I was hot, terribly hot, and I longed to strip off my clothes because I feared my belly might boil. But I was too weak. So I just lay there and looked up at the sky. It was no longer quite so dark, the day must have begun to dawn, because I couldn’t have been there long without freezing to death. I was found at daybreak by a man from one of the houses on the road to the vineyards. He was driving to work and almost drove right by me, because he thought I was a dead fox.

So it was dawn when I acknowledged that Dad was really, truly gone, and that night I became absolutely certain that it was all my fault. That I had a terrible power, and that all I had to do was wish for a person’s death and they would die. I realized that everything in the world dies, and there was no way to deny death. The thought that etched itself into me that day—the image of his cold, white body, which, because of a flash of hatred, was lying motionless, buried deep underground—filled me with a chill, and that feeling has been the only constant in my life. Except, perhaps, the face in the mirror, but that, too, has changed over time. Only the chill has remained the same all these years.

I recall regaining consciousness a few times at the hospital, opening my eyes, and then sinking back to sleep.

Each waking was to another world. Once, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my sister sitting by my bed doing her homework. Another time the room was empty. The third time my uncle was there with a friend from work, talking about the water pipeline and municipal funds. They didn’t even notice I’d opened my eyes. I don’t know how many days passed before I was finally able to keep my eyes open for more than a moment. The room was empty, though, and just when I’d almost drifted back to sleep again, Granny came in. I wanted to say hi, but I was too weak. She was in slippers and a bathrobe, with a kerchief tied around her hair, just like at home. She limped and held her right arm close to her body, the hand crooked inward. She couldn’t close her mouth all the way—her lips were a little skewed, as if pulled by an invisible thread. She talked slowly, wearily, and told me I’d come down with a bad case of pneumonia, and they’d cut off two of my toes because they’d frozen. I wanted to tell her how happy I was that Bacawk and Chickichee hadn’t killed her, and that now we were rid of them for good. I wanted to ask whether I could take my dead toes home with me, but nothing came out of my mouth. Granny pulled a chair up with her good arm and sat down, then she took out her rosary and began praying. Her monotone lulled me back to sleep.

The next morning I woke up, and there were three kids playing cards. A dark-haired kid noticed me watching them and said: “He woke up. I’ll get the nurse.”

The nurse brought me a tray with food. I wanted to sit up, but my head was spinning. When I saw a tube sticking out of my wiener, I had a moment of collywobbles.

The boy was named Sandi, and he had trouble breathing. He said he’d been at the hospital for a hundred years. The other, smaller boy was Viktor; he’d had his tonsils removed and had trouble speaking. The girl was Biljana, and she didn’t know why she was there exactly. Every night she’d start shaking and choking, and Sandi would go running for the nurse.

Later that day Mom came. She brought me two juices with straws and an orange. More than anything I wanted to tell her how sorry I was that I’d killed Dad, but I couldn’t, I just cried. Only Sandi was in the room then, and he pretended not to watch.

A little later the lady who’d come to our house came and asked me if somebody was hitting me. I realized I’d better do my best to seem normal, so I told her I was silly to have sleepwalked to the forest and that I didn’t remember a thing. She wanted me to draw something, so I drew a hedgehog and a bear and a snowman on skis. She wasn’t particularly pleased with this, so I drew myself, Mom, my sister, and my uncle playing around a swimming pool and climbing onto a playground slide. I even wrote MATIJA by the sun, and then MY NAME IS MATIJA I BE FIVE . She asked me whether my sister ever scared me, and I lied and said she didn’t. Before she left she said I’d be talking once a week with a nice lady in Čakovec, and I could tell her everything that bothered me. I knew exactly what to say to her. Just like at school. I’d lie that everything was fine and that I was happy and had tons of friends. When you’re very small, you’re one person. Later you pretend you’re at least two, and then three, and so it goes until you get big. I was many kids, but there was only a small piece of childhood left inside me.

I had a good time at the hospital, especially after they took the tube out of my wiener. We played cards and told jokes. Sometimes I thought about how I might bring Dad’s body back to our house. I’d dig him up and embalm him. My sister had read to me about that from the book 1000 Whys and 1000 Becauses . It was what the pharaohs of Egypt did—they smeared the body all over with chemicals and oils so it wouldn’t smell bad or rot. I could embalm Dad, put marbles in for his eyes, and dress him up, and he’d live with us in the house. Of course, this would have to be a secret, but at least we’d be whole in the evening, in front of the TV. He’d be with us at dinner, even if he weren’t eating. That mattered less, somehow. Maybe we’d have to tie a kerchief around his head to hold his jaw in place, so his mouth wouldn’t drop open and flies wouldn’t fly in. That’s how they did my granddad up when he died.

On the third day, when they changed the dressing, I saw where they’d cut off my little toe and the one next to it. My feet were swollen and bluish, almost black in some places. They hurt and itched at the same time. The nurse told me they’d thrown the toes away. She said I could go home in two days. This was good news, but I’d hoped somebody from my class would visit while I was still in the hospital. I’d show them where they’d cut off my toes, and how I was playing cards with my new friends, and then they’d all love me again. But nobody from school came.