Best European Fiction 2013 (6 page)

“We loitered around town for a while and peeped into a few bars, but there were none that took our fancy. As glum and silent as Geiger had been earlier, he now chattered incessantly and laughed just for the sake of it. Kefir and I looked at him like he was loony at first, but soon we started laughing too, especially when he imitated the cretin bending down and fumbling with his tissue. All in all, it had been an eventful evening out.

“It was getting toward the wee hours and we were tired of walking and complaining that none of us had come into town by car. Just as we were about to go our separate ways, Geiger suggested we spend the rest of the evening at his place.

“‘But it’s late,’ Kefir objected.

“‘Come off it—you call this late?’ Geiger argued.

“‘Shall we?’ Kefir asked me, not wanting to decide.

“‘If the idiot wants to listen to our whinging and has a bottle of whiskey on offer—I’d say we go!’ I resolved.

“Every time I went to Geiger’s place I was surprised, as if I’d never seen it before. The space he lived in didn’t appeal to me at all. Back then I didn’t know why I felt so uncomfortable, and when I finally found out it was too late to do anything about it. Geiger had studied architecture and was one of the best students of his generation. People who understood the town’s needs predicted a successful career for him, but unfortunately nothing came of it. In the early nineties, every turd from Podgorica and Belgrade who’d made it rich had to have an apartment in Budva (it was a question of power!), yet the developers’ mafia didn’t find my friend a suitable associate. Once I asked him why, and he replied that their interests didn’t square with any serious definition of architecture. ‘Any silly bugger with a diploma can design those sterile holiday hovels,’ he spat, and added after a moment’s reflection: ‘I hate this town from the bottom of my heart, believe me, but I don’t hate it as much as they do!’

“After his father’s death, Geiger sold off several plots of land and used the money to build a four-story building in the center of town. He designed it himself, in fact I think it was his only building. He used every square meter rationally: the first floor was reserved for commercial use, and the floors above accommodated offices and luxurious rental apartments, where his skill found its fullest expression. But his apartment at the top of the block confirmed a side of his personality that was completely incomprehensible to me and that I long considered the capriciousness of a wealthy man. This penthouse was a single, huge space of over one hundred square meters, with walls seven meters high. The kitchen installed in one corner was fully equipped and always immaculately clean, as if never used. The bathroom and toilet were housed in a rectangular room of dark glass at the other end of the main space. On the northern wall there hung six large graphics on one and the same theme—they showed different stages of the birth of a monster. They were repulsive and painful to look at but you couldn’t take your eyes off them. On the opposite wall were shelves crammed full of books from various fields, mostly architecture as you’d expect. Beneath the shelves were several armchairs, a richly inlaid mahogany table, and a stereo. In the middle of the penthouse stood a table of hewn stone, which, to be exact, was more like an altar than a desk or table. Five pillars were arranged in a circle around it and supported a dome, also made of stone, with an oculus one meter in diameter in the middle, directly above the table. It all looked stupid and useless to me, nothing but an ostentatious waste of living space. But now I’m convinced that Geiger had the house built for the sole purpose of erecting that dome on top of it.

“Kefir and I slumped into the armchairs while Geiger pottered around at the fridge, trying to ferret a few ice cubes out of its innards. Presently he came up carrying a bottle of whiskey, a pot of ice, and three glasses. For an hour, or an hour and a half, we listened to music, Nick Cave and Swans, and smoked one joint after another. We talked about life, the universe, and everything to a constant flow of alcohol until one of the two idiots opened a Pandora’s box of questions—it must have been Kefir because he was browsing through the books in Geiger’s collection. One of the titles probably induced him to start a highly intellectual discussion on a metaphysical topic: Did evil exist in the world, and if so, what was its nature? Was it something fundamentally and substantially separate from good or just a paucity of good—when the quantity of good tends toward zero? If God was our guarantee for the existence of good (as the ancient books say), did evil also have an authorized representative on earth? If so, was this representative on a par with God? If not, if he was subordinate, was this because of his inability to create, given his limitedness, meaning he could only spoil what had already been created and turn things into their opposite? If that were the case, didn’t good ultimately have to give its prior consent for parts of creation to be unmade, which would clearly mean it was abandoning its prior nature? Or was that not necessarily so? So how much freedom of will was involved, and in what way?

