The Bridge (2 page)

These quandaries were resolved as soon as we got off the tram. I left the front car and headed forward towards a nearby church. Bewildered, I stayed behind at the stop. I don’t go to church at all, let alone equipped with wine and a bowling ball. What was this all about? When I reached the arched door, I shifted the bowling ball to the hand carrying the bag and then pulled down on the enormous handle. I had to push the door with my shoulder to get it open.

I hesitated but a moment, then headed after myself. Even though I didn’t feel like going into the church, how could I stay there and wait for me to come out? Who could abide that suspense? I paused before the door, holding onto the handle, and then finally I too pushed with my shoulder to open it. I slipped inside and the door closed behind me.

It was quite dark inside. The only light was produced by two rows of candles on the floor that seemed to outline a long lane from the door to the altar. I walked along that lane towards two people standing at the opposite end. I had to wait a little for my eyes to adjust to the darkness in order to make out the priest and nun. He was short and stout and she was slender and at least a head taller than he.

When I reached them, not a single word was spoken. I shook hands with the priest and bowed to the nun, who returned the bow with a curt movement of the chin, like the top of a pole snapping. I handed her the bag of bottles. She removed one, raised it to the nearest candle and nodded her head.

I gave the bowling ball to the priest, and then both of us headed towards the door. I had to get out of the way quickly because they were coming straight towards me. I looked around and spied some pillars to the left and right. I disappeared behind the one to the right and peeked out cautiously. I was standing with the priest at the beginning of the lane and the nun was at the other end, placing the three bottles between the last two candles. Then she moved aside.

The priest tested the ball in his hand for a moment. Then he bent over and threw it. The church was suddenly filled with thunder. Echoes of the metal ball rolling on the stone floor came out of the darkness from all directions, forcing me to flinch in reflex. All eyes, including mine, were fixed on the glass pins full of wine as the ball bore down on them.

A strike was inevitable. The distance between the bottles seemed too small to let the ball through. But that’s just what happened. The priest’s feat was much harder than hitting the pins. The ball slipped between the left and center bottle as though guided with the greatest care.

The thud that sounded when the ball hit the base of the altar merged with two piercing sounds. The priest’s rumbling shout sounded like wrath tumbling down from the firmament, but what stayed the longest in my ears was the nun’s shriek, as though the bowling ball had hit her in a sore spot.

The silence that reigned after the shouts died away did not last long. It was shattered by the sound of the bowling ball once again. The nun had thrown it back towards the door, but gently, so the thunder was more subdued. The ball stopped right at my feet.

I was gripped by fear as I stood behind the pillar and watched myself pick up the ball. Knowing full well the extent of my skill, I feared the damage I could cause somewhere in the dark, far from the altar. The only safe things in the church were the three bottles. I could hit just about anything but what I aimed at.

Sometimes a man can misjudge himself. I was flabbergasted to see the ball head down the center of the lane as though guided by a groove. Sensing the inevitable, the nun raised her hands to her face and covered her eyes.

Broken glass from the three bottles and spilled wine splattered the nun’s robe all the way up to her waist. This time there were no accompanying shouts. It seemed to me that she was sobbing quietly, but I might have been mistaken. Nothing happened for a time, as though everything in the church had turned to stone. She was the first to snap out of it. She shook the glass off her robe, then started down the lane towards the bowlers.

I shifted to the other side of the pillar to get a better look. No one had yet said a word. She stopped in front of me and stared down into my eyes. Her gaze didn’t budge even when she removed her headdress. Long red hair, the same shade as mine, cascaded from under the black cloth.

She shook her head, loosening her locks slightly, then slid her fingers into the hair at the back of her neck. She rummaged around a while and took out something that had been hidden back there, holding whatever it was hidden tightly in her fist.

I wanted to draw a little nearer, but this, of course, was impossible. I was already standing there, watching up close. When she opened her fist, I didn’t look surprised, as though I knew what would be there. Flames from the nearby candles danced in reflection on three jewels.

I didn’t take them right away. First I turned towards the priest and extended my hand. He shook it after a brief hesitation. Then I bowed deeply to the nun. The pole now bent almost imperceptibly at the top. Finally, I stuck out the cupped palm of my hand and she poured the brilliant little stones into it.

As I was putting them in my coat pocket, the nun turned swiftly on her heel and headed towards the altar. The priest waited a moment and then followed her, although not as briskly. He stopped at every candle, bent down and extinguished it with his fingers.

I had to pull hard on the door to open it. I went out, leaving me inside to stare at the trail of darkness the priest was leaving behind him. It wasn’t until he reached the last pair of candles that I snapped out of it. The nun had disappeared from sight long ago. Unconcerned as to whether someone would hear me, I covered the distance to the door in two steps, gave it a forceful tug, and left the church, too.

I ran after me. I was already on the other side of the street, rushing off somewhere, the raincoat fluttering behind me. From the way I was moving it seemed that I was very familiar with this neighborhood, although I had never been there before. I’d known where the church was, although I had never heard of it. It seemed I knew more than I knew that I knew.

It started to get dark. The streetlights hadn’t been turned on yet. There weren’t many stores in this part of town and the lighting in the display windows was subdued. There weren’t many pedestrians, either. If I were to turn around, I could not fail to see me following me, but I was obviously not interested in what was going on behind my back. We went by a closed tailor’s shop, then a shop full of knick-knacks and a shop with old-fashioned chandeliers and table lamps.

When I turned right, disappearing from view, I thought that I had gone into a shop. When I got closer I saw that it was an alley, barely thirty meters long and ending in a brick wall. I got there just in time to see me at the end of the alley as I opened a door on the left and went inside.

