Ricardas Gavelis - Vilnius Poker

“You see, it’s right nearby, Aunt Stefanija,” says Žilvinas; his velvet voice is calming, all of my fears disperse, I smile to myself: how intimidated we are, we immediately imagine robbers, or hooligans at least; when someone asks for a cigarette in the street we instantly smash him on the head, and then it turns out the poor thing really did just want a smoke.

“We won’t be long, Aunt Stefanija,” Žilvinas goes on, locking the door, “We’re speedy guys. We’ve got all kinds of business. You’ll have time to get back to the library too. The lunch break is almost over, isn’t it?”

He smiles pleasantly, Žilvinėlis really is suited to be a leader, he’ll look fantastically handsome on whatever podium, a dashing boy. His friends are taking off their jackets, I throw off my coat too, step into the room, and suddenly I want to scream. A huge, messy couch wallops you with the oppressive smell of soured sperm; caked syringes and empty ampules roll around on a dirty table, there are little bottles with a whitish fluid and a bowl of dried poppy heads standing there; hanging on the walls — what children they still are! — there are pictures of Stalin, Hitler, Castro, all of them stuck with kids’ toy arrows: one dangles right out of Stalin’s eye. I’ve never seen a room like this before.

“Wow, what a little liar you are,” I say quite calmly — it’s strange even to me. “A Communist Youth leader! When did you have the time to change so much?”

“I’m a little liar?” It seems to me he’s sincerely astonished. “Why?”

“Well, the Communist Youth committee, you’re building a career. .”

“That’s true,” his eyes are so calm, self-confident, and oppressive, that I instantly believe in him. “I’m a member of the City Committee, and this. . it’s nothing, just a little relaxation.”

“They’re from the Committee too?” I unsuccessfully try to joke, even though I don’t feel at all like laughing; he really wouldn’t have brought me here if not. . if not for what?

“Of course not. Let me introduce you, Aunt Stefanija, so you’ll know who you’re dealing with. Raimondas, otherwise known as Roza, he doesn’t know himself why. Viktoras, otherwise — the Dolby Master. He’s an awesome talent, the first in Vilnius to set up a Dolby system — it suppresses the noise of magnetic tape, maybe you’ve heard of it? They’re both unemployed at the moment — but no conflicts with the justice system, no criminal cases. I warned them — your first conviction, even if it’s probation — and I don’t say hello anymore.”

“And what are you planning to do now?” I ask, like an idiot. Žilvinėlis just shrugs his shoulders.

Suddenly I want to scream, but it’s hopeless, the old masonry walls of Vilnius won’t let any sound through, everyone’s at work, no one will be home; it was so long ago, I see Stadniukas’s eyes before me again, but I don’t feel the fury and determination I did then, I just feel awful and really depressed: here they are, here they are, my children, our future; the eyes before me aren’t Stadniukas’s, they’re completely different, bleary, with enlarged pupils; the faces are quite young, but two are already puffy, and the third, the very worst of all, is smooth and handsome, like in a painting: the most important thing is to not be afraid, or actually, not to let them see that you’re horribly afraid, to say something or ask something, or scream, or scold them, or. .

“Boys, have you gone completely nuts?” There you go, my voice squeaks like a mouse whose tail’s been stepped on; it trembles and breaks off. “Žilvinas, I could almost be your mama.”

“Yeah, it ain’t worth picking up old women,” one of them agrees with me, Dolby it seems. “She’s probably worn out.”

“What do you know, my child,” Žilvinas says to him in a dreamy voice; they’re talking over my head, not paying attention to me at all, I’m just a thing. “What are you talking about!? An old woman? She’s a woman in the prime of life. A specialist. An expert! She’ll get into it; you’ll see, she’ll knock us out! We’ll have to hide from her yet, you’ll see!”

I can no longer get a word out: I’m just opening and shutting my mouth; Žilvinėlis’s clear eyes are already undressing me, I feel faint, but when they start undressing me with their hands I suddenly get my strength back: it seems I’m struggling, it seems I’m biting, where’s my dagger — you don’t even need to stab, it’s enough to turn its blade in the light; the blow is sudden, short, brutal — jujitsu? Karate? Kung fu? It’s even better this way: the fear subsides, I feel faint and my head spins a bit, God knows, it’s almost pleasant.

“It’s okay for Dad, but for the son, you say no way? That’s not nice, Aunt Stefanija, it’s simply not right.”

“It’s no fun with an old woman,” one of them muses to himself. “Once, when I was maybe sixteen, this widow glommed on to me. Phew! I tell you for real — phew!”

“Listen, Roza,” Žilvinas calmly lectures, “so, you go catch yourself some local bimbo, fuck her — and what of it? She’s a little fool, she’s powerless. And this is a mature woman, old enough to be your mother, and you. . Don’t you get what the thrill is? Use your brains! Think about it!”

He shuts up, because suddenly I get my voice back:

“Boys, come to your senses. . Boys. . Boys. . I can’t. . I have my period. . Really, really. . It’s my period, I can’t. . I bought gauze, see, gauze — there, in my purse. .”

Žilvinas’ face twists up unpleasantly, probably it’s a smile; even Stadniukas didn’t know how to toss off grimaces like that.

“Aunt Stefanija, what do you take us for!?” he snarls, his voice not at all velvety anymore. “What kind of childish excuse is that, what kind of lie? You know we’ll check.”

He snaps his fingers, I try to resist, but that’s naïve and in vain, the gangsters in training know how to hold on, and it’s Žilvinas who checks, who else; he really does look, I’ve never experienced a feeling like that before, it’s indescribable, after that all that’s left is to die, while Žilvinas calmly raises his finger to the light, he even sniffs at it — what’s going on here, maybe it’s a dream — I stand there a mess, my skirt turned up, my underwear pulled down and there’s nothing, nothing, I can do against this impossible villainy: this is a dream, this kind of helplessness is possible only in a dream.

“It’s true,” Žilvinas says with a strange gaiety. “And here I was thinking: why is that dog sticking to her? Aunt Stefanija isn’t lying. The tampon’s bloody too, and it stinks to high heaven.”

“The old lady won’t suck. Probably doesn’t even know how,” says Roza disappointedly, he’s called Roza, I’ll remember that nickname all my life. “It’s useless.”

“So what, if she doesn’t suck. We’ll get one on anyway — what’s the difference. Don’t tell me you’re going to go out looking again?” This one was quiet up until now; don’t tell me they’re going to, after all, it hurts me, it hurts, boys, it hurts me, you can’t during my period, the first day, I’ll die; have pity on me, boys.

”Come on, it’s not that bad,” Žilvinas firmly contradicts me. “But it’s a subtle thing — the blood could get infected, then she’ll die. Are we some kind of murderers?”

I start laughing out loud, hysterically, everything is mixed up inside me: death, menstruation, gang rapes and the massacres after the war, the churches of Vilnius and wads of gauze, the fog of the swamp, Lolka’s little finger in Martis’s pocket. I laugh uproariously, they pull back, talk among themselves, paying no attention to me, and I laugh: screw me, yes, I was the earth and I belonged to everyone, but I won’t belong to you, screw me, shit on me, try and force me — I’ll bite you, I’ll taste fresh blood; too bad I have my period: I’d surrender my whole body to you, torture you, put you to sleep, and then I’d trample your wretched balls, I’d take revenge for Martis, and Gedka, and Tedis, and Vargalys, and for myself. For myself.