The Lack of Light, page 30
WHY DID I betray myself? I’ve asked myself that question countless times, and still do, with masochistic brutality, dissecting that moment over and over again. Should I have had an inkling that gunfire is not the only thing that brings sudden death, that this immobilizing fear becomes a memorial you erect in your mind so you can spend a lifetime grieving for yourself, for the self that you were before you had to become acquainted with the sight of damp February earth mingling with brain matter? Should I have had an inkling that the choices had long since been made, and that no matter what path we took that evening, it would inevitably lead to ruin?
I PRESSED ON, undeterred, pulling the unresisting Dina behind me. I didn’t stop, didn’t look back. I felt another wave of nausea rising, but I had to hold out, I could only collapse once this was all over. First I had to get Dina and myself safely to the other side, away from the shooting, away from the corpses, away from the unspeakable. When we arrived at the pipe, the evening was already closing in on us, but I still hoped we would make it across in time. Without letting go of Dina, I began to put one foot cautiously in front of the other. We had reached the middle when I felt a jolt. Dina had snatched her hand back and stopped where she was. I turned to look at her. The expression on her face frightened me. All fear, and any trace of disgust or uncertainty, had suddenly vanished, and the fire-eater stood before me once more. The real, true Dina seemed to have returned: the best of all possible Dinas, and, at the same time, the least predictable.
“What are you doing?” I asked, anxiously.
“We have to go back,” she announced. “We can’t run away like this. You know they’re going to kill him. We can’t leave just like that, and still be able to live with ourselves.”
Behind us, the screams had fallen silent. I didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. I hated what she was saying, although I could see that she was right, and that she was about to ask something of me that was bigger than I was.
“What should we do?” A superfluous question, to which I already knew the answer.
“Give me the money, Keto,” she said, and reached out a dirty, trembling hand. She sniffed several times and it was only then that I realized she was crying; silent, uncomplaining tears were running down her cheeks.
“What about Rati?” My voice cracked, and I too began to cry.
“I will get Rati out of there, I promise you, I’ll get him out, but first we have to go back. You know we have to.”
As if to confirm her words, another shot echoed behind us, and we froze. My tears, which were now flowing freely, sent me into spasms. Just then, I heard another cry: the red-haired man was alive.
“We can just give them part of it, right? We’re not going to give away all the money . . . Dina, Dina, I mean . . .” I stammered, pulling out the envelope and starting to sort the notes in the dark.
In the background, more screaming.
“Give me the money, Keto!” she shouted. “Stop that! We don’t have time, come on, give me the envelope. They’ll search us anyway if we pull out a wad of cash. Give it here!”
“But . . .” I was trying to cling to a senseless hope.
“Keto, goddammit!” She snatched the crumpled envelope from my hand and went back, arms outstretched for balance, without waiting for me. I teetered, fearing for a moment that I might fall; the darkness had already sucked us in.
“Hey, you—wait!” I heard Dina’s clear, calm voice saying.
“What are you doing back here? Didn’t I tell you, Ika, the kid’s into guns! Do you want to blow him away? What do I get in return if I let you shoot him?”
“You have to let him go. Right now,” Dina ordered sharply. Her demand met with a scornful laugh.
“He and his friend owe us a whole lot of money. And I’m afraid his friend won’t be able to pay us back now. I can’t let him go without the money, sweetheart. And now you need to make yourself scarce before I get really mad. Your friend was smart enough to disappear, so don’t you go playing the hero.”
These words were the slap in the face that I needed. I wiped away my tears on my coat sleeves and ran the rest of the way back to the ghoulish scene of this dialogue.
“How much?” I could hear the level of self-control this was requiring of Dina, and how quickly she might lose it.
“I didn’t disappear,” I said quietly, looking at the redhead, whose pants leg was now saturated with blood. In the dim light of the streetlamp, I could see the alarmingly unhealthy color of his skin.