“The discussion gradually began to turn into a battle and they engaged in polemics about whether good could change its scope and quality or whether it was eternally immutable, unlike evil, which possessed the power to grow and transform. Accordingly, if we note that evil has prevailed, that doesn’t mean good has diminished or disappeared—it remains constant—but only that evil has amplified its possibilities on an enormous scale and fully obscured good. But there’s another side to the coin: that which possesses the power to grow so quickly and completely conceal its real nature, without any visible trace to counter that impression, is, inevitably, quickly expended and vanishes. But the breaking down of demonic simulacra is a process that often lasts several human lives, so the ‘quickness’ of the process is no consolation.

“I knew that evil is fascinating, can charm people, and is absolutely entertaining; I also knew it’s much more interesting than good, which can be so bland and banal as to make you sick; but I’d never thought about good and evil as seriously and with the passion that my friends did that evening. The matter is much simpler for me: I do good when I can and bad when I have to, which I suppose is a weak excuse, but I have no other, so it’ll have to do. The discussion they were having therefore didn’t interest me, and soon I didn’t understand anything they were saying anymore. Only later—to be exact: after Geiger bequeathed me his manuscripts and books—did I develop an interest, and then every new realization acquired in the light of what had occurred that evening only added to my anxiety and fear.

“Geiger was quick-witted and excelled at debate, I knew that, so it greatly surprised me how well Kefir countered him, and on several occasions his clever remarks undermined Geiger’s argumentation. I could tell this by the way Geiger had to struggle to defend his position; Kefir would immediately see how flawed it was and shoot it full of holes. I tried to interrupt them but that proved impossible. The discussion was of great significance for them both, although the reason escaped my comprehension, and, realizing I could do nothing, I went out onto the terrace so at least I wouldn’t have to hear them anymore. I wondered if we’d made a mistake by not simply separating and going home to bed, or if at least I had, seeing as I needed to keep repairing the boat the next day, and being tired and drunk like this I’d sleep all day and everything I’d planned would come to nothing. But at one point there was quiet in the house and it drew me back inside. The two had finished philosophizing, so I could return. I heaved a sigh of relief.

“I found them sitting in their chairs, empty-eyed and tired.

“‘It’s time to go,’ I said, but they didn’t hear me. The words passed through them without a trace. ‘Okay, guys, as you wish, but I’m going to get moving,’ I threatened, yet I couldn’t get up. A strange, leaden heaviness filled my body and weighed me down. This attack of weariness will soon pass, I thought. I reached out for my glass on the table, but halfway I changed my mind and slumped back into the armchair, my shoulders bumping against the backrest. I felt a dull emptiness in my head and the irresistible urge to vomit. I was sick of it all.

“Suddenly Kefir spoke, completely without warning:

“‘You say they’re always here: whenever two people are together, one of them is present as a third. That’s what you said, isn’t it?’

“Geiger raised his eyes: his face showed clearly how hard it was for him to reply, but he summoned the strength:

“‘Yes, I used those words … You understood me correctly: wherever there are people,
they
are also present.’

“Kefir didn’t give up: ‘Does that mean we’re not alone here this evening?’

“Geiger tried to smile but his smile turned into a canine grimace: ‘We shouldn’t overestimate our own importance—there’s probably more interesting company than ours here tonight.’

“But Kefir decided not to relent: ‘What would happen if one of them was here now? How would we recognize his presence?’

“While Geiger was thinking what to say, words shot out of my mouth without any prior thought: ‘What would happen? What do you expect, Kefir—the end of the world?’”

At that point Gonzales looked around as if to make sure that everything was in the same place as when he started his tale. Tulip had finished the washing up and was now sitting behind the bar filling in a crossword, the drunk hadn’t moved, and the fire in the hearth had burned to embers.

“Put on another log or two—” Gonzales said, “the mornings are terribly cold.” I got up and did as he asked. When I sat down again I expected he’d continue the story but it seemed he was no longer inclined. We sat there in silence for a while, and when I started to get bored I decided to prompt him:

“And? What happened after that?”

