A Swarm of Dust Page 5

  There was only one room in the house, where all four slept on straw mattresses. Most often there were only three of them, since Hudorovec was often absent. In the corner hung a cauldron for cooking, beside it a wooden bench with scratched pots and pans, while in every corner there were heaps of rags and firewood. On one occasion, old Hudorovec returned late at night. Outside he could be heard talking to his weary nag, then he fell through the door, tripped and staggered drunkenly. He collapsed onto the bed, which was covered with old sacks. It was dark in the house, so young Hudorovec saw nothing of what happened that night, only heard. He lay in the corner on his bed without moving.

  His father wheezed, dusted himself down, even tried to sing; he grumbled a bit, then fell silent as if listening to something. All that could be heard was a subdued panting. Then it seemed that the father got up, fell over and at the same moment the mother yelped: ‘Ow, that’s my stomach … you’re suffocating me.’ Her husband kneaded and panted and rambled on: ‘You’re my woman, you get it … I can have you whenever I want … where is it … ’ and he coughed in between. ‘Clothes off … off, I said! … that’s it … leg here … that’s right … you see, you’re a good woman … damn it … ’ he coughed again.

  Then he fell silent and for a long time only heavy breathing could be heard. Now and then he coughed and said something unrecognisable. Then his wife gave a suppressed sigh, the straw rustled and finally there was complete silence. Her husband rolled over. ‘Hahaha!’ he tried to laugh, but only a kind of gargling emerged. He sighed. Then he suddenly shouted: ‘Where’s the other woman? Where are you, women are only good for one thing!’ He struggled over to his daughter, who lay opposite him. ‘Ha, you’re already a woman as well … you know how to do it, you do it with others, now it’s my turn …!’ then laughter burst from him, as he felt around among the straw. Then his daughter also laughed, as if she was being tickled and the father said: ‘Hey, you’re better than your mother … take it and stick it in, so I don’t have to try so hard …’ After that the movement and the growling began again.

  Young Hudorovec half sat against the wall of the house, holding his breath as feelings of horror washed over him. It was not simply horror, much else was mixed in; and this confusion boiled inside him, bubbling like rising waters that threaten to overflow their banks at any moment. He was to experience this feeling often, every time the same. This was not fear of something terrible, like man’s fear of death, or ghosts, or the dark, it was something else, but even later, when he thought about it rationally, he was unable to identify or define the nature of this feeling. It was the horror of awakening, the torment of recognition, full of unknown delights and almost yelling out loud, as if the boy had spotted a snake in front of him that both frightened him and filled him with hope. Yet it was not ordinary fright, for he did not know yet that it was a snake, no one had taught him he could be bitten, no one had taught him he should be afraid. The fear was evoked by the monstrous nature of this unknown creature that was hissing in his face; fear was evoked by its beautiful, sinuous body; but the fear was also mixed with curiosity about what kind of creature it was and why in his longing for it he was afraid. A desire to get to know the snake arose within him, to become familiar with it and thus quell his horror at the fear he could not understand.

  He was unaware of the danger that lay in wait for him: that he would not be able to become accustomed to the snake. That the incomprehensible fear of it would grow and that he would therefore want to kill it.

  He stayed awake the whole of that night. Confused thoughts scurried through his brain like ants. The next morning his mother was silent in his presence, his father disappeared early on his horse, while his sister wandered through the house as quietly and apathetically as usual. Then she covered herself with a sack, for it was raining, and went into the village. He crouched in the corner for a long time without speaking, but some force kept raising his eyes towards his mother. He wanted to find some sort of consolation there, some clarification and comfort. But at the same time he was gripped by fear, for after what had happened during the night he feared her presence. Each of her movements was an incomprehensible torment to him. In the end, he couldn’t take it anymore, he rushed out the door and headed for the woods. ‘Janek, Janek!’ she called after him. He hesitated for a moment, he wanted to go back, but then she called again and the fear reappeared, so he ran on without replying.

  Later, he remembered only indeterminate shades of his delirium. For quite some time he ran blindly among the trees and the rain poured down on him, then he leaned against the trunk of a leafy old beech tree and caught his breath. Once more he was driven onwards, across meadows and back again, seeking some kind of refuge, convinced he was seeking shelter from the rain. Eventually he found a hollow tree and crept inside. Then it was clear to him that it was not the rain that was troubling him. Again he rushed into the woods and ran. Finally, towards evening, soaked to the skin and breathless, he returned to the house and threw himself down, like a deer hiding in the bushes from its pursuers. His mother pulled him towards the fire. She pushed some hot concoction into his hands. He saw everything as if in a mist. He pushed her hands away.

  ‘Mother!’ he managed to say at last, ‘was that nice? Was that pleasant? What happened last night?’ His mother saw that his eyes were like two coals, his unattractive face was twisted, he was trembling and his posture radiated expectation, as if he was desperate for an immediate explanation. She did not reply, she offered him more of the drink, but he impatiently pushed her hand away and sharply repeated the same words.