“Too much. Now get out of here, we’re busy.” He loaded his obrez and took a step toward the red-haired boy.
“Is five thousand enough?” Dina called out.
“What did you say?” The moronic grin vanished from his face. He came toward her with his loaded semiautomatic, not stopping until he was almost touching the tip of her nose.
“Dollars! Is five thousand dollars enough?”
“And you’re going to get hold of that, are you?” He pulled out a cigarette from behind his ear and stuck it between his lips.
“Yes,” said Dina. I could hear her breathing faster now.
“When?”
“When you let him go.”
“Where are you going to get that much money from, sweetheart?”
“Don’t call me that, you dickhead!”
I flinched; she needed to be careful. She mustn’t provoke him too much. I could see his glassy eyes, and there was no mercy in them, no restraint, no boundaries.
“Sorry, sister.” It seemed he was still amused enough to overlook her insult.
“That’s my business. Are you going to let him go?”
“Sure, no problem. If this pussy here is worth that much to you, why not?”
“My friend will take him to the exit, and when they’re outside, you’ll get your money. I’ll stay here. As your hostage, if you like,” she said, not retreating a single centimeter.
“Okay, if that’s what you want. But you know what’ll happen if you don’t keep your word? You don’t get any bonus points for being a girl, understand? It might even be a little worse for a girl than for this pervert—you know that too, right?” And he gave her a revoltingly lewd grin.
“Yes, I can imagine it would,” said Dina. “Now let the two of them leave.”
I looked at her in horror, but luckily the bald guy preempted me.
“Oh, no, no, no, that’s not how this works, sweetheart. Your little friend can take your hero to the exit and then come back, unless she wants something really unpleasant to happen to you. And I’m sure she doesn’t want that, she’s a nice girl. Look at her, Ika. She’s going to take him out and then come back. Two are always a better guarantee than one.”
“No, I’m not leaving you alone with them!” I shouted.
“Keto, do as he says. And hurry up, he’s losing too much blood.” She brooked no contradiction. Yes, that was her, the best of all possible Dinas, the Dina I had surrendered myself to as a child, body and soul. I glanced at the blood, and obeyed. The nervous minion came and loomed over me, and even if this attempt at intimidation was not entirely successful, he was clearly eager to learn, in his sickening way.
“Leave her, Ika,” the bald guy laughed.
“No, I can’t leave you girls here alone. I’m staying.” This was a sudden intervention from the redhead, whose life I was exchanging for my brother’s future.
“You can shut up!” Dina barked at him, and I couldn’t help but admire her, even if at the same time I hated her unbearable determination. “Nothing’s going to happen to us,” she said, throwing a disdainful glance in the bald guy’s direction. “She’s going to go with you; she’ll help you.” Dina meant me. And she was right. Of course: greed was the motivating factor here. Ika searched me first—my pants pockets, my little purse, my wallet—before moving on to Dina, where he finally found the envelope. I will never forget the expression on his face when he opened it and counted the notes, or the way the bald guy licked his lips and slapped his minion on the shoulder again and again, astonished at the incredible luck that had come their way.
I feel his dry, cold hand on my right breast, and I hold my breath, not wanting to show my fear—but his fear is almost greater than mine, and that makes him even more unpredictable. He is reliant on the bald guy, and on his obrez; this is all the security he has in life. Where is he now, I wonder: might he be dead, having picked on the wrong person during some looting expedition, someone more merciless, more resolute than himself? Or did the bald guy replace him one day with a more self-assured, more skillful slaughterman? I feel his hand gripping my breast, a rough hand chapped by cold and metal, a hand that can hold guns but not cannot touch a woman. I feel his heart pounding, a waft of his cold breath bringing the scent of nicotine and unease, and I want to push him away, I want to snatch the gun from his hand, put it to his temple and pull the trigger . . . At least that’s what I think, that’s how I imagine it. To this day, these fantasies are the only thing that brings me any relief. Over the years they have given me a kind of short-lived satisfaction, and sometimes I give in to them, as I might to an old lover who knows exactly what I need. Now, too, I don’t fight them; I grow drunk on them as he presses his hand to my breast, harder and harder, until I have to cry out.
