The Savage Detectives (39 page)

The next day we bought sausages and ham and pâté and more bread. We went out every day. We took the subway. In the Rossauer Lände station I ran into Udo Möller. He was having a beer and he looked at me like I was a scorpion. Who is this, he said, pointing to my good friend Ulises. He's a friend, I said. Where did you find him? said Udo Möller. In Beersheba, I said. We took one train to Heiligenstadt and then we took the Schnellbahn to Hernals. Is he Jewish? said Udo Möller. He isn't Jewish, he's not circumcised, I said. We walked in the rain. We were walking to the garage of some guy called Rudi. Udo Möller talked to me in German, but he never took his eyes off my good friend Ulises. It struck me that we were walking into a trap and I stopped. Only then did I see clearly that they wanted to kill my good friend Ulises. And I stopped. I said that I had just realized we had things to do. What things? said Udo Möller. Things, I said. Shopping. We're almost there, said Udo Möller. No, I said, we have things to do. It will just be a minute, said Udo Möller. No! I said. The rain was running down my nose and into my eyes. With the tip of my tongue I licked the rain and said no. Then I turned around and told my good friend Ulises to follow me and Udo Möller started to follow us. Come on, we're almost there, come with me, Heimito, it'll just be a minute. No!

That week we pawned the television and a clock that used to belong to my mother. We took the subway at Neubaugasse, walked along Stephansplatz, and went out on Vorgartenstrasse or the Donauinsel. We spent hours watching the river. The surface of the river. Sometimes we saw cardboard boxes floating on the water. Which brought back terrible memories for me. Sometimes we got off the train in Praterstern and walked around the station. We followed people. We never did anything. It's too dangerous, said my good friend Ulises, it isn't worth the risk. We were hungry. There were days when we didn't leave the house. I did push-ups: ten, twenty, thirty. My good friend Ulises watched, still in his sleeping bag, a book in his hands. But mostly I looked out the window. The gray sky. And sometimes I looked toward Israel. One night, as I was drawing in my notebook, my good friend Ulises asked me: what were you doing in Israel, Heimito? I told him. Searching, searching. The word
searching
alongside the house and the elephant that I had drawn. And what were you doing, my good friend Ulises? Nothing, he said.

When it stopped raining we went out again. We found a man in the Stadtpark station and followed him. On the Johannesgasse, my good friend Ulises grabbed his arm and as the man looked to see who was grabbing him I slammed my fist into the back of his neck. Sometimes we would go to the Neubaugasse post office, close to home, so my good friend Ulises could mail his letters. On the way back we would pass the Rembrandt Theater and my good friend Ulises could spend five minutes looking at it. Sometimes I would leave him in front of the theater and go make phone calls from a bar! The same answer! They wouldn't give me my money! When I came back my good friend Ulises would be there, looking at the Rembrandt Theater. Then I would sigh in relief and we would go home to eat. Once we ran into three of my friends. We were walking along the Franz-Josefs-Kai toward Julius-Raab-Platz, and all of a sudden, there they were. As if they had been invisible up until then. Trackers. Beaters. They said hello to me. They said my name. One of them stepped in front of me. Gunther, the strongest one. Another one moved to my left. Another moved to my good friend Ulises's right. We couldn't walk. We could turn around and run, but we couldn't move forward. It's been a long time, Heimito, said Gunther. It's been a long time, Heimito, they all said. No! We don't have time. But there was nowhere for us to run.

We strolled. We walked. We went to see Julius the policeman. They asked whether my good friend Ulises understood German. Whether he knew the secret. He doesn't understand German, I said, he doesn't know any secrets. But he's smart, they said. He isn't smart, I said, he's nice, he only sleeps and reads and he doesn't exercise. We wanted to leave. There's nothing to say! We're busy! I said. My good friend Ulises looked at them and nodded. Now I was the one standing still like a statue. My good friend Ulises looked around Julius's room, walking around and looking at everything. He wouldn't stay still. Drawings. Gunther was getting more and more nervous. We're busy and we want to leave! I said. Then Gunther grabbed Ulises by the shoulders and said why are you scuttling around like a crab? Stop it! And Julius said: the rat is nervous. My good friend Ulises moved away and Gunther pulled out his brass knuckles. Don't touch him, I said, I'll be getting my inheritance in a week. And Gunther put his brass knuckles back in his pocket and pushed my good friend Ulises into a corner. Then we talked about propaganda. They showed me papers and photographs. I was in one of the photographs, from behind. It's me, I said, this is an old picture. They showed me new pictures, new papers. A photograph of a forest, a cabin in the forest, a gentle slope. I know this place, I said. Of course you know it, Heimito, said Julius. Then came more words and more words and more papers and more photographs. All old! Silence, cunning. I didn't say a thing. Then we left and went walking home. Gunther and Peter walked along with us for a while. But my good friend Ulises and I were silent. Cunning. We walked and walked. Gunther and Peter got on the subway and my good friend Ulises and I walked and walked. Without talking. Before we got home we went into a church. The Ulrichkirche on the Burggasse. I went into a church and my good friend Ulises followed me, keeping watch over me!

