The Collector of Names (15 page)

He moved his hand again and he could feel every tiny lump in the plaster. His hand began to slip down and slowly he directed it up again.

Another noise. This time a recognisable one. Somebody was opening the front door, the creaking could not have been anything else. He stopped breathing as well as moving.

After a long spell of silence, he continued to move his hand up the wall. He had to be very near.

A feeling that he was not alone in the room came suddenly and very clearly.

Again, he failed to hear any breathing. Just once he thought he could hear something but it sounded like a rustle, the origin of which he could not establish.

It was all too much for his nerves. He would turn on the light and have a look.

He swiftly slid his palm up along the wall, found the switch, put his hand on it and...

... paused for a moment.

Will I?

I will, he said to himself, taking the switch between his thumb and index finger.

I'll turn it now.

A gentle palm lay on his hand.

Max felt his urine trickling down his thighs. He did not move, just pushed his head low between his shoulders.

Waiting for a blow. It did not come.

That gentle hand resting on his. He could hardly feel it, there was no pressure, he was sure it could not stop him moving his hand away. Again, he tried to make out somebody else's breathing.

The waiting went on and on. The hand did not move. Max's two fingers on the switch started to hurt.

He only had to turn them and he would see everything.

Was that what he really wanted? Or should he try to remove his hand and run for it? Very slowly, he started to move his fingers but the hand increased the pressure accordingly. It was still very gentle.

He did not dare go on.

"I give in," he whispered but even that sounded piercingly loud.

"Please, please!"

There was no reply.

Do I really want to see, he asked himself. Do I?

I'll turn on the light and what happens happens. He remembered Alfonz's grinning face and changed his mind. He could not take that.

How much longer could he stand there, motionless?

What would his father do? He would grab that hand without a body, without a face, push it away, turn on the light and give whoever was there three good punches. Max bitterly and clearly realised for the first time that he was not his father. He did not have a book of prescriptions, a catalogue of solutions for every conceivable situation, which decision to take in every dilemma - you just turn the pages until you find the appropriate advice, clear and short so that you can read it in a hurry.

Would such a book describe the situation Max was in? You are standing in impenetrable darkness, holding the light switch with somebody else's hand resting on yours. Gently and patiently.

He started crying without moving. He pleaded and begged.

Nothing happened. No ruin, no salvation. The urine had cooled down and his thighs began to feel cold.

He pulled himself together slowly, stopped crying and tried to make out as much as he could about that hand. It was small and papery. Yes, that was the right expression. It was not damp with sweat or smooth. He remembered from school - where was Raf? - that the pores in the skin excrete grease or something like that to make the skin smoother. That hand was not like that.

It was inevitable. He knew that sooner or later he would find out whose hand it was. It had to happen. It was just like going to a dentist, a visit he always delayed beyond the first aches right to the swelling and the puss. In the end he always gave in. Dentists were inevitable, just like this thing waiting for him in the darkness.

It was better to do it now than torturing himself endlessly.

He screamed and turned the switch.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Everything was red. Why was that?

It only took a split second before he realised that his eyes were closed and that they had probably been closed in the darkness, too. And then he thought that all the waiting and agonising would have to happen all over again before he opened his eyes. He overtook his thoughts: he had to ride on the wave of decisiveness, he could not afford to repeat all the suffering he had just been through.

He looked.

Another split second, a new wave of thoughts, events and observations.

In front of him stood a brat, a strangely funny brat who held his hand on Max's with his eyes closed. Was he asleep standing up or what? He was wearing a black suit which looked shiny as if it had been waxed or something. And a bow tie! That was the last straw for Max. A bow tie!

That terrible creature because of which he had pissed himself was a brat with a bow tie!

The whole thing seemed terribly funny to Max. He laughed with relief. In the moment between his opening his mouth and the sound of his laughter actually coming out he caught the word uttered by the little boy:

"Mama?"

He sounded very disappointed as he was opening his eyes. Did he only just realise some terrible mistake?

Max was not just laughing, he was screaming. He was banging his forehead against the door, roaring. He noticed the boy's large black eyes and that he did not open his mouth as he spoke, but it was all too funny and Max could not stop himself.

Laughing, he told the boy his name and when the boy thanked him politely

- without opening his mouth, HA!HAHAHAHAHA! -

Max bent double with laughter.

6

Ana made a decision. She would disobey her uncle and go to the village earlier. Straight away? She looked at the open drawer - yes, this was another thing she had started doing, rummaging through somebody else's things. She was looking for an explanation but she found nothing. Maybe it was in the middle part of the cupboard, which was locked. There in the drawer lay only the reminders of her uncle's life, which was filled with a single hobby: medal collecting. He had filled a whole box with them and they came from all parts of the world.

OK, so what did that tell her? Nothing. Nothing. She felt that this was one of those decisions she had to carry out without a mistake. Should she go straight away, or wait for the hour her uncle had stated in his letter? The more she hesitated, the nearer that time would be and soon no decision would be necessary. She wanted to do what was best and therefore she turned to God. She started to pray but could not finish the prayer. God told her to wait. Or was it just his representatives, those who spoke about respecting one's elders and obeying orders? This was too much for her and she wished God had given her less free will.

To do nothing was doing something too and that was why she left without turning back.

*

The hand without a middle finger or a body, which was still holding the door handle on the inside of the shed, swayed gently.

