Oh great, now I’m a company, thought Oleg.
“You know, I was watching CNN earlier, that’s one of those American—”
“I know what CNN is.”
“Anyway, protests have, apparently, started here. I noticed today things weren’t quite normal, but I figured who knows what this is about. Then I heard on CNN that some guy set fire to himself in the marketplace, or something like that, and now everyone’s lost their minds.”
“He set himself on fire?”
“The government was putting pressure on him or something, I don’t know exactly. Poor living conditions.”
“I could’ve done that myself a hundred times.”
“Yeah. You do look flammable.”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“Absolutely not. We are talking politics here.”
“You say he set himself on fire? Good luck to him.”
“This is no joke. This shit is becoming serious.”
“Finally, at least something. If you set yourself on fire back home, you’d burn up and that would be that.”
They were quiet for a while.
Then Oleg sighed and said, “Why now? Just when I have to move this turbine!”
“Where is it supposed to go, anyway?”
“To a place not far from here. The ship arrives tonight. Then the turbine goes its own way.”
“Where, to the desert?”
“Don’t worry. You won’t be going there. We’re leaving this place as soon as they pay.”
• • •
Lipša watched the city from the terrace. The street below was pulsing with rage; she didn’t have to understand the language to know that. Oleg was somewhere out there again. They’d been there nine days already and the turbine still hadn’t left the port. Supposedly, the ship unloaded it hastily two days ago, even though the port workers were on strike. Unloaded it and left. If ships were leaving, they should have packed their bags and gotten the hell out of there, too. She’d already said so to him. But he thought he could take care of this amid all the damned chaos. It was out of the question for them to leave until they’d taken care of this. In fact, if she wanted to, she was free to go, he said. She could leave. I can still leave, she thought. He said some people, skilled people from another foreign country, were helping him, but nothing here seemed to function anymore. He had the best connections, but now, all connections had been severed. “I can’t find the damned turbine in the port,” he said with a laugh. This was a huge port and nobody was working there anymore. Everyone was out on the streets, picking fights with the police. And they had to find it, they had to transport it, a special truck for special cargo was waiting outside the port, waiting to go somewhere over there, through the desert, and people around the special truck were shouting because they thought it was some military vehicle. “Which it may be,” said Oleg with a laugh, “only not theirs.” Every time he came back to the apartment he brought with him tote bags full of beer—he always managed to procure it somewhere—and he looked odd because he kept slathering on the self-tanning lotion so he wouldn’t stick out as a foreigner. “We have to pull the turbine out of this damned chaos,” he kept saying. “Otherwise all is lost. They’ve got to pay me. But how are they supposed to pay me the damned money when they haven’t seen the damned turbine? If they don’t pay me the damned money, this is the end of me. I can go down here or at home, it doesn’t matter.” Oh fuck, why set yourself on fire now, my fine friend, he’d shouted from the balcony the night before while even louder shouts could be heard coming from the city. This morning, as he was preparing to go out into the city, he left three thousand euros on the table. Just in case, if I happen to stay longer in town, he’d scribbled.
She was drinking the beer. He’d brought so much alcohol into the apartment that it was as if he were preparing for a blockade that would last several months. She sat on the terrace, under the mellow winter Maghreb sun. The sounds of sirens came from below. She peered over the railing. An armored police van raced down the street. Some people threw themselves to the side, while others hurled whatever they could grab at it. She felt the urge to go outside and fling something at the vehicle.
“I feel like going out. I’ll go crazy in this apartment,” she said to herself.
Is that necessary?—that’s what the savvier friend in her head would say.
No, but I feel like it.
And then what?
I’d like to throw something at the vans. They can’t drive through people like that.
Do you really need to?
No, I don’t.
Okay, don’t.
But I’d like to.
Are you talking about a kind of sex?
I don’t know what it is, but people are down there. And I see the people aren’t attacking each other. They’re attacking the ones who are running them over. Got to respect that!
And now you want to go down, too?
That’s what I’d like most. I feel like I belong down there.
But you’re a foreigner here.
I know.
You don’t know who they are, and they don’t know who you are.
That’s why I’m sitting here all the time.
You don’t know this part of the world, you don’t know what could happen to you. You’re a foreigner, a woman. All sorts of nasty things happen on those streets.
I know, goddammit.
• • •
“I really like you, you know,” said Oleg, his eyes closed.
The city was humming beneath them, like a ship engine that’s about to fail. He imagined for a moment that they were on deck, sailing above the turmoil below. He thought the passengers aboard the Titanic had probably felt the same way.
Whatever, right now he could only drink beer, wait, and soak up the sun. It was the perfect time for romance.
