by Alek Popov
Suddenly, he turned towards her and smiled, as though he had read her thoughts. Nice teeth, agile tongue! She tried to think of something more pleasant. In less than 24 hours she would be 10 kilometres above the ocean. Her new Paraguayan passport was issued under the name of Esmeralda Corazon. She could open a private fitness centre in Nassau. She even knew what it was going to be called: ‘The Onyx Eye’. She was asking herself how much to send to her parents? Maybe $500 a month would be enough? Or too much? The wheels went cachunk-cachunk as they crossed some old rails, which had sunk deep into the tarmac. There were rows of warehouses on both sides of the road. Their damp arched brick entrances were covered with greenish lichen. Most of the lamps were broken. From time to time a bottle crunched under the wheels. A big cistern blocked the end of the street. Over its blacked metal body a half erased label was still readable, Pooper-scooper. There was a big metal door underneath, covered in bright apocalyptic graffiti.
“We’re here,” said Desmond and pressed the horn.
“What is this place?” she frowned.
“I don’t think that we should spend this particular night in the Ritz,” he said, laughing.
The door opened with a muffled shriek. Desmond parked the car in the dark tunnel and switched the lights off.
There was a waft of stale air.
“Come in!” said a powerful voice.
He grabbed her hand. Where he was taking her? The rings that decorated her toes hurt her. He leaned her against some wall and slowly unbuttoned her coat. His lips tenderly started sucking her earring.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she whispered excited.
“I want to see them,” purred Desmond.
“Okay, here they are...”
Her coat fell to the floor. He stepped back a little. The priceless stones sparkled in the dark with a clear, deep light.
“They are beautiful,” he mumbled after a while.
“But more importantly expensive...” said some other voice cynically.
“Desmond!!!” cried Katya in fear and started looking for her coat.
In the metal tube echoed the clack of a shuttle switch. A dirty white lamp clicked on. She stuck to the wall like a perforated butterfly.
Two automatic machine guns pointed at her bosom – that was the first thing she noticed, of course. Then their faces: three black males, two women and one Chinese. The women held the machine guns. A red band crossed the forehead of one of them. They were all between seventeen and twenty-five and they were wearing combat boots, combat trousers and black jackets. In the middle of the group Desmond himself was standing, his hands in his pockets like Johnny West.
“Desmond!” repeated Katya.
He shook his head.
“I’m not Desmond. I’m sorry I’m only telling you this now. My real name is Moke-le-Ono. The eagle’s eye. I’m a fighter.”
“What a kind of a fucking fighter are you?” She slid her hand into her pocket.
“Don’t do stupid things, Kate!” he warned, stepping towards her, “Easy! These guys are not kidding, give me that here.”
He took the gun out of her hand and stuffed it into his pocket. Then wrapped her in her coat, almost with care.
“Bastard!” she hissed.
“Comrades, leave us alone!” Moke-le-Ono turned to the others.
Their shadows quietly disappeared behind the boxes, scattered everywhere in disorder.
“Listen, Kate,” he put his hands onto her shoulders. “Listen to me very carefully, you did a really nice job for the Revolution and you should be proud of it.”
“Fuck you!” she shouted. “I don’t give a damn about your fucking Revolution!”
“I know,” he nodded. “You come from Eastern Europe. You screwed up the socialist idea over there. Nothing sacred is left anymore. You compromised with theidea!See what you’vebecome, though. Servants to the West. Slaves. Regardless of whether you are dancing around the pole or typing in front of a computer. Give me dollar, I’ll show you my cunt – that is the end of your philosophy. So, do you like showing your cunt to everyone? To let them stuff different things into your ass while you clench your teeth?”
“That is none of your business,” she replied still stroppily.
“Naturally. But you don’t like it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here with a couple million pounds on top of your body. Because the final moment always comes when you realise you’ve had enough. And you need a change, isn’t that so?”
“Exactly!” she agreed energetically. “That’s why I want my share and you can do what the hell you want to with yours. Invest it in any revolution you like, but I have other plans.”
