Na dveh stolih ne boš sedo! / You're Not Sitting on Two Chairs Napisal in prevedel / Written and translated by Renato Bratkovič Izdal / Published by Artizan, d.o.o. www.artizan.si © Renato Bratkovič 2014 CIP - Kataložni zapis o publikaciji Univerzitetna knjižnica Maribor 821.163.6-3 BRATKOVIČ, Renato Na dveh stolih ne boš sedo! [Elektronski vir] = Youʼre not sitting on two chairs! / napisal in prevedel, written and translated by Renato Bratkovič. - El. knjiga. - Slovenska Bistrica : Artizan, 2014 Način dostopa (URL): www.artizan.si ISBN 978-961-93394-8-0 1. Vzp. stv. nasl. COBISS.SI-ID 79619073 Na dveh stolih ne boš sedo! Stuširat se grem, reče, ko se vrneva z novoletne zabave, zbrca dol čevlje in zavije v kopalnico. Sezujem se in nama nalijem viski. Pri kaminu malo podrezam v ogenj, da se zaspanec znova predrami, in vržem vanj novo poleno, ki ga plameni hvaležno objamejo. Zakleni vrate!!! zakliče iz kopalnice. Kozarca odložim na polico nad kaminom in zaklenem vrata. Iz kopalnice se zasliši curek. Vzamem svoj kozarec in se zazrem skoz okno. Namesto snega pada zunaj prekleti dež in sproti zmrzuje na asfaltu, na šipah, na vejah dreves, skratka povsod, kamor pade. Domov sva se pripeljala kot po jajcih in vsake toliko sem ustavil, da sem spraskal led s šip. Čeprav led ni bil edini razlog moje slabe volje – in zabava je bila tudi prava katastrofa. Na mizi premečem papirje in med dvema požirkoma na hitro preletim par vrstic zgodbe, ki nikakor noče iz mene – s težavo sem jih rodil kak mesec nazaj, potem se je ustavilo. Stavki so nepovezani in v zgodbi so luknje, ki bi jih bilo treba zapolniti, kot rad rečem. Vrnem se k oknu in opazujem, kako se dela ledena skorja na dovozu k hiši. Upam, da se bo novo leto začelo bolj perspektivno, kot se je končalo staro. Naslednji, pravi, ko pride iz kopalnice v spodnjem perilu in se poči na preprogo ob kaminu. Ponudim ji kozarec in zasedem kopalnico. Vroča voda je praktično najboljša stvar, ki se mi je danes (letos) zgodila, zato pustim, da teče po meni kakih deset minut, potem se temeljito zdrgnem z brisačo in se ji pridružim pred kaminom. Noter vržem naslednje poleno, da se ogenj še bolj veselo razplamti in prijetno razsvetli prostor. Vzamem svoj kozarec in sedem na preprogo s hrbtom proti ognju. Zazrem se v najini senci, ki nemirno plešeta na nasprotni steni. Kak to, da meni nisi zaželel srečno in ljubezni polno novo leto? vpraša po nekaj trenutkih tišine. Kak to misliš? Kdo je to ... "D."? Oblije me vročina. Medtem ko sem bil pod tušem, je očitno naskočila moj mobilni telefon in brskala po prejetih in poslanih sporočilih in zadnjih klicih. Vstanem in si vnovič napolnim kozarec. Brskala si po mojem telefonu ... rečem z narejeno mirnim glasom in napravim požirek. Ja, odvrne. Zadnji mesec ni za zdržat s tabo. Čutla sem, da je nekaj narobe ... In vidim, da sem mela prav. In kaj bi naj po tvojem ... blo narobe? skušam pridobit na času. Nisem bla prepričana, ampak občutek sem mela, da maš problem. Pa ima res odgovor na vse – problem. Kadar koli je kar koli med nama, imam JAZ problem. Cel mesec se me že izogibaš, posedaš okoli, gledaš skozi okno in z mano ne spregovoriš niti besede ... In to ti seveda daje pravico, da štoraš po mojih stvareh, domnevam. Veš kaj, če sta dva skupaj, če živiva skupaj, mislim da mam pravico! In zahtevam, da mi takoj razložiš, kdo je to D.! Nihče, odvrnem in se zazrem skozi okno. * * * Bil je torek popoldne. Predavanje sem zaključil pol ure prej kot ponavadi. Prerinil sem se skozi skupino študentov, ki so z očmi brskali za svojimi imeni na seznamu na oglasni deski pod Opravili. Stala je pred vrati mojega kabineta in se predstavila. A, vi ste, sem jo prepoznal, ker mi je že pred časom v predavalnici