“Well, yes, but wouldn’t that mean that any aggressor could then just take over? Take the country or even exterminate a nation completely?” — Dominik continued worriedly. The idea of the pacifist, peacemaker or even Gandhi for that matter had somehow never agreed with his mind. India’s silent resistance never really worked. It was an ordeal. The British did their bit anyway. That they eventually left was just a coincidence. No storm lasts too long. What good is not bleeding if we’re bleeding inside. As if one could even want to oppress or displace or try to wipe out one unique nation. That they will obey and live on under another flag nothing but a treason. No, Dominik never particularly understood pacifism and decided to end the debate.
“Where would we all be?” — Dominik began to wonder in his mind. “If we all stop defending ourselves and lay down our arms, there will always be that one person somewhere who still wants to rule and control, and that one person will keep their weapons. Human nature and the world of humans hasn’t really changed in all these millennia why should everything change just today. Dominik had no confidence in human intelligence progress. Hitler was intelligent but that didn’t stop him from doing damage because he had a misguided heart. Complexes made him a monster. We are cursed and we will remain cursed. The only thing we can believe in is that strange and most primitive, yet most noble, human emotion called love. Pacifism is therefore a manifestation of love. I understand it now. That’s why it’s often said how emotional intelligence trumps cerebral intelligence. Empathy over indifference. Peace over war. Love and freedom are the basic stuff of which our souls are woven. But the body lags behind, the flesh tends to be flawed. It carries with it a lot of old genes, and maybe still the monkey one.” — Dominik finished the interesting reflection within him and addressed Jelka.
“Well, and how did you survive when covid came?” — deliberately changed the subject. In his mind, he sarcastically congratulated himself that on this beautiful day, here, as he was walking with Jelka, he had not chosen something more positive to talk about. From war to covid. I am a master of dating. My speciality is to bring pleasant conversations about current plagues and bloodshed.
“It was a difficult time.” — said Jelka and became a little sad.
“Damn you Dominik! You and your sick obsession with drama and always opening highly unpopular debates. Why do you always dig into things that no one else wants to talk about?” — thought Martin as he was floating next to them.
“But let’s see who wants to be a judge here. I will never forget how I once spoke during a business lunch in front of a handful of deserving managers and one director of the purchasing department. All were already gray, and some were already looking forward to retirement. It seemed to many that they wouldn’t even make it. So, there I was, having rather an inappropriate rant. I commented widely on how someone can stay in one company at one position for 20 years, and that it is unhealthy and unnatural and that I would have hung myself a long time ago. Life is supposed to be turbulent and dynamic — I reasoned confidently. And it wasn’t until dessert when I noticed that it was somehow too quiet at the table and that everyone was staring at me. But I admire you guys a lot, I’m just saying, 3 years in one position or 5 years in one company is my maximum. — I said after a while to repair the damage and to hide the embarrassment that was reflected in my face, I drank some coffee. Their faces are still in front of my eyes. Suddenly, I was no longer a part of what they worship and therefore I became unpopular. I may have lacked tact at times. I come like an earthquake, but after that it’s quiet, and then I count and look at the damage. In this world, it is popular to worship the established system and old trends, but few dare to swim against the current or even dare to talk about it.” — Martin recalled, now with a good laugh.
“But we survived.” — Jelka continued and smiled. “My mother left us; I didn’t have any profit from the apartment anymore. The season was miserable. I lived on savings. I was most worried about the children and little Leo. There was this lockdown. We have never seen such empty streets in here. The only luck is that we live by the sea. Every illness here lasts half as long as it lasts in the landlocked country. I think everyone believed in that too. But many died. Although that summer also smelled of oleanders and roses, it also smelled of sadness and uncertainty of the coming days. But we managed everything. Here we are, ha-ha!” — she laughed and wrapped her left arm around his broad shoulders.
“And what about you Dominik? How did you experience it in Slovakia?” — she asked, stroking his sweaty back with her palm. Dominik felt uncomfortably. He hated he sweats so much, especially during the summer. He spotted a rose bush that grew over the fence and thought it is a good excuse to break out of the uncomfortable embrace.
“Oh, ah, it’s only the morning and it’s already so hot.” — he said and jumped away from her. He tore off a tiny rose with a piece of the stem. He smelled it and then offered Jelka. She buried her nose deep into the rose and closed her eyes. Dominik took the flower from her hand and put it in her hair. It held it there nicely on the side of her head.
