A Short Tale of Shame

[5]

The young people insisted on splitting the bill and he gave in, once he realized that they took his insistence on treating them as aggression. He had been to that little restaurant at the port before and liked it, as a whole he liked Aegean cuisine, with its Mediterranean tang, on the surface, they looked like the same dishes as from the interior of the country, but now look, a pinch of cumin and a little fennel turned them into something completely different, and besides, the little restaurant had held out against the surge of mass tourist-fare, which meant stuffing everything you can get your hands on in the fridge into the microwave all at once, Rhodopaise surprise served jack-ass style, chicken julienne in a clay pot with soy sauce, blue cheese, and peas.

After lunch, they divided into two combat units, Sirma and Spartacus went to find out about the ferryboats, Krustev and Maya looked for an outdoor store to buy a tent, but how can you just go and buy a tent, as if it were a pound of cucumbers, confused they went to a tourist office and asked: there, of course, they had no idea where such a store might be, but on their way out, Krustev caught sight of a brochure for a store called Montblanc, the brochure was in Thracian and English, and the store was on the next street over. Krustev thanked the fat woman behind the window, who indignantly raised her eyes from her crossword puzzle, and they went to Montblanc, Maya and the salesman picked out a dark-blue tent with fiberglass poles for him, whatever that meant, reliable, light and easy to pitch, that’s what the kid said, can I put it on my card, yes, of course.

They regrouped at the car, the ferryboat was leaving in half an hour, they got in line immediately, luckily there weren’t many cars and they managed to wedge themselves into the monster’s cold, gas-fume-laden belly. The trip took a little over an hour. They went up on deck. Amid cigarette smoke marking off the time, two young Englishwomen with reddened faces had already stripped down to their bathing suits, their bodies resembling plastic chairs, they were drinking beer and shouting. A dark-skinned man, huddled in a worn leather jacket despite the warm weather, would glance at them from time to time, quietly groaning and averting his eyes. It wasn’t clear whether he was enjoying the spectacle or not. Typical specimens, Sirma said. There were no free seats, but they found an empty corner near the railing, farther from the Englishwomen, and stared into the cheery blue water, the weather was very clear, Krustev suddenly thought how strange it was that he now found himself here, on this ferryboat, with these young people, friends of his daughter, whom he hadn’t known two hours ago, and now he was going with them to Thasos, with his brand-new tent with fiberglass poles. He hadn’t expected things to turn out this way, but actually, when he took the car out, he wasn’t expecting anything. Good thing he didn’t have Rex with him any longer, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to run off just like that without taking the dog with him, a month ago he had brought Rex to his parents, who were now living in what had once been his grandfather’s house by the river, but it was no longer the last house on the edge of the village, the village had for all practical purposes become a cluster of summer homes, they were worried, why, his mother had asked, do you want to be left all alone in that house, that’s exactly what he wanted, he didn’t know why, but after Elena had gone back to America, he was in no condition to do anything except immerse himself in total solitude, to sink into cozy self-pity, the dog would bother him, besides it would surely feel better in his parents’ tranquil care, incidentally they had hinted that he himself should live with them for a while, he had carefully but firmly turned them down and they had seemed to understand.

Irina passed away in January. It had been four months now: just as long as she’d been in a coma, still alive, without knowing it. Krustev remembered his wife’s body, shrunken, thin, worn-out, and misshapen, bound by unquestioning tubes to mysterious devices which allowed it to exist a bit longer on the threshold between life and death. He felt like tubes had been stuck into him, too, pouring first fear into his blood, then hope and finally a colorless, watery liquid, the very essence of futility. You do understand, don’t you, the head doctor had told him some time in October, when it was already clear that there wouldn’t be any quick recovery and that they could only hope for a miracle, but miracles like that do happen, don’t they, in these kinds of cases, yes, but you do understand, he had told him, that if your wife recovers, it is very possible that she will not be the same person, right now it’s difficult to say how disabled she might be. Irina could come out of the coma drained of her identity, without memories, without thoughts even, without taking in anything around her, a vegetating presence in a wheelchair. Yet he had nevertheless nursed hopes until the last, he had clung to his wife after all that creeping marital coldness, after they had lived almost separately for the past four years, her boyfriend, the theater director, also came to see her as often as Krustev did, but they had asked the hospital staff to stagger their visits, neither one wanted to see the other, Krustev now remembered that there had been a similar story in one of the books he had read in the early spring, only there the husband and the lover took care of their shared wife together, it wasn’t like that in his case, perhaps both of them blamed each other at least a bit for what had happened. Krustev was constantly wondering about guilt, not just whether he himself was guilty, but whether guilt even existed at all as something you could touch or feel or whether at the end of the day everything was a sea of dreams and wakings, which we all will drown in some day, a sea like that one down below, he lifted his head and saw the kids looking at him rather worriedly, so he suggested they get a beer and this time he wouldn’t take no for an answer, went over to the ferryboat’s concession stand and came back with four cold cans.

