"Where My Mustache Took Me"
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“You’re saying I have a choice of either paying $200 for a temporary permit – just to get into the country – or catch a flight home right now!?”
I could not believe three and a half hours patiently spent with airport immigration was resorting to this. Gloating to passport control I was entering the country for an indefinite amount of time to write a short story might have been what raised so many flags.
On my Declaration Card, with a dark-red oil pencil, the passport officer pressed out ‘few months’ in the Duration of Stay section. She quickly included larger numbers, 136 from my reversed angle, over my name before turning the card over and Xing out the French side. As a final scar, the officer retrieved a pink highlighter and dug a single fat horizontal line across my side of the card.
“Immigration is going to talk with you.” She exhaled from her perch in a bored and hardened rasp.
I was relieved to have my passport returned but confused by the beating my Card received. I embraced them both with a smile and high chin. As I ambled past her work-booth with a lighter bounce in my step, I slid the documents back into the inside pocket of my herring-bone blazer. Rounding the corner, I found myself funneled toward another passport officer. He was sitting on a barstool in his dark blue uniform like a vulture scouting for a fresh dead corpse.
Casually retrieving my identification again, I simply tried to flash it to the man. He held out his dark arm to stop me as he finished sending three Asian men towards the immigration office. Caught with my bleeding Card visible
for too long, the officer was able to take an eager inspection of my papers. He licked his lips and pointed me too toward the immigration office behind him.
Refused refuge, I took the first steps around the officer with weaker legs. "Fuck!" The Asian men, also confused with this hold-back, were huddled worriedly off to the side. The crow squawked at the men and startled them to follow me.
The immigration office opened through a single door. The wide and bright room was cluttered with a maze of airport line-dividers. These could be passed over to a small conjugation of agitated individuals scuffling at its exit. I joined the people behind a Mexican family. The Asian men slowly shadowed me as they too tried to assess the situation in their own language. I kept to myself.
Fourteen booths, high like a fortress wall, protected a restricted area of hidden offices. Only three immigration officers sat at their stations, assisting foreigners to their fates. A flamboyant blond man in a white starched shirt and neon-blue slacks was standing outside the wall translating into Spanish for an elderly woman.
The Mexican family of five was called and they approached a booth together. The long wait in line found me dazed overhearing their interrogation. The father had brought his underage daughter into the country without written consent from the absent mother (which the officer tried to explain is required under law.) I was woken with a tap on the shoulder from one of the Asian men. He was pointing to the far end of the room where a small woman officer was waving for the next in line.
I casually strolled toward the thirteenth booth. A young woman in tattered jeans and a loose t-shirt sat in a small group of chairs to my right. She was rocking in her chair, muttering to herself. I approached the booth and smiled to
the Asian woman glaring down at me. Expecting her to say something, I stood there grinning back.
“Passport and Declaration Card.” She finally hissed.
I again retrieved my documents and placed them on the eyelevel counter. The officer snatched at them, leaving me standing minutes helplessly waiting while she typed on her computer. Taking off my green carrier-bag, I made myself comfortable by continuing a short story in The Acid House by Irvine Welsh.
“Why did you come to the country?” The officer squawked after some time.
Marking my spot in the book, I smiled up at her.
“Because I’ve never been here before.”
“And you plan on staying for how long?”
Learning from before I tried to clarify. “A few months.”
“Do you have a plane ticket home?”
“Well… No.” I shook. “A few months does seem kinda vague to be planning a roundtrip.”
The officer lowered her right eyebrow. “Alright…” She groaned. “Do you have friends or family in the city?”
“I believe I have a vague relative living out east. But no, I don’t have any relations downtown.”
“Where do you plan on staying, then?”
Coughing, I tried to explain. “I’m in contact with a gentleman who said he might have a room for rent.”
“Might?”
“I haven’t seen the room yet so I don’t know if I’m going to like it.”
“And if you decide not to stay there?”
“Then… I assume I’m going to find a hostel where I can rent a bed for the nights until I get a place that works.”
The officer adjusted toward me by putting her elbows on the desk and resting her head on her knuckles. “And if
you DO find a place, how you plan on supporting yourself?”
I leaned up on the counter and quietly breathed. “I have some money.”
The officer jumped back and frowned down at me.
“Money!?” She challenged. “How much do you have on you?”
“Um.” I checked my pockets. “About three dollars American.”
The officer laughed. “That’s all you have?”
Laughing myself, I leaned up higher on the counter.
“There’s more in my checking account.”
“Enough money to stay a few months!?”
Not moving from my position, with my eyes locked on hers, I nodded my head.
“Do you have any documentation proving this?”
I fell back on my heals and sighed. “No. But if you have internet on your computer, then I’m sure I can show you my online banking.”
“What!?” She snickered. “You have a trust-fund or something?”
“Actually… I just sold my car. I’m using the money to come here and write a short story.”
“You some-sort-a writer?”
I smiled. “Trying to be.”
“Have you ever been published?”
“I received a bachelor’s degree in Journalism!” I boasted.
“Doesn’t mean you’ve been published.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a requirement for a journalism degree.”
The officer took a deep breath. “Why do you have to write the story here?”
“I don’t have to write the story at all.” I rebuttaled. “I just thought your culture would be inspiring.”
Ignoring the subject, she continued. “Have you ever been convicted of a DUI?”
Startled, I cleared my throat. “Well… not convicted, no.”
“Because I have here saying in 2004 you got picked up in Boulder County under suspicion of drunk driving.”
“That is true.” I admitted. “But only under suspicion.”
The officer again leaned on her desk. “Were you drunk driving?”
“I was pulled over.” I corrected. “Solely because I was driving on the sidewalk.”
“On the sidewalk!?” She sat up.
“Well… At first I was off-roading in a grassy field but I had to use the sidewalk to get back on the road.”
“And you weren’t drinking?”
“Not at the time, no.”
The officer tilted her head to the side.
“What!?” I stepped back. “You think I’m some sorta criminal!?”
She took a long survey of my face. I matched her stern look.
“Alright…” She slowly stood. “I’m still required to look into this. Take a seat and I’ll get back to you.”
The officer gathered some papers and made her way to the back offices. I noticed my passport on her desk and thought about reaching over to retrieve it. Deciding against it, I looped the carrier-bag over my shoulder and turned to the group of chairs behind me. The young woman was rocking in her seat. I took a chair two from her, opened my book and finished the story.
I sat staring at the white/grey wall longer than I spent reading. The woman sitting next to me was comfortably slouched in her seat. A side door I did not notice before opened with the immigration officer leading a large man to her aid.
“Alright Johnny…” She cawed.
I stood with a smile and discovered the man was no more my height.
The woman looked up at me. “How many bags did you have with you?”
“I checked two bags.” I muttered glancing back at my carrier-bag. “But why?”
Without answering, she turned and began walking down the wall of interrogation booths. The man officer waited until I grabbed my carrier and followed. “We’ll be going to Baggage Claim to retrieve your bags.” The woman commanded over her shoulder.
A longer line had formed in the waiting pen. It was loud with low murmuring and shuffling of bags. We paraded past the foreigners and exited through the security doors. As we rode the escalator down to the baggage corridor, the male officer took privilege in explaining the main reason why they were skeptical of allowing me into the country.
“If you don’t have sufficient funds to live on for the period of your stay, the providence cannot be obligated to provide you with a suitable income.”
“You don’t want me coming here to find work.” I sympathized.
“Well…” He grumbled. “Generally speaking.”
Bags arriving from LaGuardia Airport came to Baggage Claim 3. The area was vacant and the belt was not moving. My airplane, Flight 701 arriving at 2:25 p.m., was not
listed. The sign read the last bags to arrive came from O'Hare Airport, Flight 596 arriving at 3:17 p.m.
The three of us, woman officer leading and man guiding, walked around the belt to see if my bags were left to the side. The woman kept pointing to different bags. I could not claim one until I was close enough to inspect it.
“What!?” She growled. “You don’t know what your own bags look like?”
Carefully, I tried to explain my poor eyesight. I would prefer not to strain them but would rather wait until I approached the bag before examining it. This added minutes to the task. We browsed along the walls and in-between every twenty-two Baggage Claim belts.
The male officer interrogated further on my supposal arrest in Boulder County. I tried to inform it was campus police who pulled me over. The woman asked what difference that made. “They’re more like rent-a-cops.” I briefed. “Their qualifications might not necessarily be par.” The officers huffed at the comment and started walking at a quicker pace.
At Customer Service, we found one of my bags. It was the large REI travel-bag. My travel-rucksack was still missing. I was happy to have found the one bag I felt more valuable; it had my laptop. But soon I realized the JumpDrive with my novel and worse still, the family neighbor’s hardback James A. Michener, The World Is My Home, was in the rucksack.
I asked the Customer Service man if my baggage-stub could help track the lost bag. He made me fill-out a Lost Baggage form. I included my name, home address, phone number and e-mail. Under Description of Bags, I wrote: “Blue Travelers Backpack; TRACKING-NUMBER 0016UA-484371.”
With the form returned, the man asked how long I was
planning on staying in the country. I smiled at the two immigration officers and laughed. “I don’t know… it might only be a couple hours.”
The woman officer took a deep breath without moving her stare from me while the Customer Service man handed me a baggage receipt. Thanking the man, the woman turned to lead the procession. I nodded my thanks and continued second in the pageant.
We stopped at an ATM for me to withdrawal money. “The receipt normally gives a balance of your account.” The man officer informed as I approached the machine. I complied but was unsure of how much to pull out. If I did like the room this Ray was renting then I would need about $250 as a down payment. I would need about the same for spending money.
I got my money and made sure to get a receipt. Checking the paper, it gave my withdrawal amount but not my balance. Handing it to the man officer, he inspected it and passed it to the woman.
“You were able to pull out $400!” She declared. “Then… you must have some money.” Struggling to shove the big wad of bills into my pant-pocket, I grinned at her and drove my hand deeper.
The woman gave me the receipt and included a white paper notice. I slid them both in my carrier-bag unnoticed. With my travel-bag in tow, we proceed to where I was not sure. Approaching a far wall with a hidden security door, the woman officer typed in a code and the door unlocked.
Inside was a wide security corridor with a horizontal row of tens of personal security counters. Two inspection officers were sitting on either side of the vacant room. The woman on the left was more eager and we went to her. The young officer told me to place my travel-bag on the counter, as well as my carrier-bag, and empty my pockets.
She set aside my cell-phone, credit-card, Colorado driver-license, lighter and a pack of Marlboro Lights. After counting the money, she squinted her eyes at me. I pouted my lips and nodded my head. Opening my carrier-bag, she pulled out ten novels, my concise Dutch workbooks and dictionary, a leather notebook and a moleskin notary.
Flipping thorough the novels, she asked. “What is it that you plan on doing here?”
I smiled. “I was kinda thinking about reading them.”
“In the city…’ She huffed. ‘For work.”
“One thing I was hoping to accomplish is compose a short novella.”
“Write a story, eh?” She stopped flipping pages and glared at me. “What would your story be about?”
I stepped to the counter and grinned. “Maybe about getting hassled at the airport.”
The woman ignored me and started flipping through another book. She stopped at a bookmarked page. There was a square cutout from a faded photograph of two cats in the foreground and a herd of sheep fenced in a snowy and vast foothill valley.
She held up the picture to inspect it. The book it came from was Three Singles to Adventure by Gerald Durrell. “I’m not sure whose picture that is.” I informed. “Most these book came from markets in Amsterdam.”
“Maybe you could write a story about this!” She smiled.
“I was thinking the same thing!” I laughed. “There’s a story everywhere.”
The officer put the photograph back and finished inspecting the books. She moved on to the travel-bag. I stepped back to lean against the next security counter where the woman immigration officer was reading through
my notary. “See anything you like?” I joked.
She did not respond but continued scanning the pages. I stood straight again and watched the inspection officer search my bag. The woman immigration officer went over to the man officer and started sharing pages from the notary. I was watching them when the inspection officer leaned her head over and harshly whispered. “You know you could go to jail for possession of resin.”
"It's over! You're fucked!" Knowing she was only speaking of my used ashtray, I was suspicious of her also including the weed-grinder. The immigration officers were coming over and the inspection officer’s threat was without their knowing. Not wanting to risk more, I shook my head and said. “I know.”
The woman immigration officer stepped up and handed the notary to the inspection officer. She read some quotes from the marked page. “What does…?” The inspection officer asked quoting from the notary. “‘Have Sex with Family Dog’ mean?” Before I could respond, she included. “And ‘Cause More Violence’? What does that mean?”
She was reading notes from an interview I did with GWAR. I tried to explain I was a music journalist and a side project was with a heavy metal magazine. The three peered at me expecting further explanation. I tried to describe what GWAR was but that confused them even more.
“Do you like this type of music?” The woman immigration officer ordered.
“Well… I’m not a huge metal fan but I do enjoy the music, I suppose.”
“This band.” She clarified. “Do you like this band?"
“Again…” I began to say.
“It’s a ‘Yes’ of ‘No’ answer.” The man officer barked.
I hesitated and with a shrug of shoulders, I pouted.
“Maybe…”
The officers sighed.
“This is a peaceful country.” The inspection officer spoke up. “We don’t want dog sex and excess violence.”
“Those can’t be acceptable in any country.” I agreed.
The woman immigration officer asked for the notary and ordered me to repack my bags. She walked away before I was ready while the man officer waited. I smiled to the inspection officer as I took the travel-bag off the counter. She gave me a stern look but her eyes smiled.
We silently made our way out the security doors. The immigration officers talked amongst themselves through the baggage corridor and up the security elevators to the immigration office. The man officer was helping explain an exercise that improved quickness in handcuffing a suspect.
Marching through the security-check exit and after the avenue between fortress and full waiting pen, the woman officer had me sit in a chair while the two returned to their nest. The young woman was rocking in her seat. I waited until the officers came back on their side of the wall. The man took a chair at the fourteenth booth while the woman stopped briefly at the thirteenth before heading to the back offices.
I was contemplating starting another short story but was too anxious to focus on reading. A hand-clock behind each of the booths read the time as 4:35 p.m. I slouched in the chair while the young woman leaned back against hers.
My mind was numb from watching the clock slowly tick past the quarter hour. The immigration officer returned to her booth and called for me. She asked to see my online checking. I showed her my home page where my savings, checking and 6-month CD are shown. She wanted to see specifically when the car payment
wasplaced into my account. I scanned the checking transitions until I found, on August 27th, 2008, I received a check for $5,000.
“Alright…” She exhaled. “At this point, you have two options.” Since I was already here, I figured I would pay the money for the temporary permit. The officer had me take a piece of paper to the cashier and get it notarized after payment. She printed out the wrong form at first which required me go back with the proper form.
After all was paid and the permit was signed, the officer stamped and returned my passport. She came back out the security door and led me to a side door. “It’ll be best if you use the emergency exit.” She smiled. Opening the door, she let me step into a small dim interrogation room. I pulled up my travel-bag level and looked back at her. She tossed me my notary and laughed. “Welcome to Toronto!” And closed the door.
Concluding the emergency exit door was around a corner at the far end of the interrogation room, I was letting out a heavy sigh when I was caught short. The corner produced a bare wall. I laughed and turned around to find another door at the other end. "Let freedom ring!"
Upon opening it, I was expecting to find myself on the floor above the escalators. Instead I found the emergency exit stairwell. As I stepped into the bright light, I heard the echo of the door close behind me. I tried the door but it was locked and required a pin code to gain entry.
Lugging my travel-bag down two half-flight stairs, I figured this would be the main floor to the baggage corridor. There was a door but it too was locked and required a code. Leaving my bag to run down the next flight of stairs, I found an emergency exit that warned of an alarm when opened. I ran back to retrieve my bag and
found no other alternative but to set off the alarm.
When opening the door, no alarm sounded. I was in the back corridors of the airport basement. The wide cement hallway curved inwardly in both directions. A downward incline across from me was guarded by handrails and a large metal garage door was closed on the far wall.
I took the corridor to the left and briskly towed my travel-bag. A smaller side hallway leading to what I imagined was outdoors doglegged me through until I came to another emergency exit. The same warnings were posted. I pushed in the handle with the alarm sounding and the door not opening.
The alarm was a high pitch whine with a piercing beep. I scurried back through the hallway to get away from the noise. Although muffled, the alarm could be heard echoing in the wide corridor. I kept following my original course. I got going again when a man in a short-sleeve collar shirt and navy slacks came out a double doorway where heavy plastic strips enclosed the room.
He turned and strutted down the hallway without noticing me. I ran up to him shouting. “Excuse me! Excuse me!” The man did not slow until I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned quickly with his tie and ID card flailing.
“I apologize, sir.” I panted. “I seem to not know where I am.”
He laughed and turned to lead me the other way down the corridor. His short steps were quick and I had to work to keep up. “You coming from Baggage Claim?” He asked over his shoulder.
“I’m actually from the immigration office. They told me to take the emergency exit but all the doors I’ve tried have been locked.” Passing the hallway where I set off the alarm, I laughed. “And I set off the alarm too."
“Eh? You want Baggage Claim?”
A few steps behind the man and trying to keep up my pants, I called. “The front of the airport would be great.”
Following the hallway past the garage door, the man started toward the inner wall. “We’ll cut through the cafeteria.” He said as he approached a door, typed in a code and walked through while holding it for me.
Airport men and women in light bomber-jackets and navy cargo-pants were conversing over food at counters and tables. To my right, a woman was picking up a tray and plate at the beginning of the cafeteria kitchen.
We walked along the avenue and exited through a double door. “This is the front.” The man smiled and broke away from me. “I appreciate your help!” I shouted after him. He waved an arm without turning around.
This corridor has a wall of windows that look into the lower parking garage. A directory guide of the airport levels was off by some escalators. I located where Information was on the main floor and took the escalators up.
An elderly woman behind the counter was reading Reader’s Digest. She slowly stood as I asked how to get to downtown. She told me there was more than one central downtown Toronto. “By the water.” I suggested. Taking off her glasses and taking a short breath, I got the hint and asked if I my go make a phone call. She smiled and nodded her head.
I stepped to the side of the counter and turned on my cell-phone. This reminded me my phone charger was not with me but in my lost travel-rucksack. I was anxious about the low battery as my phone found service. My biggest hope was Ray answering his phone. He did and I talked with him while repeating directions to the elderly woman.
“Broadview Station?” I asked in the phone and looked at her.
She has pulled out a city-map. When hearing the station name, she raised a finger and pointed it out. I politely thanked Ray, told him I would call him when I got there and turned off the phone. The woman circled the subway station and showed me its far-east relation to the Toronto Pearson International Airport.
I would have to use the Bloor-Danforth Subway, she explained, to get to the Broadview Station. It would require taking a bus from the airport to the Kipling Station, the farthest station west. On a purple sticky note, she wrote down the directions.
