IMPOSSIBLE STORIES II
ZORAN ŽIVKOVIĆ
IMPOSSIBLE STORIES II
Translated from the Serbian by
Alice Copple-Tošić
To Pete Crowther, a
great publisher, to whom I owe more
than I can ever repay...
PART ONE
COMPARTMENTS
COMPARTMENTS
I ran as fast as my legs would carry me.
The carriage had just pulled away from the buffer at the end of the track. Even though it was still moving slowly, had I been carrying any luggage, particularly anything heavy, I wouldn’t have made it. Luckily, all I was holding was my coat and hat.
I didn’t know how to get onto a moving carriage. Was I first supposed to jump onto the step on the platform of the last car and then grab hold of the handrail, or the other way around? Who knows what I would have done if the back door hadn’t opened just as I caught up to the car. The conductor came out onto the platform.
“Give me your hand!” he shouted.
I stretched out the arm with my coat thrown over it. He grabbed my hand and heaved mightily. The next instant I was standing next to him on the platform.
“Wonderful!” said the conductor with a smile.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, out of breath.
“Come, now! You have no reason to excuse yourself. Quite the contrary. I’m delighted that you joined us. Welcome!”
He patted me lightly on the shoulder. We stood there for several moments without speaking, smiling at each other. “I’m afraid I don’t have a ticket,” I said contritely. “The ticket isn’t important. The essential thing is that you made it.”
“I’m extremely grateful to you.”
“Let’s go in,” said the conductor, moving aside to let me enter first.
I went inside the car. He came in after me, closed the door and then locked it. Turning towards me, he held out both his hands.
“Please let me take your coat and hat.”
“Oh,” I said, and gave them to him.
The conductor opened a narrow closet in the wall next to the rear door. It was full of overcoats, fur coats, mackintoshes, capes, ski jackets and windcheaters. The shelf above it held all kinds of hats and caps. There were shawls, gloves and muffs and three or four umbrellas too. He took a wooden hanger and hung my coat on it, then placed my hat on a free spot in the corner of the shelf. Then he bent down and took a pair of slippers with large pink pompoms out of the lower part of the closet. That’s when I noticed the shoes neatly placed on the floor: they were mostly ordinary shoes of different shapes and sizes, but there were a few pairs of sandals, boots, trainers, galoshes, clogs and thongs.
The conductor put the slippers on the dark-red carpet runner in front of me and then said, still bent over, “Your shoes, if you please.”
I squatted down to untie my shoelaces. I pulled on the slippers as the conductor put my shoes away in the closet. We stood up simultaneously. Suddenly he began to stagger. His hands flew to his forehead and he leaned his back against the closet.
“Aren’t you feeling well?” I asked anxiously.
“No, no, everything’s all right,” he said in a weary voice. “Just a little dizzy spell. It will soon pass.”
The conductor was a tall, broad-shouldered man with bushy eyebrows, and this infirmity seemed unsuited to his size. He soon regained his composure, just as he’d predicted.
“Excuse me.”
“Do you have low blood pressure? I’ve heard that people with low blood pressure feel dizzy when they stand up quickly.”
The conductor’s reply was not immediate. “It’s not from low blood pressure,” he said at last. “Whenever I close the closet, I remember . . . ”
He didn’t finish the sentence. The smile of a moment before turned into a painful frown. I thought I should say something, but didn’t know what.
“All of that has nothing to do with you, of course,” he continued. “Why should you be interested in my feelings? I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest if you told me my past has nothing to do with you and I mustn’t bore you with it.”
“Quite the contrary,” I hastened to assure him. “I would love to hear it, if that will make you feel better . . . ”
“Oh, it will, it will!” His face lit up at once. “How kind of you. Such thoughtfulness is a rare thing nowadays. People are no longer sympathetic to the misfortunes of others. They don’t have time for them. And sometimes all it takes is a little attention to help those near and dear to you.” He paused for a moment and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Thank you!”
“Think nothing of it . . . ” We regarded each other briefly, then he removed his hand from my shoulder.
“She was standing exactly where you are now.” His voice altered to a deep, slow drawl. “When she took off her square-toed white leather pumps with silver buckles and stood on the runner in her stocking feet, virtually barefoot, I felt as though I’d been struck by lightning. Have you ever felt anything like that?”
“I’ve never been struck by lightning.”
“Too bad. It’s hard to imagine if it hasn’t happened to you. I was bending over, giving her some slippers, just as I gave them to you a moment ago. I barely kept my balance. Although quite improper and strictly against the rules of service, I simply couldn’t take my eyes off her calves. She was wearing a rather long skirt, but even so the little bit I could see was enough to make me throw all caution to the wind.”
He stopped speaking and his gaze seemed to wander off somewhere. I waited patiently for it to return.