So why, Spartacus asked, abruptly jerking him into a completely different time, did Euphoria really break up? Good question, why had they broken up really, perhaps because the singer had started acting more and more like the head, heart, and ass of the group, or because the keyboardist was against the more commercial sound of their final years, or maybe — and this seemed the likeliest answer to Krustev — because nobody felt like playing anymore. When he stopped to think about it, they had only been around thirty — thirty-something, pretty early for exhaustion, but the rock-band life had sucked them dry unexpectedly quickly, they needed to be reborn as new people, they still had the strength and opportunity to do so, and yes, well yes, they did just that. Krustev suddenly felt, or at least he thought that he felt as if not only his mind, but his very senses were beginning to run on memories, he felt the pain from the metal strings running through his fingertips, the pain that had been so persistent in his early teenage years when he was just starting to play, later, of course, his fingers had calloused over and didn’t hurt anymore. Man, you’re a serious rock fan, he said to the young man and was really impressed by his taste and knowledge, Spartacus shrugged his bony shoulders humbly. Only here, on the deck where the four of them were standing together, upright, only here could Krustev get a clearer idea of what his fellow travelers looked like: the boy, tall and skinny, taller than he was, with a constantly distracted expression; the blonde Maya, who had a rather ordinary face, but lively eyes and a compact, athletic figure; and finally the slightly mysterious and distant ringleader of the group, with curly black hair and blue eyes, Krustev guessed she had lots of admirers and then immediately wondered whether that word was even still used, the truth was that at times he felt like an old man in their company, even though he had gotten used to always being young, both in his life as a musician and in that as a businessman, he was always the youngster, they didn’t take him seriously at first, then suddenly they’d be shocked at how much he’d accomplished for his age, what are forty years, he could still live another forty, and he was sure that within a week he could get back into shape after those months spent in the empty house, that he could once again feel energetic and healthy, but hey, his body would never be as quick and flexible as the bodies of these people around him ever again. He could feel the beer filling his bladder insultingly quickly, impudently squeezing his prostate, he excused himself and found the grimy toilet down below by the cars, poorly lit by a yellow bulb, his stream gushed with gurgling relief, he zipped his fly and slowly started back up the stairs, climbed up on deck and stood by himself for a while before going back to the trio.

The strangest part was that he had gradually gotten used to it all: the visits to the hospital, the silent Irina tangled up in plastic tubes, the white sheets, the nurses, the smell of bleach in the hallways, where men and women padded around in green pajamas. Krustev had sat by his wife’s bed and talked to her in his mind, that way the words weren’t left hanging in the startling absence of an answer. He had talked to her about Elena, about the dog, about the house, sometimes about business, a few times he had tried to clear up how exactly, imperceptibly and secretly, like the rotting of a seemingly sound fruit, their relationship had gone cold. Her coma couldn’t turn back time, he still knew that he no longer loved Irina the way they had loved each other in their wild and sunny younger years, but now, when she inhabited the space between life and death, when she was so far from him that he couldn’t reach her with words or touch, he suddenly felt close to her again, or rather he felt close to her in a new way, almost as if she were a sister. Irina was now the only person who didn’t want anything from him. And even though he had secretly hoped for a miracle up to the very end, sometimes he caught himself fearing that possible moment when Irina would flutter her eyelids, heavy from sleep, the long sleep of the sea, when he thought about the undertow that was sweeping her along, Krustev shuddered and suddenly imagined how, if he put his ear to his wife’s body, he would hear the sea roaring inside her, as inside a shell. She really was a shell, the form of a living creature, emptied of her soft, slimy, and slithering substance, at once alluring and repellent. And he would talk to that shell, sensing how everything around him withdrew and he was left alone with her in the white silence of the hospital room, as if time had stopped. But before Christmas, Elena had come back from the States again, pale, thin, with circles under her eyes, she had burst into tears when she saw her mother and the thread was broken, the whole quiet harmony that Krustev had built up day after day fell apart. At that moment he felt hatred for his daughter, that intruder from out of nowhere, a part of both of them, who had cunningly leapt into the world and come between them. Then he told himself that he was probably going crazy, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this young woman was a stranger to him, now much more than ever, and the shell in the hospital bed could not fill up the chasm between them, on the contrary, it opened it all the wider. And after that, shortly after New Year’s, which he and his daughter had spent at home, staring at the television, almost without speaking, Irina had died. As if during that whole time she had been hesitating and had finally made a decision. Sepsis, the head doctor said, poisoning of the blood, her liver couldn’t hold out, I was also hoping until the last, I’m sorry. And he really did seem sorry, perhaps he, too, had gotten used to the empty body and its plastic tubes, perhaps he had even clung to the possibility of her coming out of the coma so as to reaffirm his belief in the power of his work and his science, except that Irina had died and Krustev suddenly felt his whole life withdrawing, his senses, his memories, as if he were once again in the silent white room, only now there was nothing inside it, nothing at all, so much so that he couldn’t even be sure whether he himself was there. Now, when he thought back on those days, he would tell himself that he had been on the edge. He didn’t remember the funeral. He remembered how he had shut himself up at home and had sunk into the TV, watching sports channels from morning until night, he had taken his blanket out to the sofa in the living room, where he had also spent the nights, lulled to sleep by the figures running back and forth across the screen, Elena had hovered around him, they only spoke about everyday household things, she had made clumsy attempts at cooking and Krustev had gulped down her dishes without even noticing whether they were any good or not. And so several days passed, then she suddenly appeared at the start of some soccer game, sat down next to him and said Barcelona’s going to win, Krustev suddenly sprang out of his apathy and looked at her amazed, she had never been interested in soccer and he could’ve sworn she didn’t even know how many players were on a team, but now here she was talking about corner kicks, offsides, and poor performance in the Champions League, she was talking about things that sounded strange to him, as if coming from some world beyond, he perhaps wouldn’t have even noticed that volleyball had been replaced with soccer, she mentioned the players’ names, reacted more quickly than the commentator, kept track of who had gotten yellow cards, and when the game indeed ended with a win for Barcelona, Krustev said, yes, Barcelona won, moved his crackling joints, gingerly got up off the sofa, took a bottle of scotch from the bar, poured two glasses, set them abruptly on the table and said, so now tell me what’s going on with you.

