Olja Savicevic - Adios, Cowboy

During the night Ma went missing, I finally managed to open the floppy disk. And that was the end of my quest. Get your stuff together, it’s time to leave, I reflected. All you could have done, you’ve done well, take the money and run.

Say farewell to the house, it’s going under the hammer, to the cowboys on the wall who someone else will soon tear down — farewell, guys, you were true, and to ginger Jill — bye. And farewell to Angelo as well. He’s expecting me today, at six. The train pulls out at four. At 6:15 Angelo will call for the first time, at seven he’ll come to my house. He’ll wait till eight, out of sight, and then he’ll start to feel stupid and he’ll be angry. At ten he’ll be worried. Tomorrow he’ll find out that I’ve left. In a week he’ll go back to the woman in the sports car, or someone else. He’ll puff on his harmonica to blow out the dust and start playing.

In a hundred days I’ll get over it, in a thousand days I’ll forget. That’s not the worst or the best story in my life.

Dear Dada,

Plucky girl! Forgive me for not having returned the letter you left on the garden table when you visited me, the letter I sent four years ago from Perm to your brother. I’ve decided to keep it as a memento. (It’s strange that when we lose those dear to us, we constantly seek proof from ourselves that we loved them enough. And, have you noticed, no proof is enough.)

I’m sending you back the spotted salamander, however, maybe you’ll have somewhere to stick it.

For a long time, I thought that it’s best to leave the dead to sleep, let the living rest in peace — as though that were possible. In the end, I came back here for the same reason you did. But, I don’t know whether you’ve found your truth, I myself have certainly not found peace. If it exists anywhere, it is not in the Old Settlement for me. I needed to come back, to travel a long road, to come back to some sort of beginning, nothing, zero, to where I am now. But where to now? Movement, some people find their home in wandering, you understand that.

I’m sending via your sister what I should have given you long ago (cowardice created mediation, the guilt of the go-between), Daniel’s old Colt and some of his written words, topsy-turvy, I should mention, pasted onto this floppy disk. You’ll notice his touching effort — to be like everyone else. What chance of that is there for a poet, or a revolutionary, a cosmologist, a red-haired child, and an over-educated fat vet in a town without metaphysics?

In the morning we slaughter a pig, in the afternoon we contemplate Hölderlin, such is life.

I won’t go on, those are things that have followed me through the years, through the metropolises and never-never lands of this everywhere volatile, jaded world.

These notes belong to you, most of all. As the wise poet Cavafy said of the beloved voices of those who have died: “… sometimes in one’s thoughts the mind hears them. And for an instant through their sound the sounds of the first song of our life come back — like music fading out in a distant night.” That sound, the color of a voice and its rhythm are forever inscribed in private letters, and with them also a look, a breath, a movement such as scratching the nose, rubbing the brow, a familiar finger hurriedly searching for the right letter for the right words on a keyboard.

With warmest wishes, till we meet again, somewhere, your Friend

Daniel’s letters:

Subject: about bloody time

From: blondie@smail.com

To: ksain@veterinarski.hr

Hey Prof! I had a helluva time googling your address on the damn pages of the vets association id never heard of before. if im in luck and luck is something im proverbially out of maybe youll find this one day. problem is the following, you scarpered and you’ve not been here nearly three months now and I never had a chance to explain what happened, all ill say is im sorry and you get in touch. write! write! write! cheers Daniel you know who

Subject: incident

From: blondie@smail.com

To: ksain@veterinarski.hr

Hey Prof! this is getting like Mulder and Scully. dont know if you got my earlier mail and if this address for beasties functions at all or if its just a trick for form’s sake. havent the faintest what town and state youre in now, man, no one knows if youve fallen off the planet or what the hell. joking apart tho I hope you’ve recovered and that you’re alive and well and I want to thank you in connection with the incident that you haven’t turned anyone in I know it happened because of me. anyway, I was an idiot to give them the key of your house but I want to tell you one thing, on my honor, I thought it wd all just be a joke. I didnt think it through but you have to believe me or I don’t know what I’ll do.

They told me Daniel either you’re sucking the prof’s dick or give us the key, roughly. and that there’s a film of you abusing a guy but no ones seen it just everyones talking.

And then I gave them the key, what could I do. they promised they wouldnt touch you or the animals just give you a bit of a jolt cos you deserve it they said. cos you lure boys .

got to go now my bus for school is coming and my bikes bust again cos the devil always craps on a pile and a bird never craps on me. the worst is tiny the one with the low brow and goat’s beard keeps saying he’ll do me in when he sees me. aha but im not afraid of him or any of those sons of bitches. as if. only when I think of those poor animals they killed I feel like crying and you and everything I want to take my pistol thats still at your place and take out the whole gang fuck me if I wouldn’t cos I would. rushing now d.

Subject: deep trouble

From: blondie@smail.com

To: ksain@veterinarski.hr

hey old mate karlo where are you? its two months since my first email. I beg you in Gods name to get in touch so I know your alive and arent mad and after that whatever. in any case ill keep writing every day whats new not that anyone talks to me anymore. weve fallen out as you can imagine cos theyre afraid ill talk and now theyre blackmailing me as well. cos i’m not going back to them. at home its the same old social welfare mournful gray brown with black tones. now its winter and slimy and wet and mud, indescribable gloom. someone says sea but who sees the sea your not a crazy tourist you feel even sadder when it stretches out in front of you like a blue whale. I go to the caff to play poker only in the settlement is there still poker. everyone smokes weed and spends the whole afternoon spaced then they screw some chick and come back in a year’s time and smoke weed. I think since the tedious war ended and already a whole cockful of time has passed everyone wherever you go is chewing over the same tedious stories that have fuck all to do with me I was born too late even for the pioneers apart from the idea that my damn tedious life is passing in this fucking asshole of a place. its only on the screen that I see real life. not a word from Rusty who knows what film shes in now at uni in zg, shes probably run into some fucker again whos wound her up and now shes fantasizing about eternal love and that rot. she was a bit cleverer when she fought guys he he. but at least if she was here. I dont see the older one which is faaar better you understand what a snake she is he he. and ma like ma comes home from work done in and has a bit of a tipple. horror story.

lately ive been like an owl to tell you the truth. its not advisable to hang out with me everyones shit-scared of the gang. only tomi iroquois sometimes greets me in the street but he isnt really friends with me any more either hes probably afraid of getting a bollocking from the sons of bitches. and theres no point anyone else getting screwed because of me. for the rest theres a funny little chick I fancy that could be the only good news lets say altho you never know with these love things whether its good or bad. the downside is shes ears sister and hes now the big cheese and theres always a kid around with a harmonica we always used to burn his pens but now hes come back from america strutting his stuff. school so-so. got “a” for croatian. d.