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CZECHPOINT: New Czech Writing
Nightwork
Photo: Tom Salt
Extract translated from the Czech (Nocní práce, 2001) by Stacey Knecht
Chapter 2
They were always following her around, taking away her bottles. She started drinking in the afternoon, and by evening she had forgotten all her hiding places. She would take a bottle out of the linen cupboard, drink, put the bottle back, burying it under a pile of clothes, and walk on, trailing cigarette ash, leaving lit cigarettes on the table, on the linen cupboard. Sometimes she'd open the window and toss them into the street. Then she'd shut the window again, carefully. The furniture was studded with scorch marks, blackened whorls, there were even small, rust-colored stains on the carpet where she had dropped her cigarette butts. They followed her around, she bumped into tables and chairs, bruised her legs, elbows, ribs, she was black and blue all over. They followed her from room to room, now and again she stopped in the kitchen, she had bottles behind the stove and behind the sink, those were the hiding places they knew best. She kept one bottle in the hall behind the shoe cupboard, another one behind the mirror.
And then the mini bottles. In the bathroom there were so many cabinets with so many shelves, so many bundles of dirty laundry, piles of dirty towels and sheets, Papa's shirts, old rags, and their tracksuits and T-shirts, they could be hidden anywhere.
Ondra would find the little bottles by accident. Pinkie loved them. Especially the round metal caps. When they came home from school, Pinkie flung his bag into a corner and rushed into the bathroom to hunt for them. But he hardly ever found any on his own. He nagged and whined until Ondra helped him look. He had a whole collection of metal caps. He traded them at school for chewing gum wrappers.
Ondra found the bottles and emptied them into the sink, she would take a few gulps and forget about them. The sink smelled of wine, he rinsed it with water from the tap.
Anyway, said Pinkie, when they were lying in bed.
What? asked Ondra.
Why does Mama sit in there all day staring at that photo of Eluzína?
It's not a photo. It's a drawing.
What's better? To be a boy, or a girl?
A boy, said Ondra.
So why is she always staring at Eluzína?
Go to sleep.
It was better when they both drank, said Pinkie.
Sure was, said Ondra.
On one of those distant summer afternoons, when they were all still together, Papa had made them watermills out of wood. They spent their days in a beer garden near their new house.
Before that, Papa had gone to work every morning in a suit and white shirt. Now he had a different job, in a factory. They had moved to a working class neighborhood on the outskirts of Prague.
But they always had fun in the beer garden. It was the only one around.
Would you just smell those chestnut trees! They smell of... of pure longing!
And did you know, young lady, that it was under that very same sort of chestnut tree that the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia was founded? Hm?
Often they would be joined, on those long afternoons, by Papa's new colleagues. Usually his immediate superiors, Foreman Detmar and Sergeant Dudek. The Sergeant couldn't take his eyes off Mama.
That scent... there's something almost erotic about it! I love the outdoors! And you?
Foreman Detmar, a great ox of a man, slammed his fist down on the table. Detmar looked as if he had been born wearing boots, overalls, and a peaked cap. He threw his arm around Papa's shoulders. Papa held on to the glasses. The table was covered with glasses, large and small, and bottles, there were plates of sausages, baskets of bread and rolls, meat loaf, pickled pork and onions& they could take whatever they wanted... and they did, scooping it up with both hands... the people who worked in the factory went to the pub every day, entire families, after work... that's how things were done, that summer the sun was always shining.
My friends! Detmar roared at the top of his lungs... at first we all thought, a pen-pusher, all thumbs, what are we going to do with him... let him sweep the courtyard! Course, it wasn't the first time they'd fobbed one off on us, there are more than you think... but what d'you know? Turns out he's damn good with his hands, always looking for something to do, knows how everything works... a machine breaks down and bingo! Our Lipka joins two wires, cleans a couple of screws and the thing's running again... he fixed up this old ventilator, just like that! I'm telling you, Detmar thumped Papa on the back, this guy is okay, he's got balls! Pardon me, Miss...
That's all right, said Mama, with a nod, and ordered another glass of white wine. Now and again she took something to eat... a bite of fish, a nibble of cheese...
Sergeant Dudek kept picking at the little white blisters in the corners of his mouth, he wriggled in his chair, stared at Mama, and then blurted out: The way you eat, it's so beautiful! Are you French?
Oh, don't be silly, Mama dabbed a bit of mustard on the end of his nose. Why don't you get us some more drinks, off you go...
One thing's certain, said Foreman Detmar, winking at Papa. You're home and dry with us! All buttoned up, wouldn't you say? Other guys are in the slammer, or done a bunk, over the border, but long as you're with us they can't touch a hair on your head... besides, he lowered his voice, the Communists won't be around much longer, they're on their way out...the West won't put up with it... we're not some dog-ass Asian country, we're a goddamn Western democracy, right?