“The fare is $2.75 and make sure to have exact change.” She beamed. “They won’t give change. Anything over would be considered donations.” The woman directed me to a snack bar where I could make change. I broke one of my many twenties by purchasing a bottle of water and a large Snickers bar.
Waiting at Department R4 in the lower parking garage, I enjoyed a cigarette while waiting for Bus 192.
* * *
“I can’t fucking believe we pulled this off!” My mustache laughs.
“Fucking tell me about it.” I smile. “Things were looking pretty grim there for a bit.”
I am stoned dancing in my small one-bedroom room while Yonder Mountain String Band is strumming away on my computer speakers. Within two days, I was able to find this room in a house in Kensington Market. On the second full day in Toronto, I was walking a block from my hostel when I pasted a house with a “For Rent” sign in the
window.
After calling the number, the landlord came to meet me within the hour. At the house, the Asian woman introduced herself as Caitlyn. We negotiated rent for the term of the two and a half months my temporary permit allowed me to stay in Canada.
“You have kind eyes.” Caitlyn smiled as we stood in the room. “I can tell you’ll be a good tenet.”
The 10x15 foot room has hardwood floors, a high ceiling and one small window. It is furnished with a single mattress, three homemade wooden-shelves and a dirty rug. I stacked two of the shelves to make a desk and am using the third as a bench. After I dropped my bags off from the hostel, a shared joint with one of my flat-mates has gotten me high to the point where I am too excited to sit at my computer and type. I jump from my seat at the chorus:
“Please don’t put your bullets in me/ Please don’t burry me beneath the cold, cold ground/ You and I alone both know the truth of what went on/ And you’ll never see my face again in town.”
“This is the third foreign city that I’ve lead you to.” My mustache brags. “And this is the third foreign city where you’ve been able to find a place to live and get weed to smoke within the half-week of arrival.”
“Granted.” I agree. “Amsterdam was an obvious. But Split and now Toronto! Ha-ha-ha. This shit is hilarious.”
I threw my travel-bag off the subway car at the Broadview subway station and phoned Ray. He gave me directions to take Bus 87 east to the Hamstead stop. I got off at the suburb bus-stop to find Ray not waiting for me like he said he would. I recalled him saying the house was just down the street and I began in what I assumed was the right
direction.
At the corner where the street t-boned, I leveled my travel-bag and flipped up the collar of my blazer. The one-story houses were dark in the late dusk and many yards were grossly overgrown. From a corner house, a front-light turned on and a fat man waddled onto a small porch. I walked up to the front-steps and patiently waited as the man hobbled down the stairs.
“You must be Johnny Opium.” He wheezed. I smiled at him and shook his bloated hand. He led me around the house to the back. It had recently rained and the dirt path was muddy with puddles. I had to carry my bag while slowly scuffling behind Ray.
A motion-light turned on as we got to the small backyard. A back garage and large hot-tub occupied the space. I rested the bag on the wooden-porch as Ray unlocked the backdoor. He led me onto a small concrete landing that was loose with dirt. There were steep wooden-stairs that led to a dingy basement. “You gotta be careful getting down.” Ray informed as he turned and descended the stairs with his hands clenching the handrail.
I looked down after him and laughed to myself. “This guy has got to be out of his fucking mind! You can’t be telling me you’re following him down there!?” The fat man turned on a single exposed light-bulb hanging from the ceiling. He held up his arms to help me with my bag. I had to avoid large ropes and tools stored along the unfinished stair-walls as I began to lower it. With Ray holding my bag, I turned and followed down the stairs. I too had to hold onto the handrails to avoid falling-over backward.
When I turned from the stairs, I got my bag and found Ray already passed through a single doorway into a dimly lit room. “Dude! What the fuck are you doing!? This is crazy!” I followed him into the room where large piles of dirt and stacks of concrete bags lined the left wall. To the right, there was a half knocked-down wall exposing a dark far room. I was worriedly looking at this half-room when Ray came back. “I plan on making that into a couple of rooms.” I gave him a slight grin.
He walked further into the basement that was not yet lit. I stayed under the one light in the room. As he turned on another light-bulb, his large profile appeared with his hand holding the pull-cord. I came up to him with my bag in tow. Ray moved over to lift a door that was laid against a narrow doorway. Squeezing into the room, he turned on another light-bulb hanging from the ceiling.
The light exposed the room to be the size of a closet. Ray barely had any room to turn his big belly. When he came back out, I took a step in. I found a homemade wooden single-bed draped with a deflated pool mattress. Next to the bed, two milk crates were stacked with a small TV resting on top. An extension-cord connecting the TV was coming through the ceiling.
“What the fuck is this!? My mustache laughed. “I think I will cry if you stay here.”
I came back out of the room and shook my head to Ray. He showed me two other doors to the left and right of my room. These doors were on rollers but remained unlocked.
“Two people live in these.” Ray heaved. “A student and some guy who works on computers.” He took a few steps back and slowly lowered himself onto a pile of wooden-planks.
“I don’t think there is any way I would want to stay here.” I laughed. “Where are we? What is this?”
“If you’re worried about a washroom.” Ray took a deep breath. “These two use the washroom down at the Community Center.”
“This basement and the closet for a room are what worry me.” I smirked. “I’m sorry to waste your time, but there’s no way this would work."
Ray grunted as he rocked himself to his feet. “It’s ok, eh? I have another place off of Richmond Street.”
“It’s fine, you know.” I smiled. “I think I’ll just find a hostel downtown and begin the search again tomorrow.”
“Are you sure…” Ray began but I was already leading the way out of the basement. I threw my bag up the stairs with no help and quickly climbed using the steps to hold onto. Ray slowly followed, turning off the lights.
I stepped out onto the back porch to have a cigarette and waited for him to come up. The sky was dark with a pearl of white-light streaming across the horizon.
Long heavy puffs had me done with the cigarette by the time Ray came through the backdoor. He locked the door and turned around with a red face.
“Well…” He began. “Yep!” I said and shook his hand. “This way to the front?” I pointed to the side of the house and was on the move before he let out a heavy. “Yeah.”
At the corner of the street, I looked back to the house to see Ray had reached the front porch. I waved to him with a smile and shouted. “Thanks again!” He tiredly gave a half-wave in reply.
“Cree-py…” Although I found the bus-stop on the westbound side of Westlake Avenue, I kept walking to the next bus-stop. A bus passed me while I was on the other-side of some parked cars. I ran after it with my free arm waving but the bus did not slow. Laying down my travel-bag, I unzipped it and took out my grandfather’s wool-scarf.
“You really should put a name-card on your bag.” The airport lost-and-found worker mocked me. “That’s
normally the first thing people do.”
I was about to criticize how after two days, a baggage-stub with a tracking-number should be sufficient but I was too eager to have my travel-rucksack found. I followed the back hallway where the worker told me I might find my bag. It opened to a holding-room where large metal-shelves lined the walls. Miscellaneous luggage was stored on the shelves and on the floor. A quick glance left me not seeing my bag. I jumped to a back doorway but found it led to the airport baggage crridor.
Quickly turning back into the holding-room, I began my search again when I spotted my travel-rucksack tucked behind two large pieces of luggage. I pulled it up with a hug and spun around tightly gripping it in my arms. “My bag!” I laughed. “Fuck boy! We found it!”
The woman threw me a wide-eyed gawk. I startled her in the Subway as she was putting on makeup.
“This train is going east, right?” I asked again trying to not laugh at her doted face. She mumbled. “Yes.” Hiding herself by looking back in her small mirror.
With my travel-rucksack in hand, I grappled the vertical-handrail and took a seat facing the side of the car. I tucked the bag in-between my legs before slouching in the seat and taking a deep breath. “Today is going to be a good day.” From the side of my vision, I could see the woman put away her makeup-case and sit up by straightening her blouse.
“Where you from?” The woman leaned over and smiled. I sat up in my seat.
“Denver.” I laughed.
The woman blushed and lowered her head. “Are you laughing at me putting on makeup?” She murmured.
I laughed to myself, picked up my bag and made my
way to a seat next to hers. She was sitting in an aisle-seat, facing forward. I took a side-seat one from her.
After apologizing for my carelessness, I introduced myself and told her I was looking for a place to live. “I spent all yesterday running around only to find nothing.” I sulked. “Hopefully I can find something before the end of the week.”
A middle-aged Indian woman took the seat in-between us.
“My in-laws are out of town for a couple months.” The woman said leaning around to me. “They live just off of Dufferin; not more than a couple stops from here.” The train began to slow and the Indian got up to stand by the door. When I moved over a seat, our knees banged together.
“Let me write down my number.” She said while digging in her purse. “Oh! Tuha. Where are my manners? I’m Lisa.” I shook her firm grip as a young man tried to move into the window-seat between us.
My stop, Spadina Station, was before Lisa’s. I thanked her again, hopped off the train while holding my bag with one hand and the other keeping up my pants.
The short walk back to the College Backpackers hostel was refreshing. The weather was warm but there was a cool breeze playing in the just-turning fall trees. The light load of the travel-rucksack on my back reminded me of my past year traveling in Europe and I stepped at a quicker pace.
“Hey man!” A male voice called out to me from the passenger-seat in an old Cadillac. Nodding to the man from the corner of the park, I was enjoying a cigarette while waiting for the woman to show me the room. “You from Wisconsin?” He observed from the academic
stitching on the back of my blazer
“Nah man.” I smiled. “Colorado
The man looked over to the driver and turned back to me. “Well, you want some weed or what?”
I grinned. “Weed huh?” I walked up to the car. “How much?
“$10 a gram. $15 for two.”
“I could probably go for two, then.”
He reached behind him and had someone in the back hand him a small zip-lock bag. “Two grams.” He said as he rolled the bag into his palm. I held out a $10 bill and counted out two toonies and a loonie.
We shook hands and I walked back into the park to inspect the product. It looked fluffy and felt dense. I smiled back at the car. The driver gave a small wave of the hand and nodded his head.
I slowly made the quick walk back to Oxford Street to meet up with the woman at the house.
Almost seven weeks after my arrival in Toronto, I am sipping on my third pint of Amsterdam Pilsner at the Gorilla Monsoon. “Life is a beautiful woman.” My beard says.
It could be the joint we just smoked but the narrow bar seems to have more life to it now. The tables are vacantly occupied with one group of three girls, a guy reading at the bar, and me and Tom’s friend, Allie, sitting at the front booth.
Of course there’s a bartender, Jerry the sound guy (who’s at the back watching the Canadiens game), and Tom on the small stage playing acoustic guitar.
I notice at the bar the guy is reading The Dharma Bums. I try to talk with him but he only slightly looks up from the book. I ask him his feelings about Jack’s free-spirited
lifestyle. He turns to me and begins to ramble about how too many “yuppies” began to follow the Beat way-of-life and ruined it for the rest of us.
“When reading about him forty years after-the-fact.” He continued. “I can see how Jack was able to travel and live all across America. Either working at a bar or picking peaches in a field, he found work to support himself. But times have changed and it’s not as easy to travel and work.”
Smiling at him, I suggest Lonesome Traveler. We cheers glasses and I make my way back to the table. I am telling Allie about the discussion when she brings up Tom Robbins.
I laugh and say I am currently reading Another Roadside Attraction. She smiles and leans on the table to ask me where I am in the book. I tell her I am done with the first three parts. She does her best to recall her favorite quote:
“Amanda came upon a small group of gypsies and asked, ‘Will you reveal something true of my nature?’ The gypsies asked, ‘What will you do in return?’ Amanda said, ‘I will suck you off.’ It was agreed and after she pleasured the men and the girls, the gypsies told her, ‘By nature, you are a very curios woman.’”
I smile at her and tell her I am impressed. Leaning back in my chair, I count the change of what remains from last Friday’s pay at El Crapo Movers. $3.64 is not enough for a fourth beer.
Tom finishes an Elliott Smith song and we clap for him. He does not slow but improvises and sings. “He is the man of constant sorrow/ He has seen trouble all his days/ He bid farewell to old Colorado/ The place where he was born and raised.
TRAVELING BEARD
-----------------
the mountains are high
with mushrooms and grass
stoned are the beaches
in clear solitude
trying never to miss the simplicities
for they are the hardest to see
while writing my own reward
in a life of inspiration
-----------------
The second joint of the morning and it is barely past ten. Walking along the Prinsengracht, inhaling lightfootedly, the rucksack and carrier bag seem weightless. An excited grin is on His face. The thick brown hair on His head, unevenly self-trimmed short, keeps shifting in the cool winter wind. Its lush bangs have to be continuously hand-combed back and to the right. For the first time in months He is cleanly shaven. No sideburns. No mustache… No beard.
Everything that has so unfamiliarly been considered home is now being pasted by in a puff of smoke. That huge nineteenth century sailboat with its towering mast, the Italian restaurant where He and Valerie ate at once a week, the churchyard across the canal where every Saturday the Westerstraat Market is held, and the many tall and narrow canal houses crowned with their richly ornamented gable tops. All these things slowly drift away.
And soon, too, the roach is at its end. He takes one final toke and carelessly flicks it to the ground.
It is not long until the cobblestone canal-street crossroads with the busy Haarlemmerstraat. Following the street to the right, it is cluttered with chiming bicyclists unhurriedly cruising by and nonchalant shopkeepers casually unlocking doors. Barney’s Coffeeshop, winner of the Cannabis Cup’s best weed and best hash, is on the left and soon after is the restrained Dampkring.
Coming across a favorite secondhand clothing store, the windows display hip flowing dresses and cool grandpa pants and shirts. The brown herring-bone blazer with the scholarly patches came from here. It took a month of going in before the cute Dutch girl gave Him her phone number. Now He would not be around long enough to give her a call.
Slowly walking past the store, He looks in. The lights are on but there does not seem to be anyone around. Walking on, a couple stores down, the street t-bones; by the small convenient store with crated fruits on the sidewalk. Waiting at the corner, a stream of bicyclists slowly peddles by. He stands there, staring at the haring hut across the street, wondering to get one final broodje. He decides against it to not miss the train. Crossing the street and then across the bike path, He walks down to the underpass of Prins Hendrikkade. Glancing to the right, He smiles as He spots Rasta Baby’s green, yellow and red sign.
The sidewalk joins the bike path on the other end of the underpass. Only the second step out and He is warned by a dinging bell from behind to ‘MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!’ Stepping to the side, two bicyclists pass. Quickly, He has to get to the adjacent bridge before being in the way of another pair riding towards Him.
Safely back on a walking path, He stops at the top of the bridge for a minute to observe the long, narrow tourist canal-boats lifelessly docked below. This recalls a dinner He had with the family on one of these boats. It was uncomfortable due to His impatience with the father’s photo taking. This makes Him sad for He loves the family but is not sure why there was no patience for them then. Browsing over the water to the three-story bicycle garage, He laughs to Himself and wonders how many thousands of bicycles are held there.
Having crossed the bridge, at the base of the garage, a labyrinth of bicycles is in the way. Zigzagging through, He stops every now-and-then to inspect the bicycles that must be decades old. Every bike here has its own character. Some are mountain bikes while others are street. The cruisers are the ones that interest Him the most; with their wide handlebars, fat wheels and unique paint jobs. This makes Him smile so big His teeth show. But it only reminds Him of His own cruiser and His heart sinks. Rufus was his name. Big and black. When riding him, He felt like they were flying. Rufus is gone now. Sold back to his previous owner.
At the end of the garage, the great brick building of Centraal Station looms before Him. It is not as tall as it is long but it exudes the adventurous travels of all the millions of passengers who have stopped in. Grey scaffolding masks its two main towers but its wonder still seeps through.
Entering the station’s main doors under one of the towers, He already knows the platform. 11B. When purchasing the train ticket a week before, the receptionist was kind enough to find this information for Him. She also helped Him read the ticket: ‘Trein 143,’ Train 143; ‘Rijtuig 6,’ Car 6; ‘Zitplaats 072,’ Seat 072.
Making the way through the calmly excited crowd, He finds the entrance to the platform at the end of the station. Taking the escalator up and upon getting to the top, He becomes confused.
Being His first ever train trip, He is not sure of the procedure. There is a train waiting at the platform but He does not consider it to be His. Many trains are around but only one is at this particular platform. He decides to have a rest to get His thoughts together. Unbuckling the waist and chest straps of the rucksack, He slides it off and places it on a bench. He slips off the carrier too as He begins to sit.
Bending down, He realizes there is something in the back pocket of the kakis. Instantly He remembers. He brought along the wooden weed-grinder to ceremonially toss into the Prinsengracht. Now it is too late for that. Not knowing what to do and not wanting to bring it with Him, He takes it out of the pocket and looks down at it in His hands.
Glancing to the right, He spots a green waste bin. That would not be a way to end a gift from Harry, a local smoking friend. He places it on the ground beneath the bench. This does not seem appropriate either. Picking it up, He looks over to the dark green carrier with a red star on the front. Without further thought, He slips it in under the front flap. This makes Him nervous. He does not want something so stupid to get Him into trouble. It does not have any weed in it but does have some keef and the smell of marijuana. At this point, there is no other option but to bring it.
With that settled, He looks at the platform clock. It reads twenty till eleven. Ten minutes until the train leaves. At this moment He gets the first inclination that the train before Him may be His. Standing up, He throws the rucksack on His back and loops the carrier back over His
shoulder.
A station attendant in a blue suit and flat conductor’s hat is walking unbusily by. He stops the man and asks if this is the train to Berlin. The attendant responds with an annoyed, ‘Yes,’ as if He is foolish not to know.
Satisfied with the answer, He walks along the tall train cars until He matches the number on the ticket with a car. He finds the door at the end of the car and grabs hold of the vertical hand railing as He takes the three high steps onto the train. Turning to lead into the car, through a pivoting glass door, He trucks down the aisle and easily matches the seat number. Tossing the carrier down on a seat, He throws the rucksack in the overhead holding and takes off the heavy jacket. The fake fur around the rim of the hood is beginning to chafe His neck.
He floats into the grey cushioned seat by the window. Being just over six feet tall, His knees press up against the back of the seat in front of Him. Stretching His feet under this seat instead of on the foot rest gives Him more room. Settled, He takes a deep breath and sits there with a big grin on His face. Looking out the window, He notices a train some platforms over slowly beginning to move. He pays it no mind and glances over to a woman with brown/grey hair reading in the seat across the aisle. Using this idea, He opens the carrier. A white paper bag is just inside. He places it on the seat next to Him.
He has three books and a leather notebook inside. Two more novels are in the rucksack. Since He has already begun Tom Robbins’, Even Cowgirls get the Blues, He pulls this one out.
Setting the book on His lap overcomes Him with joy. His body begins to tingle with excitement. He glances out the window again and notices His own train has begun to move without His realizing. This startles Him and fills
Him with anxiety. Like the ending of a short novel and before He knows what is happening, He is already leaving Amsterdam.