“My poor little Kate!” sighed Moko-le-Ono. “She believes she’ll get away. She has watched too many American movies. She thinks she’s going to disappear like that with £250,000 and make herself a little heaven on the ocean beach. The fantasies of the middle class. Regular income, regular shags. Walks on the beach. If possible, good old Desmond also bathing his ass somewhere nearby. Sorry baby, life is a different movie! Types like your jeweller don’t easily get over losses of that size. Maybe you should have killed him after all.”
“We have the pictures,” she answered after some hesitation. “They’ll ruin him if they appear in public...”
“You’re not very convinced,” he added. “And quite rightly. He is already ruined financially. And when you are broke your reputation is the last thing you worry about. At least, it’s like that in this world. You cannot escape Kate; they’ll chase you to the last hole. And you know what? They’ll get you exactly when you are in your paradise! When you swing into your rubber chair in the middle of your pool and drink piña colada from the coconut shell. Because they have also watched American movies like you, even more than you, and they know exactly where to find you. And if they find you in your inflatable rubber chair, in the middle of your pool, they’re not going to be distracted by your tits, no matter how nice they are. If you are there that is. But!” he lifted his finger in front of her face. “You’re not going to be there! I promise you that! We’ll see to that! They’ll never find you!”
“You’ll take care of me, huh?” she hissed maliciously like a cornered weasel.
“I’m offering you a way out!” the reflections of the diamonds sparkled in his eyes. “I don’t want them to say that I walked over a human being without giving them the possibility to join the cause. The Revolution continues, Kate. We aren’t giving up the party only because a bunch of renegades wiped their arses with our flag. The idea, Kate, they cannot touch the idea. Look what is happening! The imperialists are ready to suffocate every sparkle of freedom in the world. The people are turning into herds of cattle, grist to the mill. The individuals – into throats and arses. Crowds of wage-slaves are flooding the towns like rats...The banks are piling up dossiers. But the revolution continues. And it needs fuel. And we have more than we need! Tomorrow we are flying to Columbia. And then we are going to cross the border to Peru, where we are going to join the ranks of our brothers in arms. Are you coming with us?”
“Do I have a choice?” she said sharply.
“Only way out, sorry...” he shook his head. “On a small narrow path which is going to take you to the shining peaks of the fight. I’ll stay next to you. We will be comrades.”
“Are you going to fuck me from time to time?” asked Katya, licking her lips.
His hand struck her cheek, producing a flat noise. Her earring fell to the floor turning like a spinning top, throwing blinding sparkles all around.
“Cynical bitch,” he hissed through his teeth. “Eastern Europeans...!”
CLOSING REMARKS
VARADIN DIMITROV finished his mandate without any particular accidents. After an interruption he went back to the numerical therapy of Dr Pepolen. His regular sex with Doroteya Totomanova helped him maintain a perfect mental balance. And when four years later they offered him the vacant diplomatic post in sunny Nigeria, he accepted it without any fuss.
ROBERT ZIEBLING continues to successfully run ‘Famous Connections’, but with more vigilance. Three months after Katya’s disappearance, he had a visit from a strange man, who wanted to make sure that some diamonds were not in his possession. During the investigation, Ziebling’s neck was broken and for some time he had to wear a plaster collar. Since then, the agency avoids employing girls from Eastern Europe.
KOSTA PASTRICHEFF’S contract was suddenly terminated four months after the memorable dinner. He is now head chef of a four star restaurant in the foothills of the Vitosha mountain. His speciality is called ‘Celtic trotter’s jelly’. Many of Sofia’s elite go there to taste it.
Soon after his arrival in Sofia, a lucky sequence of coincidences gave RACHO RACHEV a mandate in the People’s Republic of China. He still lives in the secret department and is saving all his salary.
CHAVDAR TOLOMANOV went through a heavy financial crisis, which resulted in his figure regaining its previous elegance. He stayed in London and is now a street actor. He can be spotted in the area of Covent Garden Market, where he is playing the Green Man. The performance is partly sponsored by Granny’s Apple Juice Co.
THE FIRE-DANCER made a huge impression on a group of high-ranking people during his demonstration in Kew Gardens. He is currently working for the Sultan of Brunei and is responsible for the illuminations in the Palace. His net earnings are in the region of $100,000 p.a. and he is thinking of adopting Islam, which would save him some taxes.