You'd better shut your trap, warned Sergeant Dudek, and slammed the tray of drinks down on the table.
Cheers, said Mama.
Cheers, everyone said.
Ondra looked at Papa's hands. There was something about Papa's hands in those days, something about his fingers. They moved restlessly over the table, always fiddling and searching, he'd reach for something, bend it, squeeze it, roll it between his palms... mostly he liked to bend wire, insulated wire, he'd pick it up off the factory floor, he could have as much as he wanted, in his hands the wire seemed to be bending of its own accord, Papa turned the wire into animals, rockets, Pinkie squealed with delight... Papa's job was sweeping the factory courtyard, but he could walk right into the workshops any time he liked, the others were always glad to see him... he collected scraps of tin, metal clips, broken straps... he made the boys tin windmills... on that fine summer day in the beer garden, as always, he couldn't keep his fingers still, he reached out his hand, grabbed a branch, snap!, broke it off... everyone stared in amazement... he took a jackknife out of his pocket, flipped it open and, chop-chop, slice-slice, stripped off the bark... and raised the watermill over his head... Follow me! he ordered... and they all went racing after him, the whole gang, kids who lived in the neighborhood, they were led by Ondra, who trotted along proudly, dragging Pinkie by the hand... they were by no means the easiest of boys ... but now they had something... a Papa!... they could all go running after... they ran to the tarred wooden shed, the outhouse, inside was a groove with water flowing through it, endlessly, hectoliters of beerpiss had been washed away... a small crowd had gathered, everyone was grinning, even the women were there, jostling in the doorway... and Papa deftly set up the watermill and it began turning... clickety-clack went the twigs, in that endless stream of water, they spun around like the paddles of a real mill... Detmar marched right up, his huge body nearly blocking the view, he leaned back... and then the watermill really started spinning! Everyone loved it.
You should have that thing patented, damn it, Detmar rattled on drunkenly, he winked at Papa, pressed himself against Mama, thought no one could see... here and there, the other men were pulling out their jackknives to carve mills for their own boys, they wouldn't be outdone by some pen-pusher... but the knives slipped and slid over the bark of the chestnut branches, it wasn't easy to get the right shape, forked... their mills were rough and uneven, their fingers bled, they tore more branches off the tree, but it was no use... Ondra and Pinkie, flushed with excitement, were the heroes of the hour... several of the other boys had watermills now, but only Ondra and Pinkie knew how to set up their mills so they would keep spinning, around and around... it took practice.
And that was only the beginning. Next came the windmills. Papa brought home sheets of tin from the workshops, as much as he could carry. He cleverly bent it into giant windmills, assembling the shiny surfaces to form the sails. No one in their street had ever seen anything like it.
Ondra and Pinkie stood by the window, proud and happy, as the wind whirred through the mills that only their father could make.
It's simple, said Papa, frowning, as if they had asked him a question. Matter is converted to movement, which is converted to sound.
The wind turned the mills, the metal plates looked as if they were waving to someone. Waving and waving. There was great joy in that movement. Perhaps they were waving hello to a statue. The wind howled and whistled in every curve of the metal, as if a goblin were crouched there, praying. Mama had thought of that.
Papa would often stand beside the quivering mills with a gauge and compass, measuring the strength and direction of the wind. He carefully noted down his findings. He was always experimenting. The people who lived in the neighborhood only came to see how beautiful they were.
Then one day... a big black car pulled up in front of the house, full of comrades from the district committee. Mama opened the door, pale as a ghost. But the comrades were in high spirits. One of them had come up with the idea that twirling red pinwheels would brighten up the May Day Parade. The comrades opened bottles of Soviet champagne. Any more ideas, dear Comrade? They questioned Papa until deep into the night.
That's what happened.
Pinkie probably doesn't remember any of it.
You asleep? asked Ondra.
Not yet.
With Papa, it's just like with Captain Nemura, Ondra had told Pinkie. Somewhere in the dark coils of his brain, an idea had arisen that would change life on earth. Papa's working on an amazing invention. I've been to his lab, I've seen it. When he's finished, we're leaving. We're flying away!
Mama too? asked Pinkie.
On the silvery flank of Captain Nemura's spaceship it said, in shiny letters: No kids, no pets, and no damn women on board.
Hey! shouted Pinkie.
It's true, said Ondra. I swear. Hey, what's that like, anyway?
What?
I mean, isn't it kind of weird?
What?
Dressing up like that!
I dunno, Pinkie lay beside him in the dark, he was restless.
I mean, you couldn't go to school dressed like that, could you?
I dunno.
What don't you know? They'd laugh their heads off!
But I only do it at home!