  Now she began to twist and turn in her embarrassment, but it seemed she had misunderstood the reason for his distress. ‘That with your sister, you know … ’ her voice trembled, ‘I don’t know … I’m saying nothing, let them do what they want … you must never judge her … ’ He interrupted her impatiently: ‘Not my sister, not her, you! Was that nice, was that pleasant, what you do … you?!’ His anger frightened her.

  ‘Your father is after all my husband, we’ve been doing that for a long time! Everyone does it. There’s nothing ugly about it. Without that, Janek, you wouldn’t be here! Oh, Janek … you’ll see, you’ll see … ’

  Her voice broke, she shook strangely, then she was racked by tears, she sank to the floor and sobbed bitterly. Janek sat by the fire, his eyes blank, as if he was looking inside himself. They stayed like that the whole night. Her sobbing, him staring into space.

  Meanwhile, the fire went out.

  It rained for a long time. Then winter came. Janek could not remember the winter days clearly, for they blended into one another. The things that went on around him only half roused him from his torpor. The snow was already melting and a warm wind was breathing through the woods when one day Hudorovec arrived on his nag, rushed into the house, looked for something among the rags in the corner, but then, as if finding nothing, left again without a word. A slight rain started to fall. Night came and it was as dark as the end of the world. The other three were sitting silently by the fire, when suddenly it was lighter and there was a crackling noise: the house was on fire. They jumped up and threw things outside. The rotten wood was suddenly in flames, the house collapsed, the beams creaked, soon it was all reduced to a charred heap and the flames subsided. It took less than fifteen minutes for it to be reduced to ash, and all that was left was the odd metal dish that they had failed to rescue. They stared wordlessly at the burnt remains. The rain was falling ever more heavily, a cold wind sprung up, the treetops rustled. The wood had not caught fire because the flames were not high and there was no tree close to the house.

  As they stood there in shock it began to sink in that they no longer had a roof over their heads. It was then that the old nag clip-clopped onto the scene, and Hudorovec jumped down and stared at the remnants of the fire. The glowing embers of the beams lit up his face, which was strangely serious and dark. When he spoke in a hoarse voice, he did not move an inch but continued staring at what was in front
of him. ‘There’s nothing left,’ he said. ‘We’ll leave! This is no place for us, gypsies elsewhere live better. We’ll go looking for them!’ For a moment he was silent, as if thinking things through, and then he said sharply: ‘Make a bundle of what’s left, load the mare and let’s go. Tonight, now, immediately!’ He spat out these final words separately. Then he disappeared into the darkness.

  When morning came they were already far away. The rain was still falling. They headed north, but kept turning more towards the north-east. The father went first, leading the laden nag, followed by his daughter, the mother and finally Janek. Each of them had a bundle over their shoulder. They didn’t speak much; Hudorovec was the only one who knew where they were going, the others felt they were being led blind, for the whole time they travelled through woods, across meadows, through remote villages, so that they were seen by very few people. Janek was at first stunned by the sudden change, but soon he had the feeling that the journey was bringing him a kind of relief. Movement, new places, all this had a calming influence on him. The rain eventually stopped, the sun shone, a warm wind sprung up from the south, spring was relentlessly drawing near. Sometimes they followed field tracks and saw snowy peaks in the distance and everywhere was the babble of water and a feeling of freshness. They slept in the open, they ate what they could beg, but for the horse they got nothing and day by day the already skinny nag’s ribs began to show more prominently; eventually, it staggered, fell into the mud with its load, wheezed a few times and expired.

  They left it by the path, removed their stuff and went on. They spoke increasingly less. ‘A few more days and we’re there,’ Hudorovec muttered every half hour or so, but even he was barely moving forward, he was so exhausted. At one point Janek began to develop a hacking cough, although it soon subsided. Then the sister’s face began to turn yellow and she was gripped by a fever. They asked at houses for her to be taken in but everywhere the door was closed mistrustfully in their faces. They went more slowly. At times they had to hold her up. One day the father said they’d head for a settlement in a nearby valley. There was a train station there. Hudorovec produced some money, bought tickets and they dragged their bundles into the dirty carriage. The train rattled slowly along. They left the hills behind and crossed the plain.

  Janek watched with fascination, he had never seen a plain before. The train slowly crossed a wide river; it was greyish, flowing quickly, foaming here and there. Then he sank back into a kind of torpor. All he remembered was getting out at a small town with very wide roads. Then they left the town and headed for distant hills. Hudorovec spoke to a number of people on the road and finally they arrived at a village where there were only gypsies. There his sister was given a bed and warm soup, but although she gulped it down she no longer made a sound, but lay there pale and motionless. Hudorovec asked the gypsies to bury her, for they had just had a death of their own, and to register it where necessary, then he spoke quietly with them and they pointed to the north, towards the hills, and the three survivors carried on.

  They arrived at a valley among low hills, and on the slope, in a gypsy settlement, they stopped. Later, Janek often wondered why he remembered the long journey so hazily, why everything was shrouded in a mist of emotions that were not that different from what went before, except that there was a little hope mixed in; he had a feeling that the air was fresher, that it was easier to breathe, his eyes sought new objects and his mind focused on those. Thus he forgot his anxiety, which withdrew into a dark corner of his subconscious.