*
Every aspect of home is quickly passing by the window. Already over the IJ and the Nemo in the distance, the student housing by the train tracks now seem strange when looking at it from the other side. And then, the old windmill. There it is. Waving goodbye.
With a deep sigh of relief and of worrisome, He leans back in the seat, resting His head up. Not knowing what else to do, He continues to stare out the window. The sun is trying to peep through the overcast sky while unfamiliar old brick buildings soon turn into yellow open grass valleys, only to be interrupted again by another old town.
Occasionally, the train slows, but never stops, to pass a small suburb station. The tiny stations have nothing more than a couple of open platforms with narrow roofs. Everything seems so differently interesting but even this grows boring.
According to the ticket, the train is not to arrive in Berlin until 17.17. He pulls out a cell phone from the pants pocket. It reads 11.33. This flashes the image of the phone charger still plugged into the wall at the old apartment. Thirty euro worth of credit for emergencies and calls to the parents might now be useless. All there is left is a battery’s length of lifetime. To conserve what He has, He turns off the phone. Now He no longer has a clock.
Browsing over to the aisle seat, He spots the small white paper bag. A sense of hunger grows in Him although He is not hungry. It will take half an hour for the spacecake to work anyway. Placing the bag on the small
table under the window, He wonders if anyone cares He eats. Glancing over at the middle-aged woman, she is still reading her book but has a half-eaten snack bar in her hand.
It makes a lot of noise unwrapping the end of the bag and He looks around suspiciously, seeing if anyone notices. People must but no one turns His way. Really, only the woman across from Him is who He can see and she has not moved from her book. With eyes greedily focused on the bag, He fingers the cardboard plate inside. Just as He is about to pull it out, He feels a presence. It is the train conductor looking down at Him.
‘Ticket?’ he asks as He shoots up a wide-eyed look.
Shocked with fright and thrown off guard, He stutters something, reaches down into the carrier with shaking hands and finds the ticket. With the same hands He presents the paper to the conductor. The man looks at it quickly, stamps the ticket and hands it back. Unconcerned, the conductor turns to the woman across the aisle and does the same.
Off as quickly as he came, He is again left alone.
Looking around, the woman is back at her book and a distant old clock tower slowly passes by the window. After a deep breath, He is back at the task at hand and grabs hold of the cardboard plate.
Pulling the slice of cake out makes a lot of ruffling so He only takes it out half way. With eyes bent down, His mouth waters eagerly at the brown cake that is striped inside with green, yellow and red. Dampkring provided a small plastic fork which He fishes out of the bag. Taking it in hand, He scoops a small soft piece in His mouth and munches contently without looking up. After a second bite, He browses around with a wide grin, barely able to suppress giggling
The cake does not help His dry-mouth. He pulls out the Nalgene full of clean Amsterdam tap water and takes two big gulps. After screwing the cap back on, He finishes the first half of the slice. Content, for now, He slouches in the seat and picks up the book. Only after reading a couple of pages, the cake is yearning to be finished. He pulls it all the way out of the bag with much more noise. The end part of the slice remains. It is soft except for the crust; but all of it is full of life.
After finishing the last bite, He has more water, crumbles up the bag and places it in the small garbage container below the table. All to do now is wait. He stares out the window again but becomes dizzy from the swiftly passing trees. Reading always makes Him feel better. He picks up the book and reads and reads and reads. Tom is such a clever genius.
The clanking of the tracks and the swaying of the train is rheumatic and soothing. Tree shadows quickly flicker across the seats and the pages of the book while reading relaxes His mind into a sleepy state. He passes-out without realizing but is awoken by the slowing of the train.
It is lightly dark outside. Looking out the window with heavy eyes, He glances at the approaching platform sign. ‘Berlin’ is all He reads. Startled, He quickly gathers the bags and rushes off the train. Outside, He asks the conductor if this is Berlin. Responding by glancing up at the platform sign as if to encourage Him to do the same, he says, ‘Ja, Beerleen.’
Having made it, He now has to find the hostel. Having neglected to look up the address or bring a map, He slowly makes the way down the platform stairs while looking for a computer to find the hostel information. There is no computer in sight. Strolling down the corridor, it opens up
to a food court. Confused, He turns around and causally walks the other way, leading to the outside dusk. Walking aimlessly, He does not know what to do. The hostel should only be a couple of blocks from the station.
Thinking a taxi driver could help, for many taxis are lined up outside, He taps on one car window and asks the driver if he speaks English. ‘Nicht,’ is the answer. He does the same on to the car behind it. A shake of head is all he gets. Walking past a couple more taxis, He stops again at one and taps on the window. This driver does speak English but does not understand what He is telling him. He gets out of the car to hear Him more clearly.
‘Pegasus, Hostel Pegasus,’ He calmly breathes out.
‘Pee-gus-ass… Pee-gus-ass,’ the driver says every consonant to himself. ‘Hum, not sound familiar. Have address?’
All He can say is, ‘No, no I don’t. Sorry.’
‘You gotta geev more den jus Pee-gus-ass,’ he says as he begins to think to himself again; head tilted down, hands in pockets, repeating the word ‘pee-gus-ass.’
The driver, with puckered face and furrowed brow, quickly becomes annoyed. Without saying more, he turns and heads to a taxi behind his. Bent over talking into the car is only rough grumbles to Him. The driver returns and says the hostel is not around here. Maybe it is in the center of Berlin.
‘In the center!?’ He confusingly asks.
‘Ja. Dis vest Beerleen. You look for centraal.’
‘Can you take me there?’
‘Ja, but it...’ and the driver holds out his hand, rubbing his fingers with his thumb. ‘Much…’ he says.
‘Oh, ok, mmmm, thanks. Maybe… I’ll think about.'
He turns around and starts walking in a general direction.
‘FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!’ He shouts in a hush. Finding
there is more than one stop in Berlin fills Him with anxiety. ‘FUCK!’
Struck with stress, He hurriedly walks around aimlessly while trying to keep the kakis at up at His waist. When He gains control of His thoughts and the kakis, He goes back up the stairs to what He thinks was the original platform.He finds a small billboard with train schedules. At 17.47 another train will come through and this one also goes to central Berlin. He waits the ten minutes until the next train arrives. Not wanting to take off the rucksack for fear of it getting stolen, He annoyingly stands with it on. No one is around Him.
A train is pulling in, leading to His platform. As it does, He notices it looks different than the one He was just on; more modern, not so square but more aerodynamic with a pointed nose. A conductor steps out of a car just as the train comes to a stop. Approaching him, He explains that He has mistakenly gotten off at the wrong stop and shows the conductor the ticket.
‘Ah, you vant Centraal,’ the conductor agrees and waves his arm for Him to get on the train. He quickly turns to get on the train. ‘Right first class, left, second,’ he says as His back is towards him.
Not wanting to bother anyone He takes second class and turns left. When He opens the door, He finds it to be the first class dining car. Not concerned, He throws down the rucksack at an open booth close to the door and sits hoping to not draw any attention to Himself. A man sitting at a far table glances at Him over the shoulder of his female guest.
Embarrassed by His foolishness, He browses over the other passengers. He is obviously not supposed to be here. Everyone else is in ties and dresses; finishing their after meal drinks. Here He is, rucksack, greasy hair and heavy
jacket; panting. No one pays Him any mind, however. He sits there for the next couple minutes looking down at the white table cloth, unnecessarily smoothing it. As the train slows and nears the next station, the passengers stand up and begin to put on their suit jackets and straighten their skirts. He sits there ashamed, not looking anyone in the eyes. He feels their eyes upon Him.
The train soon comes to a stop. He allows everybody to leave casually before Him and then He hurriedly puts on the rucksack. Stepping off the train again, He still has no idea where the hostel is. Close, He hopes.
The station has a towering glass dome and escalators leading every which way. He goes down to the possible main entrance; where the dome focuses to the only glass wall. There is an information booth in front of the main doors but it is also the police station. He does not approach the counter.
Instead, He goes outside, sees a taxi, and opens the back door. Throwing the rucksack in and then Himself, He asks the driver, in a huff, where Hostel Pegasus is. Not understating what He is saying, the driver asks in broken English for Him to repeat Himself.
‘Hostel Pegasus,’ He repeats and slowly spells it out.
The driver is confused. He puts the taxi into park, starts the meter and uses his intercom to contact headquarters. The driver repeats the word ‘Pee-gus, Pee-gus.’
‘No, not Pee-gus,’ He corrects the driver. ‘It’s Pegasus! Hostel Pe-ga-sus!
‘Ja, Pee-gus,' he looks back at Him.
Thinking further explanation would not help, He sits back in the seat. After a couple of minutes of awkward silence, the driver gets word back. He seems to know what to do and puts the taxi into drive.
‘You, uh, get off too eerlie,’ the driver says over his
shoulder.
‘What!? Too early?’ He leans up surprised.
‘Ja. It Pe-ga-sus. Not Pee-gus. East Beerleen. Fiftean minet.’
Frustrated but content with the help, He takes a deep breath, leans back in the seat, and stares out the window into the dark night. Yellow street lights, like any other street lights, are very strange now. Winding roads slowly lead them to another train station. The driver turns on a road going underneath the tracks and slows to a crawl.
Looking out both sides of the car, the driver does not seem to know where he is. He then stops abruptly. ‘Here,’ he says. ‘Ofer der.’ The driver points across the street to a building with a passageway lit up with blue neon lights.
He pays the fare but is not sure if it is customary to tip or not. He does not. He can feel the driver’s vexation as He steps out of the taxi. Going around the back end of the car, He watches the taxi quickly drive off while He crosses the street.
At the entrance of the passageway, He stops. ‘Pegasus’ is vaguely lit above the blue lights. Going through, it is more of a square cut out in a building than an alley. It leads to a hidden courtyard. The dim blue lights stream across the ceiling and give off a sparking sound. Along the walls, where the lights can reach, huge bubble letters of graffiti are illuminated.
It is eerily calm as He comes to the end of the passageway. A round courtyard opens up and it is littered with piles of wooden planks and broken concrete slabs. This is just like the ending of the book The Drifters. Finding the front steps, He enters through the narrow doors. There is an oval entrance hall with a wide staircase. The reception room is off to the left. As he approaches the counter, a young girl with a glowing worn face stands up
from her seat.
‘Hallo,’ she forces a smile.
‘Hi,’ He smiles. ‘Do you have a bed for tonight?’
‘Do you have a reservation?’ she asks in perfect English.
‘No, no I don’t.’
‘Or an international student card?’
‘No,’ he irreparably replies. He left it in Amsterdam not knowing it could have been some use.
‘No matter, I’m sure we can find you a bed.’
‘Great, I’ve had a hell of a time getting here.’
She responds only with the same tired smile and begins typing on her computer. Asking Him for the passport, she copies the information and asks for a type of payment. Annoyed with Him not using cash, she slides the credit card through the machine and impatiently waits as it processes. They smile at each other. After watching the machine print out the receipt, she has Him sign the paper and hands Him a room-key with some bed sheets.
‘Third floor, room 311, bed four,’ she frowns. ‘Just up the stairs behind you. No smoking in the rooms and no loud noise past ten. Besides that you should be fine.’
He readjusts the rucksack on His back, pulls up the kakis and finds the stairs by the front door to windily begin His ascent. Now, the rucksack feels heavier than before. Once on the third floor, He turns the corner following the sign to the rooms 300-315. Upon turning another corner, He finds the room door and tiredly places the key in the hole.
Inside, there are three bunk beds along the two parallel walls, a bathroom to the left and a square table with three chairs is in the middle of the room. The room is unoccupied except with two big bags of luggage, open and overflowing with cut-off tops and tiny jeans. He throws the
carrier and rucksack on the assigned bed, a bottom bunk, takes off the jacket, and sits down in a chair.
A half empty bottle of Smirnoff vodka is on the table. Two clear plastic cups are there too, brimmed with red lipstick.
*
An old musk is in the air; faint to the senses. Like flipping through the pages of a forgotten book. Sitting there reading the high ceiling, raggedy windows and warped wooden floors, His mind becomes numb with thought. Thoughts about browsing through an ancient library looking for that one book to read from cover to cover.
He tears away from thinking shortly enough for His stomach to speak up. Not having had anything to eat since the spacecake, He feels it would be nice to have a warm-cooked meal. As He steps out from the room, He hears girlish laughter down the hall. He locks the door while the laughter slowly resides to gigglish muffled talk, something foreign. When He turns the hallway corner the laughter erupts again.
Back out onto the construction courtyard and walking through the bluely lit passageway, He stops to inspect the graffiti. Much effort was put into the artwork. It covers both walls and most the ceiling. Details were patiently done with extensive use of colors, huge words He cannot fully make out and carefully constructed images of winged horses playfully dancing amongst young humans in robes.
Out on the street He turns left. Right was the direction the taxi came from and He did not see any restaurants as they were driving up. Left leads to a street lit with those now familiarly strange yellow streetlights. He lights a cigarette. When approaching the street, He has yet to see
anything close to a restaurant. No place even has their lights on. There is a store across the street with a faintly lit sign in the window. His eyesight is not very good and He does not like to strain His eyes.
He checks the crossroad sign before crossing but the name is too complex for Him to comprehend, although He is sure He can recognize it again. Upon crossing, He notices the store is nothing more than a closed bakery. Not wanting to get lost from the hostel, it is dark and, as always, He is alone. In the distance there is another possible restaurant. More like lights in a store than anything else. He decides to check it out and if it is nothing He will head back.
A woman is idly walking her dog and small child in a grassy patch along the sidewalk. He walks by unnoticed. Two gentlemen in overcoats with rough voices are walking opposite of Him. They pay Him no attention as they pass.
He finds Himself happy being a foreigner in a foreign land.
Approaching the store, it is indeed a restaurant. There is a red sign with white lettering reading ‘Illy’. Two separate pairs of couples are sitting just inside by the windows. He enters and seats Himself at a small table by the bar. It takes awhile before anyone greets Him. In the meantime He browses over a drink menu left on the table.
Once a waitress does come over, He orders a Beck's and asks for a food menu. She looks down at Him questionably; she may or may not understand. But she leaves without saying a word. He is left staring at a black window with nothing to see except His own reflection. His thick brown hair is messy.
More time than needed to bring the beer has elapsed. He sits with lips pouted, shoulders slumped, and feeling awkwardly alone. One of the couples is only a two tables
over to His right. They have not looked over at Him; He gets a strange feeling like they are from the corners of their loved-locked eyes.
As He is eyeing the couple, two women, butch and with short hair, enter the restaurant. They sit at the table directly across from Him. The table that He has been absentmindedly staring at. He now finds Himself having to look right at the pair of them. There are plenty of other open seats around. He shifts the seat to an angle where He is not looking directly at the women but this only alters His line of sight to the slightest degree.
He notices in the window reflection the waitress, with her bouncy brown hair and fluffy white blouse, returning. She places the beer on the table and returns with menus for Him and the two women. The women quickly look over the menu and place their orders. He, on other hand, does not make a quick decision. The waitress takes a route back to the bar that does not pass by Him.
Having decided on what He wants, He sets the closed menu on the table and sips on the beer. Enough time has passed where He has grown uncomfortable from looking at the round back of one of the bigger women. Plus, the beer is almost gone. Hearing kitchen doors banging from behind and seeing movement in the window, the waitress returns with salads and waters for the two women. She takes the same route back to the bar, avoiding Him entirely.
Confused, irritated and uncomfortable, He looks around the restaurant. The couple to His right is still snickering but they are gathering their things to leave. He decides to turn completely around in the seat. When He does, He notices two different women talking behind the bar. They are wearing the same blouse as the waitress. Trying to give a polite nod of His head with raised eyebrows, the two
women look back at Him but do not respond. Embarrassed, He turns back around in the seat. The butch women are laughing to themselves over their salads.
There is movement again in the window. He turns around and catches eyes with the waitress. She stops by the other two at the bar but is still looking over at Him. He lifts up His hand with pointing finger up and, with a sigh, she comes over. She politely smiles down at Him as He orders a hot sandwich, chips and another beer.
It takes no time for the full order to come from the kitchen. He is so hungry He inhales everything quickly. In the meantime, the waitress checks on the two women but not on Him.
Not concerned and having finished the meal, He stands up, puts on the heavy jacket and gulps down the last of the beer. Approaching the women at the bar, they do not look at Him but produce a receipt. He pays and leaves a ten percent tip.
Once outside again He takes a satisfyingly deep breath, lights a cigarette and slowly walks back to the hostel with the fake fur comfortably hugging His neck. Coming up to the blue lights, they now seem brighter.
Stopping by the computer room on the first floor of the hostel, He checks e-mails. There is no new mail but He sends a confirming message of the first accomplishment to the parents. He stands and is about to leave when He overhears people talking English in the adjacent lounge.
They are younger than He; not much by years but enough to be over-talkative, baby faced and giddy. He approaches the group and introduces Himself, which they accept by handing Him a bottle of Heineken. He finds out two boys in the group are also from Colorado.
‘It’s just, like, I don’t want to bad mouth America or anything but we have got our priorities mixed up,’ one of
the Colorado boys continues the conversation. ‘The American needs are beyond oil. Fighting for a natural resource that won’t even be there in twenty years is futile. How about providing better public education and investing money into the ghettos? Shit, working on the US economy and strengthening the American dollar would be better than vain wars.’
‘All that money is just wasted on developing a military power,’ the other boy joins in by thrusting his beer into the air. ‘And it’s all for a false sense of security. Politicians have lost sight to invest in the competence and security that is found within the American individual! Wars are not created to protect homeland security, they are created to make citizens believe they need protection.
‘How can we protect America by waging war on terrorism anyway? Terrorism is an idea, a thought, a feeling. If we invest in ourselves and focus on what the American individual can positively contribute, then we would become a respectable nation again instead of one that is to be terrorized.’
‘Those are some valid points,’ He speaks up, ‘and it is important to question everything the government does because all it is rhetoric. All politics is rhetoric. It doesn’t matter if Bush is in power or if Obama is or if it is Jesus. There is no utopia and there never will be.’
The group quietly looks around at each other.
A young English girl to His left breaks the silence, ‘America is just like some rambunctious teen-agers. They think they have politics figured out better than their ancestors. Maybe it’s just a careless lack of respect; a lack of respect for yourselves and for other countries.’
‘Maybe,’ He sadly agrees, ‘maybe...’ Easily bored with politics, He stands and tells the group He might see them again later; maybe for another beer.
Back on the third floor, He stops at the door for a brief second, long enough to hear girls’ voices inside. He takes a deep breath, unlocks and opens the door. Immediately the talking has hushed. He does not see anybody initially but does see the light on in the bathroom and hears quite whispering. Walking past, He sees two girls in their underwear looking at themselves in the mirror; doing something with their hair or their faces. He sits and then lies down on the bed.
