That’s what they’re like, realised Alfonz with disappointment. You come to them with a smile on your face and they still don’t accept you. They scream, shriek and cover their eyes. They move away from you and one of them, that Max, even throws up. That’s what they’re like. He told them he only changed because of them and they rejected him in spite of that.
How they had disappointed him! Cut right into his heart.
That’s what they’re like.
They had hurt him.
Enough was enough, he would not stand for it any longer. Enough was enough.
They had no respect for him or his property. They did not even look where they trod, running around like headless chickens. They had knocked his rucksack over. How did they think he would get to his name without his rucksack, without proper tools?
Everything came out, the pliers, the axe, everything. They trampled on the fuses. What a lovely name those had: 1,5A. What he would not give for a name like that!
Was it possible that they were just clumsy? No, no, they were evil and wicked!
All of them.
He picked up the axe and looked around the dining room.
There was nobody there. They had left him on his own. Is that how a friend should be treated?
“Where are you?” he shouted, surprised to see the spray of red droplets filling the air, “Yoo hoo, where are you?”
They were hiding. His last hope. Maybe they were playing with him, maybe they were not wicked after all?
“Yoo hoo, where are you?”
He looked past the table lying on its side and saw Samo, cowering on the floor with his head between his shoulders.
Slowly Alfonz reached with his hand over the edge of the table, coming closer and closer to the shoulder. But before he touched it a few thick drops fell off his fingers and onto the white T-shirt.
Samo looked up.
“Tag, you’re it!” said Alfonz in a friendly manner, covering the face in front of him with blood.
Samo screamed, jumped up, pushed Alfonz away and ran towards the door.
They’re pushing me away, thought Alfonz. They don’t want to play, they’re shoving me away just as they’ve been doing for years. The new wave of fury was not like the quickly extinguished flash of the previous ones, this one grabbed him and would not let go of him.
“Samo, Samo, I’m coming,” he said and went out.
Really, he may be angry but he was fair, too.
“I know, Samo,” he said, “I know, you’re not completely bad. There’s something good in you too.”
Raf was hiding behind the kitchen door, listening. At first he did not know what the strange bubbling noises were and it was only after Samo’s screaming and escape that he realised what Alfonz was saying and that frightened him even more.
What had happened? Suddenly and without any reason his friend had changed into a madman, who first mutilated himself and was now after them.
Raf felt nauseous and he had to use all his self-control to stop himself vomiting.
Where was Max? Raf had not really noticed him in the panic but he had a vague idea that he had run out. So, was Raf alone in the house?
Slowly he tiptoed to the window and looked out.
Alfonz walked right in front of him and Raf nearly screamed.
He had not seen him, he was looking for Samo.
Raf looked towards the shed and he thought Samo could be there.
And that was exactly where Alfonz went.
Samo grabbed the door handle and flexed his muscles. From the first time he had lifted a weight he had always believed that the strength he was trying to build would come in very handy one day. If all the loose ends in one’s life did not get tied up at some point, would there be any sense in it all?
He had never thought he would need his strength to escape a lunatic. But this was for real, a fight for survival that only the strongest would win. So many times he had said: there is no mercy. They had been sitting in a bar, the sun shining, that strange thing which throws a different light on everything and which now seemed beyond reach; anyway, they had been sitting in a bar and he had said: fight for survival. Stay alive. Without mercy. And now his words had become reality. And they lay heavily on his stomach.
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.
He slid his soles slowly along the floor, still leaning on the wall. He sort of fell from one side of the corridor to the other rather then crossed it. Luckily, the moonlight was bright enough to enable him to distinguish a door. The nursery, if he remembered rightly. Had he not noticed a baseball racket in the corner?
What a weapon! Whoever came up the stairs and was hit with it on the head would be a goner, however crazy he might be.
He opened the door slowly and the complete darkness surprised him. He stopped and waited.
Suddenly he heard steps downstairs. Somebody was coming. He ducked into the nursery, closed the door behind him and leant on it.
Were the steps getting nearer or further away? Whoever it was must have heard the door slamming and hidden.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Darkness.
His father… NO! NO! That was not happening now, that was in the past. He must not succumb to the memories.
Not a trace of light. Had the moon gone behind a cloud? He remembered the tightly closed shutters. Where was the baseball bat? In the right corner behind the wardrobe or the left corner behind the bed?
Try to remember! Try to remember!
He could not. The only thing he could remember from the tour of the house that afternoon was turning on the lights and looking at the Indian woman. Would it matter if he turned on the light and got the bat?
The shutters were closed and if the light could not get in, it could not get out either. He would be very quick. Grab the bat — he remembered it now, it was small, for children, but hard enough for a weapon — and switch off the light. Wait till his eyes got used to the darkness again and return to the landing. And then…
He had to last till the morning. And the bat would help him.
Raf waited but he could not hear any more noises from upstairs. Maybe it was Max upstairs? He was too afraid to go and see.
He crept towards the door and looked around. He could not see anyone. Where should he go? What should he do?
The woods looked dark and Alfonz could be hiding behind any tree.
