Fear and His Servant
Page 24
‘Again I tried to see Michael’s work. But again without success. And then the tired old man rose slowly to his feet. It was time, he muttered. His mood was dark, and I had to hurry to finish. I started making mistakes. My hand was trembling. Nostrils pinched. Eyes watering. Mouth dry. If only there’d been no end to the time I had, I could have made a perfect picture.
‘I was adding details now. Strewing the scent of lavender across the open fields. Launching sailing ships across the grey oceans. The merchants aboard them travelled swiftly from land to land. In one village I put three brothers together, promising the fourth and youngest brother the very best of everything. In the end I put them in a courtroom, with judges dressed in black. I dug tunnels for water and put people in them. And princesses and dragons. Here and there I put stout-hearted heroes with finely tempered swords and poured them goblets of wine to quaff with their paramours. In other places I drew tracks on beds of crushed stone and sent locomotives chuffing down the undeviating parallel lines. As it arrives, its shrill whistle fills the winter air and the ears of the remaining passengers. And I made the grass gleam with frost and dew. I sowed tomatoes in tidy gardens.
‘He said, “Enough. I would see.”
‘We all turned our pictures towards him. That’s when I saw Michael’s. It was blank. There was nothing on it. I tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t deign to notice.
‘The old man went slowly, not because he was paying close attention but because he could move no faster, and as he went he looked, listened, sniffed, chewed, drank. When he reached Michael’s picture he stood for a long time. Saying nothing. Then he went around a bit more quickly, taking in the other angels and their creations along the way. From time to time he’d murmur something, nothing that made much sense, more like a word or two as he took a breath or cleared his throat. When he finally reached me, I stood poised between the most exalted satisfaction and the most profound despair. There was nothing more godlike than bringing something into existence, nothing more diabolical than casting it away. Aeons passed, the universe spinning and falling back in upon itself. When at last he raised his head, all the cosmos had contracted to the size of my fist.
‘“I find favour with Michael’s work.”
‘“What?” I hissed. “If it be thus, I go my way.”
‘And hurtling through the cloudless sky I went. When I landed, it was on the narrow road of yellow bricks. I made my way along the bare hilltops towards the first fortified cities. The monks in their yellow robes made no greeting as I passed. I looked around me, smelled the air. Listened. What’s that line about the angel being new to the world and not seeing it with the world’s eyes? And the poet tells the angel to sing the praises of the world, to speak of things the world knows not and to strike it dumb with amazement.
‘Down and down I made my way. All around me mortal creatures were breathing their last, their death rattles rising heavenwards along the royal road.’
SIX
The Creation of the World (continued)
3
Now back to the cistern, all right?
The man in crimson began to speak, but I heard no voice. At least not in the usual sense. I could hear him in my mind not outside it. And I wasn’t out of my mind, no matter what you may be thinking. What language? Sorry? What language was he speaking? Well, I couldn’t really say. I happened to hear it as German. But I think that Novak would have heard it as Serbian if he’d had the chance. You might very well have thought it was Latin.
‘We bid you welcome,’ he was saying.
‘Are you a vampire?’ I asked, surprised not to hear my own voice.
‘What’s in a name?’ he countered.
‘What do you want from us?’
‘What do we want? But you’re the one who’s come to us, dear Princess. We don’t go looking for people; they come to us. Not every one, of course, only the best, the ones who have the courage and the skill.’
‘You’ve killed so many people!’
‘No, Princess, not a single one. Doctor Radetzky was murdered by the Serb who later took a stake, as you saw, and drove it through our friend Sava Savanović. The baron died as he did, as you yourself saw. The blond count died at the hands of von Hausburg, and Vuk Isakovič was run through by the red count, who in turn was pushed to his death by von Hausburg.’
‘Dear God! But … what about Wittgenau?’
‘Who?’ The man in crimson seemed genuinely surprised.
He turned towards the others and spoke to them, but I couldn’t make out their words in my mind. From their facial expressions the discussion seemed quite animated. I stood there and waited, limbs still stiff from my recent exertions, but self-assured. Watching them. There was a familiar face, an old woman dressed in beautiful raiments, her shoulders thrown back. She was strong, not stooped with age or weariness. Although she was standing far away among the vampires, I felt she was looking back at me. She regarded me sadly, and I thought I saw tears in her eyes. That’s when I realized – it was myself. Much older. As you see me now. I wanted to cry out, but no sound would come. Soon she was lost to sight among the other vampires, and I felt a wave of relief. Seeing with one’s own eyes is always more painful than just knowing.
Once he had consulted the others, the man in crimson turned towards me again.