I tried to pray. I tried to stop thinking about the photographs. That night we ate bread and my good friend Ulises asked me about my father, my friends, my travels. The next day we didn't go out. But the day after that we did go out because my good friend Ulises had to go to the post office, and once we were out we decided not to go home but to walk. Are you nervous, Heimito? said my good friend Ulises. No, I'm not nervous, I said. Why do you keep looking over your shoulder? Why are you looking from side to side? It never hurts to stay alert, I answered. We didn't have any money. We found an old man in Esterhazy Park. He was feeding the pigeons, but the pigeons were ignoring his crumbs. I came up behind him and punched him in the head. My good friend Ulises went through his pockets but he didn't find any money, only coins and breadcrumbs and a wallet that we took. There was a photograph in the wallet. The old man looks like my father, I said. We tossed the wallet into a mailbox. Then for two days we didn't leave the house, until all we had left were crumbs. So we went to visit Julius the policeman. We went out with him. We went to a bar on the Favoritenstrasse and listened to him talk. I looked at the table, the surface of the table and the drops of spilled Coca-Cola. Ulises spoke English with Julius the policeman and told him that there were more pyramids in Mexico than in Egypt, and bigger ones. When I lifted my eyes from the table I saw Gunther and Peter near the door. I blinked and they disappeared. But half an hour later they came by our table and sat down with us.

That night I talked to my good friend Ulises and told him I knew of a house in the country, a wooden cabin at the foot of a gentle hill covered in pine trees. I told him that I never wanted to see my friends again. Then we talked about Israel, about the jail in Beersheba, about the desert, about the yellow rocks, and about the scorpions that only came out at night, when they couldn't be seen by the human eye. Maybe we should go back, said my good friend Ulises. The Jews would kill me for sure, I said. They wouldn't do anything to you, said my good friend Ulises. The Jews would kill me, I said. Then my good friend Ulises put a dirty towel over his head, but he still seemed to be looking out the window. I sat there watching him for a while and wondering how he knew they wouldn't do anything to me. I got down on my knees and crossed my arms. Ten, fifteen, twenty squats. Until I got bored and started to draw.

The next day we went back to the bar on the Favoritenstrasse. Julius the policeman and six of his friends were there. We took the subway at Taubstummengasse and got out at Praterstern. I heard somebody howling. We ran. We were sweating. The next day one of my friends was watching the house. I told my good friend Ulises. But he couldn't see anything. That night we combed our hair, washed our faces, and went out. At the bar on the Favoritenstrasse, Julius the policeman talked to us about dignity, evolution, the great Darwin and the great Nietzsche. I translated so that my good friend Ulises could understand what he was saying, although I didn't understand any of it. The prayer of the bones, said Julius. The yearning for health. The virtue of danger. The tenacity of the forgotten. Bravo, said my good friend Ulises. Bravo, said everyone else. The limits of memory. The wisdom of plants. The eye of parasites. The agility of the earth. The merit of the soldier. The cunning of the giant. The hole of the will. Magnificent, said my good friend Ulises in German. Extraordinary. We drank. I didn't want beer, but they put a mug in front of me and said drink, Heimito, it won't hurt you. We drank and we sang. My good friend Ulises sang a few lines in Spanish and my friends watched him like wolves and laughed. But they didn't understand what my good friend Ulises was singing! Neither did I! We drank and sang. Every so often Julius the policeman would say dignity, honor, memory. They put a mug and then another mug in front of me. With one eye I watched the beer trembling in the mugs and with the other eye I watched my friends. They weren't drinking. For each mug they drank, I drank four. Drink, Heimito, it won't hurt you, they said. They were buying Ulises drinks too. Drink, little Mexican, they said, it won't hurt you. And we sang. Songs about the house in the country, at the foot of the little hill. And Julius the policeman said: home, native land, homeland. The owner of the bar came over to drink with us. I saw how he winked at Gunther. I saw how Gunther winked at him. I saw how he avoided looking into the corner where my good friend Ulises was sitting. Drink, Heimito, they said to me, it won't hurt you. And Julius the policeman smiled, flattered, and said thank you, thank you, of course, of course, it's nothing, please. Extraordinary. Ruthless. And then he said: decency, duty, betrayal, punishment. And they congratulated him again, but this time only a few people were smiling.