Their corner had livened up. Maya was lying on the floorboards as if ready to do push-ups and making some strange movements with her right leg, Spartacus and Sirma were watching her, their arms folded over their chests, while all around them people were knitting their brows and shaking their heads. Krustev also knit his brow in confusion, then he realized that she was demonstrating some yoga exercises, this asana is called tiger, Maya panted and got up, brushing the dust off her hands, is there a hamster asana, Sirma asked. Spartacus explained that Maya had gotten really into yoga and she wanted to recruit them as well, but they won’t give in, Maya said, it’s a lot more fun sitting in the park drinking beer, because you never so much as sip a beer, right, Sirma smirked, you know what, if you can drink a beer in that pose you were just in, then you win, I’ll start going to this yoga of yours. Krustev was intrigued. Are you not supposed to eat meat, he asked, well, Maya replied, this is what our teacher says: A man can climb a mountain with a bag of rocks on his back, except it’ll be a whole lot easier without it, I still eat meat, but I’m cutting back and trying to give it up, not just because of yoga, but still… Enough proselytizing, Sirma interrupted her. We’re here. Krustev looked ahead, the island really was very close, a scowling crew member with a megaphone appeared and gave a spiel in an equally scowling tone, so they went back downstairs and got in the car, ready to drive off, well, Krustev said, we had to wait a while before getting on, but now we’ll be one of the first ones off. Oh man, said Spartacus, I can’t wait to pitch my tent. I’m sure you’re going to have to help me with mine, Krustev smiled, because it looks so simple. Back in the day there was a whole philosophy to it and I can only pitch complicated tents. Fiberglass, he said to himself again, it sounded pleasantly cold.