‘You must mean Wittgenstein.’ The words stopped for a moment. ‘He simply had to go, there was no other way.’ He made a gesture. ‘He was against us, hated us. He would say, The world is not the totality of things but of facts. You don’t really think we could allow language to be greater than the actual world? To allow anyone at all to be God except God Himself?’ The others were nodding in agreement as he spoke. ‘And he came after us, but he came the wrong way. Here’s what he did, unlike you: he left the city then made his way back along a tunnel from the outside.’ He smiled, showing all his teeth. ‘I know that you also went out, but you were wise enough to come back to Belgrade before coming down here, through the cistern, on the inside. That’s the right way.’
‘Do you mean to say you’ve been in the city all along?’
‘In the city, most assuredly. I was even at the ball and had the pleasure of speaking to you.’ He bowed.
‘What’s to become of me now?’ I asked.
‘Ah, dear Princess, for you this is only the beginning …’ And with the word beginning still in me, I was struck blind by a great light. When I was able to see again, the vampires were gone. Every last one of them, gone. Nothing remained but the endless reaches of that underground space, which seemed even greater now that it was empty.
Only then did I see that the walls were not bare but decked with the occasional halberd in that narrow-bladed Saxon style of Johann Georg I. There were also some tufted maces lying about, and some hussar sabres, and a pickaxe, nearly a dozen daggers, five or six rapiers, a two-handed broadsword that even Hercules would find cumbersome, a pair of yataghans, three katana, a set of Scottish flintlock pistols and one otherworldly Chinese landscape, on silk.
For a long time I stood taking it all in, still astonished at the vastness. I knew the vampires would never return. Slowly I turned and left. The damp air of the cistern hit me full in the face, and I had to stop for a moment. I can’t tell you why, but some invisible power compelled me to raise my hand to my nostrils and make sure it didn’t smell of brimstone. I detected nothing out of the ordinary.
I decided to take the down staircase, because that’s where Novak was sure to be. I was worried he might have slipped on the damp steps and fallen. I moved quickly, as if flying. As if I weren’t climbing at all, but running down the easiest flight of steps in the world. Just past the third turning I came upon Novak. He was struggling along, his right leg bleeding.
‘Princess! Is everything all right now?’
‘Don’t worry, Novak. Everything’s all right. You must come and see them, too. Don’t be afraid, they’re not evil. Here, just a few more steps to go. Easy does it.’ I took his hand as we went.
Suddenly he pulled back.
‘I don’t think I want to, really.’
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. Trust me.’
At the last turning he stopped again and looked me in the eye. I was not accustomed to such directness from servants.
‘That’s an order!’ I said sternly.
Slowly we made our way to the very bottom. What I saw there took me by surprise. Only a short while ago the entrance had been completely unobstructed – yet now the way was blocked by a wooden door. I looked around to make sure, but there was nothing else there. Novak didn’t know what I had seen, and he went to the door and tried to open it. It was locked.
He shook his head, as if he’d been expecting this to happen, yet no one would take his word for it.
‘Princess, do you know what this is?’
‘Yes, that’s where the vampires were.’
‘From what I hear this is the chamber where your husband keeps the gold he got from the Turks for his betrayal. Begging your pardon, but that’s what I’ve heard. Count Wittgenau came to investigate. He found out, and your husband, or someone else from the court, paid some Serbian hajduks to kill him.’
‘But what about the vampires?’ I asked.
‘The vampires are only make-believe. Nothing but a story. Listen now, it’s time to go back up. And up there is my master, waiting. He’s convinced that the vampires exist. When we come back alive he’ll think we’ve turned into vampires, too. You know he’s got a pistol…’
‘The powder is damp.’
‘So it is. But he’s also got a dagger. First he’ll try to shoot, and then he’ll come at us with the knife. I’ll make the first move. You stay behind me where it’s safer. While he and I are going at it, you take this and…’
He picked up a stone that had fallen from the masonry and handed it to me.
‘Don’t go easy on him.’
We started up the down-staircase. Again I found myself able to run without effort, but I had to stop and wait for Novak to catch up. His leg was in pain, but still I hurried him along. I didn’t want to remain in the cistern any longer than necessary. I felt it would not be good to spend too much time down below.
The ascent was quicker than the descent. A few steps from the top Novak stopped me and drew me to him. Again he looked into my eyes then nodded. I kissed his brow. Then he went ahead of me and pushed the door open with a mighty heave.
I was right behind him. Von Hausburg tried to fire, then threw his pistol aside and drew the dagger from his boot. He lunged at us with the knife. Novak wasn’t fast enough. I heard the blade plunging into him. Carrying the stone, I stepped around Novak and struck von Hausburg in the head. He collapsed. I kneeled beside Novak where he lay bleeding. He was gripping the pommel of the dagger where it protruded from his abdomen.