One of the girls, a blond, pokes her head out and asks in English if He speaks English. He turns His head towards her, sits up and says, ‘Yes I do.’
‘I hope you don’t mind if we’re getting dressed?’ the same girl asks, now back inside the bathroom. ‘We’ll put on some clothes in a little bit.’
She steps out of the bathroom again with beer bottle in hand. Looking to be about His height, a little shorter, she has a tight little waist, fair skin, long hair and largely petite breasts. Trying to politely look at her only in the eyes, He cannot help but notice her pink nipples through the thin white bra.
Listening to the foreign talk between the girls is exotic and sexy, although He can only image what they are discussing. The blond is rummaging through a suitcase while the other is still in the bathroom. Putting on a white tank-top, the blond does not seem concerned about putting on any pants. Her white bottoms cover her butt and privates but a thin strap comes high on her hips, showing all of her leg. He is sitting at the table trying to look occupied with a map of Berlin. Popping open a beer bottle with a lighter, the blond sets it on the table with beer slightly spilling over. She sits herself down.
‘So, where you from,’ she asks with her head tilted
back and eyes on Him.
‘Colorado.’ He jumps happy to not have to look at the map anymore. ‘Denver more specifically.’
‘Ah, is that…?’ She waits for Him to finish the sentence while taking a sip from her beer.
‘It’s western America. Do you know where the Rocky Mountains are?’
‘No, not really,’ she playfully laughs.
‘Well, it’s along there. Half way in-between the Canadian and Mexican borders. Most the state is mountainous and the other half is plains.’
She boredily replies with a yawn and tries to measure Him up.
Unconcerned, she starts again, ‘We’re from Norway, the southern part.’
She turns her head towards the bathroom and says something to the other girl in their native tongue. The girl, also in bra and panties, half-way steps out into the room, looks at Him shortly and responds in the same language.
This girl is brunette, slightly plumper than the blond but otherwise has the same dimensions. Stepping back into the bathroom, she says something before turning on the water. The blond laughs and looks back at Him.
‘When we came back, we saw your stuff and were disappointed we had to share the room.
‘Oh? And are you still disappointed?’ He jokes.
‘Well… Hard to say. Don’t you think you should maybe get yourself some beer?’
‘I suppose I could,’ He sighs.
‘There’s a store right out front of the hostel, next door.'
'Really? I didn’t see it before.'
‘It’s there.’
He stands up from the table, turns to the bed and leans
over to gather some money from the rucksack. He hears giggling from behind and casually turns His head around to see the blond standing at the bathroom door, quickly turning her back to Him.
‘Well I’m off,’ He says as He puts on the jacket and walks by the bathroom.
The blond laughs, ‘We’ll be here,’ while looking in the mirror.
Out front of the passageway, the liquor store is a couple doors down to the right. A man with a bushy mustache is standing out front smoking a cigarette. Upon seeing Him approach, the man tosses his butt onto the sidewalk and leads the way into the store.
Inside, it is small with shelves filled with chocolate bars, chips and toilet paper. The beer is easily located in the back. He grabs a one-liter plastic bottle of Grolsch, pays and returns to the hostel.
Back inside the room, the girls are now fully dressed in jeans and tank-tops. The blond is seated at the table again and the brunette is walking back into the bathroom.
‘Got some,’ He says holding up the beer.
‘Good,’ the blond giggles. ‘Now the fun can begin.’
He sits down with her at the table and screws the cap off the plastic bottle. He takes a sip while the blond takes a sip from her beer. They sit silently for a couple of seconds, awkwardly shifting their eyes across the room.
‘What now?’ He asks.
‘We can play a game,’ the blond suggests. ‘How about… Shut the Box!’
‘Shut the Box?’
‘Yeah,’ She ducks under the table to pull out a small rectangular wooden box. Opening it, there are nine ivory rectangular blocks loosely connected to the back inside with a single bar. There is also a pair of dice. She flips up
the blocks. On the underside are the numbers 1-9, numerically ordered.
‘The point of the game,’ she begins to explain, ‘is to roll the dice and flip down the blocks. Adding up the two numbers on the dice, you can use any combination with the dice and the blocks. I’ll go first to show you how it’s done.’
The blond rolls the dice. Before He can count the numbers rolled she flips down the 9 and the 3 and quickly picks up the dice and rolls again. She flips down the 7 and 1, rolls again, flips down the 8, rolls, flips down the 2 and 4, rolls, flips down the 6. This leaves the 5. She rolls again. The dice show a six and a four.
‘What now?’
‘The game’s over. You’re supposed to roll until you can flip down all the numbers and when you do, you win.’
‘But you weren’t able to knock down the 5.’
‘Nope. The dice didn’t add up to five and you only get one roll per try. If you have any numbers left over then you lose. Now you try.’ She pushes the box over to Him.
He takes His turn. Slowly He counts the rolls and flips down the numbers accordingly. At the end, He still has the 9 standing.
‘So I loose… Fun!’ He smirks. They look at each other unentertained. ‘How about we turn this into a drinking game,’ He blossoms.
‘Yeah!?' the blond smiles. 'How do you suppose we do that?’
He thinks about it shortly and says, ‘Well, you play like normal. But at the end, the numbers you can’t knock down is how many sips of beer you have to drink. And if you knock them all down then the other person has to drink.’
‘Drink the rest of their beer!’ she quickly adds.
‘Ok then, drinks the rest of their beer. But you play
first.’
The blond does her round and is left with the 4 remaining. She drinks her four in big gulps. Then slides the box over to Him. He plays and has the 7 left over. He drinks His seven as well as she drank her four. It is her turn again. At this time, the brunette joins them at the table. She talks to the blond in Norwegian and does not look over at Him. The blond seems distracted but is playing very well. At the end she has flipped down all the blocks.
‘Oh, oh!’ the blond laughs. ‘You have to drink the rest of your beer!’ and she includes a wicked grin.
He looks down at the beer. It is still fairly full. The brunette is now looking at Him, sharing in a diabolical smile. He looks up at both of them and joins them with a wide grin.
‘Welp,’ He says to Himself more-so than to the girls and picks up the beer. The liter is awkwardly heavy as He tips it above His head. Not wanting to show weakness, He takes big gulps. With many chugs later, He finishes the beer and softly slams the empty bottle on the table. He grins at the girls with watery eyes. The brunette, for the first time, says something to Him in English. He does not understand or listen. All He can do is hold up a finger to ask her to wait. Annoyed, the brunette then says something to the blond.
Pulling out a camera, the brunette quickly takes three pictures of Him. Once He has gathered Himself again, she shares the pictures. They are of Him slouched over with a pathetic smile trying to hide His face. They all laugh.
‘How about we go down to the game room?’ the brunette suggests.
The blond slowly grabs three beers from their crate and hands Him one while the brunette pops back into the
bathroom. Once the brunette is ready, they head to the basement of the hostel. There is a group of young people talking around the only pool table. Some look up at the three as they enter the room but go back to their own conversations. There is a foosball table in the next room. He suggests they play; the girls versus Him.
They find themselves entertained with laughter as the girls’ continuously out-play Him. A young man, skinny with tight black jeans and long bangs that cover his eyes, comes into the room and greets the girls. This interrupts their game.
‘I was wondering where you two were at,’ he says after given them both hugs. ‘I went up to your room but you obviously weren’t there.’
The boy starts talking with the brunette and the blond comes over to Him.
‘What do you say we go back up to our room and drink some vodka!?’ she demands.
‘Ooook.’
They make their way back to the room and sit down at the table. She takes the vodka and pours some into the bottle’s cap. After taking the shot, she pours Him one. Taking the shot, He hands it back for her to repeat the round. After another cap, He laughs, ‘I’ll show you how we did it in Amsterdam.’
He takes the bottle in His hand, puts it to His lips and takes three large swigs. With a grimaced face, He places the bottle in front of the blond. Wide-eyed, she grabs the bottle and does the same. They laugh to each other and do this two or three more times. Too soon are they interrupted with a knocking at the door. The girl laughingly goes and opens it only to find a middle-aged man on the other side.
‘You are making way to much noise,’ the man grumbles. ‘It’s past ten o’clock.’
The blond looks back at Him with a disgruntled smile then turns back to the man trying to be serious. ‘Mmmm, ok. Sorry, we’ll be quiet.'
She slowly closes the door and joins Him back at the table. They laugh at the man and take another pull from the bottle.
‘How about we go out dancing,’ the blond suggests as she stands and grabs His hand to lead her to dance.
‘Dancing huh?’ He stands and wraps Himself behind the blond. ‘I like to dance. Do you know where we can go?’ He takes a deep breath of her flower scented hair.
‘Yeah, there’s a place that has live music every night but we have to take the metro.’ She turns around to face Him, pulls Him against her and whispers in His ear, ‘Lets get my friends.’
She breaks away from him and searches for her jacket. He shakes off a trance and stumbles over to find His own jacket. The two laughingly return to the basement where the two girls end up talking amongst themselves. Not wanting to but feeling obligated, He introduces Himself to the boy. He does not listen to what He is told is his name.
This reminds Him He never got the girl’s names either. As He is about to ask when another young boy with a slurred English accent offers the girls beer. He drunkenly gives Him and the other boy one too.
The four of them cheers their cans together and take the beers with them as they leave the hostel. The metro is right by the crossroad He was on earlier. Going down to the underground platform, they find the train is already there and they run on without purchasing a ticket from the machine.
At their stop a couple stations down, the blond grabs hold of His wrist and pulls Him off the train. Trying to keep up, He gulps down the rest of the beer with much of
it being splashed on His chin and shirt.
The two throw their empty beer cans in a waste bin after the blond gulps down the rest of hers. Walking hand-in-hand, the other two are patiently waiting for them out front of the bar. They regroup and comment on the loud bass music that can be heard from the sidewalk.
Individually paying the four euro cover charge, they each check their coats. The blond and brunette head to the toilet while He and the boy go to the bar.
He orders four whiskey cokes and hands one to the boy. He says he will get the next round. The girls return and are handed their drinks. The four of them stand at the bar sipping their drinks, listening to the heavy-techno music and observing the dance floor. There are many people out dancing and most of them are cute young girls.
They finish their drinks and He is about to order another when the blond grabs His hand a leads Him to the dance floor. He happily follows. Their dancing is uncoordinated bumping and grinding while feeling one’s thighs and asses. After a couple of songs the brunette approaches the blond and says something in her ear. They go off together and He is left alone. He dances a little by Himself and even corresponds with another young girl next to Him. But He gets thirsty and goes back to the bar.
He orders three whiskey cokes and finds the two girls talking at a table. As He places the drinks down, the blond stands and thanks him with a kiss on the cheek. She places her hand on His stomach and whispers in His ear, ‘I’ll meet you at the bar.’ As she brushes her lips across His face, she lightly bites His lower lip. Stunned, He goes back to the bar, finishes a drink and orders another. At this time His head is feeling very lightheaded.
The blond finds Him at the bar swaying by Himself. She tickles His stomach and orders them two drinks.
Having one in His hand, He gulps this down and accepts the other. His eyesight is hazy when the blond has Him turn around and join her in a Jagermeister shot.
The cool brisk air against His naked body wakens His consciousness. The hostel room is dark but her soft pale body is illuminated by the light of the moon coming in through the window. She is lying naked on her back with Him between her thighs. Her arms are behind her head and she is biting her lower lip. He finds Himself struggling to put a condom on His half limp cock.
‘I’ve never used a condom before,’ she purrs.
‘Yeah, well… how many people you sleep wid?’ He slurs.
‘Only four.’
‘Ok, I always a condom…’
The condom does not unravel smoothly and He has to get off the bed to find another in the rucksack. Getting back between her, this condom unwraps easier. His cock is still not fully hard. He puts the condom on as best as He can and lays on top of her. He leans up to support Himself but blackouts again.
He must have fallen asleep because when He wakes again the blond is sleeping on her side facing away from Him. His bladder makes Him get out of the bed and use the toilet. He has one sock on.
When coming back out into the room, He hears the blond stirring in her bed. He looks over at His own bed on the other side of the room. After hesitating, He quietly goes over to it. As He unfolds and gets under the covers, He hears the blond across the room loudly sigh. He smiles to Himself, rolls over to face the wall and falls asleep.
* *
What the fuck is going on here? There is a lot of shuffling in the dark. Bang! I am thrown up and the sunlight is now on me. Annoyed, He has a throbbing headache and His body is sore all over. I am turned away from the light pouring in from the window as two skinny girls are uncoordinatingly moving about the room. One girl jumps on a black suitcase. Bang! And who the fuck are these bitches!? I am in no mood for playing but I do receive a scratch from His hand. Stiff and coarse, I am happy to be out again.
‘We gotta check-out by eleven,’ the light haired girl pants while gathering something from her bed. ‘But our plane doesn’t leave until this evening. We’re checking into another room so we can still sleep. This one is apparently reserved for tonight.’
What the fuck do I care. Get the fuck out of here so He can be alone. He sits up on the bed, naked, with the blankets covering His lower half. The kakis are on the floor but over by the girl's bed. With a stretch He is able to reach a pant leg; this requires Him to stand slightly, with the blankets sliding off. He hears a disgusted sigh coming from one of the girls. Slipping on the kakis, He is able to stand and find a t-shirt. He has only one sock on.
‘Well, mmmm, ugh,’ He coughs with a dry mouth. ‘Let me, uh, help you with that.’ He approaches the girls and begins to bend over towards the suitcases. Halfway there, He stops, straights out, and without a word heads for the toilet. Yeah, I could have said He had to take a piss. What the fuck was He thinking helping these bitches first?
The piss is long and takes several minutes. His cock is heavy with morning-wood. When He comes out of the bathroom, the girls are patiently waiting for Him. The only things they have in their arms are their jackets. He bends
over and with both hands, tucks the suitcases under His armpits. He follows the girls out of the room without getting shoes. Down a hall and then some stairs, we all fumbled around awkwardly.
‘You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Richy,’ I ridicule. ‘Physical labor now!?’
‘How was I supposed to know He would resort to such pathetic actions?'
Pubic Hair is such a selfish bastard.
‘Well if you wouldn’t encourage that swollen external organ down there to fuck anything that comes near it, maybe He wouldn’t be put into these situations.’
‘Hey, Beard, we all know I have no control over His cock. Its got a mind of its own! I’m just here to show the ladies that He is indeed a man. Although… last night wouldn’t have proven it, ha-ha-ha.’
‘What!? He’s doing all this work and there wasn’t even a fuck?'
‘No, no. There was fucking, or at least an attempt at it. Mr. Jack Daniels kinda knocked His cock out cold, ha-ha-ha.'
‘Great! That’s just fucking great! He’s doing all this extra work and there wasn’t even early pay. I’m really going to encourage Him to shave you right off.’
'Yeah, do that and I’ll chafe the fuck out of this shit, you fucking bitch.'
‘Yeeeeaaaaahhhhh.’
We soon get to the girls’ new room. He throws their suitcases inside.
‘Thanks for the help,’ the light haired girl giggles. I come to the conclusion she must be the one He embarrassed last night.
‘God He’s pathetic,’ I snort. ‘How old is this girl? She can’t be older than seventeen! Did she at least have any
pubic hair?’
‘Not to my recollection. Could have been shaved but I was pretty sloshed last night too. Ha-ha, but I mean, when it really comes down to it, she was the one who was all over Him and it’s not like…’
I hate listening to his drunken talks in the mornings. After a kiss on the cheek, He gets a door slammed in His face. He huffs a quiet laugh and walks slowly back to the room, finds the bed and falls onto it. The pillow is still warm
By the time He starts stirring again, the sun is no longer shining into the room. Its bright reflection from the building across the street is orange on the far wall. He finds the Nalgene and finishes off the rest of the water. Boy! This is a fucking waste of time. He goes traveling around Europe and plans on spending it in bed with a hangover? Finding the Tom Robbins, He picks it up and reads for an hour.
He would have read longer but a group of five French women burst into the room. They cause a lot of noise throwing their luggage every which way, busy in conversation. He tries to pretend it does not bother Him but He is irritable and so am I. Luckily, after a quick, ‘Hallo,’ they leave.
He uses this opportunity to look for the lost sock and underwear in the opposite bed; maybe even find those used condoms. If He doesn’t do it now then He’ll surely hear about it later from one of those French girls. He cannot find anything. Not even the condom wrappers. The blond must have gathered everything up in the bed sheets and taken them downstairs.
His stomach is upset and He knows He must eat something. Plus, He needs more water. He leaves the
room, buys a bottle of water at the hostel reception and casually lingers around the lounge. He is uninterestingly examining a sign promoting a free tour of Berlin when sounds of plates clanking direct His attention towards a side hallway. Following the sound, the hallway opens to the back of a restaurant. Nonchalantly, He makes His way to a seat by the front window. He is the only customer here.
In no time, a waiter comes to the table and hands Him a menu. He looks at it briefly and signals the waiter patiently waiting in the back room. The omelet and orange juice arrive in an appropriate time. He eats and pays. The food was lousy but He is happy to have something in His stomach.
As He follows the back hallway to return to the hostel, sitting on the front steps is the light haired girl with a skinny boy. Ah fuck, not her again! At first He hesitates then He approaches the two.
‘Hey,’ the light haired girl sighs.
‘Hey,’ He smirks.
She gives Him a tired smile. ‘We’re just about to go get something to eat. You wanna join?’
He stares into her disheveled eyes and quickly includes a, ‘I just ate,’ before turning away. ‘But,’ No! He’s such a pussy, ‘but I’m sure I can join you guys for a beer.’ Ah fuck, whatever… He knows beer is the last thing His body needs right now.
The three go to the restaurant He just came from. There is little conversation over the meal. All three sulk in their seats. The light haired girl gets up to use the toilet when she is done eating. Once out of sight, the boy begins,'So… when Astrid and I came back to your room last night, you and Heidi were naked on the bed. No sheets or nothing.’
‘Yeah… hum. Well, sorry about that,’ He grunts
looking out the window.
‘Ha-ha, yeah…. It’s ok. She was sleeping on top of you so we really didn’t see anything.’ There is an awkward silence. What does he expect Him to say? Too bad you didn’t see His dick? ‘Anyway,’ the boy continues, ‘we just went back to my room.'
‘Hummmm.’
The light haired girl returns, saving Him from any more peepshow stories. The three pay the bill and head back to the hostel. At the steps again, the boy says he has to run to his room for something; leaving the light haired girl with Him.
‘You know,’ she starts, looking down at her feet, ‘I came back to your room later this afternoon.'
‘You did!?’ He croaks.
‘Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. Astrid went to bed right away. I was really tired and needed help to fall back asleep.’
‘Well...’ He blushes.
‘We are leaving soon. Our plane leaves at…'
Her eyes are searching for Him to say something.
