Impossible Stories II

by Zoran Zivkovic

  She stared out the window for about ten minutes, then sighed and looked around the café. Nothing around her moved. The two old regular customers were completely immersed in their broadsheet newspapers, and the young couple was almost touching noses over the table above half-emptied glasses with straws, completely preoccupied with each other. The cashier’s head was bowed, as though looking at something in her lap, but Vesna knew that she was dozing.

  Her eyes rested on the notebook still leaning against the cash register. No one had asked for it yet. She doubted her boss would decide to keep it. It wasn’t quirky enough for his taste. He would probably throw it away that very day. She hesitated for a moment, then went up to the cash register silently and took it, careful not to disturb the cashier’s slumber.

  If her boss were to appear suddenly, he couldn’t hold anything against her. Even he had to know that a notebook wasn’t the same as a book. The only person who had the right to chide her was its owner, but she greatly doubted that he or she would turn up. Her conscience pricked her just slightly when she opened it and started to read.

  Andrei rarely went into the atrium on rainy days. The diffused light seemed hazier than usual then, almost like mist, and the monotonous drumming of the rain on the glass roof only heightened the dreariness. He didn’t like the cold neon lightning in the rooms either, but it seemed the lesser of two evils.

  There were no visitors yet. This was not unusual for a Monday morning, particularly on such a day. Very bad weather kept people away from the museum the same as very nice weather. No one might even appear until noon, when the students would start to drop in.

  He wandered through the enormous rooms, feeling their emptiness press against him. If he’d been in another part of the museum where everything wasn’t so familiar, he would at least be able to admire the beauty of the exhibited works, not like here where he hardly even noticed it anymore. The museum administration liked to keep the guards in the same part of the museum for the very reason that they knew all its details perfectly and were not distracted by beauty that would lessen their vigilance.

  He sat on the broad middle bench without a back in the fourth room and stared at a large landscape. Six-and-a-half years ago when the museum had hired him and all of this had been new, his favorite place had been in front of this painting. The brightness it radiated seemed to burn his eyes. The gently waving field of poppies seemed ablaze under the yellow sphere whose heat was almost palpable.

  After seeing it every day, his fascination had inevitably started to wane, until the painting finally became the same as the others whose magic had worn off. Now he tried to revive his former passion, hoping the radiance of the ripe summer it depicted might lessen the dejection that had engulfed him as soon as he’d walked into the rain that morning. But his hopes were in vain. The landscape no longer radiated a thing.

  He lowered his eyes from the painting to the bench and stared for several moments at the leather portfolio next to him, unaware that he was even looking at it. He’d taken it from his locker and returned it there as soon as he’d arrived, certain that someone would come in search of it as soon as the museum opened. But more than an hour and a half had passed since then and no one had appeared.

  He picked it up and ran his fingers briefly over the uneven brown surface. He knew he had no right to see what was inside. No painter, not even a beginner, likes anyone to look at a work in progress. If it weren’t for his dejected mood, he most likely would have resisted the temptation.

  Trying to justify himself, he reasoned that there would be no one to witness his offence. He leaned a little to the side and glanced through the door into the third room. This was unnecessary because, in the muffled silence of the museum, his skilled ear would have heard any visitor as soon as they entered the first room from the atrium. But as an unskilled offender he had to make doubly sure.

  Then cautiously, as though someone really was watching, he opened the portfolio.

  Nada reached the movie theater quite a bit earlier than planned. She’d taken care of some administrative work that had piled up the week before. She’d been convinced that she would spend a lot of time standing in line, but the crowds in front of the various payment windows were much smaller than she’d expected. The awful weather seemed to have discouraged people from the usual Monday crush.

  She was relieved to have shortened the time spent in those places since she hated standing in line and dealing with paperwork. Now that she’d finished earlier than expected, she was in a quandary. If she’d waited in line as long as she’d feared, she would have reached the theater at three-thirty and spent the slightly more than two hours until the first show doing the weekly in-depth cleaning of the auditorium.

  Now she had enough time to go back home, but the thought of the almost one-hour bus ride to the suburbs and back again was not very appealing. What would she do then, just hang around her apartment for a while? She didn’t know what she’d do in the movie theater that early either, but she’d find something to while away the time. Anything was better than staring out a bus window at a cheerless view distorted by streaks of pouring rain.

  After she’d thoroughly cleaned the auditorium and vacuumed the screen as well, she returned to the foyer. She sat in the ticket booth and stared blankly through the glass doors. If she had known how to operate the projector, she could have given herself a private showing of the day’s movie. The fact that she would watch it three more times didn’t bother her. One can never get enough of beauty.

  But even if she had known how to mount the film, she would have thought twice before doing so. The movie operator was a considerate and obliging man, as cat owners often are, and he had four of them. But he didn’t like anyone to meddle in the projection room. He wouldn’t even let her clean in there; he did it himself.