I put my hand under his head. He was trying to say something. He couldn’t get the words out. Blood was flowing from his mouth now. Once more he tried to say something, and then he breathed his last.
4
I still owe you something? But haven’t I brought everything to its conclusion? Isn’t the dragon vanquished and the princess happily settled? What more do you think you have coming to you, dear cousin? By the time all this was happening, you had already arrived in Belgrade. I called out from inside the cistern, and Alexander had the doors opened. I stepped outside. Covered in blood. I didn’t say a word. He looked at Novak and von Hausburg lying on the ground.
What’s that you say?
‘Were they vampires?’
‘No,’ I answered. ‘And von Hausburg is still alive.’
‘What utter madness this whole thing turned out to be! Utter madness! And to think! Just to think!’ he shouted, but gleefully.
‘To think what?’
‘Why, all those voices. The voices we were hearing. It was the army and the refugees, the first contingent from Niš. Not vampires at all, just our very own soldiers and refugees. They were outside the city gates. They all arrived today. Just like you. And your cousin, Bishop-Count Thurn and Valsassina.’
I looked at him in surprise, and suddenly he seemed shorter in my eyes, shorter than before. The light had gone out of his eyes. He was happy for the same reason as everyone else. He was ordinary, just like Schmettau in fact. And Schmidlin. And the blond count and the red count. And you, dear cousin.
That’s when you appeared as if from nowhere but just in time. You came with your imperial orders. Although I never understood how you had managed the journey from Vienna to Belgrade in only five days. You looked at us all with such distaste. Alexander bowed deeply before you. You ordered them to take von Hausburg and to provide him with the best of care.
And then you announced that General Doxat had been sentenced to death for surrendering Niš and betraying Austria. You told us that you’d been sent to offer Doxat a chance to renounce his Protestant faith and become Catholic in return for his life.
That night Nicolas Doxat refused to become your eternal subject. The next morning, before the executioner had raised his axe, Doxat called out to the fortress, ‘I made you, and now you take my life.’
The executioner made clumsy work of it. There was a great deal of chopping about. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I still owed you?
Who?
Von Hausburg?
But you went with him yourself that Monday afternoon to Petrovaradin, and from there to Pest, to Vienna and on to Paris, I believe. Didn’t you? He had his new servant with him, the Serb with the stake and mallet. He didn’t even take his leave of me. He spent the whole time telling his servant about his first meeting with someone named Fishmouth. As if that story meant more to him than anything else.
As for me, I’ve nothing more to tell you. I’ve told you everything just as it was.
Now let’s hear what you have to say.
WORLD SERIES SEASON 3 : SERBIA THE WORLD SERIES IS A JOINT INITIATIVE BETWEEN PETER OWEN PUBLISHERS AND ISTROS BOOKS
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Translated from the Serbian Strah i njegov sluga; first English-language edition published by Geopoetika Publishing, Belgrade, Serbia, 2009
Copyright © Mirjana Novaković 2000
English translation copyright © Terence McEneny 2009
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OTHER TITLES IN THE WORLD SERIES SERBIAN SEASON
Filip David, The House of Remembering and Forgetting (translated by Christina Pribichevich Zorić)
Dana Todorović, The Tragic Fate of Moritz Tóth (translated by the author)
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OTHER TITLES IN THE
PETER OWEN WORLD SERIES
SEASON 3: SERBIA
FILIP DAVID
The House of Remembering and Forgetting
Translated by Christina Pribichevich Zorić
Introduction by Dejan Djokić
978-0-7206-1973-7 / 160pp
Albert Weisz ‘disappears’ in his early childhood. To save the young boy from the horrors of a Nazi concentration camp, his father makes a hole in the floor of the cattle truck taking his and other Jewish families to their deaths. He then pushes Albert’s brother Elijah and then Albert through and down on to the tracks, hoping that someone will find and take pity on the two boys in the white winter night.
In an attempt to understand the true nature of evil, David shows us that it is necessary to walk in two worlds: the material one in which evil occurs and the alternative world of dreams, premonitions and visions in which we try to come to terms with the dangers around us. With its intricate plot and interweaving of fact and fiction, The House of Remembering and Forgetting grapples with the paradoxical and painful dilemma of whether to choose to remember or to forget.
DANA TODOROVIĆ
The Tragic Fate of Moritz Tóth
Translated by the author
978-0-7206-1983-6 / 160pp
Ex-punk Moritz Tóth is languishing in the suburbs when he receives a call from the Employment Office offering him a job as a prompter at the Opera. While trying to cope with the claustrophobia of long confinement in a rudimentary wooden box, struggling to follow Puccini’s Turandot in a language he doesn’t understand, Moritz gradually becomes convinced that he is being pursued by a malevolent force in the hideous person of his neighbour Ezekiel, a.k.a. ‘the Birdman’.