Devil's Workshop (6 page)

He offered me a job. In his country, Belarus. He said all I needed was the data from the Comenium, the contacts we had made with the generous financial world, tucked away inside my head and in the Spider, the flash drive, that tiny little piece of technology.

I’d get the details when I arrived.

Alex sat down in the grass and Maruška just stood, looking at me. I gazed up at her as Alex explained to me that the Comenium’s situation was untenable.

He talked about accusations of embezzlement, tax evasion,
extortion
, obstruction of government administration, contempt of court, occupation of public property, destruction of public property,
disturbing
the peace. He mentioned a section of the penal code on corruption of youth, and many other sections that would swoop down upon the normally tranquil surface of our lives in Terezín like gluttonous
cormorants
on a muddy pool swarming with fish.

He added that, according to his sources, it was already decided and the bulldozers were on their way.

How do you know? I said.

Alex motioned towards the ramparts, where a group of Happy Workshop workers were lounging around a sandy pit shaded by bushes, drinking and smoking, indulging their usual habits after calling it a day.

When?

Tomorrow.

Alex smiled and gestured towards the homeless group again.

I shut my eyes and believed him.

The mental cases were still shuffling back and forth between our damaged town and the state-sanctioned territory of the Monument. They had eyes and ears everywhere. If there was something in the offing, they would know.

When I opened my eyes I saw the beautiful face of Maruška. She held my gaze for an instant, then shut her eyes. I lingered in the gentle movement of her eyelids as long as I could, then nodded.

Alex handed me the key to a locker at the airport and described what was in it. He told me when and where to wait for my go-between, who would take me to their homeland.

I said to Alex I thought the best go-between would be Maruška.

We looked at each other. I had no idea what he was thinking.

Doesn’t bother me that you guys are going under, Alex said. You had a good plan. Didn’t work out. Authorities weren’t on your side. Where we live it’s different. You’ll see.

I was really wishing he’d walk away.

I made up mind to go to see Lebo before I left. Maybe Sara, too. I’d already told Alex yes, but still, what would Lebo say? I had to ask.

As soon as the two of them had gone, I grabbed Bojek and crossed the grass to the mental cases, a few dozen metres away.

As I came close, they stiffened. All of a sudden they shrank into a hushed knot of tattered blankets, limbs and rags, booze fumes, a mix of eyes, hair, beards. Now what?

One of them chuckled.

Dumped, huh, big man? I heard a voice hiss from the hole. Got used to marchin’ around like the big man, didn’t cha? And now it’s over, huh? What cha gonna do now, eh?

So Alex was right, it’s been decided, this is the end of the Comenium. Bojek was rubbing against my leg. I slapped him on the back to move along. But he stayed. To my surprise a hand reached out of the knot with a bottle.

Stop yer starin’ and come warm up, ya cunt, someone muttered. I took the bottle. Went and sat down on the edge of their hideout, swinging my legs. Bojek chomped grass, eyeballing me. I had brought this red wine here with Sara, she picked it out, seemed like ages ago. Huh, they must’ve swiped it from the Comenium. Well, what do I care now?

I wanted to go and see Lebo, get up and go rouse the Comenium. But instead I sank down into the pit. A layer of newspapers, rags, strips of blanket protected us from the cold ground. We breathed on each other.

Then someone uncorked a jug of alcohol. We didn’t talk much after that.

And the bulldozers came in the morning.