“And now you are the queen of all roses.” — he told her as she giggled blissfully, and they continued on their way.
“The pandemic has really taken a toll on us.” — Dominik continued to the question. “The lockdown was tragic. Mandatory tests even worse and everyone was afraid of the vaccine. No one knew what exactly we were dealing with. I also got sick then and later too. The condition gradually went down. Look at that big belly of mine!” — he laughed, to which Jelka did not react at all. It seemed that his few extra pounds didn’t bother her at all.
“A grocery shopping was the only daily trip. That was the only adventure a person experienced during the whole day. At one point I couldn’t even go for a walk. The policemen stood at the entrance to the park and checked whether I had a mask and a test. We lived locked in our apartments. It was unbearable. They let us work from home. None of us have been the same since. Everything has changed. People remained somehow strange. A lot of people died. It was all such a big shock. Society has changed. I remember the day when they announced the end of the obligation to wear masks. It was such a strange feeling. We all suffered with masks and suddenly a relief. Such a discontinuation of this strict rule is, like, same as if someone takes an iron shirt off you. Imagine wearing it every day, getting used to its weight and discomfort and eventually being fine with it and then someone just say — You no longer have to wear this shirt, you’re free. Man is a strange creature. They teach him to obey, and he tolerates effort, and then when the rules are relaxed a little, it’s always a great joy. There are two different reactions to the sudden influx of freedom. Some start to rejoice and rejoice. They can’t believe their eyes. They enjoy concessions. Eventually, they get used to it and stop appreciating it, and freedom becomes their norm again. And then there are others. These miss the rules. They are timider and have become very used to obedience. They only reluctantly, distrustfully and skeptically took off their masks. Some expressly wish for a firm hand over them and a firm order. They live by discipline. It fulfills them when they can obey. It is not that they are irresponsible or that they do not know how to take care of themselves in the interest of a functioning society and shared responsibility. After that, they would rather fit into the group of maladaptive outcasts and anarchists. But they prefer when they have to follow someone or something, because otherwise they feel lost. When they torture themselves with some duty, they feel all the freer, and what’s more, happier. Well, that’s a mankind. That’s us. It’s human nature.” — said Dominik and, with this lengthy talk, it looked like he was actually trying to explain something more or less to himself.
“However, the worst part was the separation. Total detachment from colleagues and people. I got used to it as we all tend to do so if there is no other choice.” — he concluded and smiled a little as to show those days are gone and he is now a lot happier, even though it wasn’t really so.
“And what about your parents? All good I hope.” — asked Jelka.
“Yes. Mom is survivor and dad, he passed away long time ago.”
Ah, I am sorry to hear that. Were you close? My father was such a cold person. I never really cared for him I must say.” — she confessed.
“My father was cold person too. I don’t remember him ever being warm or sensitive, sad or vulnerable, for that matter. Hang on, once. He once told us the story with tears in his eyes. It was after a long weekend with friends from fishing. He came back very drunk and somewhat unusually sensitive and uncertain, sometimes on the verge of despair and often incoherent. After he was done with the story, he cried in mom’s arms like a little child or like a little doe that lost its mother. When growing up with his grandmother he stole the keys and went to see the empty house of his tragically deceased parents that stood just a few metres from the grandma’s house. Kids weren’t allowed to enter that house. Grandma thought it would bring up some painful memories, however, she would never allow to demolish the house either. She was a strange old woman. Perhaps with a mind of her own, full of strange secrets and pain easing habits. She would often just disappear for hours, visiting the old house. What she was doing there nobody knows. Naturally, my father was, as all kids, very curious so one day when she wasn’t around, he stole the keys and set off for a little adventure. He climbed a few steps and unlocked the mysterious door, which creaked a lot. The spiders were the first to escape, and then a small mouse seemed to fly down the corridor. Father was enveloped by the smell of the musty house that hadn’t been aired for years. He trembled with fear but the desire to visit the house drove him like the devil’s whip. He couldn’t explain it to himself. He wanted to enter the house long time ago, perhaps because it was forbidden and, as everything that is forbidden, it tastes better when we go for it. He was also looking for some sort of satisfaction and or resolution in it. He missed his parents and his grandmother’s off-limits monument made him spiteful. He decided to crash it and turn everything upside down. Grandma’s obsession with the house was driving him crazy. As a cheerful kid, he also found it all very strange. Yes, he saw her numerous times as she went there in the evenings after she had put the children to bed and thought he was fast asleep. The little lantern and her haggard, bitter, pain-weary face in the reflection of the dim light. He hated her for it. His little sister had been afraid and had declined the invitation for a revolutionary visit to the house. She remembered the day all too bitterly and never wanted to see the house from the inside again. All the time she was growing up there she had made herself to believe the house was simply not there. She was persistent and very strong about that. When she and her brother played around the garden and house and father pointed his