by Sarah Kassem
The Fourth District consisted of small houses, a greengrocer, a bar, and a market that is held three times a week. No building is higher than two storeys and as such from the second floor you can already see the horizon. In the Ninth District, unless you live on the twenty-seventh floor, any glimpse of the horizon is impossible.
Hedera Helix’s districts were arranged spirally. In the centre of the First District was the Town Hall, a few companies - including Bresolino Views - the shopping area and the old town, which didn’t really look very old. Then the districts turned clockwise till the final one, the Tenth District. The Fourth District bordered on the city’s outskirts and so from Helena’s house you only had a ten minute walk east to find yourself already out of the city.
As to the other districts there was nothing there to interest Viktor. Often, on his afternoon outings with Marco, the two of them had traversed many of the districts and he’d found everything looked so much alike that he couldn’t tell them apart. He knew only D1, D4 and D9 (where his school was also located). He also knew a little of D10 as it bordered on D4 and once in a while hosted a circus. In fact D10 was little more than a big field that - when the circus was not there - just lay empty and abandoned.
Overall Hedera Helix was not very big. It would only take you an hour to walk from one end to the other. As such, there was no need for trams (Viktor had been in a tram in Helsinki and found himself creeped out when it suddenly entered an underground tunnel), and instead the city was served by just one bus, the HEx - Hedera Helix Express – and its total of 10 stops that Viktor knew by heart.
1. Downtown
2. Customs House
3. Supermarket
4. Market
5. Church Street
6. Cemetery
7. Industrial Area
8. Cinema
9. P-Blocks
10. The Field
Viktor had been able to recite all these stops from the age of four. He loved everything about buses, even though he was never allowed to ride on one alone. The only person who he ever went on the bus with was Marco. Of the few adults he travelled with, his father hated buses and Oded always drove the studio’s car. His mother stubbornly refused to drive a car, and as such didn’t even have a driver’s license, meaning that Oded chauffeured them everywhere they needed to go.
Many people believed that Helena was stingy and that her modest lifestyle was just a pretence. They always said that she should buy a decent house and open a real shop in the centre of the city, rather than live in a tiny apartment above her own small, noisy business. Viktor found her anything but stingy. Though she gave him almost no pocket money, she always bought him whatever he wanted, and as such he could think of nothing that he had ever wanted and not received. Well, almost nothing. There had been the time he’d wanted the elephant travelling with the circus. And the time he’d wanted the Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton from the Natural History Museum.
Furthermore, should Helena have ever declared a desire to move, Viktor would have been the first to object. Even from a young age he’d been a pronounced patriot of the Aquifolium Street and such devotion would stay with him for the rest of his life.
D4 was not exactly the cleanest district. The local garbage dump was not far away, close enough so that the flies and the smell became noticeable on warm summer days. The market also brought with it a few odours and waste, not to mention the rats. And when it rained, the water was knee-deep in the streets because the sewers were clogged.
In fact, from an outsider’s point of view the only bright spots in D4 were a walk in the fields on the edge of Hedera Helix, a visit to Helena’s peachy studio, or a visit to the ‘Reconquista’, a bar on Viktor’s Street.
The Reconquista never played music, the menu consisted of a single dish and eight drinks, the interior was quite dark, the woodwork was full of woodworms, it always smelled sourly of nicotine, beer, urine and potato soup, plus the owner was a grumpy, taciturn man named Rocco. However, the one redeeming feature of the Reconquista was its apple pie, which had become a thing of local legend. Twice a year Rocco’s mother, who worked in the kitchen of the Reconquista, was in an immense bustle: In summer, when the circus was in town, and in the fall, when after the harvest would be the town festival. In fact, the Reconquista was often seen by both circus goers and festival patrons alike as partially more popular than those two widely loved events. To further matters, one of the eight drinks on Rocco’s menu was a Russian beer. Nobody knew how Rocco could have so much Russian beer in stock and how he ever mastered it with transport and customs, because Russia was not exactly around the corner, but that Russian beer was not only very cheap, but also everyone who tried it – Viktor could not read the name on the bottle thanks to its indecipherable letters – was so fascinated by its taste that they came back time and time again. Rocco did not like people and no one knew if Rocco was his first name or his last name. He didn’t see his bar as anything enjoyable, instead seeing it only as means to pay the rent and pay for his few other overheads. In fact, it was only when he could be coaxed to take out his guitar that a hint of a happiness could be seen upon his face. He could only play two songs however: ‘Closing Time’ by Leonard Cohen and ‘Drive’ by The Cars. No one knew if Rocco could play any other songs, but he played these two so perfectly that his voice still echoed through the street. ‘Drive’ and ‘Closing Time’ therefore became anthems for the apple pie lovers.
Viktor was about to close the window when he saw Gem in the backyard, he was riding circles around the yard on his sister’s tiny tricycle. Viktor called his name softly. Gem looked up, waved and shouted:
“Hey, how you feeling?”
Viktor leaned out of the window. “I threw up four times.”
“Really? Cool.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Bored. You?”
“Nothing.”
