Aleksandar Tisma - The Book of Blam

The first thing she said to him when they emerged into the dark of the street was “You know the musicians, don’t you. You’re always up there with them.”

That gave him a chance to go into the nature of his friendship with the band and even touch on how he helped plan what they were going to play and the way they were going to play it. But Janja was more interested in their personal stories: she’d heard Krkljuš liked to drink and seen Raka in the company of a girl with a bad reputation. Blam disabused her of a good deal. He hardly noticed when she came to an abrupt stop in front of a one-story house with peeling plaster.

“This is where I live,” she said, holding out her hand. “Good night.”

He almost forgot to ask whether she would be going to the dance next week.

“Of course,” she said, looking at him in surprise.

He could think of nothing better in response than to give her large hand a shake full of meaning and to bow.

For the rest of the week he thought about nothing but their brief walk. He had never felt so comfortable with a girl, so uninhibited and free of the fear he would do something wrong. He attributed this to her easy manner, which he suspected came from having a certain amount (maybe a great deal) of experience, and if she was so used to being courted and to the intimacies that went with it, he wondered whether he hadn’t been a bit too formal with her, whether she hadn’t expected him to be more forward. But when he went over everything she’d done and said, he couldn’t find the slightest hint of this, so he concluded that he had done the right thing, for the first time at least. He put all his hope on the next encounter, when he would get her to talk about more personal matters and try to kiss her, and if she let him, he’d have to find a place where they could be alone — the room on Dositej Street, for instance, if it was still available.

But at the next dance things went unexpectedly badly. Not that Janja had changed; the problem was, she was the same. She welcomed him with her open smile, and even before he could finish his playful bow, she removed her hand from her partner’s shoulder and placed it on Blam’s. But when a short, chubby boy with a lock of hair flopping on his forehead cut in, she did the same, beaming at the newcomer and dismissing Blam with a quick nod. She was too popular, too much in demand; too many boys made up to her and vied for her favors. The situation was perfectly clear now. Still, Blam couldn’t forget the straightforward way she had talked to him, and he was certain she didn’t talk to other boys that way, because he didn’t talk to other girls that way. He asked her to dance the next dance with him and she agreed, but someone cut in immediately, so he tried again, this time asking first thing whether he could walk home with her.

“Not tonight,” she said with a slight frown. “I am otherwise engaged.” And she flashed her smile at the boy who had just come up to cut in.

Blam withdrew sullenly. He was offended less by her rejection than by the vulgar way she had put it. “I am otherwise engaged.” What a stupid, tasteless, unnatural, pretentious thing to say! He decided to give her up immediately and began asking other girls to dance, girls he had found attractive in the past. But he had trouble concentrating on them. In spite of himself he kept looking for her, Janja, and when he found her, he followed her every move, trying to read her large fleshy lips and keeping track of the boys she danced with. Sometimes their eyes met, and although she never turned hers away, her expression remained unchanged, bright and friendly and blank, innocent of any message. He stopped dancing and went up onto the podium to attract her attention. He leaned over Raka’s shoulder, and Raka moved his head to Blam’s, his fingers still running over the keys. Blam, looking straight at Janja, told Raka about a friend of his who had seen Raka with a girl of ill repute. Janja saw Blam and returned his stare, but again without a hint of the admiration or curiosity he had expected: she had apparently lost all interest in the musicians, now knowing everything she needed to know about them. So she was shallow as well, Blam concluded, almost pleased, and sat where he was without budging until the dance was over, at which time he saw her leave with a tall pale boy he had never noticed in her presence before.

It was now clear that she was unworthy of his attachment or even attention, that he should regard her as an attractive body that he might or might not have. And since he wanted to have it, he needed to concentrate on that and only that, not on his feelings or an assessment of her personality; he needed to find another occasion to approach her and then make his move, bind her to him. But it had to be the right occasion; he would have to be patient. He knew that neither the tall pale boy nor anyone else would last. The time would come when they’d all be gone, and then whoever happened to be in the vicinity — Blam, for instance — would have his day.

Two Sundays went by. She failed to turn up at the dance on the first one, and on the second she told him she was leaving early to go to the movies.

“Who with?” he couldn’t help asking.

“Oh, a group of friends,” she said with a shrug and a smile, but with no invitation to join them.

The band was playing a particularly fast number, and he could feel her muscular body bouncing in his arms, but neither her bounce nor his gave him any pleasure. They looked ridiculous, he thought, hopping across the rotting, rough-hewn, barrel-resonant dance floor and arguing, practically like enemies, over a silly date.

“Can I ever go to the movies with you?”

“Of course,” she said simply, as if she had expected him to ask. “Next Sunday.”

“But it’s so far off!” he said gruffly, though his heart was pounding, and he suddenly felt the thrill of their bodies touching again.

Janja thought for a moment, her eyebrows fluttering. “All right, then. Wednesday.”

“Shall I pick you up at home?”

“No, not at home,” she said, shaking her head. “On the corner.”

So Wednesday it was. He took great care in choosing the film, making sure it was not something she could have seen on Sunday (he forgot to ask her what she was going to see). He decided on the film playing at the Avala, the posters promising a love story he thought likely to please a girl of her sort. He bought tickets for the last row in the balcony, traditionally occupied by lovers, and set out at six. But turning down one of the narrow streets connecting Karadjordje with Šajkaška, he panicked: he didn’t know the way. He went back to Karadjordje and walked more slowly, trying to concentrate, but again he was forced to return. He started once more, but couldn’t tell if he was right and couldn’t ask anyone either: on their walk he had been too absorbed in what he was telling her to notice the street signs. He broke into a sweat. He went back two or three more times, turning again, then suddenly found himself just where he was supposed to be: on the corner of her street, facing the house with the peeling plaster. It was half-past six. He was on time.

She was not. He walked up and down in the stifling twilight of the late summer day, looking at the house, looking at his watch. At last the gate opened, but instead of the neatly dressed, well-groomed Janja he expected, out came a disheveled girl with dusty bare feet wearing a short dress and swinging a dented red water pail. He scarcely recognized her. She greeted him with a clatter of the pail and pattered off in the direction of a pump in the middle of the square just behind the house, her bouncing dress revealing a strong pair of thighs half tan and half white. Her appearance was such a surprise, yet so powerful and natural, that instead of going after her Blam just stood there, as if under a spell, and watched her run across the square, lean over the pump to hang the pail on the spout, pump the handle (which she did with such force that the water splashed all over the sides of the pail), then remove the pail and return, slightly lopsided and flushed from the burden, her hair in her eyes and over her cheeks, the tip of her tongue between her teeth, her every step carefully balanced. It was not until she reached the house that he ran up and offered her a hand. But she jerked away in surprise, spattering her grimy knee with water and thus making it shiny as well. “Let me go,” she said, “I’ll be right with you!” and disappeared behind the gate.