Early the next day the yellow and orange machines rolled through the rubble around Manege Gate. In the dim light of dawn the excavators levelled the goat barn. Machines crushed walls and buildings,
bulldozers
and wailing sirens driving our students out of their bunk beds. Excavators ploughed into the kitchen, demolishing the ghetto pizza oven. Someone kicked me in the head as they scrambled out of the pit and I started to come round, a siren sinking its teeth into my hungover brain. I heard choppers too. Where’s Lebo? I wondered, clawing my way through the sparse bushes that camouflaged the hollow where I’d spent the night. From the top I could see the Comenium building. Jenda Kůs came up to me, an old guy, maybe he was the one who’d handed me the bottle last night. It was no use trying to get any closer. We saw a swarm of black-clad commandos on Central Square. The excavators and bulldozers tore away at the brick buildings as the members of the demolition crews walked around in orange vests. There were ambulances and students in shorts and T-shirts. Girls, all in a clump, surrounded by cops, walking them to the patrol cars. A couple of them tried to make a break for it, but this was an organized action, they were rounding up everyone. Even Lea the Great! She was wielding a huge pair of compasses, battering them from on high. Then they threw a net, pulled it in, and she was on the ground. I scanned the area for the big man, Lebo. I knew he would put up a fight. We won’t give up a single brick, a single bunk, those were his words. Maybe he had run off and hidden between the buildings somewhere, or maybe he’d already taken a baton blow to the head. Being tall is no help when it comes to a direct hit – he was probably the first one they dragged away. I’m sure he stood up for his people, though, especially now! A blond ponytail flashed behind the backs of the commandos. Sara? Most people went to the ambulances voluntarily. At least they were ambulances, I didn’t see any vans. The police had the Comenium surrounded, and they were taking Aunt Fridrich, who looked huge in her nightgown! I had to laugh. Kůs burst out laughing too. She carried it off pretty gracefully, raising her hands above her head like she was surrendering! Hee hee, Kůs chuckled. We watched the last act of the Comenium through the blades of grass. It was hilarious – cops and doctors all over the place on account of a couple of grannies. Someone tossed a blanket over Aunt Fridrich’s back. I didn’t see the other old ladies, maybe they were already sitting in the ambulances. But what about Lebo? I looked for him till my eyes hurt. No sign of the Belarusians, but that didn’t surprise me.

A helicopter made another circle over Central Square and
disappeared
into the sky. The action was over. The ambulances, escorted by patrol cars, slowly pulled away, until the only sound from the square and the surrounding streets was the clamour of demolition crews following in the bulldozers’ tracks with crowbars and hooks. I made up my mind and ran, crouching, down the hillside, which was probably only possible thanks to the general vertigo I felt after all that booze the night before. It only took a minute, down the hill, along the goat track, to the square, dodging the fallen beams and chunks of brickwork, avoiding the men in orange vests shining their lights in the gloom. A couple of cops were still wandering around. I crept closer. The Comenium doors were wide open: this was where they’d brought the students out. Lebo, are you in there? I shouted as loud as I could. Hey, Lebo! All around me machines were rumbling, excavator shovels crushing bricks and beams, stacks of bricks and roofing tiles. So this is a funeral march, I thought. What a strange tune, the town’s last military music. The men with hooks and the cops hadn’t made it this far yet. I slipped into the corridor, tripping over a trainer, a sweater, stuff that people had dropped as they were being dragged away. The bunkroom was still clammy with the breath of sleepers, blankets scattered all over the ground. I slipped into the computer corner, behind the partition. I’d known what I wanted to do for some time, so I got on with it.

I needed to wipe all my fingerprints off that computer – I didn’t want to go back to jail, I couldn’t. There were notebooks all over the place, floppy disks, CDs, all sorts of junk. I couldn’t wipe my prints off everything, I’d never manage it, so I grabbed a bottle of thinner from under the desk and popped back out to the corridor, where the aunts kept their cleaning things. I took all the thinner, a bottle of alcohol, snatched just one thing off the desk, stuck it in my pocket, a scrap of paper, a piece of shiny envelope with Mr Mára’s US address. Never played that game of his and now I never would. I tore the cap off the bottle with my nails and poured it over everything. One match and the flame went shooting up. Like an idiot I scorched my hair, singed my arms – it hurt so bad my stomach flipped. The plastic melted as the flames went creeping across the boards. I couldn’t believe the way the wood was curling up. Bang! The bottle exploded, red-hot splinters of glass flying every which way. When I opened my eyes again, there were thin flames licking at the bunks, wood crackling. I kicked the desk as I groped my way across the room, my foot slipped on a blanket, there was smoke everywhere. Suddenly I was startled by a squealing sound, a moan. A hand poked out from under the blanket, a tear-stained face, glasses. Come on! I wanted to scream, but instead I just squealed too. I pushed Rolf ahead of me. He was crawling on all fours, I couldn’t get past him. I felt heat on my back, the bunk frames were collapsing. Rolf was hopping on one leg. I gave him a kick and pushed him out of the door, into the corridor. We stood panting, gasping for breath in the smoke. Rolf held on to the door, pointing. But I couldn’t understand, couldn’t hear.