Gem motioned his head in the direction of the tailor shop and rolled his eyes. Apparently he was still under house arrest. Viktor had also been under house arrest, but today it didn’t matter as he couldn’t even go out of the house voluntarily. Even just standing left him feeling dizzy.
“I’m going to sleep,” he called down.
“Go puke! You have to get rid of all the bacteria, then you’ll feel better!”
Viktor waved and closed the window. He opened it again. And then closed it again. He couldn’t decide whether it was cold or warm.
At that moment his mother opened the door and came in with a cup and a small paper bag.
“Here, drink this, and here are a couple of sandwiches.”
Viktor obediently ate a sandwich and drank the black tea.
“Mom, am I going to die?”
Helena laughed. “No Viktor, you’re not.”
“Never?”
“No, not ever. But not now. You’ve got gastro-intestinal flu, that’s all.”
“Why did I get it?” Asked Viktor.
“No doubt from all the crap you and your friends are always eating.”
“What?”
“All this terrible stuff like edible paper or those lollies that make your tongue blue or green.”
“And why do I have lice?”
“Somebody had them in school and infected you.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” Helena paused and looked at Viktor. “The little kitten had fleas. Perhaps as a punishment all the fleas jumped on you when you started the fire.”
Viktor contemplated on that, then nodded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to both his mother and the kitten, as if it still swirled around him somewhere, listening. He imagined the kitten’s anger and how one day it might buy a car to run him over with.
“When will I die?” He asked his mother.
“Don’t think about that. It’s a long, long way off. First you’re going to be big and do what grown people do.”
“Like take the bus alone?”
“Yes.”
“Drive a car?”
“Yes, drive a car as well. Right now though you’ve got be alone again as I’ve got to go back down. Oded is going to the pharmacy to buy you some special shampoo for your lice and I’ll come up in the evening and we’ll give it a try. Ok?”
Viktor nodded and got into bed. She tucked in him and he fell asleep immediately, waking up again only when it was dark and someone was knocking on his door.
It was Gerald van den Berg and Marco.
Viktor was so pleased that he jumped up and almost fell out of bed.
“No, you stay where you are,” cried Gerald. “Don’t come close. Lice and adults ain’t cool.”
Viktor sat on the bed and Marco brought two chairs from the kitchen so they could sit near the door.
“I have a bottle of Coke and some cheese triangles for you. Say, what’s that smell in here?” Gerald opened the window. “You’ve got to ventilate from time to time, or your brain’ll go all mouldy! Say, what did you do all day?”
Viktor shrugged. “Rested.”
“Ooo, that’s the dream,” cried Gerald. “Maybe I should rub my head on yours so I get the lice and can rest all day tomorrow!”
Viktor laughed.
Marco had been to the library and had gotten Viktor a few books. Two were about dinosaurs and two about volcanoes, five were comics and one was a book entitled ‘Make your own toys’. Viktor was so happy that he wanted to hug Marco, but Marco stayed well out of reach.
“I wanted to take Marco here to visit Rocco. Imagine, he’s never drunk the Russian beer,” Gerald said.
“How long have you guys been friends?” asked Viktor.
“Since you’ve not been at the company. Your father had forgotten to tell Marco that you’re sick and so when I saw him in the hall, I knew he didn’t know. I sent a couple of security guards to get him and you should have seen his face! He was terrified, thinking he was arrested, till he came to me and saw I’d sent them. We decided then that we’d come visit you this evening. We get on great, don’t we?” Gerald suggested as he slapped Marco on the back. “And then I thought I’d show him where decent people go in the evening for a drink.”
They stood up, Marco wished Viktor a “Get well soon” and Gerald said “Go for it, kid!”.
Shortly thereafter, his mother came up again. She directed him to the bathroom, ordered him to undress completely and sit in the empty bathtub, then smeared a terribly smelly liquid into his hair. It smelled so horrible that in a flash the sandwiches he’d eaten reappeared, joined instantly by the tea he’d drunk, all of which looked like a dark brown liquid mess.
“Viktor,” shouted his mother when he was choking. “Don’t act so silly! This smells like chamomile!”
When he had finally calmed down, she told him he had to stay like that, in the tub, for half an hour. She left him and went to change his bedding for the second time that day before she vacuumed the whole house.
“Mom, can I turn on the hot water? I’m cold!” Viktor cried after a while.
She came into the bathroom and gave him a disapproving look. “You are not cold, it’s 35 degrees here in the apartment.”
“But I’m cold,” whimpered Viktor.
“Yes, but woe be if any water gets on your head as I’ll have to shave all your hair off then.” She warned before putting the tap on a little bit.
Viktor was not really cold but just very bored. He now had at least the water to play with. Taking the shampoo bottle his mother had left, he imagined it to be a pirate ship and took an imaginary lice from his head and placed it on the ship. Then it became Captain Ahab and chased a bar of soap which was Moby Dick.