padla v oči, in ji ponudil stol v kotu pri vratih. Iz kupa popravljenih izpitnih nalog sem izbrskal njeno. Seveda mi je bilo iskreno žal, da ni opravila. Prepričan pa sem bil, da ji ne manjka več dosti. Predmet razume in je sposobna videti širšo sliko, da pa si bo potrebno še malo pogledati. Dal sem ji napotke s seznamom knjig, ki jih naj še vzame v roke, in jo potolažil, da bo na naslednjem roku gotovo uspešno opravila – in po tistem tudi je ... Pogledal sem na uro. Se opravičujem, da sem vas tok dolg zadržala ... je rekla. Ne, ne, saj ... ni problema, sem odvrnil. Samo pogledal sem, če mava čas za ... pijačo – če ste seveda za. Seveda, je odvrnila in se nasmehnila. Pa ne me vikat, prosim. Za tebe velja enako, sem rekel in ji stisnil roko. Odpeljala sva se do kafiča blizu faksa, kamor zahajam včasih, kadar imam uro ali dve časa med enim in drugim predavanjem. Enkrat sem s študenti imel tam celo ustni izpit. Po par prijetnih uricah ob pijači sva nehala biti profesor in študentka. Po dolgem (in moram priznati zabavnem) pogovoru o najrazličnejših in postopoma vedno manj obveznih temah sem ugotovil, da je že precej pozno, in da bi moral oditi. Ponudil sem se, da jo odpeljem nazaj do študenta. A greš gor? Mam skodelico kave ... je vprašala z glasom, ki ni prenesel Ne za odgovor – če bi me zgoraj vprašala, če bi skočil skoz okno ... Ne pijem kave, sem odgovoril. Cankarja sem misla ... je rekla in izginila v blok. Obrnil sem ključ in stari volvo je utihnil. Šel sem za njo. Dejstvo, da sem dvakrat starejši od nje, se mi je sladko jebalo. * * * No, NIHČE ti je danes poslal osladno sporočilce, nadaljuje. No, in? odvrnem. Jaz pa sem ga poslal nazaj. Pa tud tebi sem na zabavi čestital, če se prav spomnim. Meni si zaželel srečno in zdravo novo leto, ne odneha. In kaj je narobe s tem? Vsem tam sem zaželel srečno in zdravo novo leto, ne me zajebavat s pomenskimi odtenki ... Ne, meni ni treba. Zdravje mi zaželi, ko jih bom mela osemdeset! Pa kaj me masiraš zaradi pofukane čestitke! Zato, ker meni nikol ne pošleš kaj takega!! PA SAJ SI PREJ SAMA REKLA, DA JE BLO OSLADNO, JEBEMTI! Nalijem si viski. In kje se dobivata, vpraša z nekoliko mirnejšim glasom. Kdo pravi, da se dobivava, rečem. Enkrat sva šla na pijačo ... * * * Vprašala me je, če grem v smeri njenega kraja. Grem. Pol poti. Super, bom tam naprej štopala, se je nasmehnila. Navdušen sem bil zaradi njenega skoraj otroško enostavnega dojemanja življenja. Zdelo se mi je, kot da mi je s hrbta snela deset let. O ničemer ji ni bilo treba razmišljati. Če si je nekaj zaželela, si je to preprosto vzela. Si že kdaj bil ... spolni objekt? Prosim? Ključ v ženinem tvingu je obstal – moj stari volvo je bil na popravilu. Ne, sem izstrelil. Ali ...? Obrnil sem ključ in prižgal radio. Vso pot nisva spregovorila besede, samo vsake toliko sem jo pogledal, ko je neslišno pela pesem, ki se je tisti trenutek vrtela na radiu. Tu bom nardil krog in te odložo na črpalki. Okej. Lahko pa tu še prej nekaj spijeva, sem s prstom pokazal na prvi kafič. Mhm, je pokimala. Počasi sem srkal svoje pivo, medtem ko mi je prek svoje kave s smetano razlagala, kar je že naštudirala za ponovni poskus pri mojem predmetu, in imel sem občutek, kot da sva na izpitu ... Čeprav sem se čisto potopil v njene oči (in joške, priznam) in videl samo, kako je odpirala usta kot prej v avtu ob komadih z radia. Predramil me je šele pljusk smetane, ki jo je katapultirala z žličko v moj obraz. Hej! Presedla se mi je na kolena in jo začela lizat z mene. Mmmm ... Spijeva še eno al greva k meni? Mam še eno buteljko v hladilniku pa žene ni doma ...? * * * Ne vem sicer, kaj bi mi rad dokazo, ampak na dveh stolih ne boš sedo! ne odneha. Če ne morma met otrok, to ne pomeni, da lahko