The ferryboat spewed out its contents on land. They had no reason to stay in the city, so Krustev headed straight for the campgrounds, following Sirma’s directions. It turned out to be very close and enormous, but practically empty. Krustev wondered to himself if it still wasn’t a bit early for a tent on Thasos. The campground was situated at the edge of a vast but thin pine forest, the beach was surely a whole kilometer long and tents and RVs could be seen only here and there among the hedgerows dividing the sites. An RV, Krustev said to himself, now that’s what we really need for this trip, it would’ve been perfect. But by the time he thought of this, it was too late. They offered them four neighboring sites for one-man tents, until now, Krustev, without even giving it a second thought, had imagined that the three of them would sleep together in one tent, one of those big ones, and was surprised at this betrayal of their constantly declared unity, but Spartacus explained the obvious fact that if they wanted to sleep together in one big tent, somebody would have to carry it. It was much easier for everyone to sleep in their own. What’s more, you snore, Maya added. They set about pitching the tents, while their not particularly numerous neighbors watched them with the routine curiosity of old hands towards greenhorns, and to his satisfaction Krustev managed to pitch his tent with no more difficulty than the others, albeit more slowly. He set his mat and sleeping bag inside, which he had just bought from the store in Datum, and lay down for a bit to see how it was. The hard ground beneath him suddenly took him back in time, he had forgotten that feeling. Someone coughed outside and he came out, it was Maya, beaming and sunny, to find out whether everything was all right and Krustev felt as if they had the right to exercise certain fatherly concern towards him rather than the other way around, or else he was misinterpreting things, it’s great, he said and looked at his watch, it was three, so if we settle up the payment quickly, we’ll have time to hit the beach, Maya shrugged, even though here you’re always on the beach in any case, and Krustev told himself he was being stupid, of course that’s how it was, they weren’t going to hurry off somewhere else, lugging striped bags of towels, sunscreen and other beach gear, the time when he had almost constantly lived like that really wasn’t so far off in the past, but you get used to conveniences and the conventions of a life of luxury so quickly. Would he really look so different from them when they stripped down to their bathing suits, maybe not, his body really did feel a bit clumsy and stiff, but he didn’t have a paunch thanks to his quick metabolism, his toenails were trimmed, everything should be fine. The campground attendant came back and they paid for four nights for starters, Krustev didn’t offer to pay for them because he knew they would never let him, besides, if the trip stretched out sooner or later they would surely run out of cash and then they would have to fall back on his, he liked treating them and thought that if twenty years ago he had found himself in such a situation, he, too, would have resisted the other person’s attempts to pick up his tab, yet deep down he would have been very pleased at such luck. How they had studied the finer points of the art of traveling with a barebones budget back in the day, of course, prices were a whole lot different back then, as were their requirements, yes, from a certain point on they had wanted to buy comfort and, in fact, he thought now, that made traveling as much like staying at home as possible, nothing from home was lacking. He came out of his tent in his swim trunks, feeling a bit awkward and constantly looking over his body, moles, hair; while waiting for the others to come out he wondered whether he should put on sunscreen, it was still mid-May and the sun caressed his skin, the breeze was even a little cool, but perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to take some precautionary measures, he again looked at the mole on his shoulder which seemed to be growing, but the more he looked at it, the more convinced he became that he was seeing things, until the next time he got undressed. Spartacus, who had taken the spot next to him, appeared in his trunks, let’s see how the water is, he said, the ladies will undoubtedly dawdle for a while yet, and he strode down towards the sea on his long legs, he really was quite skinny, he didn’t have a swimmer’s figure, but he was quite wiry, Krustev, however, said to himself that perhaps in swim trunks he actually looked better than the young man, and strutted towards the water. He tested the foam with his toes, it was pleasant, white and soft. Spartacus warily waded in up to his ankles, it’s fine, he said, what, asked Krustev, he had spaced out for a moment, listening to the rumbling of the sea, like in a seashell, he said to himself, like in a seashell, the water’s warm, Spartacus declared and pitched forward, because the girls, who had snuck up behind them, were trying to knock him into the water, Krustev froze, because Sirma was topless, her brown nipples jutted up inquisitively, challenging the sun and the wind, shit, he said to himself, now I’ll have to figure out how not to look at her, Maya perhaps sensed his anxiousness, because she left Sirma to horse around with Spartacus, on whom the sight clearly made no impression, and went over to him, how is it, are you happy, she asked, he was looking into the sun and he shaded his eyes with his palm, well yeah, he nodded, I’m happy and almost meant it, but only almost, because one part of him was still back at the house, the empty, sleeping house with the family portrait on the wall, with Elena in America and Irina in the graveyard, in the crumbly, drowsing dirt, which the worms wiggled out of, abruptly, rudely awakened by the shovels that came bursting in, and thought to himself that it was like an hourglass that someone was constantly turning over so that the sand moved continuously through the two glass bulbs, he poked at the sand with his thumb, remembering how as a kid he would build sandcastles with thick walls and an obligatory moat, spanned by a bridge, but the bridges often collapsed, come on, let’s go in, Maya said to him and carefully waded in, in the meantime, Spartacus had fallen to his knees in the water and kept egging Sirma on, come on, push me over, now I’m your height so you’ve got nothing to complain about, she tried to kick him, but he grabbed her foot and she ended up in the water with a screech, is it warm, Spartacus asked, you’re gonna see for yourself soon enough, Sirma threatened, I’m gonna get my revenge, just you wait. Krustev sank in up to his chest, the water really was amazingly warm and pleasant, he felt relieved, now the sand was flowing into the bright bulb, a short distance ahead of him Maya was floating on her back, Spartacus and Sirma had also started swimming and were going further out to sea, and he regretted not being able to take off with them, he was left behind, carefully watching their heads, which protruded up over the blue graveyard like exotic fruit.