  Towards the end of May the settlement where they had made their home suddenly emptied. People left in droves. After a few days there was peace and quiet. At home remained the old men, a few women, school kids and a few toddlers. Even old Pišta Baranja stayed behind this time, he had rheumatism or something, and even though he tried as hard as he could to get up and go, he couldn’t even stand on his own, and they had to hold him up. That winter he had aged terribly, his face was more lined and his skin yellowish, his hands had begun to shake and his cunning eyes were cloudy. So he lay around, warmed himself in the sun and massaged himself with oil, the whole time coughing and spitting.

  But Hudorovec did go, unexpectedly. He revealed his decision to his wife and son on the evening of his departure. He had been advised to go instead of Pišta Baranja and take over his workplace as a woodcutter in Slavonia. When he left, he said only ‘goodbye’ to the neighbours and nothing to his wife and son. They did not look into each other’s eyes, they did not offer each other their hands, although handshaking was the habit among the gypsies. They said their goodbyes coldly, but for the first time Janek felt that his father’s departure filled him with a strange optimism, his throat felt tight, the seed of a sudden whoop appeared there, but did not develop, it remained inside him and all day he had the feeling that he wanted to laugh out loud. His mother said nothing for quite some time, she kept busy around the house and outside it, she looked furtive and her eyes were oddly bright.

  In addition to the old men and children, Emma, the wife of Evgen Baranja, the third son of old Pišta, also stayed behind. She was a young, beautiful woman, around twenty years old, but on the very day of departure she fell ill with stomach cramps, groaning and rolling around on the bed. Her husband stood beside her and tried to persuade her to set off, saying the illness would subside on the journey and that she would have nothing to do if she stayed behind. But she was adamant. Her husband lost his temper, cursed her, grabbed his wooden suitcase and stormed off. Janek noticed that soon after the seasonal workers had departed she stopped groaning surprisingly quickly. She came to the edge of the woods, stood close to him and together they looked down into the valley. Below, beside the stream, a black column of the departing was winding its way across the meadows, with children skipping around, for some had decided to take their whole family, towards the south and the plain. The sun shone down on them. They made their way past a stand of alders and then disappeared among the trees.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ said Emma, turning towards him. He kept looking straight ahead, but could feel her eyes on him.

  ‘Why didn’t you go?’ he asked, using the formal mode of address, but he immediately regretted it. His voice sounded accusatory.

  ‘Why are you being so formal?’ she asked in surprise. ‘I’m still young, aren’t I?’

  He did not reply. He was afraid that his tone of voice would reveal his suspicions: that she was not ill, that she had pretended because she wanted to stay behind. And as if reading his thoughts, after a brief silence she said:

  ‘I wanted to stay here. It’s my business, but I’m telling you anyway. In any case, we’ll find some kind of work here. What will you do now there’s no school?’

  ‘Why are you asking, what do I know?’ he suddenly snapped, although he hadn’t intended to. In a moment, he felt so embarrassed that without a word he turned and ran towards the house. He was confused by her strange curiosity, but he understood even less his own brusqueness. When he thought about it later, it struck him that until now no one had asked him anything in such an open way, no one had asked him out of the blue what he intended to do. But all that he was thinking about were excuses and finally he admitted that to himself. He knew all too well that in those moments when they stood at the edge of the woods watching the departing seasonal workers, something had taken place. When he had looked at her for a moment, he noticed that she had raised her left hand and was scratching her head – her cardigan was torn underneath her arm and the whiteness of her breast flashed before his eyes. This was only a momentary realisation, because then she lowered her hand, but in that instant it came to him that she, too, did that thing … And with that he felt unease at her proximity, he became curt, until the feeling grew to such an extent that he felt he had to flee.

  When Emma later returned to the settlement, he hid in the house and watched through the window. She did not look back, but went straight to the extension of Baranja’s house and soon reappeared with a basket, t
hen set off through the wood towards the hilltop, probably to the village. He felt a sense of relief, the tension flowed away. When he came outside he felt he could breathe more easily, that the strange unease had gone, but for the first time in his new environment his old anxiety returned with such speed that he could do nothing to escape it.

  Janek’s mother began to go frequently to the village, taking on farm work. Most often she was seen at Geder’s place. The farmers liked to hire her because she was unbelievably quiet: unlike the other chattering gypsy women, she seemed reserved, even humble, and she worked well, carefully, almost eagerly. She brought various things home to eat, but only in the evening. In the afternoon, when Janek came back from school, the other kids disappeared to the fields and woods. Then he was completely alone. The settlement was silent and empty, the sun shining down on it, and higher up, above his house, Pišta Baranja sat on the roots of an old beech, puffing on his pipe, beside him lazily stretched out his black and white dog, whose name was Shubi. Now and then a damp breeze blew through the trees, shaking the branches, and from the stream in the valley came the yells of children at play. At such moments Janek felt that anxiety was very near. The objects around him changed form, transformed into things that reminded him of something he had once experienced. If he closed his eyes to defend himself against the associations, in his imagination there began to grow new objects which reminded him of where his anxiety had sprung from.