Is somebody still in there? I asked, coughing. His terrified eyes, my eyes full of tears, the smoke: it was too late. If there was anybody still in there, it was too late, and we both knew it. I shoved him out of the door, jumped out after him. Rolf, the idiot, staggering – he’ll run right into their arms, in his underwear. They’ll catch him soon, I’m sure.

I squeezed myself in between the stones of a demolished wall and just kept staring at the Comenium door. I guess I was waiting. Would anyone else find their way out? I should’ve checked the bunks first. Stupid cops! They don’t do anything right! I should’ve checked! I know. There was a sharp stone digging into my back, but I ignored it.

I heard voices coming closer. Walking through the wreckage, men in hard hats and orange vests, putting out small fires, tearing down debris. They hadn’t reached the Comenium yet. They won’t find me, I told myself. No way. I blended in with the heaps of ruins and smoking debris. There were tyre tracks running all over the dust that covered the rubble of bricks.

Huh, they must’ve given Sara some kind of sedative! With that rage of hers! They never would’ve got her in that car otherwise, that’s for sure.

My scorched flesh throbbed through the ash and dust stuck to my hands. Nothing serious. But I didn’t spare the saliva, just to be safe. Suddenly a jolt of fear ran through me, I winced, singed fingers fumbling through my pockets, yes, got it, it was still there. My little Spider.

And the key to the airport locker too.

Hat, coat, good pair of boots, warm pants, socks – Alex had rattled them off like a list of presents I would find waiting under the Christmas tree.

It’s cold where we live, he said.

Your go-between, who has yet to be picked, will be waiting for you at the airport in Prague. At the full moon, he said.

It’s the only time they fly. He laughed.

I crept up the goat track to the hollow in the bushes and stayed there. A couple of others sauntered in towards evening. Most of them were excited about the fire. I guess they liked the change. Somebody gave me some ointment for my hands. A while back, they had picked the army warehouses clean, it was from there. Stank of the army, that’s for sure. But it cooled the burn.

Somebody pounced on my back and started throwing punches, a blind man screaming that I took his brother to the gallows. The others laughed and pulled him off.

Everybody around here’s been sayin’ that, said Jenda Kůs. Don’t worry, they’re just tryin’ to show off. And even if he did, so what? Kůs snarled, looking around. If he took him, he took him. He was a con, it was his job, what was he supposed to do? You’d have done the same.

They grumbled a while till somebody opened another jug.
Apparently
they had an inexhaustible supply. Also from the army.

Seeing as I was going to live with them, they left me alone.

I waited for the full moon. Till the moon was full, yep, round as Maruška’s face.

I was happy in our hole in the hill, my hands were healing.
Sometimes
Kamínek slept in there too.

And the bums brought news. Yeah, they’re lookin’ for you! Heh heh heh. They liked that I was dependent on them.

What about Lebo?

He split with that Swedish chick, been stickin’ it to her the whole time, said somebody in the hole. Ole Lebo, yep! Nobody puts one over on him. I bet he’s kickin’ it in the Caribbean right now, ha ha.

Bullshit, said somebody else. The cops cracked him on the head, he was the first one they got! I saw him in the ambulance. His head was all bloody and bandaged!

Who wouldn’t want that Swedish babe? Old Lebo took the money and ran, before the state could scoop it up! Good for him!