little finger towards the scary house, she’d claim that she doesn’t see any house and laughed at him saying he’s imagining things that don’t exist. That day of the tragedy she was unusually picked up from school by a half-demonized and half-God-surrendered grandmother who just took her into her house without a word. When little one asked where are the parents and why she cannot go home, grandma told her that the floors of the house were already rotten and would have to be repaired before it was possible to go inside again. The little one believed everything. The fact that mom and dad didn’t come grandma explained it was because they had gone to work in a distant town so they could all have a better life. As the years passed, the old woman talked more and more about the fact that her parents could soon return. But when she saw that the children had gotten used to the fact parents are gone and were thinking and asking less and less about them, she decided not to prolong the agony any longer and started to think about how to tell them the truth, or rather something less ugly than truth about their parent’s death. Three years passed, and as they sat at the dinner table, little sister just asked about the parents and whether they ever come back. Grandma could see there was not much pain left in that little face and question was rather just a regular question. The tone of it, the way she asked, you can easily compare to: Can I please have some more bread? The old woman folded her hands as if to pray and said: Unfortunately, your parents had fallen ill with a terrible disease and died. She thought it was a merciful lie of which she probably confessed the very next day. So, there he was. My father in the house. The clock on the wall was no longer ticking. They were as silent as the mystery of this house. Things remained still, as if enchanted in time. The slippers were where his sister had left them, and all the shoes and house slippers of both father and mother lay side by side. Neatly arranged. His slippers weren’t lined up but were carelessly kicked off against the wall, just as he always left them before leaving for school. Their jackets and coats were hanging on the rack. Dad threw them on the floor and pissed on them. The suppressed anger, defiance and sadness were probably much stronger than they might have seemed. Dad next kicked his slippers and shoes all over the hallway and rolled further in. He walked into the living room. There was dust everywhere. There was dead bunch of flowers in a crystal vase on the dresser. Mother loved fresh flowers. She’d have fresh ones in the vase every week. He grabbed the vase and threw it on the floor. Dried roses turned immediately into the red dust and little crystals ran all over the living room floor as if they too had had enough and were glad to be free. There were plates on the dining table from breakfast. Dad remembered that beautifully normal morning before he lost his parents for good. He remembered kissing his mom as he left the house for school. She was perfectly happy that morning, as always. Smiling and smelling like roses. He stared on the plates and remembered his mom preparing the food and their little arguments for the bread he always refused to eat. He’d eat eggs and pork sausages only. Interestingly, the bread Dad hadn’t finished that morning wasn’t there. But the eggshells were still there. So, he reckoned that the mice had eaten it rather than that grandma had cleaned it up. She never touched anything. She used to go in there to have her own little crying session. She wanted things to stay as they were left. It helped her to feel something so she could push out some more tears. Mom would never leave the table like that. What was she in such a hurry for, and why didn’t she clean it up? Smash! All the plates flung about the floor. Then he pulled down the yellowed, dusty curtains and opened the windows. The bed in the parents’ bedroom was made and on the nightstand was a book his mother was reading, there was a bookmark on page 63. On The Trail of a Murderer, the title read. She liked crime novels. Dad had messed up the bed and torn down the curtains in this room too. He didn’t open the window this time but threw Mom’s heavy book through it. After that, he supposedly doesn’t remember anything except that his grandmother found him sobbing in the bedroom he shared with his sister when they were little. He was sobbing and screaming all over the house. “Well, where are you? Crazy grandma says you’re still here! How come there are no fresh flowers in the vase anymore. Mama why didn’t you clean up? Do you hear? Why is there dust everywhere and why do we have such dirty windows and yellow curtains? Mom, Dad, where are you? Wheeeere aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare you!!!!?” — he roared and continued screaming and tearing himself out of his grandmother’s arms, then beating her old chest, pulling her hair with his young little confused sweaty hands. The grandmother brought her grandson in, and he was entrusted to the medical care for a few weeks. The doctor referred to the event as delayed post-traumatic stress. The grandmother did not confide that it was all her fault as well, on the contrary, when Dad came back home, he found the monument was back in its original state. The window glazed and the old curtains hung. I don’t think father ever forgave her for this madness, but she was both mother and father to him. What could he do but do that little and loved her.” — Dominik told the story, and as if all the devils wanted it, somewhere in there in the middle of this pathetic tale he must have lost reality altogether, because he found himself holding Jelka around the waist. She had her head resting on his right shoulder and her eyes were watering. She claimed to have allergies. Dominik handed a napkin. His nose was constantly running ever since pandemic begun, no matter if it was summer or winter. Jelka rubbed her eyes, and soon a gorgeous beach opened up before them to which, from the top of the street, a long winding staircase led.
