He screamed and rolled on the ground.
He received two such strong blows that it sounded as if he had church bells in his head.
He calmed down.
He let the fluids flow from every possible opening in his body.
“Now you know what happened,” said Aco calmly, holding Raf’s shoulders, “you know what it all looks like but you’re wrong in thinking you know who did this. Wipe yourself and let’s go. It’s going to be a long night, there’s a lot to do.”
Raf nodded, remembered the scene behind the bushes, collected himself, took a deep breath and wiped himself with his T-shirt, which was getting full of stains. He remembered his father, and a little observation Raf had made first about him and then about all the other men who put weight on around their waists and then stick their big stomachs out proudly: they can never finish a meal without dropping some of their food on their front. Always and everywhere. The memory of his parents was both calming and unreal. They were so grey and average, so boring that he suddenly realised what home meant. Home is where you feel safely bored.
“Alright? Shall we go?”
Raf got up and stumbled. Knowing that next to him was a man who knew what it was all about helped him.
Aco hoped deeply that that was how Raf felt about him. If he was on his own he would die from fear, run away in a panic, but as soon as there was somebody who needed his help, he was able to control himself completely. He was a born soldier.
The villa was silent. There were no more sounds of laughter. The dining room light was still on and when they walked round the house they could just about discern some light escaping through the nursery shutters.
Raf hoped they would not have to go into the house. They stood in the middle of the meadow, waiting. It felt like a very long time.
They heard some steps and then the door opened. Max stepped out, saw them and nodded.
Raf nodded back, surprised at how casual their meeting seemed. As if they were somewhere else, at some other time.
“Let’s go,” said Aco and pulled Raf by his sleeve.
“I thought we were going in?” asked Raf, visibly relieved.
“No, not yet. We don’t know enough. Let’s go to the woods.”
Raf noticed the old man watching Max as he joined them, unusually silent.
“Max,” said Raf, “hey man, why did you laugh like that earlier?”
Max was looking at the top of his trainers and did not move a muscle.
“Max?”
Raf noticed the dark patches on the inside of Max’s thighs, the traces of vomit on his chest and thought his friend was embarrassed so he stopped quizzing him.
“Let’s go to the woods,” said Aco impatiently, waved Raf off in the direction he wanted him to go and waited for him to start walking. Max followed Raf and Aco went last. He stopped behind the first trees and turned back as if expecting something whilst not taking his eyes off Max for more than a few seconds.
“He’s scared of him,” realised Raf. And at the time when Max was at his most harmless, just a small shadow, one of many amongst the trees.
They waited for a long time, or that was how it seemed to Raf. He knelt, lent on a tree with his hips and felt something sticky on his T-shirt. How it frightened him! He took a long time to pluck up the courage to feel it was just tree sap.
He looked towards the house. It was a beautiful night and the previous events seemed like a dream. He would wake up. The crickets and the moon would still be there but all the memories would be gone.
Aco was hiding behind the tree next to Raf’s and suddenly he took a sharp breath in through his nose as if he had a cold and was trying to keep the snot in. Raf expected to hear a breath coming out and when it did not, he bent forward slightly to get a better view of the figure in front of him. The crickets’ song suddenly became strangely different or so it seemed to him.
He looked towards the house. The door was already closing.
On the veranda stood a small boy, who reminded Raf of a child prodigy, standing on stage waiting for a sign from the conductor. His suit, his bow tie and glowing white shirt, his eyes which travelled from left to right as if he was embracing the audience lovingly. Letting everybody feel that he was performing just for them. He even held something in his hand, but in spite of the moonlight Raf could not really make out what it was, though it did not look like an instrument.
The boy turned his head towards them and Raf looked at Aco, who seemed to be frozen — he was so pale and motionless. He only moved when the boy’s head continued its journey without stopping.
Raf noticed with horror that Aco had produced a pistol from somewhere and was now pointing it at the boy. The barrel looked frightfully steady in the moonlight. Aco would not miss, he looked like a man used to shooting. His left hand was supporting his right hand which was resting on the tree trunk. He was going to kill the child, Raf thought, I must stop him. How could anybody be as calm as this crazy man he had only known for half an hour? I’ll jump, now. Twigs broke under his feet as he got up.
The finger on the trigger started to bend.
Too late, said Raf.
Something big flew through the air and covered Aco. At first Raf could only see a writhing mass on the ground but then Max flew away as quickly as he had flown in. Aco had somehow thrown him off and something small, barely recognisable flew with Max, quickly disappearing amongst the trees.
The pistol.
The child was saved, thought Raf even before he could feel surprised at Max’s jump. His friend crashed on the ground, picked himself up straight away and looked around for another victim. He noticed Raf, who thought he looked like a dog, on all fours with sparkling animal eyes. Max took another leap. At first on all fours, panting, and then springing up and jumping onto Raf, knocking him down. Raf opened his mouth to shout for help but immediately felt somebody’s tongue upon his.
Ana had no difficulty finding the house her uncle had described in his note. The place was right but the time was not. She looked at the name-plate on the door. If nothing else she could at least find out Luka’s surname. The thought that it was strange that there was a name-plate on that door only and on no others she had passed on the way came to her very casually and did not really take a proper form. It was logicaclass="underline" the villagers all knew each other and name-plates were quite unnecessary.
On Luka’s door it said:
DOOR: WOOD
BOUGHT ON:
INSTALLED ON:
At first, she was surprised at the age of the door, then recognised the writing, which she had already seen on the tea-cup she had drunk from earlier, and then she wondered about the man who stuck labels on every object, however insignificant and common it was.
She would knock on the door and see. She hoped he would not have a label with his name and birth details on his forehead.
She was trying to guess what his reaction would be. She had a few scenarios and her favourite was the first one: Luka waves his arm, telling her all about her uncle’s madness and tells her to stop worrying and go to bed. It would not matter to her even if he slammed the door in her face or shouted at her. She would not mind at all.
Luka was obviously a light sleeper. Immediately after the first two nervous knocks of her knuckles on the wood a light came on in the window above her head and an old, thin and wrinkled man with a nose like an eagle’s grumbled at her.
“Aco sent me,” she said.
“Alright, I’m coming,” he groaned and closed the window. From the length of time he kept her waiting, Ana concluded that the old man was not in any hurry. He did not open the door fully, just enough to have a good look at her. Maybe he was trying to hide his funny pyjamas with their wide vertical stripes?