“She must have understood what was going on, because why else would she just stand there while my eyes shamelessly devoured her legs? She didn’t accept the slippers I offered, and she could have. In fact, common decency required it of her. The comportment of a lady, if nothing else. But no, she chose to give herself up to my lustful eyes. I would even dare to say, although it might be too strong a word—that she surrendered. You won’t reproach me, I hope, for this unbecoming description?”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t know how long we stayed there like that, motionless, I bending over and she shoeless. It must have been a long time. If someone had happened along, it would have been a pretty sight to see. But no one appeared, which was unfortunate, because it might have broken the spell. I might have still had a chance to come to my senses. Although . . . may I be frank with you?”
“You may.”
“It was already too late. I was beyond rescue. She and I both knew it . . . ”
He broke into a sob and covered his eyes with his left hand. Crying suited this large, mature man even less than the infirmity that had just overcome him. Once again I wasn’t sure what to do.
“Then what happened?” I asked softly.
He didn’t reply at once. He took a large white monogrammed handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his conductor’s uniform, wiped his eyes with it and then blew his nose.
“Pardon me,” he said in a voice that still trembled. “What happened next was inevitable. She extended her right foot towards me. The worst thing is that I didn’t hesitate at all. Not a moment. I who am so proud of my common sense and self-control. I put the slipper on her foot, although regulations strictly forbid it. Yes, that’s what I did. Don’t be the least surprised.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Naturally, I had to touch her foot. Just lightly, but that was enough for lightning to strike me again. She took no notice of my trembling and extended her left foot without hesitation. Many would see that as female frivolity, even shamelessness, but I accepted her foot without a second thought. Embraced it, you might even say. In any case, I held it longer than the ti
me needed to put on the slipper. She didn’t object. She serenely consented to let her tiny foot stay in my huge hand. In this.”
He held out his right hand, palm up. We looked at it for several moments in silence, as though it still held signs of her foot. Finally, he clenched his hand into a fist and shook his head.
“What happened next, although dreadful, was bound to happen. You’ll be horrified when I tell you. You might even be disgusted with me. I’m perfectly aware of the fact that I deserve the deepest scorn.”
“Come now . . . ” I protested, on his falling silent.
“No, you mustn’t be kind. I don’t deserve it. I’m responsible for everything. I should have held back. Regardless of the cost. I was spellbound, that’s true. I had lost control of myself, that’s also true. But is that any justification? Are those extenuating circumstances? You be the judge.”
“It would be easier to make a judgment if I knew what happened.”
“Can’t you guess?”
“I’m afraid not.”
He stared at me in disbelief. Then he bowed his head and gazed fixedly at his hands, which he was now rubbing together.
“I kissed her left foot,” he said almost in a whisper.
“Oh,” escaped before I could stop it.
“It wasn’t any kind of passionate kiss, of course,” he hastened to add. “I barely lowered my lips. On the top, by her toes. Over her stockings. I managed at least that much self-restraint.”
“I see,” came my reply, since nothing better crossed my mind.
“There, now you know. It must be clear to you that I am beyond redemption.”
“But . . . ”
“Please, no,” he said, interrupting me. “There’s nothing you can say that will lessen my guilt. I have to live with my damnation. Don’t waste your words. It’s enough that you took the time to listen to me. You are a splendid chap.”
“Thank you, although . . . ”
“Let’s not talk about me anymore. I’ve already taken up too much of your time with my problems. You aren’t here to listen to the lamentations of ill-fated conductors. Are your slippers comfortable?”
I looked at my feet. “Yes, they are.”
“Wonderful. Then let’s go. If you please.”
He passed me and turned left. I followed him. The corridor was wide and lined with the same carpet runner as the entrance to the car. All the windows on the right-hand side were covered with long, pleated velvet curtains, also dark red. Five-branched candelabras lighted the entrance to each of the six compartments. The candle flames burned without flickering.
The conductor stopped at the first compartment. He took off his hat, put it under his arm, smoothed his hair, then knocked on the glassed-in section of the door. A curtain identical to the one on the window opposite it hid the interior from view.
Some time passed before a woman’s small voice was heard from the compartment. “Come in.”
The conductor gave me a brief, indecisive look before he pulled the sliding door aside and moved the curtain slightly, just enough to stick his head inside.
“I am pleased to inform you that we have a new passenger. The gentleman is very polished and full of compassion. I thought you might enjoy his company.”
Quite a while passed before the same woman’s voice replied, “It will be our pleasure.” The conductor withdrew his head, grinned at me, then pulled back the curtain and gestured toward the interior with his hand.
I stopped at the entrance to the compartment. On the left, next to the door, sat a plump, balding man in a three-piece suit, with reading glasses halfway down his nose. His hands were busy knitting. A bright yellow scarf cascaded down from large knitting needles. The place next to his was empty, and beside the window (with the curtain drawn) was a tiny middle-aged woman dressed in black. The hat she was wearing was also black and had a lace veil that covered half her face. In her hands was an open book, small but thick, with a dark cover. On the right sat three young girls aged ten or eleven. They were wearing identical sailor suits, white knee socks and patent leather shoes. Long braids dangled below their caps and their faces were exactly similar.