*

Raf approached the shed and put his ear on the door. Silence. He began to open it very slowly and cautiously, just for an inch to begin with, just enough to have a look inside and then a bit more. There was nobody there. He noticed the collapsed back wall and the branches that had been trampled on.

He started to imagine Samo taking refuge in there and then noticing the back wall. The screams he had heard confirmed his theory but there was no body, which filled Raf with the hope that Samo had managed to escape.

Let's hope so, he said to himself and closed the door.

A strong hand covered his mouth, another held his arm. They pressed him against the body behind him. Raf tried to scream and free himself from the embrace but he could not.

"Don't scream, don't scream, I won't hurt you!" somebody hissed in his ear.

Slowly Raf calmed down. What else could he do?

"Are you calm?" continued the voice, "Don't shout, we've got to talk. You won't shout?"

Raf tried to nod.

The hands gripping him relaxed a bit in order to test him. Raf took some deep breaths and waited. The hands loosened their grip but did not move away.

A man who seemed familiar to Raf stepped in front of him. White hair sticking up rather funnily. This was the man who had met the girl who would not speak to him on the ferry.

"I won't harm you," the man said. "Let's hide by the side of the shed. We've got to talk."

Raf followed him without hesitation. The feeling that he was no longer alone in the middle of that night was incredibly pleasant. He would do anything to keep that feeling for as long as he could.

Thick tufts of dry grass from the year before grew along the wooden boards and the old man with white hair sat down and motioned to Raf to do the same.

"It's best if we're not very visible."

Raf leant on the wood with his back and slid down slowly right next to the old man.

"I'm Aco," he said.

"Raf."

They nodded to each other without shaking hands.

"What happened?"

Raf answered with a question:

"What are you doing here?"

"That's not important, just tell me what happened."

The man may have been old but he was undoubtedly strong, radiating a decisiveness which Raf could not ignore. It felt so good to let somebody else do all the thinking and agonizing. Maybe Max had worked that one out four years ago and that was why he had spent all his school life copying from Raf.

He quickly gave Aco a resume of what had happened: they were having a party when Alfonz suddenly went crazy and mutilated himself and then went on to attack the others.

Aco did not want to believe that that was all. He prodded and prodded until Raf managed to tell him all he could remember about Alfonz's visits to the cellar and his strange talk about a child who had asked him his name.

Raf was surprised to see the old man cover his eyes with his hands and start to tremble. Slowly and only just visibly at first and then the shaking got stronger and stronger. Even his hair stood up more and seemed to move.

Raf did not know what to do. Should he touch the old man, comfort him? He sat there silently and waited, constantly observing Aco.

Loud laughter came from the house. Perversely joyful and relaxed, a real contrast to the atmosphere of that night. Max, without a doubt. Letting them know in his own way that he was still alive.

Aco raised his head.

"What's that? Is there anybody left in the house?"

"Yes, I did think earlier that there was somebody on the first floor. That must be Max."

"There were four of you on the ferry: you're Raf, Alfonz has gone crazy, Max is laughing, what about the fourth one?"

"Samo. I don't know where he is. Alfonz was trying to get him, I could hear screams, I fear..."

The laughter stopped for just a second and then continued with renewed strength.

Aco looked towards the villa with trepidation.

"Let's go and see," he said.

"I'm sure it's Max."

"Yes, I'm sure it is. But he's not the one we're looking for. We're looking for the fifth person."

"The fifth? You yourself had said that there were four of us..."

"On the ferry! In the house there were five of you."

"Five?"

"There was that thing, whatever it is."

Raf moved away, looking at Aco with expectation.

"That thing?"

"The former child, I'll explain later. Let's go!"

Aco's impatience grew and he kept looking towards the source of the laughter, which would not subside.

Aco jumped up without leaning on anything. Raf tried to imitate him, but when the wood behind his back, which he tried to use for support, started creaking he decided to lean on the stone next to his left thigh, which he had noticed earlier.

He got up and went after Aco, who had already set off for the house. He wiped his left hand on his T-shirt. The stone must have been wet.

In the middle of the dry grass?

He looked at his palm and the dark stain on it.

Suddenly he did not want to go back and see what the stone next to him really was.

But he had to do it. With one long movement he leapt back, moved the tall tuft of grass and looked at the empty head which used to sit two rows behind him. He started choking, ran into the bushes to throw up and stepped into two piles of something he did not really want to recognise, but the moonlight winked back at him from the gouged-out eyes lying on a heap of flesh. He turned back, running up and down, vomiting.

He screamed and rolled on the ground.

He received two such strong blows that it sounded as if he had church bells in his head.

He calmed down.

He let the fluids flow from every possible opening in his body.

"Now you know what happened," said Aco calmly, holding Raf's shoulders, "you know what it all looks like but you're wrong in thinking you know who did this. Wipe yourself and let's go. It's going to be a long night, there's a lot to do."

Raf nodded, remembered the scene behind the bushes, collected himself, took a deep breath and wiped himself with his T-shirt, which was getting full of stains. He remembered his father, and a little observation Raf had made first about him and then about all the other men who put weight on around their waists and then stick their big stomachs out proudly: they can never finish a meal without dropping some of their food on their front. Always and everywhere. The memory of his parents was both calming and unreal. They were so grey and average, so boring that he suddenly realised what home meant. Home is where you feel safely bored.