Had been, is, could be. . If Gedis were alive, I could ask where it was he put that woman — one way or another, she wasn’t a spirit; blood coursed through her veins. Maybe he would tell me now. Then he was quiet. He expelled her by force. She left dismayed and sad — sorrowful in a pure, pure way. Cinderella in a princess’s gown, driven out from the king’s palace. Gediminas, that black-winged angel, cruelly separated us. After all, she was mine. I sat, shoved into a corner, completely crushed. And she obediently went out the door, throwing a longing glance at me. Throughout it all she never uttered a word. She just looked at me: not just with her eyes — but with her shoulders, her breasts, her knees, and with her incomparable vagina, the black hole, which shone through all her clothes, sucked me inside, and perhaps wanted to destroy me. I wanted nothing more than to be destroyed within it. I craved that sugary, damp annihilation. But Gedis was stronger; he locked me in, and when he returned he was alone.
I searched for that black-haired woman — fitfully, depending on vague instincts. It seemed to me that she would, without fail, show up at twilight, on just such a damp, murky evening, in just such a labyrinth of Old Town’s streets. I stubbornly scoured the crumbling gateways and the narrow courtyards that reeked of urine. Sometimes I would go around to the nastiest of drunken dens, where unshaven lumpens guzzle cheap wine, and then, remembering her expensive clothing, I’d tumble into one or another of the expensive dives and, to the maître d’s horror, scour the private niches. At first I probably wanted only to experience the miracle’s sugary blessing once more, and later. . Later my life was lit up in an entirely different light; I began to search for Old Town’s Circe, wanting something else. Unfortunately, she vanished like a flame. She no longer inhabited the wet streets of Vilnius, Old Town’s filthy bars, or the automobiles flying by. All that was left was Gediminas, scowling angrily, like a killer. He probably buried her underground, submerged her under water, dissolved her into the air. Or perhaps, having appeared out of nowhere, she vanished into nowhere; born of the wind, she disappeared in the wind — but here another appears, she stands in front of me, and again I want to touch her.
Of course, Lolita is completely different: different eyes, a different body — not open, but as secretive and quiet as an abandoned lagoon. She is still standing there when the others finish jawing, start to disperse, and Martynas is saying something to me.
My head’s in a fog — that’s forgivable in a person who was caught in the vortex the moment he woke up, who once more parted the curtains of the secret spectacle, once more remembered the script of the inevitable role. Sometimes I think the best thing for me to do would be to go out of my mind. It’s too difficult to grasp everything with a clear mind. There are things that no human can do. Almost cannot bear, no matter how strong he is or how powerful his intellect may be. It is this “almost” that is my foolish hope, my wise hope. It is this “almost” that is all of me. For the time being I still am. In this world the easiest thing is to lose yourself. Most of the time you don’t even realize you no longer are, that only a stuffed dummy crammed with blood vessels and nerves, truly not your “I,” remains. You aren’t aware that They’ve already devoured you. You aren’t aware of anything. You don’t even remember that you once were.
It wasn’t easy to understand this, to open the door to the vague world of drab nothingness. For such exploits Their secretive system takes a cruel vengeance. I’m already almost a corpse. I’ve paid dearly for every crumb of understanding. What is the world worth, if it imposes so many tribulations and such pain without promising anything — neither paradise nor felicity on this earth? I didn’t expect requital, but I fought nevertheless. And I continue to fight. For what?
What the hell — for you, and you, for all of you!
I know that no one will put up monuments to me: I am a nameless soldier. But I fight every minute, even now, sitting in my office at work, repeating like a prayer: a clear head, cold logic, and caution. Those are the three whales on which my world depends. Outside the window the dirty pigeons of Vilnius are once more lazily soaring about, and once more time is throbbing in my temples. On the other side of the glass — bushes whitened by cement dust and construction scaffolding. Two figures drag themselves along slowly; one steps inside the shrubbery and unbuttons his fly. Between his spread legs I see a little stream watering the ground.
You don’t see anything, it’s dark, there’s nothing, although you strain to see, even your belly hurts. On the right an old dresser, on the left a mirror, they help you to see. It’s there! Really, really, it’s there, pale little faces coming up to the window.
“Mama, they’re looking! Little chubby faces! Who are they? What do they want?”
“Bugbears,” says mama. “They live in the forest beyond the Giedraitis house, and in the evening they look for naughty children. They search and hunt high and low.”
“Where do they hide in the daytime? Why doesn’t anyone find them?”
“During the day they turn into rats. Gray rats. When they catch some naughty child, they suck out his blood, so he walks around all white.”
“Like little Giedraitis?”
“Even more so, without even a drop of blood. The child doesn’t want anything, he doesn’t remember anything. . but you’re a good boy, they won’t touch you.”
You raise your head quickly, quickly — really, they’ve disappeared; it wasn’t you they were looking for.
“I already know. They’re kanukai.”
“What, what?” Mama’s red lips smile.
“They’re not bugbears,” you say proudly, because you’ve thought up a new word. “They’re kanukai. When I grow up, I’ll catch them.”
Let’s reason this out logically. The black limousine intimidated me far less than it would have once. I’ve experienced too much to be terrified by the chilly whiff of Death’s shroud. I’ve consorted with that eyeless one for a long time; on meeting, we smile at one another like old acquaintances. Death is a woman whom I once had, but cast aside. Always expect revenge and treachery from a woman who’s been cast aside; don’t allow yourself to be caught by surprise. They know this perfectly.
Let’s reason this out logically. They couldn’t have intentions on my body. They need more, far more. True, Their plan could have been this: a broken spine, paralyzed limbs, battered brains. That’s hard to believe: They know I couldn’t be dealt with like that. And I know, but all the same I’d rather think about realistic, common sense punishments. However, every last thing — even my liver, kidneys, and lungs — is screaming and shouting that the great game has begun again, and the price is my “I.”