z mano delaš ko z vrečo smeti!!! Počasi mi začenja hodit po živcih. Pa kaj ti je?! Dans ni najbolši dan v mojem živlenju, ji rečem še kolikor toliko prijazno, ker res ne bi rad nadaljeval celega leta v tem stilu. Vstanem in se napotim k pisalni mizi. Mislim, da bi se mi danes prav lahko zgodilo, da bi nakljukal kak pameten stavek ali dva in "zapolnil luknje", če mi ne bi težila s svojimi izpadi. Sedem za mizo in se zazrem v že napisani nesmisel, ona pa dalje, Misliš, da če se boš pretvarjo, da ni problema, da bo zgino sam od sebe? Poslušaj, nehaj me že enkrat jebat s tem tvojim problemom, zato ker ga ni, okej? Problem je v tvoji glavi, okej? Problema nimam jaz, ampak ga maš kvečjemu TI! Zdaj pa me prosim pusti pri miru, da dokončam, kar sem začel, ker se s tem sranjem mučim že en mesec ... O, gospod pisatelj, pa kaj misliš, da si kaj posebnega?! Dosti bol zaželeni moški so od tebe, pa si ne privoščijo tega, kar delaš ti! Pogledam jo. Rad bi ji nekaj rekel, pa se mi zdi škoda besed. Vlijem si zadnji požirek in si grem nalit nov kozarec. Takoj zdaj jo boš poklico in ji reko, naj te neha klicat pa pisat! * * * Kak teden je že ni bilo na predavanjih – niti rezutatov si ni prišla pogledat ... Ker se ni pretirano družila z nikomer, ni bilo smisla spraševati študentov. Sedel sem v tvinga – volvo je bil še vedno na servisu, zato sem s tem malim jajcem pridrsal do študentskega doma. Nekaj trenutkov sem se ukvarjal s smiselnostjo tega, kar počnem, potem sem rekel Ma, kurac!, se pognal po stopnicah študenta in potrkal na njena vrata. Znotraj se je zaslišalo šepetanje. S pestjo sem še močneje pobutal po vratih in končno jih je odprla za toliko, da je ven pomolila glavo. Ja? Čestitam, naredila si izpit! Okej, je pokimala z nasmeškom. In ...? In kaj ...? Ja, je to vse? Začudeno me je gledala. Nagnil sem se proti njenim ustnicam, ki so se preoblikovale v kisel nasmešek – odkimala je, Neeeee ... Zalublena sem ... Zalu- ...??? Prebodeno sem jo pogledal in oblila me je vročina. Zmignila je z rameni in zaprla vrata. Hotel sem še enkrat potrkati, a je pest obstala par centimetrov pred vrati ... Spustil sem se nazaj po stopnicah do avta, ko mi je v žepu zabrnel telefon – njeno sporočilo: Želim ti srečno in ljubezni polno novo leto ... :D. Dosti preveč šokiran sem bil, da bi si lahko izmisli kaj izvirnega, zato sem kopiral/prilepil njeno besedilo, dodal WTF?!! in brez podpisa vrnil sporočilo. * * * Dobil sem jebeno čestitko za novo leto in čestitko sem poslal nazaj! Nikogar ne bom klico in piše mi lahko kdor koli in jaz komur koli, zdaj pa me že enkrat nehaj drkat s to tvojo paranojo in se spravi spat, jaz mam delo!!! Zdaj sem pa jaz paranoik, ne?! Baraba! Svinja pokvarjena! CRKNI!! Stemni se mi pred očmi. Kozarec se zdrobi ob steni in nekaj koščkov stekla in kapljic pristane na njej – če se zdaj ne spoka spat, ji bom nekaj naredil. Končno vstane. Med oblačenjem bruha nepovezane stavke, ampak jaz se ne trudim, da bi jih dešifriral. S hrbtom proti njej se naslonim na mizo in se zazrem skoz okno. Obuje se in zaloputne vrata. S hitrimi koraki stopa po dovozu, kjer ji spodrsne in počasi – kot otrok na toboganu – zdrsi po riti navzdol proti tvingu. Vstane, sede v avto in se odpelje. Nekaj trenutkov gledam za njo, dokler njene zadnje luči ne izginejo v temi, potem sedem za računalnik. Zbrišem vse, kar sem do zdaj napisal. Prsti za trenutek obstanejo nad tipkami, potem pa začnejo: Stuširat se grem, reče, ko se vrneva z novoletne zabave, zbrca dol čevlje in zavije v kopalnico ... You're Not Sitting On Two Chairs! I'm taking a shower, she says when we get back from the New Year's party, kicks off her shoes and disappears into the bathroom. I take off my shoes and pour us a whiskey. I