My new book is going to be published very soon I hope. I am looking forward, I am madly excited. But finishing the book is also a painful process in which many stories, initially part of the book, being kicked out. Below is my favorite kick out from my new book.
ABYSS
Within just a few minutes of crossing the border, my Spanish friend started his grumbles. Everything was so weirdly different here. The cars had no license plates, the radio and café’s blared out strange and aggressive music.
– Cabron, let’s go back. It was nice on the coast. Are you sure this is the best solution?
It’s always the same. Whatever the country, the Spaniards only interest is in three things; white sandy beaches, tequila, and attractive young women of preferably loose morals. The tequila part of this list, taken in prodigious quantities, helps a good deal with the attractive part and especially with loosening of morals part. I don’t think he was actually aware of any other benefit in travelling the world.
– It’s too late to turn back now bro. I made an appointment and paid the deposit.
My thoughts are elsewhere, this is the city She once lived in. Imagine if I bumped into her. I can only pray.
– Ok, but let’s not stay too long Cabron.
– Bro, we will stay as long as it takes, you know how important this meeting is. I’ve had it with your Spanish contacts. No more Spanish mafia partners. No more Spanish graphologists who suddenly disappear off the face of the earth. This city has our only solution now. Besides, the best nightlife in the world is right here my friend. Forget Bali, forget Barcelona or New York, you are now in the epicenter of nothing but crazy wild times.
– Yeah right. We’ll see.
I try to persuade him to put shoes on. Oddly enough wearing shoes is all the rage in the Serbian capital. His customary barefooted surfer image would not go down to well in this city of large men and short tempers. He buys the biggest softest shoes that he can find that make him look like a clown only slightly. Comfort is important to our Spaniard. He makes several brave attempts at tying the laces himself.
– The last time I wore shoes was three years ago in Japan. Did I tell you the story?
– Is that the one where you went to Tokyo to make your fortune by having Japanese girls pay you for sex?
– Something like that. The great white gigolo surfer. Sounded like a good idea at the time.
– Didn’t work out?
– Not really. It was my one big night, my one big chance to make my mark at the most happening club in Japan that was called, funnily enough, La Senorita. For my gala entrance I bought expensive patent leather shoes that unfortunately came in only Japanese sizes. I didn’t end up dancing that night. I couldn’t even walk. I waddled and limped up the red carpet like an idiot. Then I got purple blisters that burst and bled and the shoes were so tight I couldn’t take them off and then I got an infection. They deported me from the country in the end. I don’t know why.
– Yes, wearing shoes can be tough.
In the Former Yugoslavian Republic of Serbia, a guest is a holy vessel that is to be honorably consecrated with all manner of sacred offerings. I stuff my Spanish guest with all manner of barbequed meat, wine and strong homemade plum brandy.
His face slowly changes color, his dreadlocks fall over his unfocused and bloodshot eyes. He starts to sway and rock with a permanent grin of the imbecile. A spider caught in his own web.
From bar to bar along the Sava river, arguments of important nonsense and dances of hysterical laughter. It’s never far to the next club, just a few steps over to the next party pontoon on this long line of floating nightclubs.
My Spanish guest is having the time of his life. This is his city now. He is now perfectly fluent in the native Serbian dialect of drunken smile, shaky gesture.
– Gracias Cabron! This city is fantastic!
– I knew you would like it. Don’t want to be the one to say I told you so. But bro, I would like to go home sometime soon.
I had a good time but I’m tired, tired from looking for Her.
– I am not leaving this place Cabron! Everybody loves me here!
His response is well expected. I hand him a piece of paper with our address scribbled on it and bid him adieu.
* * *
A silky tall blond slinks over towards our Spanish hero. She speaks in the slang of the suburbs.
– Plaćaš piće? (Wanna buy us a drink?)
– Lo siento, I don’t understand. I am a from Espana!
Wow, a Spaniard. Good looking and dancing like a machine. She lays it all on him, nonstop tales of her life as he nods drunkenly at every pause, both now draped over the couch. His famous Latin charm, programmed to be fully operational even when blind drunk, captures her in his web. No retreat, no surrender. He’s already in love.
A commotion starts on the other side of the dance floor. It’s the kickoff to a game played out in bars across the world, brought to you by alcohol, sponsored by testosterone. Loud voices, swearing, breaking glass, then flying fists and the smack of flesh, looks like this one is going to be a big one.
– What’s going on?
Our Spanish hero is a bit slow on the uptake. He scopes out the room and some small elementary part of his alcohol-addled cerebrum informs him that this is not a desirable situation. Now the whole bar seems to be a heaving, whirling mix of knees, fists and flying bottles.
– Just some guys fighting.
The blond is not overly concerned. She’s Serbian. Just another night in Belgrade.
The thrashing mob slowly creeps their way. He lets go of her hand and holds on tight to something very precious, a small crumpled piece of paper. He’s looking for an escape route and weighing his options. Should he try and politely excuse his way past those big men hammering at each other’s faces, or just sit here quietly. He could also jump out the window into the freezing river. Not a bad option considering the tidal wave approaching ever closer. Decision made he studies the piece of paper carefully to memorize the address on it. He’s no fool, its called tactical planning. But there’s something wrong with the writing, it’s all alien and scribbly. He can’t be that drunk?
– Excuse me, what is this?
He asks the blonde but she has lost all interest in the Iberian warrior, she has no respect for cowards.
– Cyrillic writing you idiot, someone’s address. Not mine thank god.
And with that she crumples it up and throws it out the window into the river. The quick thinking Spaniard did what any man of honor would do, he stood up and with lightning speed, jumped out the window into the mighty Sava River.
* * *
I search for my guest of honor in the center of the city, in the cafes and restaurants. I call the hospitals. At the police station they inform me of the previous night incident. I rush making my way to the riverfront prepared for the worse. An obliterated pontoon floats unmoored, one corner jammed into the shore. All the windows are smashed out and broken pieces of furniture litter the deck. Looks like I missed a good night I think to myself. Right next to it, on a grass patch covered in empty bottles, lay an unmoving body. No reason to worry, he’s just sleeping off a big night in Belgrade. I shake him awake. He opens one bloodshot eye.
– Cabron? Do you think we could maybe go back to the coast now?
– Let’s go bro, let’s go right away.
I am so happy to see him.
He gets up slowly and stands on his skinny, shaky chicken legs. His clothing is dirty and ragged and he has what looks like soggy French fries in his hair. He looks down at his feet, only one clown shoe left, he reaches down and takes it off and throws it into the bushes.
– You won’t believe what happened Cabron.
– The police told me. A big fight.
– I am not talking about that. I’m talking about the river.
He looks at me with bleary eyes, his finger points towards the sign. The name of the club flickers in pale neon in the daylight. Abyss.
* * *
The next day my phone rings, it’s our Serbian graphologist. Her voice trembles as she tells me of her brief visitor the morning before. She had found him standing in front of her office door, wet, cold and very drunk, wearing only one shoe. He was whispering to himself. I found it. I found it. He whispered over and over. I found it. He was holding lovingly in both of his hands, like a piece of discovered treasure, a small soggy piece of paper.