He breaks the silence, ‘Well, it was really nice meeting you,’ and reaches in for a hug.
‘Yeah… yeah, you too.’ She does not put her arms around Him. ‘Bye.’
‘Bye.’ He watches her slowly climb the stairs. Relieved to be alone again, He finds the TV room empty and happily sprawls out on the couch. With the remote in His hand, He begins to flip through the channels. Everything is in German. While trying to follow a commercial for Coco Puffs, a thought comes to His mind.
‘Oh! Man!' He says outloud. 'She probably wanted to switch contact information!’ He thinks!? No wonder He’s always by Himself… Oh, wait! That was MTV! He keeps flipping through the channels and finds German cartoons.
TV is boring and begins to hurt His eyes. But He is comfortable and lazy.
‘Why does He always scratch down there?’ I snort.
‘There IS a ball sack down here, dumb fuck,’ Richy snaps. ‘It’s sweaty and I’m not helping the situation.'
‘When was the last time you had a trim?’
‘When was the last time you grew some balls of your own!? Don’t forget, I’ve been around a lot longer than you have. Shit, He didn’t even begin to grow a beard until freshman year of college.’
‘Maybe so, but that’s only because He didn’t realize how thick I can be.’
‘Thick! Blah. I’ve been over an inch long at one time. How long have you grown out to?’
‘Just last month I was the longest I’ve ever been! You couldn’t even see His face anymore. Valerie loved me, always stroking me with her soft hands.’
‘Yeah, she was always stroking me too… ha-ha. But, I must admit, you are quite the aphrodisiac. Some ladies just can’t help themselves when they see your big bush.’
‘Yeah, I AM pretty good looking. And helpful in the sack too…'
‘Don’t give me that shit. We both know His cock is the main attraction.'
‘True, but remember how He would rub me against Valerie’s…’
He begins to get antsy and sits up. With a final scratch, He turns off the TV and gets up from the couch. Passing by the reception, He gives the girl a smile. I hope He doesn’t plan on getting too promiscuous on us now. Once back in the room, it is empty of girls. He crawls into bed, picks up the book and begins reading. After another hour’s worth, He turns off the light and falls asleep
*
He must not have heard the French girls coming in that night. When He woke in the morning, all the beds are filled. Not wanting to disturb the roommates, He decides to use the shower down the hall instead of the one in the room. Naked and towel in hand, He scurries to the door. Only one bed stirs at the movement. Once outside, He wraps Himself in the towel.
There are a pair of showers and a pair of toilets in the bathroom. The showers are divided into small squares with no room to move around in; barely any to turn in. He finds it awkward that He has to hold the showerhead in His hand. But the water is warm, too hot even.
‘Ohhhhh myyyyy goooooodneeeesssss, that feels superb.’
‘Well look who has finally woken up,’ I criticize.
‘Hello there, Beard. You know I don’t like to be active before I get a shower. Think you’re going to be around with us for long?’
‘Hard to say, just working on day two. I don’t have the luxury of being on top of the head.’
‘Yeah, well, not every body of hair is as fortunate as I. But when you DO go, I hope He leaves me some sideburns this time. It really completes my look.’
‘You know, Harry,’ I laugh. ‘He has been known to shave His head.’
‘Sure, but not today. Today, I feel great. Today, I feel joyous. Today… today I feel like sinnnnggiiiinnnnng! Oooooo, what a beautiful mooorrrnnnniiiiinnngggggg.’
‘Fuck, not this again,’ Richy grunts. To his delight, the shampoo and soap muffles the noise. The whole shower is cut short, as Richy discovers with a cringing shock, the hot
water running-out right on him.
Clean and dry, He is back in the room where all the girls are still asleep.
‘Maybe we can get some culture today,’ Harry reprimands. ‘I feel like yesterday was such a bore.’
‘Whatever, I need a smoke,’ Chase shivers being as cold as His pointed nipples.
He dresses in kakis, t-shirt and windbreaker before heading downstairs to the reception room. A small gathering of people have conjugated together, waiting for the free tour of Berlin. He replies to small talk with the fellow hostelians but finds sitting by Himself more enjoyable. It is here where He resides until the people begin to shuffle out into the courtyard.
With a quick metro ride and even quicker bus trip, the group meets a much larger group waiting in front of the Brandenburg Gate. He fills the remaining time idly standing around and politely answering a group of girls’ questions about Himself. Why does everyone feel compelled to talk to Him today? The tour guides begin to shout over the many voices of people and divide everyone according to languages. The English group is the largest.
He finds the way to the English and patiently waits through the quick introduction from the tour guide. I can’t believe how voicetrous and energetic she is in this fridged weather. A windbreaker probably wasn’t His best protection against the German winter. When pointing out the American Embassy next to the Gate, the guide asks if anyone is from America. He is the only one to raise a hand. This leads her to ask the rest of the group’s nationalities. There are some Canadians and Australians, a few French and other loose-ends of distant cultures practicing their English.
The four-hour walking tour consisted of visiting the
Gate, the Memorial for the murdered Jews of Europe, the spot of Hitler’s bunker, parts of the Berlin Wall, Check-point Charlie, Museum Island; all sprinkled with interesting information. I didn’t know, after twenty-eight years, the Berlin Wall fell simply from a miscommunication between German officials trying to relieve pressures from protests.
The tour ends with the group having to find their own way home. The guide directs everybody how to get back to the Brandenburg Gate. That is a twenty minute walk and He would still have to find the way back to the hostel from there.
Along the tour, He befriended some Australian men from the hostel. They are the only ones around once the group begins to disperse. He talks with them and they invite Him to join in a quick walk to the Space Needle.
Once getting there, they find the Needle to be closed. With nothing more to do, they decide to take the metro back to the hostel. On the way, they stop in a pharmacy for one the Australians to pick up sleeping pills.
‘For jet lag?’ the pharmacist asks
‘Uh, yes, jet lag, that’s it…’ the Australian smirks.
With no further questions, they get their pills and include a bag of Gummy Bears in the final order. He is suspicious about these men but they share their candy and He thinks nothing more of it. Unable to figure out the metro, the three resurface and find a taxi to take home. He ends up paying more than His share. Now He’s back at the hostel and can ditch these guys. In the room, He reads a little and takes a nap.
He wakes up to a short read. The French girls come back to the room and they have beer. When He sits up from bed, they offer Him one which He gladly accepts.
‘Have as many as you want,’ one smiles.
They ask about what He is reading and why He is always reading when they come into the room.
‘Because the excitement of finishing a novel is too much,’ is the only explanation He can think of.
Leaving Him at that and to the beer, they begin talking amongst themselves in French. Occasionally they ask Him some friendly questions; mostly because He is the only man in the room, sitting and watching five girls getting dressed and ready for the evening. He senses no embarrassing tension.
Eventually finishing the beer, the girls are still running around in a frenzy. He leaves them to get something to eat. Finding a pizza place next to the convenient store makes Him wonder why He did not see it days earlier. After ordering two slices of pizza and a beer, He sits down at the only table. The place is just as small as the convenient store next door.
While waiting for the pizza to come from the oven, a girl enters and puts her purse on the opposite side of the long table. She digs through it and comes out with a cell phone. After she puts it back, He comments her on the design of the purse. The what!? He’s pulling this one out of His ass. She laughs and thanks Him, unable to suppress smiling.
A man, with long curly hair, comes into the pizzeria and surprises the girl by grabbing her at the waist.
The embarrassed tension is broken with the man introducing himself and saying they are touring Europe with Jimmy Eat World. Surprised He too likes Jimmy, the man becomes more open and says he is managing the opening band of the tour.
The girl, wanting to again be part of the conversation, says the stress from being manager has taken its toll on the man. The drummer has not come back from the gig the
night before and they are leaving the next morning.
Mentioning He is coming from Amsterdam, the man gets excited and shows Him the tour schedule on his VIP card. They will be in Amsterdam in four nights and offer Him tickets to the show. No shit!? Unfortunately, He is going in the opposite direction.
‘Well, that’s a shame. You didn’t, um… bring anything with you from a coffee shop, did you?’ the man prays.
He laughs, ‘I wish.’
The couple’s pizza is ready and they get it to go. He finishes eating at the pizzeria. They say their goodbyes and He watches the couple leave. As the girl is stepping out the door, she smiles back at Him over her shoulder. He smiles to Himself until finishing the pizza.
Lighting a cigarette outside, He decides to go for a walk and stops by the train station to purchase the next ticket.
On the way back to the hostel, He stops at the convenient store to get a liter bottle of beer. He sips on it while checking e-mails. The parents wrote back saying
how proud of Him they are; signing, ‘with love.’ If it wasn’t for them, I doubt He would have the courage to be out here alone. He writes back sending His love.
Overhearing a conversation in the lounge, He finds out
some girls are from the Netherlands. He goes in and greets a skinny, horse-mouth Dutch girl. She asks if He speaks Dutch since He lived in Amsterdam for five months. She begins to speak to Him in the foreign language. The only thing He has learned in Dutch is how to order a beer. And that’s just, ‘Hey! Biere!’ He has nothing to respond to this girl. Unless, ‘Noken in keuken?’ He smiles.
A shock of horror streaks across her face. Disgusted, she directs her attention back on the man she was originally talking to. Standing awkwardly alone, He slowly turns around and leaves the lounge. Well, that was a
fucking stupid thing to say!
He goes outside to have a cigarette and to hide His shame. As He is about to toss the butt and go back inside, the door opens with a short young girl falling out. Looking up slightly embarrassed, she laughs, ‘Pardon meneer, ik zakte.’ Recognizing it as Dutch, He feels He has been set up. Once again, He has nothing to respond with and stands there smiling.
‘Spreekt u het Nederlands?’
Still smiling.
‘Uhum,’ she coughs. ‘I thought my friend said you spoke Dutch?'
‘Oh, mmmm, no… no I don’t. Sorry if I gave that impression,’ He tries to hide a smile by putting the cigarette to His mouth.
The conversation continues in the normal fashion. Who are you? Where you from? Blah, blah, blah. I wonder how many times He’s going to have to go through this. Many cigarettes later, the two are still on the front steps smoking yet another. He finds out her name is Guss. She has rust brown hair, a cute young face and largely petite breasts.
‘Well, I guess I’m just going to go back up to my room,’ He proposes.
Looking up at Him in worried confusion, she asks if He would be interested in going dancing with her and her friend.
‘Yeah, I wasn’t really planning on going out tonight.’ That’s a lie. ‘It’s my last night in Berlin and I have to catch a train really early in the morning.’ That’s a truth. ‘And I’m not a very good dancer.’ That’s a definite lie!
‘Oh, come on,’ she complains putting her hands on His chest and gazing up at Him with puppy-dog eyes. ‘If it’s your last night, then you shouldn’t be going to bed anyway.'
‘Hum… good point.’
They finish their cigarettes shyly catching glances in each other’s eyes before going back inside.
‘So… will you come out with us?’ Guss begs again.
‘Oooo, allllrrriiiigggghhhh. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt.'
Her eyes flash with excitement. ‘We’ll see about that.’
They go to the lounge to meet her friend. She is still talking to the man, enjoying a beer. They offer Him and Guss both one. Talking about Amsterdam, He mentions a comic He picked up that the girls might know: Dex and Desiree. He goes up to the room to retrieve the comic book, returning to find them whispering and giggling between the two of them. Guss laughs and flips through the book.
‘Ah yeah. I know this comic. A lot of people find this offensive,’ she exhales. ‘It doesn’t really represent women fairly.’
‘Yeah, but it’s fun,’ He laughs.
The girls agree, finish their beers and leave to get their jackets. He decides to keep the book at the reception to retrieve when He checks out. Sitting in the lobby with the man, He finds out he is from Australia and is in Berlin for the night. Telling Him all the different places he has been and is planning on visiting, none of them he is staying at more than one night. That’s cool to see a lot of places but what’s the point of traveling around if you don’t spend any time there? The girls come back after a long wait, looking prettier than before. Even looking older.
The three leave the Australian and walk along a part of the Wall that is still erect. The Wall is covered with graffiti. Most of it promotes freedom and love while demeaning tyrant oppressors. The recreation of The Kiss of Death between Brezhnev and Honecker is one that makes Him stop to study. They walk on and He tells them
the story behind the articles of Into the Wild. After awhile, they veer off the main road and take some side streets. The girls say they know where they are going.
Coming to a small club entrance, the music is pouring out in muffled bass. Stepping in reminds Him of the Bitterzoet in Amsterdam. It is a small club and the DJ is playing hot funky music. The dance floor is filled with the small crowd and people are laughing at the bar. This could be a lot of fun. The girls buy the first drinks, the second, the third. Dancing with both girls gets sloppy and sweaty. After losing count of drinks, He finally gets an opportunity to buy a round.
Late into the night, the crowd does begin to dwindle. The skinny girl says she is growing tired and buys a final round of Jagermeister shots. After they take them, the girl kisses Guss three times on the cheeks and does the same to Him before leaving the club.
Guss laughs and suggests finding a couch to sit down. They start to the back room when the DJ puts on, ‘I don’t like reggae, I love it.’ He pulls her back onto the dance floor.
After the song, they make their way to the back room and find a foosball table. Setting their cups on the table, He looks for a way to pay to play. A man sitting on a couch notices Him and comes over to show how to lift the top half of the table to retrieve the balls for free. The man takes hold of one drink to not spill it but He does not see the other and accidentally tips it over. They tell him not to worry about it but he runs off and buys a replacement. Thanking him when he returns with the new beer, they play the game with Guss easily outplaying Him.
A couple comes into the room and asks if they mind playing doubles. Happy to find an escape from the beating, He welcomes them to play. The newcomers are
exceptional at the game. They are scoring when He is on defense and blocking when He is on offense. The man shows Him how he is able to deflect the ball against the wall at an angle that shoots it towards the goal. Impressed, He tries it and scores His first goal. Guss is able to score more on offense but the other two eventually win.
He and Guss congratulate the couple on their victory and find a couch where conversation quickly turns into sloppy kissing. Well, I guess there is nothing wrong with…
By the time they tear themselves away from each other, there is nobody left in the back room. Their drinks too have disappeared. They take fresh breaths and go to the
bar for shots. Stepping out from the back room, they find only two people slow-dancing on the dance floor. A few more people are hanging around the bar. They join the bar and gulp two double whiskeys.
Back out on the dance floor, Guss helps to keep up the kakis. They keep falling below His butt. She takes pleasure in her job by keeping her hands around His waist. She steps on the right pant cuff that has been worn at the heel and tears a thick strand loose. He decides to ignore it by sneaking another kiss. I hope He doesn’t get too distracted here. He doesn’t have all night. He has Guss check the time. It is almost 4.30 and the train leaves at 6.40. They decide to have one more whiskey shot and leave. At the bar, the bartender pours this one for free.
They leave the club hand-in-hand. Along their walk home, they come across a temporary steel fence bordering a vastly large dirt field. Without word, Guss climbs up and over the fence. He is half-way up when, from the darkness, a security guard quickly walks up to Him and flashes his badge.
‘Mmmmm, there’s a security guard,’ He shouts a
whisper to Guss.
‘Don’t mind him,’ she drunkenly demands. ‘Just climb over,’ and staggers into the field’s darkness.
‘Unten von dort erhalten,’ the security guard shouts. ‘Du sollst nicht annehmen, den Zaun zu klettern.’
He helplessly looks down from the top of the fence. ‘I'm sorry, I don’t speak German.’
‘You, uh…'
‘We’re not to trespass?’ He completes.
‘Yes, please, down.’
The security guard stands attentively to the side as He finally gets Guss to return and climb back over the fence. Once she is back on the sidewalk, He flashes the guard a smile and they swiftly walk away.
The fence eventually ends and a big gravel parking lot opens up. Guss takes His arm and leads Him to the center, far away from the street and any light. They quickly start kissing again. She is biting His lower lip as she reaches her hands down the kakis and begins tugging His cock. It hurts Him and He grabs her breasts in retaliation.
Guss takes no time to pull out a condom from her purse. Oh god, is He really going to do this here? He has got to have better judgment than this. It’s freezing out. Guss lays her leather jacket on the ground, pulls down her jeans and lies down. Staring at her exposed torso, He hesitates and lets the kakis fall free.
On top of her, it is awkward with both their pants around their ankles. He is aware of how alert He is as He slips between her thighs. She has her legs up in the air with her jeans strapped around His back. The rocking strain on His arms becomes too much after minutes and He gets up to have her move on top of Him. She stands and gets one leg free from her jeans. Then mounts Him. They are both shivering but do not let up. He tries to keep her attention
by playing with her breasts but the cold is too much. They dress themselves and start walking again; quicker now and shivering uncontrollably.
‘Is there anyone in your room?’ Guss chatters with her teeth.
‘Probably, but there is a bathroom down the hall.’
They hurriedly get back to the hostel and run up the stairs. Going to the bathroom, they make sure no one is in. Locking the door, they again drop their pants around their ankles. Guss knows to make one leg free. He has her turn around and face the door. The smell of sex fills the room. Ah yes, the familiar sent of a woman. Just after He climaxes, He pulls out and has her check the time. It is almost 6. He snaps off the condom and washes Himself. The two have a quick but sensuous kiss and exit the bathroom. As she turns the hall corner, she blows Him a kiss. He catches it in His hand and opens the door to the room.
The beds are all occupied and He tries to pack in the dark. To do it quietly, He brings everything out into the hallway and does a final quick pack out there. He thinks He has everything, gathers the linens and locks the door behind Him. Throwing on the jacket, rucksack and carrier bag, He hurries down the hall. If He wasn’t such a freak, He wouldn’t have to be rushing right now.
There is nobody at the reception. The clock on the wall reads 6.15. He leaves the key on the counter and begins to leave. Just then, a man comes from the back hallway and greets Him. In a huff, He tells him He is checking out. The receptionist has one lazy eye which makes it hard to look at him. The eye is distracting and makes His eyes water.
‘Huh, your surname is Opium! Like…’ and he holds his hand to his mouth as if smoking a cigarette.
‘Yes, yes, like the poppy seed,’ He grunts rubbing His
watery eyes.
What the fuck does that matter now, man, can’t you see He’s in a hurry, I scream. Any more time spent here and He’ll probably start another fuckfest right here in front of you… So please, shut up!
The man checks Him out and He runs out the door. Lighting a cigarette, He swiftly walks towards the train station while trying to keep the kakis up at His waist. The departure information is easily located on a billboard at the station. He finds the platform steps. The final whistle is blowing as He is running up the last group of stairs. The ticket reads seat 22 and using this logic He finds seat 22 at the front of the train. Settled, He takes a deep breath. It smells like sex, booze and cigarettes
*
Sitting down makes Him realize how tired He is. The seats
are open, comfortable and He can stretch out His legs. This is actually really nice for how cheap the ticket is. A woman in a red vest comes by and checks the ticket. She does not stamp it but leaves Him be. A man with a food cart stops by after her. He gets a coffee and a sandwich, placing them on the fold-down table in front of Him. Just as He is slouching in the seat, a woman in a navy vest with red trimming approaches Him.
