I mustn’t let up, he said to himself.
I mustn’t!
With both hands he held the door handle on the inside of the shed where he had hidden, feeling his strength spreading upwards from his wrists, elbows, biceps, across his shoulders and into his back. There was no force which could tear those hands away from that handle! Mad Alfonz could hammer on the door all he liked, he would never get in.
His confidence started to grow slowly, making him more optimistic.
Maybe Alfonz would not even find him? Did he go somewhere else, to catch somebody else? Max, he was the one who had got them into this shit. Where the hell was Max? And Raf, the clumsy Raf? He had probably fallen somewhere and was now lying there, moaning.
Strength, strength in his muscles.
How big they were, bulging in the light of the moon.
It was too light, too light. He looked back and saw that the back wall of the shed had long ago fallen down and blackberries grew in between the planks of wood. Alfonz was slowly coming nearer through the bushes, seemingly unfazed by the thorns.
Alfonz said:
“Samo, I’ll be honest with you. You’re not all bad, at least you weren’t bad to me. But the time of reckoning has come.
I only want what everybody wants: to know what’s good and bad in a friend. When we see what there’s more of in you, then we can decide what to do with you.
When I remember school, the first thing that springs to mind is the day when you kicked me in the changing room. With your right foot, so that foot is bad. Don’t shout and deny it now, you should have thought of it then. And that time, when I scored the decisive goal, quite by accident, I can tell you that now — the ball came towards me and I kicked it with all my strength just to get it as far away from me as possible and stop everybody teasing me again. That’s how I scored that goal. But that doesn’t matter now, what matters is that you shook my hand then. Your right hand was kind to me. I thank it for that. But not the whole of it. Don’t think I’d forgotten. Twice, during lessons, you gave me a sign with your middle finger. Come on Samo, now it really is time to let go of that door handle. You won’t? Alright then, I won’t force you. Anyway, your right hand really was kind to me but not the middle finger. It was vicious. Just like your mouth, which has always grinned, like Max’s. And your tongue — well, a third of it was good and two thirds bad, I’d say. Occasionally you did say a kind word to me and I won’t forget that.
Your eyes, well, they always looked at me unkindly. But that’s what your eyes are like, it isn’t your fault. I haven’t got an opinion about your left hand, it… oh, I remember now! Once, when they took us to the cinema, you offered me some crisps with it. Your left hand goes on the good pile than. Left foot… I don’t remember anything about it. Let’s say it remains neutral, we don’t assign it to either side. Is that OK?
OK. It’s important that you agree. I wouldn’t want you to think that I’m biased or accusing you of something you haven’t done.
We haven’t got much left. Your chest — no opinion. Stays with the neutral parts. But I can tell you, it would help you now if you’d ever given me a hug. Just look how big your chest is. It would certainly swing the scales onto the good side. But anyway, as it doesn’t go onto the bad side either, it doesn’t really matter. It was all just hypothetical. I’m not accusing you of anything.
Your abdomen, together with your stomach and liver. I think they belong on the bad pile. How much of my money they devoured! But I suppose I offered things to you myself. OK, neutral than.
Hmmm, your prick, balls and arse. For half a year you had to sit next to me instead of Max as a punishment, and you farted non-stop. That’s bad manners and counts as bad. Your prick too. You often bragged about it and that’s vanity, bad habit. I have no opinion about your balls, they can go on the neutral heap.
Well, we’re finished? It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Alfonz stepped back and looked at the three heaps in front of him. All three were about the same size.
“Hmm, a difficult decision,” he said to himself, reached for the chest and lifted it. “If you’d ever given me a hug… it would really have made a difference.”
He looked to see if he could split Samo’s chest further, but could not find anything much in it, apart from the heart. After a short pause he cut it in half and threw one half on the heap on the left (the good parts) and the other half on the right (the bad parts).
He did not feel tired at all, in spite of the long time he had spent deciding and making a judgement. Even his right arm did not hurt and there was no blister where his hand held the axe.
He stood next to the piles thinking, unable to decide. In the end, he picked up all the good bits and, cradling them in his arms, walked off towards the woods.
Aco saw a light between the trees and stopped. He could see himself that night, years ago, as he had walked towards the green light in the cellar window. How terrified he had been! And when he had not been able to tear his eyes away from what he saw, his fear had grown even stronger.
He should have come before. But he did not have the courage and that was his sin.
He stood there, looking. The light filled him with hope that nothing had happened and that his expedition would end as a simple night stroll.
Everything was quiet and peaceful, just like at the campsite. But there the tourists were asleep, and here some young boys were supposed to be having a party and parties are never quiet. He took a few more steps but had to stop again to clear his mind of the images, just as he had been doing all his life.
The images from the cellar.
It took him a long time to get to the edge of the woods, positioning himself behind the last tree before the clearing. On the other side, he caught a glimpse of somebody walking into the woods. He was carrying something, but that was all Aco could distinguish in the silvery light. He waited. Whoever it was did not come back.
Then he saw another figure, creeping slowly out of the front door, looking left and right, unable to decide whether to go any further.
Undoubtedly one of the boys.
And Aco was sure. Something had happened.
Max was squatting on the landing, waiting. He dared not move. Once, he could not control himself however much he squeezed his lips together. Vomit came out through his nostrils, running down onto his knees. He did not move to wipe it away.
Only after a long time, when there were no more sounds to be heard inside the house and the screams coming from somewhere outside, far behind the house, had died down and everything went completely quiet, he tried to straighten up. His legs had gone to sleep and he could not feel them at all. He scrambled up by the wall and waited for the pain to stop. He did not dare make a sound.
When he was finally able to try taking a few steps, he started thinking what to do. More precisely, where to escape to. He was too frightened to walk to the village, an hour’s walk through the woods. There was no way of knowing where that crazy Alfonz had got to. Murderer. Judging by the screaming he must have slaughtered somebody. Probably Raf, clumsy enough to be a victim. Samo, where was Samo? Only he could overpower Alfonz.
He had to hide somewhere. It was probably better to stay inside. There he would at least hear anybody walking up the stairs. And then what? He had to find a weapon.