  And then it occurred to her how to pass at least part of the time until six. The DVD was still on the counter in front of her. No one had come for it the day before. If the owner showed up, it wouldn’t be until right before the first show. And besides, the theater was still closed.

  Just to be on the safe side, she went up to the doors and locked them. Then she took the brown case and headed for the wall facing the ticket booth where there was a black metal bracket with a small television and a player, one below the other. Sometimes they received movie trailers and played them before the show.

  She turned on the television, put the DVD in the player and took the remote control into the booth. She had no idea what it contained, but just now she thought that anything was better than staring at the rain as she would have on the bus. In any case, if she didn’t like it, she could always turn it off.

  She pushed the “play” button.

  Like most stores on the square that were open on Sunday, the second-hand bookstore was closed the next day. Zoran didn’t go out then because for some reason he felt he didn’t have the right to be there without the bookstore owner. Most likely the man wouldn’t hold it against him, but all the same. In addition, even when the weather was good he couldn’t count on a large public on Monday, and in such a downpour he’d be lucky to attract even one of the rare passers-by.

  Nevertheless, he asked to be taken to the covered passage at his usual time. He didn’t feel like sitting at home. He’d tried to play for himself, but even though the drapes were drawn in the room, all the oboe produced were the colors of the heavy clouds crushing the world. There wasn’t even a trace of the clear sky’s deep blue.

  He hoped that playing in this place, even without an audience, would clear up the weather at least a little. He took out the oboe, leaned the case against the wall so it wouldn’t touch the wet sidewalk, and started a composition that had always summoned the most delicate shades of blue. But he stopped right after the prelude.

  Surrounding noises had never bothered him very much before, but now no matter how hard he tried to ignore the drumming of heavy drops, it interfered hopelessly with his music. It didn’t even help when he lowered
his eyelids in an unconscious attempt to close himself off even further from the outside world. He simply could not block out the jagged sound that sullied everything generated by his instrument.

  If only there were some way to get rid of it. Being outside, he couldn’t just listen to music and eliminate the rain. Or could he? He remembered the Discman he always carried with him for those occasions when he wanted to listen to colors and was unable to play himself. The flat device was in his jacket pocket along with the small earphones that could now be his salvation.

  He reached to take it out, but his hand stopped in mid-air. The Discman would be of no use. When he’d left home he hadn’t properly prepared for this irregular outing. He didn’t have a single CD with him. If the second-hand bookstore or a nearby music store were open he could borrow or buy one. Everything on this colorless day seemed to conspire against him.

  He reached for his mobile phone to call for them to pick him up since he had nothing left to do there. Just before he touched the left button in the second row from the top, something suddenly crossed his mind. He closed the phone that hung on a cord around his neck, picked up the oboe case, opened it and slipped his hand into the small pocket under the lid. His lips spread into a smile.

  He’d completely forgotten the CD he’d been given on Saturday and tucked away there. It made no difference what music it contained. Anything would do to chase away the rain. With swift movements he put on the earphones, opened the Discman, put in the CD and started it.

  4

  Vesna closed the notebook on the counter in front of her, then raised her eyes to the café windows. She was not surprised at what she saw. The square was bathed in radiance as though the sun itself were pouring over the stone flags. The puddles had all disappeared, as though it hadn’t been pouring a moment before.

  Andrei closed the portfolio and placed it on the bench. He stood up and headed for the door out of the fourth room. His pace quickened in the third room, he started running in the second and he sped through the first. When he burst into the atrium he found a blinding beam of light pouring down from above. The frosted glass roof posed no obstacle whatsoever.

  Nada pressed the “stop” button on the remote control but the screen did not go blank. On the contrary, it was glistening, showing a familiar sight. She smiled and then turned her head towards the glass doors so she could look directly at what was on the television. The brightly-lit square was even prettier that way.

  Zoran took off the earphones. He could hear colors even without the music. They were all around him, red-hot and blazing. He swayed, stunned by their force. He seemed to be in the center of a soundless crescendo. And then the colors started to take shapes that became increasingly visible.

  Vesna took off her apron, came out from behind the counter and headed for the door. The four customers were sitting stock-still, as though on a photograph. She stood in front of the café for a moment, head raised, as her face hungrily absorbed the sun’s warmth. Then she headed across the square towards the fountain.

  Andrei continued running down the long hall that led out of the museum. He was aware that dashing about like that was inappropriate in such a place, but this meant nothing anymore. The call of the sun overpowered all other considerations. He was already halfway to the fountain when he realized that he could slow down. He was no longer in a rush to go anywhere.

  Nada looked once more at the frozen picture on the screen, then left the booth. Before she went out, she looked through the glass doors at the square for several moments. No more streaks of water distorted the world. But it was not until she went outside and headed for the fountain that its full magnificence swept over her.