She asks to see the ticket and He shows her. Checking it, she says He has a second class ticket while He is sitting in first. Not realizing, He apologizes and makes small attempts to gather the things. He finds this slightly challenging while the train is moving so He stays slouched and waits until the train stops. Setting His head back, He easily falls asleep. Too soon He is abruptly awoken by the woman in the navy vest demanding He move to second
class.
‘Oh, okay. When the train stops,’ He sleepily smiles up at her.
‘No, now!’ she demands.
With no other choice, He grabs the rucksack and carrier, picks up the coffee and sandwich, and waddles down the aisle while trying to keep the kakis up at mid-thigh. Finding second class only a car down, He gets to the compartment of six seats. Three seats are occupied by two women with grey hair and a man with light-dark skin. Somehow He is able to slide the door open while balancing with the moving train. The people inside look at Him with disappointment, upset He will disrupt their triangle of comfort.
Not knowing where to put the coffee, He turns around and bends over to place it on the floor. His whole ass sticks out from the kakis. He makes a poor attempt at raising them but is unsuccessful. Inside, the people look away in shame as He puts the rucksack on the above holder. One of the women is sitting across from the seat and when He sits down He can not stretch out His legs. The woman looks at Him also annoyed. Wow, they really know how to separate the classes. Do they intentionally make second-class uncomfortable? Gulping down the coffee, He rests His head against the wall and awkwardly falls asleep.
‘So… Berlin was fun,’ Richy giggles.
‘It was only fun for you because you spent it like a pedophile guest speaking to a kindergarten class,’ Harry snickers.
‘Hey! We all know He had to redeem Himself from the first night’s poor performance,’ Richy retaliates. ‘Fuck, that was a new experience for all of us.’
‘Yeah, one that I hope we don’t have to repeat,’ I add. ‘It’s the beginning of February in Berlin and He has sex outside! Jesus!’
‘One for the fucking books, for sure. It’s like we’re a traveling whore house. All girls BEWARE!’
‘He can’t possibly be touring around sleeping with every girl He meets. I mean, I DO have a reputation to uphold.’
‘You’d think these girls would have some self-control,’ I say. ‘He surly doesn’t seem to have any. It probably won't be a bad idea if we work together here, Harry. Being part of the Head Republic, I say it’s our duty to stop anything before it gets to the Slut.’
‘Hey! Fuck you!’
‘I agree. We really need to show Him how to use us with a sense of responsibility. If you’re going to be around, Beard, you can work in our favor or against it. That all depends if women in Eastern Europe like their men hairy or not. Tuh, it’s just tough being so damn good looking.’ Harry lets his bangs fall down His forehead.
Chase adds a, ‘Whatever, I need a cigarette,’ under His t-shirt.
‘If He is going to be acting irresponsible, how can we show Him what He’s been doing?’ I ask. ‘I mean, what is it that His trying to accomplish here besides getting drunk and having sex in exotic places?’
There is a silence of contemplation.
‘Maybe we can kill Him,’ Chase mocks.
‘No, I got it!’ Richy joins in. ‘We just need Him to sleep with a real ugo. I mean a real fat ass bitch. Just to switch things up a little bit.'
‘No, no no! No killing and no fat chicks,’ I shout. ‘I have a feeling He is as clueless in what He’s doing as we are. Lets juts ride this out and see what happens.’
‘At this rate,’ Harry speaks up, ‘He’ll probably end up killing Himself AND us while fucking a fat chick.’
We all laugh at this comment but this slowly dies down as we begin to really think it over.
The train is not to arrive in Kutno, Poland until 11.21. His neck begins to get sore from leaning against the wall and a bump from the train ultimately wakes Him up. Without His own clock, He tries to glace the time off the wristwatch of the woman across from Him. She notices Him eyeing her jewelry and tucks it under her sleeve.
Every stop the train makes, He desperately tries to find a platform sign to tell Him where He is. Eventually, one of the stops does have the desired sign. He gets off the train and finds a man holding a paper that reads: ‘johnny OPI.’
The man has grey in his moustache and is short in his black suit. He only greets Him with a shake of hand. What the fuck is He doing here? The platform is nothing more than a raised cement walkway with a couple of wooden benches. The station is a one story building with two blue doors. One side of the tracks is a yellow open field and the other is wooden-fenced off backyards.
He follows the man to a horseshoe parking lot where, waiting, is an old black Mercedes. The trunk pops open and the man helps Him off with the rucksack. He hesitates but puts the carrier in the trunk too. The driver, in a white shirtsleeve shirt and black tie, steps out of the car and opens the backdoor for Him. He steps inside to the leather seats.
The two men get in the front seats and begin talking to each other in Polish. They never look back or address Him. Who are these guys? Are they from the Polish mafia and taking Him to the slaughterhouse? This really has just been one big conspiracy, hasn’t it!?
They are moving a lot faster than the other cars on the two-lane road. Every time the driver passes a car, he jerks his car into the other lane and after passing, jerks it back. The endless fields stretch far into the grey horizon, making time go by slow. His eyes have trouble staying open. He wakes up with His head hitting the window as they jerk past another car.
Eventually, old industrial buildings begin to line the road. The dark-red bricks of the walls are rough, weathered and uneven. Two narrow smoke stacks in the near distance are puffing a fine white smoke. It’s true, He's dead! The brick buildings begin to represent a suburb and a few people are walking around in their heavy fur jackets. After many left turns and many more right ones, the driver slows down and pulls a u-turn. He stops the car on the side of the road, in front of a yellow three-story building. The first time either one of the men speak to Him, the driver looks over his shoulder and says, ‘Fife minit,’ while the man with the moustache is on his cell phone. They can’t shoot Him in broad daylight! There are people around; witnesses. Shit, that lady over there is pushing a stroller. He’s a family man. One with morals!! Please, have mercy! The three sit there, without a word. He stares at a young girl in a long skirt waiting at a bus stop across the street.
He is startled when a woman in a beige sports-coat opens the back door of the car. As he steps out, the middle-aged woman greets Him with a handshake and a smile.
‘Mr. Opium. How nice it is to meet you. Was your trip pleasant?’
The man with the moustache has gotten out of the car and is pulling the rucksack out of the trunk. He thanks the man but gets no response. The woman is waiting on the curb and leads Him to the front door of the yellow
building. Holding the door open for Him, she shows Him which key she used to unlock the door. Inside are mail slots and a cement stairway. She starts small talk as they begin the first set of stairs.
‘You’re here in Lodz for business?’ she asks.
‘Oh, no, just traveling through.'
‘Well… I think it’s nice you visit.’
They stop on the first floor in front of one of three doors. The woman shows Him which key she uses to open the door. There is another door directly behind this one and she shows Him which key she uses to open this door. Security is really tight around here I see. It is dark inside.
The woman rushes in while He slowly follows. The front hallway leads to the bedroom and also to the kitchen. While He is getting a feel for the apartment, the woman is scurrying around in the bedroom. She flips some switches and the black windows begin to move. Steel grates, like ones on front of closed shop windows, slowly roll up, letting in the overcast sun.
Unconcerned with Him, the woman is playing with a telephone. ‘Here is my phone number,’ she says after awhile. She is writing it down on a pad of paper. ‘I’ll give you about an hour to get settled and then I expect you to give me a call. You are to meet me in my office at the university.’
She begins dialing on the phone. ‘I’m connecting you with Gedeon and then I’ll leave you be.’ She looks out the window as she waits with the phone to her ear and begins talking in Polish. He sets down the carrier and the rucksack and stands by her. She turns to Him, finishes saying something and sets the receiver on the table.
‘Gedeon is on the phone,' she smiles. 'Talk with Him. I'll see to you in an hour.’ She hurriedly leaves the apartment.
Watching her close the door, He walks over to the table and picks up the phone.
‘Um, hello?'
‘Yes, Johnny, hello. So it seems you’ve made it this far.’
He lies on the bed and has no other desire but to crawl under the sheets and sleep. He knows if He does He would not wake up for hours. He does not tempt Himself. In the kitchen, it has a sink, stove and refrigerator, and two wide windows that look down onto the dirt backyard of parking spaces and empty clotheslines.
The shower is a bathtub and looking down into it, there are a couple little quarter-inch white bugs with many legs. They are skinny, broad at the head and narrow at the tail. Ah! The housewarming party! He takes hold of the shower head and flushes them down the drain.
After taking a much needed shit, He turns on the hot water of the shower and is startled when a wide cylinder in the corner of the shower flares up with a woosh! and orange flames. He looks at the grey thing for a second then turns down the water. The flames turn down.
Impressed with His own personal water-heater, He hops into the tub. This enthusiasm dies down just as quickly as the hot water runs out a minute later. The fire flares up again with another woosh! The water is too cold to have running on Him while it re-heats. He stands there, wet and half soapy. Cold, He turns the water back on. This carries on until He gets tired of being wet. This is no way to take a shower.
It has been some time since the woman left and He is standing in the bedroom, shivering and flipping through Polish television. He finds cartoons and leaves it at that.
There is a balcony and after poorly drying His body and
hair, He puts on wool-pants and a sweatshirt. He steps out onto the balcony to have a cigarette. What a jackass! I’m going to freeze out there. Some cars drive by and He takes an uninterested but long inspection of the roof of the building next door.
When He does come back indoors, His hair is stiff from the cold. He gets distracted by the cartoons but remembers the worried look on the friendly woman’s face and decides to give her a call. She gives Him directions to her office
that are easy enough to understand; He is looking out the window at the streets and buildings she is talking about. He grabs the jacket and looks around at the windows, wondering if He should shut them or not. Interested in the switching mechanism, He tries it out for fun. The steel grates roll down and lock, leaving the room dark. It feels like He just slowly imprisoned Himself.
Leaving, He locks both doors to the apartment. Well, at least the passport will be safe. Outside the building, He lights a cigarette and follows the directions to the university. After turning the first corner, He brushes shoulders with a pair of young girls in fur lined jackets. More of them sprout up as He approaches the main doors and they overpower Him as He steps past the threshold. I do love university life! There are men in the crowd but He does not pay them any mind.
He finds the woman’s office on the second floor and upon knocking, He enters. She stands up from behind her desk and greets Him with a smile. Leading Him through a door to the next room, she has Him sit at a computer.
‘It’s important that you don’t leave. I’ll be gone for half an hour but you must remain here. Do you understand?’
He looks up at her with a smirk and nods His head. She leaves and He turns to the computer. A radio is on in the other room. This is nice, I like jazz.
There is not much for Him to do on the internet. He checks e-mails and replies to the parent’s message. On Facebook, everything is the same. He writes where He is at and how He got here. The woman comes back into the room and asks if He is ready to go.
After He straightens the kakis, she leads Him down some corridors and they stop at a pair of doors.
‘It’s nice to do something for the graduates,’ she smiles. ‘We’re glad you can be here.’
She turns toward the door and upon opening, holds it for Him. He steps into a lobby of men in suits and women in dresses. They are gathered in two circles; the men standing and the women sitting. There is a table off to the side with drinks and small helpings of food. He waits at the front of the open doors to allow the woman to lead Him through the lobby.
He gets glances from the men; He smiles back. He gets glances from the women; He smiles back. What? No one likes to smile at Him? Approaching the food table, the woman directs the caterer to give Him a fair portion of rice, beans and pork. They sit down in chairs between the two circles and the caterer brings Him an orange juice. A short silence between Him and the woman is interrupted by a man who comes over and asks her something in Polish. She gets up and follows him, leaving Him to the rice and orange juice.
He eats alone. Glancing over at the women, they are avoiding looking at Him. Looking up at the men, He sees their backs. He looks straight ahead and finishes the meal.
The woman comes back to Him and directs Him to the other food table. There is green jelly with fish, carrots and peas, and some-sort-of cheese thing. He takes a little of everything to not be rude and another orange juice. Again
eating alone, He notices the people begin to get agitated holding their empty plates. The women stand up and the men lead the way to the door. Everybody leaves without looking at Him. Well, it was nice meeting you too. Only He and the caterer remain. They smile at each other.
The woman in the beige sports-coat comes back into the lobby and asks Him a choice in wine. He takes red. She hands Him a glass as she sits down.
‘It’s nice to do something for the graduates,’ she sighs, ‘and for you to be here.’
With nothing else to say He replies, ‘Yes, yes it was…’
While the caterer is gathering up the left-over food, the woman stands and walks over to the table to save a bushel of green grapes that she puts in a plastic bag. She hands the grapes to Him which He stands and accepts. They finish their glass of wine and leave the lobby. Back in the woman’s office, she gives Him a map of the city and shows where the university is and where is Piotrkowska Street. Manufaktura is the only other attraction to show on the map. He thanks her for her help and she thanks Him. With a smile, she leads Him to the door.
Back out front of the university, confused, He lights a cigarette. I guess it actually is nice to be here.
Eating just made Him hungrier and that glass of wine sparked His interest too. On the way to the university earlier, He noticed a pizzeria that served beer. Now, as He walks by, it is full of young students. He decides to go in. The woman at the counter does not understand English. She has to get someone else to talk to Him. He orders a draft beer and a pizza. Only having a menu in Polish, the man begins to read the pizza toppings to Him. Cheese is the first one mentioned and not wanting to be read a whole menu, He stops the man here.
He gets the beer and turns to find all tables occupied. There is only one table with one person sitting at it. He approaches and signals with His hands if He may sit. The man moves his cigarette box and half-empty beer glass over to his side of the table. They sit there silently; nether one looking at the other. He lights a cigarette and sips from the beer. The man leans over and says something to Him in Polish. Not knowing how to respond, He says in English that He does not understand. The man sits back unable to come up with something in English.
After some time of thought, the man tries to say some English words that he knows but they do not add up to much. Slightly frustrated, he again leads back in his seat while the pizza arrives. The man asks the waiter something. Looking over, the waiter says to Him, ‘He says that he is glad you are here in Lodz.’
‘Oh! Well, tell him I’m glad to be here,’ He replies with a smile at both the waiter and the man.
The waiter translates for Him and leaves them alone. The pizza came with a light red sauce, something looking like honey. He begins to scoop it on the pizza with a spoon but the man shows Him how it is best to pour it straight from the container. He does, spreads it all over the pizza and indicates to the man if he would like some. The man denies but offers Him a cigarette. They are menthols but He might as well accept.
The man is looking at his phone while He eats. He is unable to finish the whole pizza but orders two more beers. The two sit sharing the drinks. They try to communicate with each other in broken words and use of hands but they are mostly unsuccessful. They are interrupted when the man’s phone rings. Answering it, the man talks into it for a little and hands it over to Him. Surprised, He accepts it and puts it to His ear.
‘Um, hello?’
‘Hi,’ it is a woman’s voice. ‘So, you’re talking with my dad?’
‘Your dad huh? I don’t know how much talking we’re doing,’ He looks over at the man who signals to Him to keep talking on the phone.
She laughs. ‘Yeah, he doesn’t know much English. How long you in town for?’
‘Not more than a couple of days.’
‘Tell you what. You must be a nice man if my dad called me. I’ll have him give you my e-mail address and if you want, we can meet up for a coffee. I can show you around the town.’
‘That sounds cool,’ He says in eager confusion
‘I’m pretty much free tomorrow. Maybe we can do something then?’
‘I’ll try and make myself available.’
He says, ‘Bye,’ and hands the phone back to the man. Accepting it back, he talks a little more and hangs up. The man buys his round of beers and the two continue trying to have a conversation. This goes on until the beer is gone. This can only be fun for so long.
Deciding to leave, He tries to say goodbye to the man. Understanding He is leaving, the man becomes depressed. He keeps his head low and no longer looks Him in the eyes. Confused by this transformation, He gathers the things and begins to leave. As He gets up from the table He remembers the conversation with the daughter but looking down at the sad man, He decides against getting the address.
The apartment is down the street and before He crosses, He looks back to make sure the man is not following Him. He unlocks the front door, runs up the stairs and quickly unlocks the two other doors. He lies down on the bed, in
the dark, and takes a deep breath. Finally, time to relax. Only minutes later, the apartment buzzer rings.
‘Hi, it’s Marcin. You ready to go?’
‘Do I know you?’
‘I work with Gedeon. He didn’t tell you I was coming over?’
‘Uh, yeah, I guess he did. I’ll be down in a second.’
‘Hurry, I got a taxi waiting.’
He tiredly grabs the jacket and takes a long look at the bed. Fuck, it was nice for the time being. Once outside, He greets Marcin. He looks slightly older than He but with a trimmed beard. They head for the taxi and Marcin holds open the passanger-side door for Him. He gets in and slides over to the other side as Marcin gets in the same door.
Directing the driver to take them to Piotrkowska Street, he points out the Theatre and University buildings as they drive by. After a short drive, the taxi stops in front of a bar called the Lizard King.
Inside, there is a stage with a drum set and guitars ready to be played. They take a seat at the bar that is in the shape of a giant guitar. Without asking Him what He would like, Marcin orders two Maddog shots and two Barmakers. The vodka shot has a bite but the Tabasco provides a sharp aftertaste. It does not seem to have bothered Marcin but he is concentrating on siring his Barmaker
‘You gotta mix the brown sugar with the vodka,’ he suggests.
They fall in discussion while the bar becomes more active.
‘You enjoy the banquet?’ Marcin asks.
‘Yeah, it was a nice… banquet. I must admit, I felt a little underdressed wearing what I’m wearing now.’
Marcin does not turn from his drink to look at the dark-green wool army pants and black v-neck sweatshirt.
‘That’s okay. It’s just nice to do something for the graduates,’ he sighs and gives his drink another stir. ‘And it’s nice that you were there for it.’
Their chicken wings arrive with a cheese appetizer. Before the bartender has a chance to leave, he gets stopped by a man standing next to Him. Concerned only in the food, He does not pay this man any mind. When the bartender lines up a row of eight shot glass, he gets a little interested.
A drink is shaken up and poured out, light blue, into the shot glasses as the bartender runs the shaker over them. The man pays for the drinks but instead of taking them back to his table, he begins taking one shot after the other. Is this guy serious? After four, he takes a breather and looks around the bar. He offers one drink to a woman standing next to him but she declines. Shrugging his shoulders, he finishes off the remaining shots and casually walks away.
‘So…’ He turns to Marcin. ‘Is that normal?’
‘Ha-ha, normal in the sense that people drink like that? Yeah, sure. It’s a cultural phenomenon I guess you could say. When Poland was in an economic depression, drinking was a way people could wrap their heads around it. There was no work, so there was nothing else to do BUT drink; to forget about their shitty lives. Alcohol provides a nice little escape when times are tough… Drinking can be hobby and when buying bootlegged booze, it can be a cheap hobby. But that just adds to the excessive intake I guess.’