SOMEONE LOOKS ROUND: a tall man in a dark-blue suit. Hard to say where he comes from, but he certainly isn’t Georgian.
“Is everything okay?” he asks me, in flawless English.
“I’m fine, thank you, all good.”
“I thought I heard you say something.” He is persistent. He seems to be one of those people who are always determined to be helpful.
“I was just caught up in my own thoughts, sorry.”
“Wait a minute . . . Isn’t that you?” He studies me, then looks up at the photo hanging in front of us, from which I have not retreated a single centimeter in . . . how many minutes now—no, how many years? I give him a barely perceptible nod, and curse myself for my involuntary exclamation. I want him to leave me alone, and at the same time I am grateful to him for this mundane but unexpectedly soothing distraction.
“Oh my God, I don’t believe it! I’m one of Dina Pirveli’s greatest admirers.” He’s eager to talk, and I am all too familiar with these situations: I am interesting because I was close to her, because I possess secret knowledge, and therefore enjoy special status among the visitors. How often such people have tried to gain my attention, to give themselves the illusion of being a little closer to Dina. How ridiculous, and, at the same time, how touching. Nene and Ira are sure to be familiar with this, and I wonder whether Anano is plagued by it as well, though Dina took far fewer photos of her, as if she wanted to protect her little sister.
I have to disappoint him, murmuring something about not having come alone. The gentleman is chivalrous, and luckily he makes it easy for me. All the same, he hands me his business card, introduces himself as a gallerist from Copenhagen, and tells me he is planning a “small, exclusive exhibition” of Dina’s works in his home country very soon. I thank him with a platitude—and return to the zoo.
“THAT’S NOT HOW this is going to work!” I heard Dina call out suddenly. “The envelope stays with my friend. She’s going to take him to the exit, and only when he’s outside will she come back, and you’ll get the money, is that clear? That’s what we agreed. Are you breaking your word, are you hedging your bets like a coward, even with a girl?”
She was trying to provoke him now, trying to play him off against the weak and spineless Ika. She feared the same thing that was going through my head, now that they had discovered the money: they could just lay us out beside the motionless boy, take the money and disappear. On the other hand, we posed no serious threat to them; whether they killed us or let us go, for them the outcome was the same, and the choice depended entirely on their mood. If the bald guy had been alone, he might well have silenced us on the spot, taken the money and run. But it seemed there was something else at stake for him: he wanted to put on a show, to play the strong man who respects the criminal code of honor. This was another chance to demonstrate his superiority. And so he agreed to the deal. He gave us an irritated look, eyed me skeptically for a while, and then ordered Ika to give me back the envelope.
“Okay, fine by me.” That was his verdict—the verdict that was passed upon our future.
It took me three attempts to get the injured man to his feet. The pungent, metallic scent of blood filled my nostrils. His blood stained my coat, my pants, my hands. His whole weight was hanging off my shoulder; I had never dreamed anyone could be so heavy, but somehow I managed to take one faltering step after another, while he dragged his bleeding leg behind him like a useless, burdensome object. He was trembling, and seemed not to grasp that a miracle had just befallen him; but at the same time he kept looking back, as if wrestling with himself.
“Go! Hurry up and get out of here!” Dina shouted, and her voice was desperate, alarming. It felt like years before I managed to drop him off, or rather set him down, at the gate, leaning him against a stone wall. He seemed to be getting weaker, and was still losing blood. I stepped up to the metal bars and looked out at Heroes Square. The demonstrators had gone. The whole square seemed abandoned. Litter, pieces of clothing, even single shoes lay scattered around, pitiful evidence of what had happened there. A short distance away I saw a couple looking for something on the ground, something they must have lost during the demonstration, and I called out to them. They looked around in confusion before catching sight of me, and hastened across the square toward us.