poke in the fireplace to wake up the lazy fire, and throw in another log, which is immediately hugged by a thankful flame. Lock the door!!! she shouts from the bathroom. I put our drinks on the shelf above the fireplace and lock the door. I can hear the water running down in the bathroom. I take my glass and look through the window. Instead of snow, fucking rain is falling down and freezing instantly on the asphalt, windows, branches on the trees, everywhere. We were driving home on eggshells and I had to stop every now and then to scrape ice from the windshield. Ice was not the only reason for my bad mood, though—and the party was a disaster. I toss some papers on my desk and between two sips of whiskey I quickly read a couple of lines of the story that just doesn't want to come out—I tormented myself to squeeze them out a month ago, but that's as far as it could get. Sentences do not seem connected, and the plot has voids that need to be filled, as I love to put it. I return to the window and watch how the shell of ice grows on the driveway. I sure hope, the new year is going to start way better than the old one has ended. Next, she says, when she comes out in her underwear and throws herself down onto the carpet at the fire place. I hand her her drink and occupy the bathroom. Hot water is the best thing that happened to me today (this year), so I let it flow over me at least ten minutes, then I rub mysef with a towel and accompany her at the fireplace, where I toss in another log. I take my drink and sit on the carpet with my back to the fire. I concentrate on our shadows, dancing restlessly on the opposite wall. How come, you haven't wished me a happy New Year full of love? she asks after a moment of silence. What do you mean? Who's… “D”? I feel a sudden rush of blood to my head. She obviously spied on my mobile when I was in the shower and went through my sent and received messages and last calls. I get up and refill my glass. You've spied on my mobile… I say with a forced calm voice and sip my drink. I have, she answers. You've been a pain in the ass for last couple of months, I felt something was wrong … And I was right! So, what's supposed to be—as you put it—wrong? I try to win some time. I wasn't sure at first, but I felt you had a problem. Now, she really has an answer to all—a problem. Every time something comes between us, I HAVE A PROBLEM! Yes, you have! You've been avoiding me for a month, sitting around, staring through the window and not saying a single word to me… Which is, of course, giving you the right to browse through my things, I suppose. You know what? When two people are together, if we live together, I think I got the right, yes! I demand that you explain who “D” is! No one, I say and start staring through the window. * * * It was Tuesday afternoon. I finished my lecture half an hour earlier and squeezed through the group of students standing in the hall, searching for their names on the list under “PASSED”. She stood at the door of my office and introduced herself. Oh, it's you, I recognized her (because she fell in my eye once in the lecture room) and offered her a chair in the corner. I dug out her exam from the pile, feeling sincerely sorry she hadn't passed. I was sure, however, that she wasn't far from passing it the next time, as she shows understanding of the subject, but she'll have to work a bit harder. So I gave her a list of books she had to study and told her she was going to pass the next time—which, after what was about to happen, she did… I checked the watch. Oh, I'm sorry I kept you so long… she said. Oh, no-no… No problem, I was just wondering if we had some time for… a drink—if you'd like. Of course, she