They sit there in a brief silence eating before Marcin starts up again. ‘Well, when the economy did begin to get better, the drinking didn’t really die away. What you just
witnessed is an example of that.’ He laughs to himself. ‘In fact, there’s this guy who is still selling bootlegged booze from his apartment right below mine. People are always coming or going, taking pisses on the sidewalks and just being loud. The police probably get some of that booze too.’ His lips pout from the mention of the irritable situation but he continues.
‘Job searching is one way the economy was able to get better. When there are jobs, there is work. And when there is work, there is income. When a person is earning a proper income, their lives are fulfilling and they don’t have to resort to wasting their time drinking it away. But a person must know how to get the job before he can get the income before he can live a fulfilling life.
‘So…’ Marcin takes a sip from his drink. ‘Beginning back in the early 90’s, the US was willing to help Poland in establishing a productive job employment firm; to help people prepare for job searching. Your dad was one of those who came to help.
‘Ha-ha. Speaking of your dad, didn’t you say it took you about an hour to get from Kutno to Lodz? Well, that’s at least a two hour drive, easy. Those drivers must have been flying.
‘One time, it was me, your dad and Gedeon in the backseat of this taxi meant for two. We had to drive from south Poland up North about three hours. It was foggy out, so much so you couldn’t see shit in front of the car. But we could tell the driver was flying.
'Your dad was in the middle of us two, trying to look out the windshield, linked in our arms, with nothing else to say but, ‘Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.’ Ha-ha. We didn’t think we were going to survive that ride.’
Guitars begin getting tuned and the noise in the bar makes it difficult to hold a conversation. He looks up from
Marcin and notices two bartenders lining up rows of eight shot glasses.
The band is three songs in. Playing songs like ‘Hey Joe,’ ‘Break on Through,’ and ‘Shakedown Street.’ There is a girl standing next to Him at the bar. She is wearing too much pink lipstick but it gives off a nice shine. I wonder what she wants to do tonight. He asks Marcin if he would order the eight shot round. Marcin does and the bartender lines up the shot glasses.
Once filled, He asks the girl if she would like a shot. Her eyes squint to judge Him but she relaxes and smiles. The three cheers and takes their shots. He offers her another and she joins them in the second shot. He and Marcin take the final two themselves. He turns to watch the band when He gets a pull on His arm. The girl is grabbing hold of Him, leading Him to the dance floor. He helplessly looks back at Marcin but he is waving Him on.
Song after song is danced. She keeps Him refreshed by grabbing the waitress when He is not looking. He looks back towards the bar at Marcin but he is busy talking with a group of girls. With other things to worry about, the girl is getting really friendly on the dance floor by rubbing up against Him. She leans over and shouts something into His ear. He cannot hear what she is saying. He smiles back at her and she takes this as Him understanding.
She goes over to their table and gathers her things. Mmmmm, what? He is looking around for Marcin. The girl leads Him to the front of the bar and He follows. After a slow kiss, she bites His the lower lip before leaving to use the toilet.
Marcin comes through the crowd, jackets in one hand and a stream of girls in the other. Handing Him the jacket, Marcin says they have to leave because his girlfriend is not
feeling well. The last girl on the stream stops to drunkly wipe lipstick off His lips.
He waves her out the door and hesitates to say goodbye to the other girl. Marcin is already outside waving down a taxi. One stops. He should leave the girl! He looks back at the bathroom door then out to the waiting taxi. He has no choice but to leave the girl.
Relaxed inside the taxi, He does not notice how fast they are going. He keeps sliding into the girl who stopped for Him. At one point after running over another big pothole, the driver has to stop to pick up his lost wheel cap. Before He notices anything different, from the front seat, Marcin tells Him He is at the apartment. Getting a good night kiss on the cheek from the girl, He steps out of the car and waves goodbye.
In the hallway, as He is fumbling with the keys to the apartment door, the door next to Him opens. Out steps a short man with grey hair. He is a little wide at the waist with his white t-shirt tucked into navy sweatpants.
‘2.50?' the man smiles. 'I thought Marcin would keep you out well past dawn.’
Gedeon is pouring Him a glass of red wine. He patiently waits on the couch in the living room. He has trouble focusing and keeping His head balanced but He tries His best to act straight. Coming into the room, Gedeon hands Him a glass.
‘You look like shit,’ he sighs as he slowly falls into a black leather chair.
‘Lack of sleep,’ He grins. And excessive intake of alcohol.
‘Well, it looks like Marcin showed you a good time, then. And you were able to meet up with Magda? Yes, it’s nice to do something for the graduates. It’s nice you were
there for it. That’s a bright group, they deserve it. The ability of the employment office to support job seekers all depends on the strong skills of its own staff.
‘You know, the development of the private business sector has been the main drive for Poland’s economic growth. Privatization of state-owned companies has opened many opportunities for jobs…’ His head falls to His shoulder, unable to prevent Himself from falling asleep. At the same time this wakes Him up. Embarrassed, He takes a sip of wine. Gedeon does not seem to have noticed and is still talking. But he can tell he is losing his guest.
‘Do you have any plans while you are here? Because I think it may behoove you to visit a little city called Torun. I have had the liberty to arrange someone to meet you there tomorrow, if you’re up to it.’
He gives him a shrug of shoulders in approval.
‘Then I can have a driver take us to the bus station tomorrow morning and I’ll help get you a ticket. Do you know where you are going after Lodz? Because I can help you with that ticket too.’
He does not have a definite plan. Is He even sure of what the plan is? He tries to help Gedeon help Him find train schedules and directions to hostels on the internet. It must have required much time and patience because He does not realize He is being awakened the next morning; on the bed, fully clothed and on top of the covers; with a banging at the door.
‘Aren’t we going to be getting a break from this soon? I mean, I know I haven’t said much recently but this is really getting to be a bit much. I need my sleep!’
‘Oh come on Harry, where’s your sense of adventure? I thought you liked culture. Copernicus? Ancient ruins? Bus
rides?’
‘I also like my rest too. You know I’m use to my twelve-hour naps. And you aren’t much of a delight to be around when you haven’t slept either, Beard.’
‘I think I’m still drunk from last night. I’m just going to roll with this.’
Richy slurs, ‘It would be nice to have a morning fuck right now. I can’t believe He didn’t wait to bring that broad home last night.’
‘Yeah, that would have been good. Show up last night not only drunk as hell but with some strange girl and STILL have that conversation with the mafia boss. How did that end up any way? Last thing I remember is He almost spilt wine on the computer.
No one says anything. He is at the door talking with Gedeon.
‘Just giving you a wake up call; leaving in an hour.’
He closes the door and slowly makes the way to the bathroom. Taking off the clothes, He is looking at Himself in the mirror; scratching His head and face.
‘Damn, Beard, you got some growth to ya,’ Harry says now with temporary enthusiasm. ‘You’re looking kinda shaggy today.’
‘Oh yeah, I feel a lot more distinguished.'
‘Whatever, I need a cigarette,’ comes from Chase as he is getting a scratch of his own.
The shower routine is the same as before. Standing in a shower, wet and with the water not on is no fun. Out in the bedroom, He eats some grapes while watching Polish cartoons. There is a knock on the door. He quickly dresses and leaves the apartment. The taxi ride is short but hazy. ‘I think that buzz has been replaced with a loud banging noise,’ I groan.
The bus station is a small one-story building. Inside, it
smells like dirty water and cat piss. Gedeon talks to the ticket office and has Him pull out money from the ATM. They get two tickets, one for the bus and one for a later train. Out on the circle, there is an announcement, in Polish, informing the bus’ late arrival. Gedeon cannot wait and asks a young man waiting at the same bus stop if he is heading toward Torun. The man is and Gedeon leaves Him to take whichever bus the man takes. He’s just like a lost puppy dog; a puppy with a major hangover.
*
Strangely enough, He is not too tired to read on the bus. There is a mild pressure in His head but reading helps to
refocus that energy. He is not quite finished with the Robbins, the girls are preparing for war at the Rubber Rose. But He brought along Jack Kerouac’s Lonesome Traveler for a change.
‘If He’s not going to sleep, I sure as hell am. A man needs his beauty sleep.’
‘You know what I was thinking Harry?’ I ask. There is no response. ‘Hey, Harry, you know what I was thinking?'
‘You better be saying ‘hairy’ to Richard as in a derogatory way because I think I’ve already mentioned I was SLEEPING!’
‘Ha-ha-ha, this shit is getting fucking out of control down here.’
‘I mean, no… gross. No, Harry, did you feel that connection that we had with Him last night?’
‘Beard, I grow out of the top of His head. I always feel a connection with Him.'
‘No, when we were at the bar. Right before He left. He was waiting for Miss. Shinny Lips and He was hesitating on what He should do. Stay or go.'
‘Should I stay or should I go,’ Richy signs.
‘Are you suggesting that little tissy fit you were having? I thought you were still working on getting your tolerance back.’
‘That was a bit much… Ha… Sorry about that. It’s the vodka. It gets me all crazy like. But I still think one of those outbursts got threw to Him.’
‘Whatever man, you crazy,’ Chase groans. ‘I wish He had some weed right now.'
‘No, seriously…’
‘If you don’t shut up Beard, I’m going to personally come down there and make you shut up.'
‘Yeah, and I’ll fucking make a run up the happy trail.’
We all laugh.
‘Shit son, I ain’t no trail. You can land a space shuttle on this runway!'
We burst out laughing even harder. I fall into thought as we begin quieting down; Chase has a stoner coughing laugh that goes on forever. Was there something there more than the obvious? I get a scratch from His hand.
The bus ride is uneventful. There is only one cute girl on the bus and she, with her long legs, sits across the aisle from Him. He tries to play it cool by being too busy with the book. And then He plays it REAL cool by falling asleep across both seats. That’ll turn her on.
He has to check every stop because He does not know the time. Eventually, He comes to Torun. He gets off the bus and sees a skinny girl with brown hair and jacket standing in the back of the terminal. She starts to walk towards Him as He steps down from the bus.
Coming through the crowd, she approaches Him and asks, ‘Joe-ny…?’ as she points to the baggy pants.
‘Ah, yes. It’s the look of a distinguished man.’ I don’t
think she gets it’s a joke. When He asks her her name, she looks at Him even more confused. She pulls out a Polish-English dictionary, finds a word and tries, ‘walk?’ She takes a minute to flip pages to another word and tries, ‘city?'
He asks for the dictionary, looks through it and tries, ‘Tak!’
They walk around the city’s old medieval fortifications, stop at some gothic churches, one being where Ola was baptized, and visit the planetarium. She points out the buildings as they walk by. Using a visitor’s guide, she has Him read about each culturally significant building. They are old flower mills and military towers and buildings that look like all the other buildings, tall and narrow, but with some historical importance.
In the spirit of Copernicus, He buys their way into a show at the observatory. It is narrated in Polish but the dynamic images of stars and space are entertaining. I think it’s talking about how Copernicus discovered the Earth rotates around the sun.
After the show, feeling hungry, they stop at Ola’s favorite Italian restaurant in town. One of her friends is working and greets them at the door. He orders what Ola always orders here, noodles and crustaceans. Only, He gets a beer while she gets a tea. He’s such a lush!
They try and use the dictionary to talk to each other while eating but this gets tedious. He does find out this is Ola’s first attempt at having a full conversation in English. Wow, that’s really cool that she’s willing to start with Him. She teaches Him some useful words in Polish: ‘beer’ is ‘piwo.’ That’s pronounced ‘pee-vo.’ And ‘thank you’ is ‘dziękuję.’ Pronounced ‘gin-kool-ya.’
He pays for both meals and leaves a big tip. Gedeon told Him to make sure to pay for both meals because it is
culturally accepted for the man to pay. I’m sure He’d like to pay anyway because she is spending the day with Him.
On a full stomach, they go find Copernicus’ house and the leaning building of Torun. Along the way, she does some errands; stopping at a belt store and the photo hut. He unconcernedly goes along. They eventually find themselves slowly walking along Wisla River with not much else to do. They sit and silently watch the wide river calmly flow by in the early dusk.
This is very romantic but I’m sure it’s about that time to leave. They walk through the old town one last time and stop at a bakery. Ola suggests He get some gingerbread for them to share. The sweet bread is delicious and makes them giggle. She points out the little ceramic elves that are displayed on the windowsills along the streets.
While waiting at the bus stop to get to the train station, Ola gets excited as her mother steps off one of the buses. He greets the short old woman and the three smile at each other with nothing to say. I doubt anyone here can speak English. Their bus comes and they say goodbye to the old woman.
At the train station, Ola helps Him buy a ticket before she directs Him to the WC. The train is waiting at the platform once He comes back. She gets on the train with Him. When they sit, she pulls out a piece of paper with all thirty-two stops handwritten down.
The final whistle blows and Ola takes a deep breath, smiles at Him and in a sweet voice says, ‘Thank you coming. It pleasure. Have good night.’ That sounds practiced but sincere. He smiles back at her, thanking her as well.
‘Dziękuję,’ He shouts as she steps off the train.
Out on the platform, Ola is waving to Him as the train slowly leaves the station. He smiles a big grin and waves
back. As He pulls out Lonesome Traveler, four train workers, covered in soot, sit down with heavy sighs in the seats next to and in front of Him.
On the paper Ola gave Him, He folds over each stop the train makes. There are two stops with the name Lodz. He does not get off at the first one. There is still the last name on the list. But as the train is pulling away from its final stop, He sees a man on the platform wearing a tan raincoat similar to the one Gedeon wears. He becomes stressed, thinking He missed the stop. It would be really annoying if He fucked THIS up! As He gets off at the next stop, the lack of faith in Ola flies away as He sees Gedeon walking toward Him.
‘Look, I’m wearing my kakis,’ Gedeon smiles. ‘Maybe people would think we’re brothers.’
He laughs at this comment mostly as a release of stress and lights a cigarette. Gedeon looks at Him with confusion. Probably confused because of what happened to the father.
They take a taxi back to their apartments where Gedeon drops something off from work. Since they are home, they have a glass of wine to relax. He takes this opportunity to run over to the apartment and change into a blue pinstripe sports-coat, nice white shirt and a red tie.
‘Great, now you’re gonna make me have to wear a tie,’ Gedeon sighs when He comes back over.
‘Ha-ha, you don’t have to,' He laughs. 'I like to take advantage of any opportunity where I can wear a tie.’
‘I’ll put on a sports-coat at least.’
Gedeon calls a taxi while they finish their drinks. The driver drops them off on Piotrkowska Street. Walking around a little, they sit on a bench with a man named Tuwim and slip into a Jewish restaurant. The hostess
immediately recognizes Gedeon, kisses him two times on the cheeks and helps them off with their jackets. They are led to a table in the back that is always on reserve for Gedeon. Making their way through the restaurant, they pass a man playing a fiddle on one of the over head beams.
‘The play The Fiddler on the Roof is based in Lodz,’ Gedeon says as they take their seats. Ah, cool, I guess.
Before they can catch their breaths, a nicely dressed man in a white shirt and black pants, places two shots of vodka on the table. The man excitedly greets Gedeon and is talking really fast in Polish. Stepping to the side as the waitress brings over a pitcher of water, the clean cut man, apparently the manager, says some final words to Gedeon and walks away.
‘He always brings me a shot of plum vodka whenever I come in here.,' Gedeon smiles.
They cheers each other. He takes the shot in one gulp. Gedeon has his in sips.
‘It doesn’t hurt to taste what you are drinking,’ Gedeon smirks.
Embarrassed and wanting to change the subject, He offers to pay for the meal but Gedeon refuses. He has a running tab at the restaurant that he is happy to use it.
‘I’m sure your money can be better spent,’ he adds.
Gedeon orders a bottle of red wine. Anything is alright with Him. Looking at the price list, I'm glad Gedeon is paying. Upon opening the bottle of wine, Gedeon asks for the cork from the waitress.
‘My son likes to collect these things,’ he chuckles, ‘The only problem is my wife finds out how much wine I’ve been drinking.’ They both laugh at the comment.
‘Wives…’ He smiles.
‘And since they are living back in the states, I have to give them all to him at once so that doesn’t help either.’
They both laugh again. ‘So…’ Gedeon starts after catching his breath, ‘Ola said her heart sank when she saw you were wearing sandals.’
‘Sandals! These are Birkenstock clogs!’
‘Maybe so, but they are open in the heel.’
‘True, but this is all I need. They’re comfortable and they got fur on the inside.’
‘Yeah, well, we’ll see when you go farther east.’ They sit in bitter silence. Gedeon coughs, ‘Anyway, what’s up with your…’ pointing to the side of his lower lip.
‘My lip piercing? Well, I don’t know what to make of it either. It was more of a product of spontaneity than anything else. I tell you, the girls can’t get enough of it. They’re always biting my lower lip.’
‘Facial piercings must be a generation thing. Do you have any other ones?’
‘Ha-ha, maybe, but no, this is my only piercing. My father doesn’t know about it yet, so, if you could not mention anything… I would really like to be the one to tell him.’
‘You know, I’m not as old as your father. I was young once.'
‘Ha-ha, yeah. I just think it would be best if I could be the one who told him about it. You know how he can be sometimes.’
‘That I do, sir. That I do.’
They laugh and joke until the bottle of wine finishes.
Gedeon orders another bottle before the food arrives. He has duck and Gedeon has lamb. Once finished, they have another round of shots and a coffee before they get ready to leave. The manager comes over and says his final goodbyes. He gives Him a little man Jew figuring before He stands.
‘For luck,’ the manager smiles
*
The driver is not suppose to pick Him up until 11.00. He
fell asleep as soon as He got home from drinks with Gedeon. There was no stopping Him. After dinner drinks
at the next-door bar got to be a little too extensive. He is up now, rooting the girls on in their quest for self-righteousness. He is determined to finish the novel.
‘I could really use a cigarette.’
‘Don’t worry Chase, I’m sure that’ll be the first thing He does once He gets out of bed.’
‘I must say, I really don’t like this filthy habit of His. I'm always coming home reeking of cigarette smoke. It totally takes away my shampoo-flower essence.’
‘It’s stupid how He started. What was it? A New Year’s
resolution to START!? Who does that?'
‘There is deeper meaning than just that…’ Chase says
as he breaks out coughing.
‘Yeah? And what’s that!?'
After a short silence for Chase to control himself, he starts, ‘He wanted to learn to enjoy a cigarette; to know the simple satisfaction of a nicotine buzz.’
‘He wanted to learn how to give me split ends.'
‘…because there are positives to smoking. There’s a whole culture around it. It’s international, doesn’t have a language barrier and it immediately establishes something in common.’
‘And it’s nice to have a cigarette after a good fuck!'