Afterward we all left together. Like a cluster. Like the fingers of a steel hand. Like a gauntlet in the wind. But outside we began to separate. Into smaller and smaller groups. Farther and farther apart. Until we lost sight of the others. It was Udo and four other friends in our group. Walking toward the Belvedere. Along the Karolinengasse and then the Belvederegasse. Some talked and others didn't, preferring to watch the ground beneath their feet. Hands in their pockets. Collars turned up. And I said to my good friend Ulises: do you know what we're doing here? And my good friend Ulises said that he was getting an idea, more or less. And we crossed the Prinz Eugen Strasse and I asked my good friend Ulises what kind of idea that was. And he said: more or less the same idea you're getting, Heimito, more or less the same idea. The others didn't understand English or if any of them did, they were pretending not to. When we went into the park I started to pray. What are you whispering, Heimito? said Udo, who was next to me. No, no, no, I said as the tree branches that we were parting brushed my face and hair. Then I looked up and didn't see a single star. We came to a clearing: everything was deep green, even the shadows of Udo and my friends. We stood there quietly, our legs braced, and the lights danced behind the trees and plants, distant, remote. The brass knuckles came out of my friends' pockets. No one said a word! Or if they did say anything I didn't hear it. But I don't think they did. We had stopped in a secret place and there was no need to talk! I don't think we even looked at each other! It made me feel like shouting! But then I saw that my good friend Ulises had taken something out of his jacket pocket and was hurling himself at Udo. I moved too. I grabbed one of my friends by the neck and punched him in the forehead. I was hit from behind. One, two, one, two. Someone else hit me from the front. The metallic taste of his brass knuckles was on my lips. But I managed to hold on to one of my friends by the shoulder and with a sharp movement I shook off the one who was on my back. I think I broke someone's rib. I felt a wave of heat. I heard Udo shouting, calling for help. I broke a nose. Let's go, Heimito, said my good friend Ulises. I looked for him and couldn't find him. Where are you? I said. Here, Heimito, here, calm down. I stopped hitting. In the clearing there were two bodies on the grass. The others were gone. I was covered in sweat and couldn't think. Rest for a minute, said my good friend Ulises. I kneeled with my arms flung wide. I watched my good friend Ulises go over to the bodies on the ground. For a moment I thought he was going to slit their throats. He still had the knife in his hand, and I thought let God's will be done. But my good friend Ulises didn't raise his weapon against the fallen. He went through their pockets and felt their necks and put his ear to their mouths and said: we haven't killed anyone, Heimito, we can go. I cleaned my bloody face with one of my friends' shirts. I smoothed my hair. I got up. I was sweating like a pig. My legs were as heavy as an elephant's! But still, I ran and ran, and then I walked, and I even whistled until at last we came out of the park. We walked along Jacquingasse to Rennweg. And then along Marrokanergasse to the Konzerthaus. And then along Lisztstrasse to Lothringerstrasse. We spent the next few days on our own. But we went out. One afternoon we saw Gunther. He watched us from a distance and then he went away. We ignored him. One morning we saw two of my friends. They were on a corner and when they saw us they left. One afternoon, on Kärtner Strasse, my good friend Ulises saw a woman from behind and went up to her. I saw her too, but I didn't go up to her. I stayed thirty feet away, then thirty-five, then fifty, then seventy-five. And I saw how my good friend Ulises called out and put his hand on the woman's shoulder, and how she turned around and my good friend Ulises excused himself and the woman kept walking.