“What on earth has happened?” When I heard the concern in the woman’s voice, I knew the redhead was safe, and I turned abruptly and ran back.
“What’s your name? What are your names? Hey!” I heard him call out, with the last of his strength. But I had no words left to answer; and perhaps I no longer had a name, either.
I handed over the money for the red-haired stranger, the money that should have bought my brother’s freedom. The executioners walked away, leaving the corpse of their young debtor as proof of their victory, their unscrupulousness, and Dina and I were left with the lonely streetlamp, the agitated animals, and the horror for which we had no words. As I fell to my knees outside the monkey enclosure, she pulled out her camera and photographed the battlefield, with me in the foreground, vomiting it all up: the fear, the disgust, the consternation, the sadness, the dismay at having chosen escape and my brother over saving a human life, my anger at Dina for her insistence on doing the right thing, the shock at what I’d seen, the rage at this country where a life was worth five thousand dollars—and my abject failure.
BLOODSTAINED, PUFFY-EYED, and reeking of vomit, I stumbled into the courtyard. At home, we both said that we had been caught up in the demonstration and sought refuge in the zoo, where we found a boy who had been shot and took him to the hospital. We made no mention of anything else. That was what Dina had asked of me, with a squeeze of my hand, eyelids trembling, knees weak, as we left the zoo.
“I’ll fix the business with Rati, I promised you I would. Just give me a little time, and don’t say anything, okay?”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have the strength.
That night, there was only one thing I wanted to know: “What happened to Babuda? Where’s Oliko?”
“At home. She was lucky. Her rheumatism was causing her so much pain that she turned back halfway.”
I SLEPT LONG and dreamlessly. When Dina woke me the next morning, it took me a while to come round. Then the events of the previous day rushed back at me with full force.
“What time is it?”
“Must be just before ten. The Babudas let me in. Give me two days, alright?”
“Two days for what?” I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes.
“To take care of things. Without you saying anything to Levan and the boys.”
“Dina, what are you planning? How am I supposed to keep this a secret? The money’s gone, and the boys will soon find out that we didn’t go to the lawyer.”
“I’m going to see Zotne. I called Nene and asked where he was staying.”
“Zotne? You’re going to see Zotne? What are you hoping to achieve? Will you get him to bury the hatchet? Please, don’t be ridiculous!”
“Let me worry about that.”
“He’ll never admit it was him that got Rati arrested!” I was now more awake than I wanted to be.
“Trust me, Keto.”
“Plus, Rati will go mad if he finds out that you . . .” I wasn’t about to give in.
“And that is exactly why neither he nor any of his friends must find out.”
“But Dina . . . Wait.” She had already stood up.
“I promised you yesterday that I would get Rati out, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“But why the hell would Zotne, of all people, do you a favor?”
“Because he likes me.”
I was speechless. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and went to the door. Before leaving the tiny room, she turned back to me and said, “We did the only right thing, Keto.”
I PADDED INTO the kitchen and poured myself some of Eter’s coffee. She was in the living room with a pupil. I sat down in the loggia, sipped the black potion, and listened to Babuda One giving a passionate lecture on Joseph Roth’s Radetzky March, as I tried to extinguish the images of the previous day that began to flicker before my eyes like camera flashes. Only the clock on the wall above the dining table, an heirloom from Oliko’s grandmother, broke the cruel silence that reigned inside me. I still had that pungent, rusty smell in my nostrils, the smell that had streamed from the redhead as I helped him to the exit.
I leaped up and ran to the phone. It was Guga who picked up. Nene was out with Otto, he said. I asked him to get her to call me back urgently. Then I pulled on some clothes and ran down to see Lika, who for weeks now had been keeping her head above water with dressmaking work. Dina had already gone. Lika made me a cup of the green tea she loved, without comment. Anano was back early from school—lessons had been canceled because they couldn’t heat the classrooms—and was on the phone in the next room.