Later, when Viktor was lying in his bed, he imagined how a there was a whole town of lice on his head. He saw them with highways and schools, supermarkets and playgrounds for the little lice, all of it running smoothly till a sudden toxic rain that supposedly smelled like chamomile came and killed them all. As he imagined them melting in acid, he felt so sorry that he almost broke into tears. He took a sip of Gerald’s Coke bottle that he’d hidden under the bed and fell asleep.
Anther
Viktor was packing his bag for school the next day – he was now officially lice free – when Cristobal suddenly appeared.
He’d been looking at pictures of spiders in his biology book and was about to put the book into his satchel when there had been a knock at the window.
Viktor excitedly climbed onto the window sill and opened it.
“You came again!” he beamed, jumping up and down while Cristobal excitedly flew a few rounds around the room.
“Yes, it’s my job,” Cristobal gasped as he settled himself, sweating, on Viktor’s bed.
Viktor sat next to him and said: “I thought you’d been a dream!”
“No, I’m really real! Here, check” Cristobal said, holding out a wing.
Viktor studied the tiny wing very carefully with its shimmering, neon blue feathers. The wing was as long as Viktor’s little finger.
“And here...” Cristobal turned his wing to reveal fluffy, baby pink feathers on the other side.
“You’re beautiful,” Viktor said.
Cristobal blushed. “Really?”
Viktor nodded.
“How have you been?” asked Cristobal.
“I had lice.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But they’re gone.”
“Where?”
“I had to use this shampoo, then they died.”
“Oh,” Cristobal said, disappointed.
“What have you been doing?” asked Viktor.
“I’ve had a lot of lessons, visited a few people and studied. Tuesday I had an exam.”
“Who did you visit?”
Cristobal blushed furiously and said mischievously. “Catherine Zeta-Jones.”
“Who’s that?”
“You don’t know who Catherine Zeta-Jones is?” shrieked Cristobal, shocked.
Viktor shook his head. The next day his mother had to send Oded to the video store in order to rent all the movies starring Catherine Zeta-Jones so Viktor would finally stop pestering her. She fretted over the whole affair for a few days, asking herself just how normal it is for an 8-year old to develop such a sudden fascination. Then she had to sew him a Zorro costume.
“Catherine Zeta-Jones is...” Cristobal began, “she’s... she’s just... she’s the most beautiful woman in the world!”
“Really?”
“Yes,” shouted Cristobal before he flew up and turned some fast laps around the ceiling. “Yes, she is a queen!”
When he had calmed down, he gasped, “Oh, and she has the best honey. Orange blossom honey! And she has bougainvilleas in front of her house. Do you know them, the large red flowers? She has millions! Trillions! I can drink as much nectar as I want! And then she strokes my back and kisses my head.” Cristobal blushed and grinned stupidly.
“So why do you come to me?” Viktor asked, tormented by perplexity. After all, he was not a queen and had no orange blossom honey or bougainvillea. So self-concious was he in fact that he thought he might have to improve his situation somewhat by stridently insisting the next day that his mother plant bougainvilleas in the backyard. Despite his resolute determination however, it was not the right time for such a request seeing as his mother had just returned from the Customs Office where she had been to complain about a lost delivery, and as such Viktor’s request was greeted by first a blank stare, and then some rather angry words. Not to be perturbed however, Viktor steeled his demands and clambered onto the counter where, improvising an empty plastic box for a drum, he banged away chanting “bougainvillea! bougainvillea!” till his mother, at her wit’s end, threw him out of the studio and gave him some money to buy honey.
“I don’t know why I come to you, I’m still small, but that’s why I go to school,” Cristobal said.
“Are we best friends?” Asked Viktor.
“Sure! I’ll now always come to you and we’ll do what best friends do. What do best friends do?�
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“Play.”
“I like to play,” said Cristobal.
“And do homework together.”
“Ok,” Cristobal said. “Next time I’ll bring my backpack.”
“And they always look out for each other and are always there for each other, like the Three Musketeers.”
“I have muscles!” Cristobal showed his tiny biceps.
“Want to play Gameboy?,” asked Viktor.
“Let’s go for a walk!”
“Now?” Viktor asked with wide eyes. “It’s late and cold and dark.”
“It’s not cold, it’s warm! You can wear a jacket if you want.”
“But it’s dangerous out there so late!”
“We’ve promised to protect each other though.”
Viktor thought about it and said: “Ok.” He took his winter jacket down from the closet and a thick winter scarf for Cristobal.
“And if we get lost?” Viktor asked as they stood outside in front of the gate to the street.
“Viktor Abies, 17 Aquifolium Street, 00319 Hedera Helix,” Cristobal said quickly.
“That’s my address!”
“Yes.”
“How do you know my address?”
“I need to find you so I need your address, and I’ve already learned to navigate. Oh, and everything is in your file.”
“I have a file?” Asked Viktor.
“Yes. But there is not much inside.”
“What does it say about me?”
“There’s a copy of your birth certificate, a genetic analysis, your pedigree, your school grades, a psychological profile, a picture of you... so not so much.”
“Has everyone got a record?”
Cristobal nodded. “Yes, everyone. Directly at birth we set up a record for each newborn child and it grows over the years and at the end of their life there is always a very thick file.”