“Imagine we’re on the Titanic,” he said.
“Why the Titanic?” she asked lazily, reclining on the other deck chair with a beer in hand, wearing only dark sunglasses and her panties and bra. Of course she hadn’t remembered to bring a bathing suit. She couldn’t even remember if she had one. But she had watched Titanic.
“Well, you know, everything’s sinking, but a love story is developing. It doesn’t matter whether you’re rich or poor. Class differences are overcome.”
“Oh yeah? And where do you see this love story?”
“You and me. We’re the real Titanic,” he laughed.
This actually sounded plausible to her, but she didn’t want to laugh.
“It’s just that you’re a bit uglier than DiCaprio.”
“And you’re a bit underdressed. Is your costume designer on sick leave or what?”
“Never mind the costumes. I can’t remember the last time I was at sea.”
He laughed. “I really like you. Really.”
“Why do you like me?”
He thought about it.
“Maybe because we don’t fuck anymore.”
“Yeah, a sexual dry spell makes everyone attractive.”
“Ever since I mentioned love, we haven’t had sex. Way to go. That’s usually my line.”
“I can see it has fucked with you.”
“Other things are fucking with me. But yeah, it’s weird when someone behaves the way I’m supposed to behave. What should I be doing then?”
“The usual, behaving like an idiot.”
“You’re really insulting me,” he said, even though he didn’t mind at all.
“Such are the times.”
“You mean the revolution?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So how was it down there?”
“Brilliant.”
“Did you fight or just shout?”
“I wasn’t sure what to shout, so I came up with something of my o
wn.”
“Did they watch you?”
“Yes and no.”
“Was it dangerous?”
“A little.”
“Hey, Lipša, I really love you,” he said with his eyes closed, behind a pair of sunglasses, on that deck chair, on their Titanic.
“Right. Am I supposed to say thanks?”
“Kissy, kissy.”
“Whatever rocks your boat.”
“Lipša?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s fuck.”
“Uh-huh, as soon as I fall in love.”
“Let’s do it.”
“As soon as I think about marrying you and spending our lives together, I’ll immediately feel like I want to fuck. You know how it goes.”
“No, seriously,” he said, his eyes closed.
“I’m totally serious.”
“Okay, look. I’ll leave you everything even though you don’t love me, how’s that?”
“Deal. Now that’s real love.”
“I’ll leave you the account number where the money comes in. I mean the card. In case something happens to me or you kill me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll leave you the card and the instructions. You’ll need to take the money to the losers in the factory, if it ever comes . . . unless you keep everything for yourself.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I mean, you can take a part for yourself. I mean, it’d be fair if you took a smaller part and gave them the rest.”
“But of course.”
“What do you mean, ‘But of course’?”
“Oh come on, let it go. You were talking about romance.”
“I have to go with these guys around the neighborhood. Talk to their boss face-to-face. He’ll judge whether to pay me or not when he sees me. That’s what he said. He’s a madman, by the way.”
“But they haven’t received the turbine.”
“I explained that we don’t have enough money to continue. We can build them a new one if we continue working, and hopefully, they’ll find this one at some point. It’s in the harbor somewhere. It was unloaded. They’ll find it once the chaos dies down, when they start working again. They have to start working again at some point, they won’t strike and revolt forever.”
“And?”
“I’ll go there with them. And you demonstrate over here until it stops. Then go home.”
“You’re really like my father.”
“You think so?”
“Sort of.”
“What happened to him? You’ve never mentioned him.”
“You never asked.”
“I’m asking now.”
“He was killed on the way to a prison camp.”
“Really? I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s move on to a lighter subject.”
“Yes, let’s.”
“Does it annoy you if we talk about sex?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But it’s silly to avoid sex. So philistine.”
“What can you do, I come from a philistine town. And you?”
“Me too. But I’ve broadened my horizons.”
“Why didn’t you become gay then?”
“I just didn’t.”
“Shame.”
“Hey, Lipša, I’m serious. . . . When are we going to fuck if not now?”
“Probably never.”
“This might be our last chance.”
“The chance of a lifetime.”
“Just imagine we’re on the Titanic.”
“That’s the easiest thing for me.”
“Tomorrow I have to travel through this country gone berserk and into another one, where the boss is batshit crazy.”
“Are there riots?”
“No.”
“So you’re going someplace safe?”
“Look, you don’t know where I’m going. Remember, you shouldn’t even tell anyone we were here. If you come back first, act as if you have no idea where I’ve gone.”
“At least I don’t have to memorize anything.”
“The card has a code, by the way.”
“And?”
