Читать книгу Nicky & Lou - Nataniël - Страница 9

The crime in this country has brought along a whole new set of social solutions. When somebody says, Why don’t you pay me?, you say, I’ve been robbed. When somebody says, Why didn’t you come?, you say, I’ve been hijacked. When somebody says, Why didn’t you phone?, you say, My phone has been stolen. People will believe you and forgive you. But with every crime comes punishment, mostly for the victims.

Recently, while I was talking to a client, two large ladies stole the contents of my bag. After the discovery came shock, harsh words, phone calls to cancel credit cards and then the visit to the police station where they not only filled out a form, but also tested my emotional strength, character, patience, courage and faith. Spiritually broken, but grateful, I received my case number.

Next came the toughest challenge known to mankind, acquiring a new driver’s licence, a humbling process that confirms the theory of other life forms, far more advanced than us. It was still dark when I arrived to join the queue that would take me to the end of all goodness. After four hours I reached the first of three counters: one for paperwork, one for interrogation and a third one because where else must that woman sit? After that I was shown to a room where I had to wait for the eye test.

Next to me sat a tall, middle-aged woman with a textured suit the colour of pain, thick stockings, medicinal sandals and a yellow fringe sculpted with a single curler and extreme heat. On her lap was a huge black bag from which the breath of Satan was rising. Every five minutes she took something from the bag and placed it in her mouth. After an hour she looked at me and spoke with a strange accent.

Do you like cheese? she said.

Yes, I said, But only with wine. After five. In the company of people wearing heels.

She put her hand in the bag.

You should try this, she said, It is made from the milk of the twisted-horn goat. You find it in only one place in the world.

I hope so, I said.

Herzgegovnia, she said.

Never heard of it, I said.

Why would you? said the woman, We have no oil, no nuclear, no movie stars. But now I’m here. I love your country.

Why? I said, We have no oil, no nuclear, no movie stars.

Yes, said the woman, But you can do anything. You can live anywhere. Now I can get a driver’s licence. And say my favourite word.

What is that? I said.

Penis, said the woman, In my country, you say that and you’ll be dragged behind a farm animal until there’s no skin on your knee-caps.

Why? I said.

Because of the soldiers and the police and the secret people. They did as much damage with that thing as with the gun. My people will not forgive.

Is that why you came here? I said.

I came here for the child, said the woman.

You want one? I said.

No, she said, I just have to make sure he’s safe.

Who? I said.

I worked for a man, she said, He was one of the secret people, dangerous and powerful and full of evil. Had thousands killed, made thousands disappear, said he’s cleaning the land of his forefathers, purifying the blood. Then he had a son and everything changed, he stopped the evil, went into hiding, cried at night and raised the boy. When the war ended, his comrades all went to court, got shot or went to jail. But he escaped and came here. I love this country, anybody can come here, no questions, no problem.

Where is he now? I said.

He lives twenty minutes from here, said the woman, Says he now wants to help people. He has an office and they come. He calls himself Doctor Friedland.

And you? I said.

I keep my eye on him, she said, He’s a good father, but you never know. Evil lives in the heart, not the memory. I’m looking out for the boy, he’s nine years old.

Behind the counter the eye-test woman sighed and said, Next.

Next to me the cheese woman sighed and said, Penis.

I got my licence and now I’m sitting here. And this is what I’ll do. First I’ll finish this story. Then I’ll have a cup of tea and find a phone book. I will look up the address of Friedland and when I find it I will gather everybody I know and we will go there.

(from the Coronåtion stage production, 2009)