“Yay! Here we are!” — Jelka smiled. “Sabličevo Beach. My favorite! Come on, quick, before people pile in!” — Jelka said, rushing down the stairs. Dominik remained standing at the top, watching dreamily as Jelka rolled briskly and energetically down. She was so full of fire and energy. She knew how to get emotional, but she was so strong at the same time. This combo was getting into his blood more and more.
The beach was really cozy. Pebble beach with a small beach bar where they cooked nice food and offered lovely cocktails, bears and wines. There was some amazing and cheerful music coming from the bar. Martin, a former music lover, quickly went to check it out.
“Jack Jezzro and That’s Amore. Oh magical, well, simply magical. A tastefully selected music always changes the whole atmosphere, wherever you are. It doesn’t matter if you live on your own, let’s say, in some isolated lighthouse, or sitting in the beach bar full of people, having some nice cocktail. Good music always changes everything! — Martin thought and then flew to see Agnes. She was sitting in the office. Shockingly enough, always ready for anything and immortal, a raincoat hung over the back of her office chair. Ever since she was so unexpectedly splashed, she hadn’t shown herself out by the terminals otherwise than fully prepared. It was always comical, seeing her in the bright yellow raincoat as the sun was baking outside and there wasn’t a cloud anywhere, but the workers didn’t even dare to smile. By the time Martin returned, Jelka and Dominik were already in the water. They were laughing like little children and then they swam together further out to sea where, Martin’s hawkish eye didn’t miss that, the first kiss fell. Martin thought they wouldn’t even come back.
“They drowned tragically. In each other’s deep love.” — Martin sarcastically imagined the headline of tomorrow’s newspaper. He would never swim that far. His phobia of stray sharks had never given him peace of mind. Martin therefore never really enjoyed deep sea swimming.
“Fear is the enemy of all good things. Fear binds and locks everything that is free. All those good actions, ideas and thinking. Fear is therefore unacceptable. Awareness is fine, but fear is not!” — Martin thought and knew that now, but it was somehow too late for him to use that knowledge and it made him a little sad and nostalgic. He still couldn’t quite believe he was really dead.
“Is this really the end?” — he kept asking himself as he watched Dominik happily swimming and splashing around Jelka. They really looked like the love has something pretty good out there for both of them. Oddly enough, despite the overweight, Dominik was a great swimmer and Jelka also swam like a fish in water. She had a beautiful figure. For her age, she really did. Martin was bored with the brand-new lover’s kissing and with all those couples freshly or lately in love, so he hovered in the bar for the time being, imagining how such a white dry wine, chilled one, perhaps with some ice cubes, might taste like. He was continuously losing the touch with the planet earth life as he knew it and was forced to use imagination. This was somehow frustrating. Memories of all the tastes of this beautiful world were fading and he craved to live more and more. Malvasia with iced soda in this heat. Or nice those nice french fries over there. He missed our life. Eventually, somewhat reconciled with fate, he embarked to listen to the boring, yet somehow, charmingly human conversations of the beach bar’s tourists. There were Americans and Italians. The group of young Americans was arrogant at best. As if the whole world belonged to them and as if everyone abroad should worship them or something. It was not known where it came from, but they were like that. Maybe the country had raised them badly and maybe they just couldn’t resist it. Every nation has a history which, directly or indirectly, then shapes the nature of the nation. The Croatians had it in for all. They had a kind of sexy energy. And the Italians, they were, quite simply, Italians. They threw their hands up to the sky and complained about the poor quality of the red wine. Mamma Mia! Non puoi bere quel vino! Eventually, Dominik and Jelka came back from the water and sunbathed for a while, had a few drinks, and then headed back to town where they had lunch. After they got home Martin preferred not to look anymore but he wasn’t at all surprised that they had locked themselves in Jelka’s bedroom, from where only the muffled but unambiguous notes of shared love and physical connection were coming out. The erotic connection of two people who just clicked. Dominik had a smaller penis and Martin learned from his thoughts that this was a major block to any attempts to reintegrate himself into a life of love, relationships and eroticism. Jelka told him one morning that when they were together it felt like her beeping washing machine was calling her. She knows she has to go turn it off, but it can wait a little longer. Dominik has fallen completely in love with her.