nodded and smiled. We went to a bar near the faculty, where I sometimes enjoy a nice beer between two lectures—I once even performed an oral exam there with a couple of students. After a couple of pleasant hours and drinks we stopped being a professor and a student. After a long (and fun, if truth be told) conversation about different topics I saw it was late and that I should leave. I offered her a ride to the campus. Want to come up? I have Coffee and Cigarettes… she asked with a voice, that wouldn't stand no for an answer—If she asked if I would jump through the window… I don't drink coffee, I said. And I don't smoke either… I meant Jarmusch… she said and disappeared into the block. I turned the keys and the old Volvo went quiet. I followed her. Did I care about the fact I was twice as old as she was? I didn't give a fuck! * * * Well, NO ONE sent you a cheesy litle message, she persists. So? I say. And I sent one back, that's all. Plus I remember wishing you a happy New Year, too! You wished me a “happy and healthy New Year”, she says imitating a drunk version of me. What's wrong with that? I wished all of them a happy and healthy New Year—quit fucking me with shades of semantics … Well, wish me health when I'm eighty! Why are you pestering me for a fucking greeting? 'Cause you never send anything like that to me! BUT YOU SAID IT WAS CHEESY, FOR FUCK'S SAKE! I need another whiskey. And where are you two seeing each other? Her voice is now calmed down. Who says we are seeing each other? I say. We just had one drink… One drink! * * * She asked if I was going in the direction of her hometown. Yes, I was. Half the way. Great, she smiled. I'll hitchhike the other half. I got enthusiastic about her almost childlike perception of life—she seemed to have taken ten years off my back. She didn't have to think about anything. If she wanted something, she simply took it. Were you ever… a sex object? Excuse me? The key in my wife's Renault Twingo froze—my ancient Volvo was being taken car of. No, I shot. Or was I…? I turned the key and switched the radio on. We didn't speak, I just looked at her every now and the, and saw her mouthing along the song that was on air at that moment. I'll turn here and you can hitchhike at the gas station. Okay. Or we can have a drink first, I point toward the bar. Mhm, she nodded. I gulped my beer slowly, as she was explaining over her coffee what she had already studied for her second try for our exam. I almost felt we had an exam… Although I was literally diving into her eyes (and tits, I admit) and only saw her lips moving just as half an hour ago in the car with the songs on the radio. I was awakened by a splash of cream she catapulted with a spoon right into my face. Hey! She sat on my lap and started licking it. Mmmmmmh… Shall we have another one or go to my place? I still have a bottle of wine in the fridge and my wife is away…? * * * I haven't got a clue what you are trying to prove, but you're not sitting on two chairs! she continues. Just because we can't have kids does not mean you can treat me like a piece of shit!!! She starts to get on my nerves. What's wrong with you? Today's just not the best day of my life, I tell her as gently as I can, for I really wouldn't like this year to continue the way it started. I rise and head over to my desk. I feel it in my gut, that today I might happen to scrap a line or two and “feel the voids”, if only she would quit fucking me like that. I sit down and try to read this useless written shit, and she continues: You think if you ignore the problem it will disappear or what?! Listen—get off my back with your fucking problem! There is no problem, okay? The problem is in your head, okay? I