Ondra had come home from school, Mama had locked herself in the bathroom. He heard the shower, and Pinkie, giggling. He was in there with Mama.
What are you guys doing? Ondra shouted, knocking on the door.
The door opened and he saw Mama sitting on the edge of the bathtub, the shower was running, as it always was when Mama locked herself in there. She was sitting on the tub, wearing a black turtleneck, she wore that a lot these days, she also wore Papa's shirts. Standing next to her was a little girl. She had lipstick all over her mouth and barrettes in her hair. She was wearing a dress. When the girl spoke, she turned out to be Pinkie. Hi, said Pinkie.
Ondra slammed the door shut and went into the kitchen.
Moments later, Mama came in after him.
What's wrong with you? Can't you even say hello?
Ondra slipped past her and ran to his room. He lay down on the bed, opened a book and pretended to be reading.
After a while, Pinkie came shuffling in. He was wearing his own clothes.
Going to a costume party, right?
It's just for fun, said Pinkie. She sings to me, stuff like that.
You're not a baby anymore.
I know, said Pinkie. But it calms her down.
She calms down when you put on those clothes? They're girls' clothes! Just wait, I'm going to tell the kids at school tomorrow!
You will not! No! You can't!
And Pinkie begged and pleaded, promised him anything.
But Ondra wouldn't really tell anyone. That he had a little brother who wore girls' clothes around the house.
Whenever Mama locked herself in the bathroom, Pinkie waited outside the door. Sometimes they could hear her talking, but with the water running they couldn't understand what she was saying. Pinkie tried to peer in through the keyhole, but he couldn't see through all the steam. He would stand there listening, and after a while, if there was no sound from the bathroom, he'd whine: Mamaaaa, open the door! I'm hungry! I'm thirsty! Then he'd wait for a moment, and start whining again: Mamaaa! What time is it? The clock's stopped! Sometimes Pinkie would mumble something in a strange voice, and then yell: There's somebody here! Ondra tried to read, but that was impossible with Pinkie blaring outside the bathroom door.
The very first time that Pinkie had shouted: There's somebody here!, Ondra imagined a pale figure in a black coat standing opposite him, reaching towards him, his sleeves sliding upward in slow motion until you saw the long hairs on his arms and his hideous claws... Ondra had raced down the hall to the bathroom, had nearly knocked Pinkie over.
This time, when Pinkie shouted: There's somebody here!, Ondra stood up, yawning, put away his book, picked up a deck of cards, sauntered down the hallway, sat down next to Pinkie, his back against the bathroom door, and said: Quit yelling. She can't come out, anyway. She hasn't got any clothes on.
Mama's naked, said Pinkie, giggling.
Ondra dealt the cards. They played a game of Spit.
When Mama came out of the bathroom, Ondra went in and felt his way through the steam, to the faucet, and shut off the water.
However many bottles he found and emptied, she always had another one hidden somewhere. Sometimes they caught her groping around in a hiding place they hadn't discovered yet, and Pinkie would tug on Ondra's shirt, they had to bite their lips to keep from laughing. When she was drunk, she didn't look at them, she looked straight through them. Sometimes they put chairs in her way, that was fun. She walked around the chairs, bumped into them. She had a silly expression on her face.
Pinkie had gone to bed. Ondra kept following her around until she had dragged herself into her room, and when she had crawled into bed, with her clothes still on, he had an idea. Chuckling, he hurried into the bathroom, to the basket of dirty laundry. What are you doing? Pinkie came running in in his pajamas. Wait here, I want to show you something, Ondra was choking with laughter. He grabbed what he could out of the basket and ran to Mama. Wait, he pushed past Pinkie, who was bursting with curiosity.
He dressed Mama in one of Papa's shirts and pulled a sweater loosely over her head. He couldn't get her into a pair of pants, so he threw Papa's bathrobe across her shoulders. It covered her legs. He propped pillows behind her back so it looked as if she were sitting. She didn't try to stop him, just waved her hand a few times. He remembered how different Pinkie had looked with lipstick on. He rummaged through Mama's make-up until he found an eyebrow pencil. He blackened Mama's cheeks and then switched on the lamp in the corner of the room. In the shadows, it looked as if Mama had a beard. As a finishing touch, he put a ski cap on her head.
Then he ran off to get Pinkie, who was waiting impatiently in their room, he put his finger to his lips and said, in a deep voice: There's somebody here! There is not, don't say that! whined Pinkie. There's a strange man in here, said Ondra, in the same deep voice. Don't say that! Pinkie repeated, furious now... Come see for yourself, if you don't believe me! And then he was pulling him by the hand, down the hallway, Pinkie resisted, but went along anyway, his curiosity had gotten the better of him... It was all Ondra could do to keep from laughing, he pushed Pinkie into t
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