He looked at me with a wry smile in the corner of his mouth.

“Nothing—” he said, “the light went out.”

The expression on my face must have been pretty asinine because the gentle smile on his lips grew into a guffaw. How stupid of me, I cursed myself: Gonzales had found someone to pick on tonight. I was angry at him, but I didn’t say anything. He did:

“I think my words were still in the air when we suddenly found ourselves in the dark. We couldn’t see anything for a moment or two, but when the lights outside began to come in through the windows there certainly was something to see: in the middle of the room, right beneath the dome, there rose a regular-shaped cylinder of pulsating darkness. It moved quickly within the space bounded by the pillars but stopped and hovered next to each of them for a few seconds, as if gathering strength. Geiger got up and went toward the darkness, only to be stopped three yards from the closest pillar. He stood there utterly still, looking into the darkness before him, and then seized his head in his hands and fell to the floor without a sound.

“As soon as the light had gone out, Kefir had drawn his pistol and loaded a bullet into the barrel. That was evidently his habitual reaction to unfamiliar situations. He pointed his gun at the hovering darkness and muttered, ‘Sweet, bloody heart’—his favorite imprecation.

“And me? I didn’t budge from my seat. I wanted to flee but didn’t have any control over my body. Imagine—I couldn’t even close my eyes! It was as if I’d been destined to be there and see everything. I was a witness in this story.

“When he saw Geiger fall, Kefir fired two shots and was instantly thrown back against the wall; he slid to the floor and didn’t get up. I heard laughter and growling, which grew louder with every passing second, and then I saw it—actually I only saw its face, eyes, and jaws, which exuded a colorless slime. The face (if that formless mass deserved that name) consisted of disarranged clumps of what looked like cooked meat. Bloated and stillborn, it changed its shape, while the eyes remained the same: filled with a cold gleam, and in their depths I sensed an inkling of satisfaction. The face was enjoying itself, as least inasmuch as we were interesting objects for its gratification. Soon I felt a terrible pain in my head—and then I heard the song: the meat of the face issued sounds and words in a language I’d never heard before. It sounded tender and ominous at the same time, intimate like a lullaby but incongruous with the horror that sung it. I lost consciousness, and now I’m so glad I did, because if I’d listened to that singing meat for one second longer I think I would have lost something much more valuable.

“Day had broken by the time I regained consciousness and gathered my wits. Geiger was lying on the floor and trembling with spasms that washed through his body in waves, while Kefir crouched next to him and moistened his forehead and chest with water. We didn’t say anything: we waited for Geiger to come to so he could tell us what had actually happened.

“It was late afternoon before Geiger spoke, and what he said didn’t please us at all:

“‘If I’m right, and if that thing is what I think it is, we’re in big trouble and aren’t going to get out of it easily. I’m going to seek the help of someone who understands this sort of thing better than me, and until then it’s best that the three of us not meet. When I find help—I’ll let you know. I’m sorry.’

“We parted with insults all round, and even today I burn with shame when I think of it. But that’s not important; what is, is that I realized that the apparition we saw wasn’t a surprise for Geiger as it had been for Kefir and me; later—reading the documents he left about the dark side of architecture, specifically about the connection between space and the demonic, which he admits he started to delve into in the final years of his studies—I became convinced that what we saw was the result of his experiments: he’d invoked that creature on previous occasions only to meet it that night unprepared and suffer the consequences, as did we who were with him. Whether we were innocent or to blame doesn’t matter a scrap now. We all bore part of the burden and paid a price commensurate with our stake in the game.”

“What was the price?” I asked Gonzales.

“In a nutshell: Geiger died in hospital three months later, as dry as a stockfish, with the doctors unable to tell why his body kept losing fluids so quickly, what was draining the life from him. They played around a bit, tried this, that, and everything else, and came up with the craziest conjectures, but in the end they could only watch as he shriveled before their eyes. Kefir, on the other hand, was found on the beach six months after the event with two bullets in his body, his heart torn out, and minus his right hand. A friend who knows a few guys in the police said they all wondered why Kefir ended up like that, but when their surprise wore off they concluded that he’d probably gotten mixed up in the drug scene, made a mistake somewhere along the way, and ended up on a hit list.