I’d made another wrong assumption. It wasn’t the entrance to a house but to a shop selling secondhand books. I didn’t go right up to it, but I took a sideways glance at the small display window. The glass hadn’t been washed in a long time and the books behind it were stacked in disorder. I couldn’t get a look at the inside without being seen.

Staying there in the alley was out of the question. When I came out of the bookstore I would run smack into myself. I went back to the street, a short distance away from the turn into the alley, and withdrew into a dark doorway. There was no danger of arousing suspicion since the street was almost empty. All that disturbed the silence was the sound of cars and the rattling tram passing in one direction or the other every few minutes.

Time dragged. What was I doing so long in the secondhand bookstore? I never stayed very long even in tastefully appointed bookstores. Was this some kind of ruse? Maybe I’d noticed that I was following myself and decided to shake me off the trail. Had I exited by some other door? I froze at the thought. I had to find out immediately.

I went back to the secondhand bookstore and stood in front of the window. The dirty glass and poor lighting made it hard to see inside. I had no choice. I reached for the handle, then jumped when a cluster of bells jingled above the door. I stopped in confusion, but no one paid any attention to me.

Although it hadn’t seemed so from the outside, the room was rather long. Two elderly ladies were sitting at the counter on the right. They were dressed in identical bright yellow suits that clashed with the dreariness surrounding them, and both of them wore their gray hair in a bun. Staring at the chessboard between them, they didn’t even raise their eyes towards me. I went in and closed the door to the sound of more bells.

At first I thought there was no one in the bookshop, but then I detected some movement in the gloom at the other end. I was crouched down next to a pile of books on the floor. Filled with relief, I went up to the long wall on the left. Shelves covered it from floor to ceiling, crammed with old books. As I browsed through them, I made my way towards the end of the room.

Now my back was turned towards me, so I glanced over my right shoulder from time to time to see what I was doing. I had opened a small book and was reading it in spite of the poor light. I stopped about halfway down the wall and I too took out a thick book and started leafing through it. My fingers felt dusty instantaneously.

The next time I glanced over my shoulder, I wasn’t crouching anymore. I had stood up and was heading for the front of the store with long strides. I quickly turned towards the shelves so as not to be recognized, and after I slipped by me, I glanced over my left shoulder. I was convinced that I would go up to the counter and pay for the little book in my hand, but this didn’t happen. I just passed by the two old ladies who were still engrossed in their game of chess and went outside with a sharp jingling of bells.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had never stolen anything in all my life, and the last thing I’d steal would be a book. This was a sacrilege! Shame on me! Stealing from these two poor, trusting grannies. I might at least have stolen something with a little value. The slim volume couldn’t have cost more than a few bucks. If I’d asked nicely, I might even have gotten it for free.

I could not let me get away with the theft, of course. I returned the dusty book to the shelf in haste, brushed my hands, then went up to the counter, mulling over what would be the best thing to say. It wasn’t easy. I’d never had to justify a wrongdoing before. It turned out, however, that no explanation was necessary. Even though I cleared my throat to get their attention, the old ladies kept their eyes riveted to the board.

I stood there before them for a moment, feeling doubly stupid, and then took out my wallet, found a bill that I felt was more than enough compensation for a little used book, and put it on the counter. I stopped briefly in the open door, my ears filled with jingling, and looked towards the counter. The money was still where I’d left it. As far as I was concerned, it could stay there forever, I thought bitterly. No one could consider me a thief anymore, that was what was important.

As I suspected, the alley was empty. I rushed to the end and looked right. I was walking down the street a little ways off, whistling. Matters were going from bad to worse; the thief was rejoicing after pulling off a job successfully. But setting aside the reasons for his satisfaction, who but a vagrant would act like that in a public place? Luckily there were no passers-by. I would surely have caused a scandal.

Whistling all the while, several minutes later I went into a flower shop. It was brightly lit, the only one in the whole neighborhood I supposed, and flowers in large brass containers covered the sidewalk in front of the shop. I quickened my pace. If I intended to repeat my exploit in the secondhand bookstore, this had to be prevented at all costs, even if it meant openly confronting myself.

Standing in front of the display window pretending to look over the flowers on the street, I kept an eye on what was happening inside, although I couldn’t hear the conversation. The plump young florist nodded her head, smiling, then asked me something with a look of disbelief, came out from behind the counter and bent down, disappearing from view. When she stood up some time later, she was holding an enormous bouquet of white roses. It must have contained at least fifty flowers.

She trimmed some of the stems with a pair of clippers, wrapped the roses in transparent cellophane and tied a narrow red ribbon around the bottom. The critical moment arrived when she gave me the bouquet. I drew closer to the door. If I took it and tried to run out of the shop without paying, I would prevent this, by force if need be. Even though I had no experience of this kind of confrontation, I imagined I would be able to cope with myself.

Luckily, this wasn’t necessary. I took out my wallet and paid for the roses. I even waved my hand dismissively at the change the florist offered me. Her broad smile and bow indicated that I was being generous. I moved quickly away from the entrance, once again pretending to look over the flowers. Who could figure me out now? First I had stolen something almost worthless and right afterwards I turned out to be gallantly open-handed.

I left the flower shop but didn’t continue down the street. I went up to the curb and looked left. Not long afterward I raised my hand up high, the one holding the book. A green taxi stopped at the curb. I opened the back door and got in. The taxi driver turned to me, I gave him the address, and he drove on.

I had to act quickly. If I didn’t find a taxi soon, everything was lost. I had no idea where I was heading with so many flowers. I looked down the street anxiously but the first taxi that appeared was taken. I felt the cold fingers of panic start to tighten.