“I’ve been thinking. I know you’re a decent person, but Nikola will have the code so you don’t get tempted. I’m leaving you the card, and he knows the code. Just so I don’t create any confusion in your mind.”
“Hey, thanks for that.”
He got up from the deck chair. There was an explosion of voices from below. He peered over the railing. People were rushing toward a square several hundred yards away. Some of them were shouting. The status quo.
“You remember the first time we met?”
“Vaguely.”
“Could you have imagined you’d be traveling the world with me, taking part in a revolution, and sending me off into the unknown like a hero?”
“Why of course, but I did expect you’d be riding on a white horse.”
He crouched next to her legs and started to kiss her calf.
“What are you doing?”
He raised his head.
“You have such nice legs, the best I’ve ever seen.”
“Why not browse the Internet?”
“You know, I thought about sex as soon as I saw you.”
“Oh, really? Why didn’t you say so?”
“I just didn’t.”
“I know why. Because then you’d have to do that all the time, walk around telling women, ‘Sex, sex, hey, I thought about sex . . .’ Who knows if you’d say anything else.”
“Yeah?”
“Your vocabulary would shrivel and die.”
At this point he was becoming depressed. “So you’re really turning me down?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow!” he said, and stood up.
The world suddenly looked very gloomy, too realistic.
He went inside for another beer.
The TV was on. The announcer said the American military had denied it was holding Bradley Manning in solitary confinement. He took a beer from the fridge and sat down on the absurdly large bed. He opened a new pack of cigarettes and lit one; then he picked up some kind of saucer as an ashtray. Who’s Bradley Manning, he tried to recall. He knew he’d known this before, but not anymore. As soon as a name wasn’t mentioned for a while, he would forget it. The media functioned as his external memory. He himself didn’t retain anything anymore. Things would go in one ear and out the other.
He remembered who Manning was when they mentioned WikiLeaks. Dammit, he thought, you’d think I could have remembered the name.
Other news followed. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton was on a five-day tour of the Middle East.
He looked toward the terrace door.
Lipša stood there in her tall black boots, naked. She had a cigarette between her teeth, and held her arms crossed underneath her small breasts.
“Any good news?” she asked him.
“Excellent,” he said.
With a few strides she reached the bed and lay down near its edge, on her side. She was watching him.
“You’re looking despondent, hero.”
“So-so.”
“What is Clinton saying?”
“Something vague.”
“Would you fuck her if she were your boss and if you were a little secretary?”
He was looking at her body. “Are you comparing me to Clinton?”
“No, the other one.”
He thought about what to say.
“I’d fuck her.”
“You’d be her . . . what was her name again?”
“I would.”
“Go on, show me how you’d fuck your boss, little secretary!”
He put on
a slightly hurt expression as he looked at her.
“The boss is horny.” She took his hand and put it between her legs. “Gently, please. Respectfully.”
He wanted to say something, but she put a finger on his mouth and said, “No noise, please. I want to hear the newscast as well.”
In her other hand she held a cigarette, which she then placed on a saucer, next to his. She was excited and bent over by the edge of the bed. He came from behind. From outside came warm air and shouts from the street that now sounded like calls of joy. The bed was squeaking like an old boat, while he, Oleg the little secretary, was losing himself inside her. His dick throbbed as if it had a heart of its own, her pussy contracted thickly, the TV blared, the government in Tunisia seemed to be changing. She was being raised in waves and she caught sight of their cigarettes rolling out of the saucer, falling onto the blanket, burning through it. She tried to reach them without going far from his dick. If we set ourselves on fire, she thought, set ourselves on fire, ah, we’ll burn and that will be that. President Ben Ali had flown out of the country, announced the TV. It was extraordinary news, but she found it a bit funny.
“What did they say?” he shouted.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” He was cumming, cumming in his boss, no respect. She moved forward a bit, took the saucer and started hitting the spot where smoke was rising from. She was shaking; her body was aglow, glowing, fading, and she put it out, lay on it.
• • •
“Secretary,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Do you have any idea where you’re going?”
“Barely.”
“Well, do you have to go?”
“I’m always going like that, ma’am.”
“You’re not a bad guy, you know, although you are horrible.”
“That doesn’t make sense, ma’am.”
“Fuck sense, secretary. I actually love you a little, even though I hate you.”
“Why do you hate me?”
“If I loved you, you’d screw me over immediately. You know that.”
“Perhaps I wouldn’t, ma’am.”
“You’d crush me like a worm.”
“Perhaps I would, ma’am.”
“I love it when you don’t lie, it’s almost like love.”
“I also love you a little, without hating you at all.”
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