I nodded and said, “Hello. Thank you for being so kind as to let me join you.”
Four pairs of eyes looked at me. Only the man kept his eyes fixed on his knitting.
“Come in,” said the woman in black at last in a squeaky voice, giving a curt nod in return. She indicated the empty seat next to her.
As soon as I entered the compartment, there came from behind me the sound of curtains moving and the sliding door closing. I sat down and folded my hands in my lap. My eyes were drawn to the large chandelier hanging directly under the compartment’s high ceiling. The five candles on it were not real; frosted light bulbs shaped like flames brightly lit the interior.
I kept my eyes trained upward until the thin voice addressed me once more. “You are undoubtedly wondering why I’m wearing black.”
I turned to my left. “No, I . . . ”
“Let me tell you right away,” she continued. “I’m in mourning for my late husband. There he is, over there.”
She bent forward a bit and nodded in the direction of the man and his knitting. I turned towards him. He just sat there, deeply absorbed in his work. But his movements became a bit livelier.
“Mama,” said the girl sitting in the middle.
The lady looked at her sharply from under her veil. The girl quickly lowered her head and the other two did the same in unison.
“He might not look dead,” continued the woman, “but don’t let appearances deceive you. He’s dead as far as I’m concerned.”
She lowered the book into her lap and took a small black handkerchief out of her left sleeve. She slipped it under her veil and dabbed at the corners of her eyes, then returned it to her sleeve.
“He was a wonderful man. An exemplary husband, a caring and gentle father. He devoted all his free time to his daughters, teaching them different skills that young girls need to know, acting in particular. You’d never think he’d stoop so low. And right in front of his children. Isn’t it just awful?”
“I wouldn’t know . . . ”
“But you have every right to know. I will tell you everything, then you can decide for yourself.”
“Mama,” said the girl next to the window without lifting her head.
The woman raised her veil and shot a piercing glance with tiny black eyes.
“Apple!” she said brusquely.
“Not apples! Please! Anything but that!” replied the girl, terrified.
“All three!”
“No, Mama!” cried the other two girls in harmony.
“At once!” hissed the woman.
The girl in the middle quickly reached into the deep pocket of her skirt and took out three apples wrapped in white napkins. She handed one to each sister. With trembling fingers they unwrapped the large, green fruit. They didn’t start eating right away but looked pleadingly at their mother. The woman’s expression was unrelenting. They sighed as they bit into the apples.
“I certainly must seem too strict to you,” said the woman, turning to me once again, “but now that I’m a widow, I have no choice. All the responsibility for raising my daughters lies with me. Should I let them degenerate like their father?”
“No, of course not,” I said, shaking my head.
“After hearing what happened, you might lay some of the blame on her. Perhaps all the blame. You might think that he is merely the innocent victim of a cunning seductress. But it’s not like that. No one can be seduced against his will, correct? Why didn’t anyone seduce me like that?”
“Seductress?”
“I had a feeling something bad was about to happen as soon as I saw the conductor all wide-eyed when he came to ask us if we would take her into our compartment. I don’t doubt in the least that she’d bewitched him beforehand. He seemed confused, even stunned. You must know what a man looks like when he’s in the grip of a certain ki
nd of woman?”
“I can imagine . . . ”
“There, you see. I was just about to say that we were unable to accommodate anyone else, but my husband prevented me. I was so amazed I was speechless. He’d always left such decisions up to me before. It’s only natural, wouldn’t you say?”
“Without a doubt.”
“He said it would be an honor to have her join us. Just imagine—an honor!” I shook my head.
“I had a fresh slight waiting for me when she came in. She simply sat down where you are sitting now. Without a word of gratitude. As if that place belonged to her by birthright. She didn’t even look at me, as though I wasn’t in the compartment. She held her head high, flaunting and haughty. And then her scent hit me.”
“Scent?” I repeated inquiringly, since the lady had broken off.
“Cloying, aggressive. Depraved. You know who uses such scent.”
“Do you mean . . . ?”
“Please, we aren’t alone.” She nodded her head towards the girls, who were tearfully eating their apples.
“Oh, of course. Excuse me.”
“We all realized right away what we were dealing with, but did he as the father of the family do anything about it? If not out of respect for his wife, then at least for the sake of his young daughters? He should have ordered her to leave at once, that would have been the only way to redeem himself at least in part for having so recklessly let her enter. But he didn’t. He didn’t throw her out, and then he had the gall to strike up a conversation with her. Lascivious, promiscuous small talk, actually. Within our earshot. As I watched our girls blush in embarrassment, I wanted to sink through the floor.”
“Is that possible?” I turned towards the man engrossed in his knitting.
“Yes, quite so. And do you know what they were allegedly talking about?”
“No.”
“The weather.”
“The weather?”
“That’s right. The hot sun, swollen clouds, humid air, raging storms.”
Impossible Stories II Page 1