  Zoran walked out from under the covered passage. He no longer had to do it circumspectly, feeling the sidewalk in front of him with his foot. The fiery forms around him had stabilized. He could even see them with his eyes closed, but felt it was more decorous to keep them open. None of the others making their way towards the fountain had their eyes closed.

  Vesna sat on the wide stone parapet on the southern side of the fountain and looked in amazement at the section of the square in front of her. What had once been buildings was now giant-sized shelves filled with books. The first thing to cross her mind was that more than one lifetime would be needed to read them all. But such limitations no longer plagued her.

  Andrei had just recovered his breath when he sat down on the western side of the fountain. Then he turned breathless again when he saw the facades of the houses completely covered with paintings, like a colossal gallery wall. He was briefly horrified at the thought that a sudden burst of rain might damage them, but then remembered that there was nothing but sunny skies in that place.

  Nada sat on the northern side of the fountain. When she looked straight ahead, her head started to spin. The movie screen blocked out all the buildings in front of her. Indeed, did art films deserve anything less? She wondered anxiously how she could watch them in all of this light, but was comforted by the certainty that it would not do any harm.

  Zoran sat on the eastern side of the fountain. He didn’t know what the houses on the square looked like, but this was not how he’d imagined them. The buildings were in the shape of musical instruments. An entire symphony orchestra stretched before him. There was no fear of any noise jeopardizing the music. Now that he could see the sounds, he would listen with his eyes and not his ears.

  Vesna first decided to make up for what she’d missed on Saturday. All she had to do was think of the book she’d set aside to go to work in the café and it emerged from its place on the bookshelf. It opened up and started to increase in size until it covered all the others. Now her only task was to surrender to the joy of uninterrupted reading in the sunshine.

  Andrei knew at once which painting would take priority. Now he realized why the field of poppies had lost its radiance. The artificial lighting had destroyed its spirit and only the sun could bring it back. The painting started to expand too, not just laterally but forward as well, into a new dimension that finally encompassed the bedazzled viewer.

  Nada didn’t know which film to watch first. She loved them all equally. How could one beauty be distinguished from another? The order in which she watched them was unimportant. The fact that she no longer had to worry about the cleanliness of the auditorium, the poor attendance, the long trip to work, that was important. Now that she’d been relieved of these trivialities she could truly enjoy herself.

  Zoran’s eyes could bring any instrument to life. Or all of them at once if he wanted. Later there would be time for orchestral works. First he had to repay his debt to the oboe. During the long days of darkness it had been the only one to offer the comfort of blue. He caressed it with his new sight and his eyes filled with heavenly sounds.

  PART FOUR

  ARMARCORD

  1. Crime and Punishment

  When I opened my eyes, it was like I’d been submerged in milk. An undefined, amorphous whiteness surrounded me on all sides. I stared at it emptily for a while until my eyes focused enough to make out where I was: lying in a bed without a frame, like a sort of catafalque, in the middle of a small square room. There was nothing else in it. The walls and high ceiling were covered with immaculate white padding. A bright light from an invisible source increased the glare of the whiteness. I squinted to protect my eyes from snow blindness.

  The sheet that covered me up to my chin was also white. Wanting to see something that wasn’t white, I tried to take my right hand out from under the sheet. But the wide belt strapped over my lower arm prevented me. My left arm was strapped down too. A belt bound me across the chest and another one bound my ankles. I could squirm but not get up.

  “How are you?”

  I was unable to determine the origin of the deep male voice. It seemed to be coming from all around me.

  “Restrained,” I replied, not knowing where to look.

  “That is unavoidable. But except for that, how do you feel?”

 
I ruminated briefly. “Fine.”

  “There isn’t any nausea? You don’t feel like vomiting?”

  “No.”

  “Please shake your head several times, keeping your eyes open.”

  “Why?”

  “To check whether there is any dizziness.”

  “How can I feel dizzy if I’m lying down?”

  “It’s possible. Please move your head quickly from side to side.”

  I hesitated slightly, then did it. Everything began to rock as though I was suddenly on a ship caught in a storm. I closed my eyes to regain my balance.

  “Wonderful,” pronounced the voice.

  “Wonderful that I’m dizzy?” I asked, opening my eyes again. The rocking sensation had not quite passed.

  “That’s right. Dizziness is a good sign. Nausea would be bad.”

  “Sign of what?”

  “That everything is all right.”

  “Nothing looks all right to me. What kind of place is this? What am I doing here? Why am I restrained? And who in the world are you?”

  Several moments passed before the voice spoke again, but it was not to give me any answers.

  “What is your name?”

  I opened my mouth to say my name, but nothing came out. All I did was stare blankly straight ahead.

  “What do you know about yourself?”

  My answer was silence once again.

  “When and where were you born?” continued the voice relentlessly. “Who are your parents? Are you married? Do you have any children? Where do you live? What do you do for a living?”

  The questions washed over me like a huge confusing wave. I had to know the answers to them, of course, but all there was in my memory was a hollow whiteness resembling the one that surrounded me.