What had happened to Samo? The screams from the shed were not very promising. Raf took a deep breath, flexed his diaphragm and made a decision. He would go and have a look.
Max was trying to remember where the light switch was. Somewhere on the right, he was sure. Leaning on the door he slowly started feeling towards the wall.
He could feel the dried-out wood under his fingers, from time to time a tiny splinter would bend under the pressure of his skin.
The doorframe. The tips of his fingers slid into a crack, he pulled them out and started sliding them again across the solid wood. Over a slight curve on the edge of the frame towards the wall.
He was overcome by a desire to hit the wall haphazardly until he found the switch and turned on the light. But he controlled himself, he could not afford to make a noise.
He had to continue over the centimetre deep edge of the frame and onto the wall. The rough plaster stuck to his fingers.
He stopped. Could he hear something? Breathing?
He held his breath as long as he could. There was nobody there. But he still tried to breathe slowly without making an audible noise.
He moved his hand again and he could feel every tiny lump in the plaster. His hand began to slip down and slowly he directed it up again.
Another noise. This time a recognisable one. Somebody was opening the front door, the creaking could not have been anything else. He stopped breathing as well as moving.
After a long spell of silence, he continued to move his hand up the wall. He had to be very near.
A feeling that he was not alone in the room came suddenly and very clearly.
Again, he failed to hear any breathing. Just once he thought he could hear something but it sounded like a rustle, the origin of which he could not establish.
It was all too much for his nerves. He would turn on the light and have a look.
He swiftly slid his palm up along the wall, found the switch, put his hand on it and…
… paused for a moment.
Will I?
I will, he said to himself, taking the switch between his thumb and index finger.
I’ll turn it now.
A gentle palm lay on his hand.
Max felt his urine trickling down his thighs. He did not move, just pushed his head low between his shoulders.
Waiting for a blow. It did not come.
That gentle hand resting on his. He could hardly feel it, there was no pressure, he was sure it could not stop him moving his hand away. Again, he tried to make out somebody else’s breathing.
The waiting went on and on. The hand did not move. Max’s two fingers on the switch started to hurt.
He only had to turn them and he would see everything.
Was that what he really wanted? Or should he try to remove his hand and run for it? Very slowly, he started to move his fingers but the hand increased the pressure accordingly. It was still very gentle.
He did not dare go on.
“I give in,” he whispered but even that sounded piercingly loud.
“Please, please!”
There was no reply.
Do I really want to see, he asked himself. Do I?
I’ll turn on the light and what happens happens. He remembered Alfonz’s grinning face and changed his mind. He could not take that.
How much longer could he stand there, motionless?
What would his father do? He would grab that hand without a body, without a face, push it away, turn on the light and give whoever was there three good punches. Max bitterly and clearly realised for the first time that he was not his father. He did not have a book of prescriptions, a catalogue of solutions for every conceivable situation, which decision to take in every dilemma — you just turn the pages until you find the appropriate advice, clear and short so that you can read it in a hurry.
Would such a book describe the situation Max was in? You are standing in impenetrable darkness, holding the light switch with somebody else’s hand resting on yours. Gently and patiently.
He started crying without moving. He pleaded and begged.
Nothing happened. No ruin, no salvation. The urine had cooled down and his thighs began to feel cold.
He pulled himself together slowly, stopped crying and tried to make out as much as he could about that hand. It was small and papery. Yes, that was the right expression. It was not damp with sweat or smooth. He remembered from school — where was Raf? — that the pores in the skin excrete grease or something like that to make the skin smoother. That hand was not like that.
It was inevitable. He knew that sooner or later he would find out whose hand it was. It had to happen. It was just like going to a dentist, a visit he always delayed beyond the first aches right to the swelling and the puss. In the end he always gave in. Dentists were inevitable, just like this thing waiting for him in the darkness.
It was better to do it now than torturing himself endlessly.
He screamed and turned the switch.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Everything was red. Why was that?
It only took a split second before he realised that his eyes were closed and that they had probably been closed in the darkness, too. And then he thought that all the waiting and agonising would have to happen all over again before he opened his eyes. He overtook his thoughts: he had to ride on the wave of decisiveness, he could not afford to repeat all the suffering he had just been through.
He looked.
Another split second, a new wave of thoughts, events and observations.
In front of him stood a brat, a strangely funny brat who held his hand on Max’s with his eyes closed. Was he asleep standing up or what? He was wearing a black suit which looked shiny as if it had been waxed or something. And a bow tie! That was the last straw for Max. A bow tie!
That terrible creature because of which he had pissed himself was a brat with a bow tie!
The whole thing seemed terribly funny to Max. He laughed with relief. In the moment between his opening his mouth and the sound of his laughter actually coming out he caught the word uttered by the little boy:
“Mama?”
He sounded very disappointed as he was opening his eyes. Did he only just realise some terrible mistake?
Max was not just laughing, he was screaming. He was banging his forehead against the door, roaring. He noticed the boy’s large black eyes and that he did not open his mouth as he spoke, but it was all too funny and Max could not stop himself.
Laughing, he told the boy his name and when the boy thanked him politely
- without opening his mouth, HA!HAHAHAHAHA! -
Max bent double with laughter.