don't have a problem—YOU have a problem! Now, please let me finish, what I have started, because I've been struggling with this shit for a month… O, mister writer, you think you're special?! There are many more desirable men than you, and they don't even think of doing what you're doing! I watch her, trying to say something, but it's just a waste of words. I take the last sip and need a refill… You'll call her right now and tell her to stop calling and texting you! * * * It had been a week since the last time she was at my lectures—she didn't even come to check if she had passed… She didn't socialize with anyone, so there was no point asking the students. I jumped into the Twingo—the Volvo still wasn't fixed so I slid with this little eggshell to the campus. I pondered the rationality of my action, then I said Fuck it!, ran up the stairway and knocked on her door. I heard a whisper inside. I knocked again with my fist. She opened just enough for her head. Yeah? Congrats! You passed! Okay, she nodded with a smile on her face. And…? And what? Well, is that it? She looked at me with question eyes—I leaned closer to her lips, but they converted into a sour smile. She shook her head: Noooooo… I'm in love… In what…??? I was stunned and felt the heat. She shook her shoulders and closed the door. I wanted to knock again, but my fist froze… I went back to the car, when my mobile buzzed in my pocket—her message: I wish you a happy New year full of love… :D. I was way too shocked to think up anything original, so I copy/pasted her text, added WTF?!! and sent it back to her, with no signature. * * * I got a fucking New Year greeting and I sent it back! I'm not calling anyone, and who ever wants can write to me and I can write to anyone, now stop jerking me off with your paranoia and go the fuck to sleep, I've work to do!!! So, now I'm paranoid, right? You bastard! You filthy pig! Drop dead!!! Everything goes black, the glass crashes on the wall and bits of it mixed with drops of whiskey fall on her—if she doesn't go to sleep right now, I'm going to hurt her. Finally she stands up. She dresses and spits unconnected sentences, I don't even try do decipher. I lean on the desk with my back to her and start looking through the window. She steps into her shoes and slams the door. She walks fast down the driveway, where she slips and slides slowly—as the kid on a slide—on her ass toward her Twingo. She gets up, brushes herself off, sits behind the wheel and drives away. I keep staring, until her rear lights disappear in the dark, then I land in front of the laptop. I delete everything I have written. My fingers hang above the keyboard for a few moments, then they start: “I'm taking a shower, she says when we get back from the New Year's party, kicks off her shoes and disappears into the bathroom…” Bio Renato Bratkovič je oglaševaski kreativec, pisec proze in bloger iz Slovenije. Piše v slovenščini (seveda, saj je njegov materni jezik) in angleščini (most do globalnega bralstva). Leta 2012 je izdal zbirko kratkih zgodb Ne poskušajte tega doma, njegova zgodba Točno opolnoči je bila objavljena v Noir Nation 3 (VegaWire Media), Pleme pa je ena od zgodb v Exiles: An Outsider Anthology (Blackwitch Press). * * * Renato Bratkovič is an advertising creative, fiction writer and blogger from Slovenia. He writes in Slovene (his mother tongue, of course, he does) and in English (a bridge to global readers). He's published a short story collection Ne poskušajte tega doma (Don't Try This At Home) in 2012, his story High Midnight has appeared in Noir Nation 3 (VegaWire Media), and The Tribe is one of the stories in Exiles: An Outsider Anthology (Blackwitch Press). Table of Contents Start