By the end of the holiday, Jelka took him to the nearby beaches, to Trsat Castle and to Opatija. They had breakfast together every morning and Dominik once cooked a real Slovak chicken broth and then also prepared fish, and another time chicken with lime and chilly, according to Jamie Oliver’s recipe. Jelka got all misty in her eyes. She said that no one had ever put anything ready like that in front of her. Dominik then kissed her and said that from now on this would be the normal occurrence. The view from Trsat Castle was truly magical. Beautiful sunsets and walking through the streets of Opatija added to the romance. They were already walking hand in hand along the charming streets. Martin, all bitter because of his death, hated it all, and rather read interesting information about the town and its history.
Opatija is a beautiful coastal town on the Adriatic coast. The fashionable 19th century resort is dotted with villas from the Habsburg era. The Lungomare is a promenade that snakes along the coast and offers views of the town and neighbouring islands. The 19th-century Villa Angiolina, set in a garden of exotic plants, is home to the Croatian Museum of Tourism. Parts of St. James Church date from the 16th century.
As they were saying goodbye, Dominik stupidly asked if he could call her occasionally. Jelka said she had nothing else in the house except beeping devices, wash machine or dishwasher, and that she would expect him to beep, text or call, every day.
After arriving home, Dominik kissed his mother at home in Brehy and took one last look at the beautiful fields and forests. At the apartments, he gave notice. He had arranged a so-called remote working agreement with his boss which allowed him to work from anywhere within the country, but since Dominik was an expert and they didn’t want to lose him, his boss never really asked if he was sitting at home in Slovakia or if he was jerking off somewhere in Vietnam or Thailand. As vulgar and ugly as that sounds. That’s what his boss said. Dominik went back to Rijeka and he and Jelka have been living together to this day.
They go there to make love on the bits of flat rock around Sabličevo Beach, and maybe, they go somewhere else to make love. Imagine that they also adopted a child. The little gypsy from Syria was a screamer at best, and a lifer who always seemed to say he didn’t need anyone, but grandson Leo had grown to love him, both, the little immigrant and Dominik. Both of Jelka’s sons consistently hugged Dominik during visits as if he was some kind of miracle or something. They were all so happy their mom found love at last. Dominik found himself in a world that was absolutely amazing and downright unbelievable, and he talked to his great-grandmother and father every night.
“I told you it would always end well in the end.” — he was saying in the bathroom out the window as he knelt on his knees.
In his mind, Grandma said to him: Thanks God. Bless all his powers. Dad told him: Thank you Dominik, God is only ever where you are too.
It’s November. Martin woke up at the end of this fantastic story back in the woods. In his ears the headphones and Julie London’s Blue Moon. It was quite cold there at Mala Bana in Rača, where he had fallen asleep. His watch showed only one minute later he last checked time before his sleep. All disillusioned, he ran back to his apartment. He lifted his head from the wooden table and couldn’t believe this miraculous feeling of physicality and the feeling that he was really alive. Life is here. Oh my merciful God! I am alive. For God’s sake, I really am alive. He grabbed his face and tugged at his hair. Then he pinched his cheek.
“From Rijeka to a chilling awakening. What a weirdly wonderful and at the same time ugly dream! — he was saying to himself as he ran back downhill to the apartments. I’m going to change everything, I’m going to change everything, I’m going to turn my whole world upside down.” - he kept repeating over and over as he ran back towards his good old life.
“So, it was all just one terribly long yet beautifully short dream? He ran down the hill and through the woods, and the dark forest valley seemed more beautiful to him than ever before. He ran for his life. The candles in the apartment were burning and everywhere was warm and pleasant. Martin settled down and called his mother.
“Mom I’m going to Africa.” — he said and hanged up.
With frozen hands, he found the email in the discarded mailbox. After a year, he replied to the charity in Africa.
The subject: Life is one big adventure. If only we could afford to admit it!
Dear Organization,
I’d like to go help wherever there is a need. Please let me know further details.
Yours sincerely
Marcel Horáček