Nah, he’s still back there, said somebody else. In the bunkroom. Burnt to a crisp. He put up a fight. Got conked on the head and went down. By the time they went back for him, he was toast!

What about Rolf? Where’s he? I asked.

They didn’t know. They didn’t care.

But the scouts reported back that a lot of the Comenium’s students had been picked up by their parents, who descended on the town from every corner of the civilized world. The rest of them threw their packs on their backs, waved good-bye with their passports and credit cards, and went on their way.

You can stay here a while, Kůs assured me.

What about Lebo?

My idea was to comb through the wreckage of the Comenium and find out for sure. I would bury what was left of him at night, if I had to. But it was impossible. The cops had a barricade up and a guard standing watch.

Nobody was allowed to go poking around in the ruins. Everybody knew about the mental cases and their scavenging.

The moon grew. I watched it every night.

What about Lebo? And what about me? All I got out of these questions was sadness and the certainty that I had to get away.

One night, after yet another session of sitting around the fire, bickering and fighting over that nasty booze of theirs, I slipped away and crept down the goat track. Where there used to be houses, now there were machines. Steamrollers, levellers, crushing debris, tearing down foundations, knocking down walls, and bulldozing it all into pits. Instead of Central Square there was a plain littered with ruins. Where the Comenium had once stood there was nothing, just machines in the dark.

I went running back and stood above the hollow, breathing hard. I looked up: the moon was almost ripe.

I sat down on my behind and slid into the pit, our hole. No one said a word.

They were roasting meat, I could smell it, and then I saw, uh-huh, an old frayed collar lying in the dirt, something gleaming in the shadows behind a pile of branches: horns. It was Bojek’s head.

No, I said.

Listen! somebody said, practically shoving a bottle down my throat. Vojtek saw Lebo!

The Russkies snatched him! The whites of the blind man’s eyes bulged as the others roared with laughter.

The blind man stamped his foot, enraged.

I wasn’t going to make a fuss. They were already eating goats when I was walking around like the big man. The only reason I was here now was because they let me stay. So I kept quiet.

Lebo got snatched by the Russkies, the blind man yelled. He wouldn’t give up, he defended his position, so they took him off to Moscow, just like Dubček in ’68, the fuckers! the blind man said, flailing his arms.

Ha ha, Vojtek sees Russkies everywhere, he’s nuts!

I can tell a Russki by his smell, every time!

Russkies were the last people he ever saw, so now he smells ’em everywhere, ha ha ha!

It suddenly hit me. Vojtek used to be an explosives expert, a pretty bad one too, I guess. Burned his eyes out with a rocket during the fraternal fireworks to celebrate the Soviet invasion in ’68. That’s when the Soviets took over here in Terezín.

The blind man went on ranting, rattling off his nonsense. I grabbed him, along with everyone else, and held on. Took a slap or two in the face myself. At least it shook the image of Bojek’s head out of my mind.

They sat on top of him, pinned him down. Someone pressed a bottle to his lips.

I climbed out of the pit. Kůs came out after me. He knew I was going and he was glad. He didn’t want any more strife.

Here. Kůs handed me something wrapped in greasy foil.

Meat for the road, he said. And a bottle of red.

Take care.

Take care.

I had barely taken a step before my fingers, more or less healed, were fumbling through my pockets. The key and the Spider, my treasures, they were still there. I jogged across the rubble, slipping between the thistles and the nettles. I knew every blade of grass around here. I walked through Manege Gate, out of town, to the main road, and into the ditch. Not a soul around. I got a move on.

A cop car stops by the milestone.

I crouch right below it, blending in with the nettles.

I don’t move a muscle, taking care the bottle doesn’t clink. Hear a door slam, the radio crackles, cop gets out, pees in the ditch, the smell of wine, urine, and night. I don’t move. They leave.

The stream of cars is thinning out. I climb up on the road. Morning sun. And I see lights. Prague.

It’s daybreak.

I pull the piece of paper from my pocket with Mr Mára’s address. Just in case. It could come in handy, so I memorize it.