DEVORINA PEZANTOVA is still working hard on her society image and is reaping the rewards of successful campaigns everywhere in the EU. At the minute she is organising an Assembly of Bulgarian Talent, which is expected to attract lots of foreign guests.
RUBE SPARKS never filed an official complaint with the police. For some time he has been in the process of delicate negotiations with Viacheslav Levine, an Israeli citizen of Russian origin, who has promised to return the diamonds for a 30% commission. What Rube does not realise is that Levine never works for less that 70% commission. The other 30% he usually donates anonymously to his client’s widow, or, if there is no widow, to an Eastern European children’s trust.
From the front-line diary of ESMERALDA CORAZON: ‘12.12.200? Elevation 1200. Bolivia, Nancahuazu gorges. Today at lunchtime they shot the Eagle’s Eye. Some months ago I would’ve been happy, but the truth is that fighting side-by-side brings people together, even more than sex... We’ve buried him in the mud and camouflaged his grave with ferns. One day, when the Revolution succeeds, they’ll build him a monument for sure, but for now he’s waiting for the Second Coming. Fuck it, I still have blood on my fatigues. The fascists have occupied both ends of the gorge, and are firing mortars (Made in the Czech Republic) at us every hour on the hour. It hasn’t stopped raining for the past three days. Everything is falling apart, apart from the laminated biography of Che – a present from Fidel for the Revolution’s anniversary. I highly appreciate the gesture, but the photo with chopped hands on the last page somehow makes me nervous... We eat insects. I caught myself a frog and I’m planning to eat it, when they are not watching me. I’ll escape from this shit, whatever the price! That which does not kill us, makes us stronger! Whoever said that should go shoot himself!’
BEST OF THE BALKANS ISTROS BOOKS’ TITLES FOR 2014
Hamam Balkania by Vladislav Bajac (Serbia)
Translated by Randall A. Major
An exploration into the power structures of the Ottoman Empire, juxtaposed with musings on contemporary concepts of identity and faith. A truly ambitious book that rewards the reader with insights into some of the great questions of our time. (January 2014) ISBN: 978-1-908236-14-2
Death in the Museum of Modern Art by Alma Lazarevska (Bosnia)
Translated by Celia Hawkesworth
Avoiding the easy traps of politics and blame, Lazarevska reveals a world full of incidents and worries so similar to our own, and yet always under the shadow of the snipers and the grenades of the recent Bosnian war. (June 2014) ISBN: 978-1-908236-17-3
False Apocalypse by Fatos Lubonja (Albania)
Translated by John Hodgson
1997, a tragic year in the history of post-communist Albania. This is one man’s story of how the world’s most isolated country emerged from Stalinist dictatorship and fell victim to a plague of corruption and flawed ‘pyramid’ financial schemes which brought the people to the edge of ruin. (October 2014) ISBN: 978-1-908236-19-7
The Great War by Aleksandar Gatalica (Serbia)
Translated by Will Firth
In the centenary year of the start of WWI, we finally have a Serbian author taking on the themes of a war that was started by a Serb assassin’s bullet. Following the destinies of over seventy characters, on all warring sides, Gatalica depicts the destinies of winners and losers, generals and opera singers, soldiers and spies, in the conflict that marked the beginning of the Twentieth Century. (October 2014) ISBN: 978-1-908236-20-3
This book has been selected to receive financial assistance from English PEN’s Writers in Translation programme supported by Bloomberg and Arts Council England. English PEN exists to promote literature and its understanding, uphold writers’ freedoms around the world, campaign against the persecution and imprisonment of writers for stating their views, and promote the friendly co-operation of writers and free exchange of ideas.
Each year, a dedicated committee of professionals selects books that are translated into English from a wide variety of foreign languages. We award grants to UK publishers to help translate, promote, market and champion these titles. Our aim is to celebrate books of outstanding literary quality, which have a clear link to the PEN charter and promote free speech and intercultural understanding.
In 2011, Writers in Translation’s outstanding work and contribution to diversity in the UK literary scene was recognised by Arts Council England. English PEN was awarded a threefold increase in funding to develop its support for world writing in translation.
www.englishpen.org
