Soaked dust
Matouš Hájek
It was raining fast. A thin layer of soaked dust was squelching under his old muddy shoes as he ran up the street. He was alone. The people had kept themselves out of unkind weather and stench coming from the gutters behind the plastic windows of their small flats. He stopped, gasping for breath. There were thousands of meaningless thoughts repeatedly running through his head. He was looking about nervously as if he expected someone to come or something to happen. Anything! He tried to think but he couldn’t. Couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t understand why.
-
Somebody knocked at the door. Superintendent was sitting at his desk and from behind his thin bifocal glasses he stared at the ceiling, hypnotized with the flashing bulb in the droplight. He had just woken up and wasn’t in the vein for his subordinates whose respect he never won. Person behind the door knocked again.
“Come in,” he said, taking no patience to wait for another knocking.
A rubicund funny-looking face belonging to a young officer appeared in the room.
“A suicide on the Chain Bridge, sir.”
Superintendent gave him a wink to show that he understood and soon after the door closed, he took out a half-empty bottle from the drawer and gulped it down. Then he lit up a cigarette, put on his old beige coat and left his office, trying to forget the flashing light and strange dream he had before.
-
It was barely a month since he had first seen her. Two days before this meeting he - accidentally of course - bumped into his old friend who used to wear a wig impregnated with naphthalene and whose favourite habit was a long-lasting clenching hug.
Two days later, a terrible company of boring people – disguised as Robin Hood, prostitute or cuddly rabbit - at his friend’s fancy-dress birthday party compelled him to look round for an empty room where he could have had some rest. And there she was: sitting on a bed among some creasy clothes with an empty champagne glass, smiling at him.
“Would you like some more?” he asked, noticing the glass.
“No,” she laughed, “I’ve had enough. Or do you wanna get me drunk?”
There was a lot of broken glass on the floor and they barely understood each other because of loud music that was rumbling the house. But despite the problems in communication they spent all night talking among the cullet and both were surprised how much they have in common.
-
The cell phone rang. He woke up with a start and looked about the room confusedly. Everything seemed to be in good order. “It’s been only a dream,” he said to himself, trying to find the glasses to be able to finish the dissection report he had started writing before he fell asleep. His phone rang again.
“Yes?”
“That’s me.“ Superintendent´s voice sounded extra excitedly.
“Aah, so long. How’s it going?” He was always pleased when his younger brother called him.
“Listen,” he started impatiently as if he absolutely misheard brother’s question, “do you remember the fortune-teller we visited with junior?”
“Of course I do, man! I’ve just had a dream of her,” he said with undisguised surprise.
“You…what?“ Superintendent almost whispered.
“I’ve just had a dream of her,” doctor repeated. “The fortune-teller you spoke about. She was sitting on the pavement with a bowl full of water and... Gosh, she said something like...”
“She said: ‘The youngest brothers often predecease’.“ Superintendent took advantage of the moment and finished the sentence.
“You...aah, that’s strange. You must have had the same dream,” he exclaimed.
Superintendent didn’t evidently share his brother’s enthusiasm. “It wouldn’t call it a dream,” he said slowly.
“What else?” asked the doctor. “Wait,” he said in a little while, “don’t you try to tell me that... No, it can’t be truth.”
No need to explain the sudden silence.
-
It was raining fast. He stopped, gasping for breath. There were thousands of meaningless thoughts repeatedly running through his head. He tried to think but he couldn’t. “How dare she turn me down?!” he almost shouted. ‘Anger is not good for your health!’ As if he heard his mother... Then he smiled - but not happily. He knew what to do and it was the first (and perhaps even last) time in his life he had been fully satisfied with his own decision.
-
A man with a wig and unmistakable smell of naphthalene was standing on the bridge as a police car stopped on the pavement close to him. He picked up a button of his coat he was looking for and slowly stepped forward towards home. His wife used to cook dumplings on Sundays.