‘Richy! Do you have a one track mind?’
‘Just talking about what I know.'
‘But at least He didn’t start smoking until last year.’ I
say. ‘Although… Mary Jane has been around since high school.
We all giggle.
Finishing the novel, He gets up from bed, dresses and
goes out onto the balcony to have a cigarette.
‘I love breakfast.’
‘You’re a loser Chase. A man in such top physic as I
needs his vitamins in the morning,’ Harry gloats.
‘You think He did grocery shopping last night? At this point, cigarettes ARE breakfast.’
He enjoys the cigarette while taking another long look
at the neighbor’s roof.
He discovers if He packs the wool pants at the bottom of the rucksack, this makes getting something like a t-shirt or underwear more accessible from the top. A convenient discovery, but what good is easy access to underwear?
While moving around the room gathering clothes, He steps on the torn cuff of the right pant leg. This tears it close to off. Well, it’s not like these kakis weren’t fucked to begin with. He tears the remainder of the cuff off. Now the right leg is an inch shorter than the left. Soon after packing and a quick talc, the driver arrives and rings the bell.
Gedeon has long gone to work and all that is left to do is lower the windows.
At the station, He does not have to buy a train ticket; Gedeon has already helped Him with that when going to Torun. The driver walks Him to the platform where the train is waiting. He warns Him to make sure to watch the stuff, especially money and passport.
‘This is a foreign country for you,' the man says. 'People can see you’re not from around here… your bags and pants… and they might take advantage of you.'
He pats the man on the shoulder and thanks him for the advice. Stepping on the train, He finds an open row of seats where He puts up the rucksack. Sitting in the aisle
seat, He pulls out Lonesome Traveler in preparation. Being told the Warsaw train station is underground, this makes for a good indicator of arrival. But, still, He is not to arrive for a couple of hours.
While waiting for the train to start, a cute girl with short brown hair sits in the seats down the aisle from Him. Every time He looks down to see her, there is a man with a braded beard at the end who is always looking down toward Him. Now that’s a beard that I wouldn’t want to fuck with. He does not look often.
Instead of reading, He gets an urge to write. From the carrier, He pulls out the leather notebook the older sister gave Him and the mother’s ‘Maurie Opium’ pen. With nothing in mind to write down, He starts to doodle in the corner; lines connecting to lines in hope to form some image. But it does not produce anything. Instead, He puts the notebook down on the window seat and picks up the book.
He reads until He comes to the underground train station. Following Gedeon’s advice, He takes the escalators to the right that lead to an opening where, outside, He sees the McDonalds. In a courtyard close to the train station, there are metal railings and a trail of snow where snowboarders are demonstrating tricks. Damn, He should be doing that shit at home right now.
Still following the directions, He walks past the huge skyscraper of the Palace of Culture and Science and stops at Swietokrzyka Street; the street Gedeon has written down. Oh shit, the directions are actually working! He takes a right on the street and snakes the way around a building complex, getting lost at times but always able to retrace the steps. He is close, the hostel should be somewhere on this street. Spotting the Oki Doki sign, He gets excited the directions worked
Taking the stairs up to the reception, past the topless mermaid, He checks into the room and crashes on the top bunk-bed. After a short read, He falls asleep.
He awakes when two people come into the room. They take their seats on two separate beds. These must be the roommates. Men roommates I see. One is a middle-aged man and the other is a young Indian. He talks to them from the top bunk. They are friendly and invite Him to dinner. Feeling hungry, He is happy to join them.
The Indian knows of a place close that makes crepes fairly cheap. Apparently he has been living in Warsaw for three years now, attending the university. And he’s living in a hostel why? The Indian has been living at the Oki Doki for ten days. The semester has been on winter break for weeks and his apartment lease is long up. He is at his last resort, close to the end of his month’s allowance and out of friends’ places to crash. This is all expalined over dinner.
Eating fills the deep void in His stomach. The two men say they would not mind getting some after meal drinks but He is the only one who wants to go to a club later. They go to a jazz bar and find a table by the band. Jazz is good but smooth jazz is making me sleepy. They stick around until the music stops, get one final drink and leave.
There are many clubs nearby and they pass some on the way back to the hostel. He bids the friends goodnight and heads into a club suggested by the Indian. As He steps in the door, a large bouncer in all black steps in the way. He is told this is a private party and He is not invited. Really? A private party? Is it the beard? Too much to handle? Taking no offense, He keeps walking down the street towards the hostel.
He turns a corner where there is another club that is
playing loud hip-hop music. Here, He is allowed in. He pays the cover and checks the jacket.
At the bar, the bartender tries to overcharge Him for the shot and beer. The only reason He knows is because it is such a high price. Upon asking him for the price again, He would have paid it either way, the bartender feels caught and charges Him a more reasonable price. He leaves a big tip to hope this would not happen again.
There are a lot of cute girls on the dance floor and many of them dancing with each other. Fuck man, some of these girls look really young. He dances out onto the floor with the beer and moves in-and-out of the crowd. When He goes back to the bar, the results are better with service and prices. That’s right bitches. Eventually, He gets Himself too drunk. The lights are trailing and His vision becomes blurry. If He just keeps dancing, He’ll be fine. He thinks many girls are giving Him the eye but some are actually daring enough to try and dance with Him. Trying to be modest, He keeps to Himself.
One girl in particular will not leave Him be. She has dark hair, a tiny waist and largely petite breasts. Her white linen pants are tight against her ass and she keeps rubbing Him. Falling captive, He gives her full attention. ‘Ok now, this girl’s cute,’ hiccup, ‘but He’s gotta be smart and… wait that girl over there has the prefect weave in her hair!’
‘I fucking love dem girls.'
‘Sometimes Richard you really piss me off but other times… other times… I love you man. I love you like a brother. It’s just, I love my sleeeep too. I neeeeed it. I neeeeeeeeed it.’
‘It’d be sooo nice to smoke some weeeed right now…’
He takes the girl to the bar and they have Jagermeister shots. She has other plans and takes Him to a couch. This does not last for long; He is having trouble breathing and
kissing at the same time. Taking a much needed breath, He realizes there are not as many people in the club as before.
He leaves the girl to use the toilet. When He comes back out, she is waiting for Him outside the bathroom door. They sit on the nearby stairs and kiss some more. A friend of hers comes up. The two talk to each other in Polish. She turns to Him and asks if He is ready to go. Hey babe, He’s always ready to go.
They get their jackets and meet her friends outside. Holding each other in their arms, she asks where He is staying.
‘You know,’ she coyly suggests, ‘you can always come back to my place.’
No! Hiccup. He can’t! Hiccup. Although… No, He shouldn’t!
‘I’m sorry. But I can’t,’ He sternly replies.
‘Oh come on. We’d have fuuunnn.’ She whispers something into His ear. He giggles at what she is saying.
He should tell her He has things to do tomorrow!
‘I wish I could,’ He laughs. ‘And I defiantly want to. It's just… I have to wake up early tomorrow.’
‘You’re such a fool,’ she bitches. She grabs His head with both hands and brings Him to her lips for a forceful kiss. When she pulls away, she violently bites His lower lip. A bus has stopped behind them and her friend is holding the door. She breaks away from Him and runs onto the bus.
Stunned, He follows the direction of the bus. Ok good, that’s gone. Now He should just keep walking straight, hiccup, and the hostel should be on the right. The Palace skyscraper is on the left and He realizes He is walking towards the train station when He should be walking away from it. He turns around and finds His own way back to the hostel
He spends all day in bed. He does not even look around until twilight. The main reason why He gets out of bed is because His lip is throbbing.
In the bathroom, He is looking at Himself in the mirror. All around the stud piercing is swollen. It even looks cut and torn. There is dried blood. That fucking crazy ass bitch! He takes a shower and again looks at Himself in the mirror. It’s actually looks kinda fucked up. Too hungover to want to worry about it, He dresses and finds Himself outside. He wonders around trying to find a place where He can sit down and eat.
There is a McDonalds, one of many, but that is not what He is looking for. Is it true you can get beer at McDonalds in Europe? He goes in to check but gets overwhelmed with the people and the ordering and the reading in Polish. He leaves to find something better.
There is a restaurant, Sioux, close by that serves burgers. The wait staff is great and the food is great and the environment is great. When He pays the bill, the waiter shorts Him 5 Zloty. Thinking it could have been a simple mistake but doubting it because of last night’s bartender, He leaves a 5 Zloty tip. Which, in a way, is a 10 Zloty tip.
He gets back to the hostel. Before He climbs back into bed to read, He finds the cell-phone to give the parents a call. The Indian is in the room; he has booked another night’s stay. An old man of about seventy is now rooming in the room too.
Going out to the lounge for some privacy, He has a quick conversation first with the father and then with the mother. Just hearing their voices makes Him feel better. They do not talk about anything in particular. He tells them how comfortable He is traveling and they tell Him about the sunny and snowy Colorado weather.
Back in the room, He finds another book in the carrier bag: How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. It is a true story about a British journalist who moves to New York to work for Vanity Fair. He puts a good dent in it and slowly sleeps it off.
He wakes up in the morning to the Indian making a lot of noise on his computer. Mostly sounds from hitting it. The old man is mastering his comb-over in the mirror and the other man is reading in bed. He starts talking to the Indian, asking what he is doing to the computer. He gets mumbled answers followed by more hitting. He leaves him be.
Water! He needs water! He finds the hostel bar where breakfast is being served. It is just muffins and orange juice but that is more than enough for Him.
When He comes back in the room, only the Indian is around. He seems to have calmed down and is no longer hitting his computer. Pouting in bed, he asks Him what He is doing today.
‘I don’t know,’ He shrugs. ‘Walk around in some direction.'
‘Well, if you want, I could show you around a little,’ the Indian requests.
‘You don’t mind? I mean with all the things you gotta do?’
‘It’s fine.’
Walking through the park of the Lost Soldier, the Indian opens up to Him with flood force. He really does not mind going on the walk, it is just that he should be spending his time better. He tells Him how he is failing out of university and is going to have to move back to India and how disappointed his father is going to be and how unaccomplished he feels.
‘Dude,’ He tries to be reassuring, ‘if you just keep your
head up and fight with it, you’ll come out on top.’
‘I don’t know. It’s over.’
‘See, you’ve already given up. Stop looking at it in such a big picture. First, find yourself some place to live. Second, buckle down and finish your degree. Your parents might be pissed that you’ve already spent the money they've given you but I’m sure they don’t want you to be living in a hostel. Get your priorities straight and take them out one by one.’
‘It’s too late,’ the Indian kicks at a small rock. ‘Nothing really matters.’
‘You’re still here aren’t you?’
They walk around old town with this conversation; looking at ancient walls and towers, past the President’s house and the university. They stop in a coffee shop that has coffee from all around the world. It is a tiny place. Like having coffee in a doll house. The three tables are miniature and everybody is sitting with their knees above the table. They order coffee from Columbia.
‘The hard thing is none of my friends are really willing to help,’ the Indian starts again. ‘There’s this one guy especially. We were friends since first year. I wrote him this computer program for a class he needed. He wouldn’t have passed if I didn’t help. Shit, I did all the work. And now he says he’s not willing to help me.’
He rolls His eyes, ‘Sometimes you gotta rely only on yourself.’
There is a silence as they sip on their coffees. He decides to continue, ‘You’re the only one that matters to
you. Your parents may love you and your friends might tolerate you. But during the hard times, this is when you have to prove yourself strong. Faith in the Self is the most
powerful tool.
'You make your own future and you create your own
outcomes. Do what you know is right for you. Take that and run with it. Do it alone if you have to.’
They finish their coffees in thought. On their walk back
to the hostel, they stop at a kiosk where the Indian purchases a real estate paper. He gets Himself a pack of cigarettes.
It is an hour until happy hour at the hostel bar. The two play chess to kill time. He wins two out of three games.
That’s right! He’s got skills!
The old man from their room is at the computer waiting
for the US stock market to close. Bored, he decides to join them for a cigarette in the bar. Finally being happy hour, they all pitch in for beers. The bartender shortens them on the change and the old man is the only one willing to say something about it.
Happy hour ends at 20.00. The train leaves at 21.00.
Conversation about politics leads to conversation about
arranged marriages which leads to conversation about
education.
‘Man, I must have picked the wrong field of study,’ the old man jokes. ‘When I was at Cambridge studying business, I had to not only write a thesis to graduate but I also had to take a ton of final tests. These were on everything I learned in university, mind you. It would take months to study for. I’m sure it’s still the same today.’
The fourth roommate has found his way to the bar. Joining them at the table after getting a beer, he agrees with the old man, having gone to Cambridge as well.
‘Well, people write thesises and take tests in the States too,’ He affirms. ‘I’m sure doctors and lawyers and scientists all do. It’s just that my field of study didn’t require it. I guess my thesis was writing feature articles for a major newspaper.'
‘And what was it you studied in Amsterdam?’ the old man pries.
‘Ha-ha, mmmm, mostly Dutch culture I guess.’
‘Yeah, smoking grass,’ the old man snorts.
In a conversation voice but directed to Himself, He says, ‘And smoking grass… In fact,’ He speaks up to the group, ‘that is the main reason why I went to Amsterdam; to smoke weed. I’m not going to bull shit myself. Or you guys. If I can finish my final semester of university while puffing on a big fatty in Amsterdam, then, why not do it?’
They all look at each other in neither agreement nor disagreement.
‘I made sure to finish my major requirements at home before I left,’ He goes on. ‘Everything out here was just to fill in credit. Shit, all my classes were pass or fail. But what I learned from Amsterdam I could have never discovered in Boulder. A real proper way to finish university, I might say.’
‘And now you’re out here,’ the Indian joins in.
‘And now I’m out touring around,’ He agrees. ‘Coming to Amsterdam was my golden ticket to Europe. I’ve paid my dues,’ He looks over to the Indian, ‘got my degree and now I’m free to see where that can take me. I’m going to make something out of it and that all depends on me; if I'm willing to keep my head in it. All I know is I got a train to catch in more than an hour and I better not miss it.’
They clank their glasses together in honor of this unprecedented speech.
‘One thing I did learn in Amsterdam,’ He continues, ‘is a mature outlook on social issues.’ The group looks on for Him to keep talking. ‘For instance, in the Netherlands, there is a difference between hard drugs and soft drugs.
Coming from the States, I’ve never heard this distinction.
‘Hard drugs are cocaine, ecstasy, heroine. These drugs
have serious consequences in using; like addiction, chemical imbalance and a change of personality.
'Soft drugs are weed, magic mushrooms, psychogenic seeds. These drugs are less serious and don’t have major influences on a person’s body and mind. Hard drugs may be illegal in the Netherlands but soft drugs are not legal either, they are just tolerated.
‘The Dutch have a tolerant system on soft drugs because they know they are a part of human culture. Drugs are always going to be there. Instead of being naïve by pretending the only solution is to get rid of them, the Dutch provide a safe alternative. They educate their population at an early age on the differences between soft and hard drugs instead of saying all drugs are bad. What this does is provide its citizens with the responsibility to make informed decisions to use or not use. Those who do decide to use, they have a safe place to do it.
‘Denver is slightly similar. It is legal to have up to an ounce of marijuana for any type of use, but that’s only in the Denver County. Boulder is by far not shy of marijuana use either. Shit, all of Colorado is basically down. But the only problem is people outside the County have to take it underground. They have to use in an unsafe way; in abuse and fear of police. The federal government has failed to provide its people with the education and safety for soft drug use. When the government does provide these, and only then, will responsibility follow.
‘So…’ He takes a sip from the beer. Nobody joins in until they are sure He is done talking. ‘In the Netherlands only about ten percent of its citizens use marijuana. It is more than double in the States. This could be because people don’t truly know anything about the drug. When people learn to be mature about marijuana, people would learn not to abuse it. It deserves to be used with a sense of
responsibility like that alcohol deserves.’
The table is silent with contemplation. They get another round of beers. He shares one more drink before He packs the rucksack, talcs for the long trip and checks out of the hostel.
He gets to the station more than a half hour before the train leaves and has time to easily locate the platform on the departure sign. On the platform, there are a lot for young adults with snowboards and skis. I can’t believe this is the first ski season in His whole life He is missing! He asks a man in a leather jacket if this is the platform to Kiev. The man looks over to the older woman he is with as if he does not understand. He turns back to Him and says ‘Yes, we taking the same train. We not go as far but still it the same.’
He thanks the man and stands a couple of steps away, trying to look interested in standing there. After a couple minutes, there is an announcement in a foreign language on the intercom which He does not understand. All the people waiting on the platform start shuffling about while a train is pulling in. The man in the leather jacket walks up to Him and says, ‘That announcement said this our train. You toward the front and we back here. Enjoy your travels.’
He thanks the man again and heads to the front of the train. It’s nice to meet such friendly people.
Finding the compartment, there is an older couple getting settled. They are talking amongst themselves in Polish or Ukrainian, He cannot tell. They kindly allow Him to enter and put the bags on the bed; the top bunk of the three.
He has not been on a sleeper train before and does not know how to get up to the top bunk. Step on the other beds? But that may come off as rude. He notices a little
metal ladder hooked up to the wall. Assuming to use this, He takes it off the wall and tries to hook it onto the bed. But there is no place for it to hook onto. The woman laughs at Him and shows Him how the ladder is used. She places it back on the wall and slides the feet out in an angle towards the beds as it extends.
He climbs onto the ladder and then onto the bed. He is giddy at first but becomes claustrophobic when He discovers the bed is so high He is completely surrounded by the curve of the train’s ceiling. Hum, this could be stressful.
*
It is dark outside. He is not tempted to bend down and look out the window. Instead, He takes out How to Lose… The couple sharing the three-bed compartment is busy getting ready for sleep. They are digging in their bags and coming in and out of the room. He is happy where He is; in the clothes. When He tries to straighten out the kakis and tighten the linen belt, the buckle tears off. He is now left with a belt that has no buckle. Improvising, He ties the ends together with a double knot.
He reads for a couple of hours, occasionally falling asleep but waking again from the shaking of the train and the smell of exhaust. Being in the first car behind the engine, the smoke is flying right over the car, seeping in through the walls and ceiling. I think I’m getting high from the fumes.
The couple has been kind enough to leave the main light on for Him to read. Although, they could be expecting what He is not. He begins to realize the train has been held up at this stop longer than the previous ones. Eventually He hears doors opening and loud talking down the hall.
The couple is stirring in their beds and the man gets out to get something from his bag.
Their compartment door flies open. What the fuck!? A man in a blue police uniform is talking in some foreign language. He hands the three each a piece of paper. It is a form to fill out regarding passport information. He completes it with ease; providing name, passport number and signature.
Lying on His back, He is listening to some men slowly move down the hall, stopping at each compartment. They eventually get to His, saying something about something. The men are in full military uniform with camouflage jackets and pants. They are wearing fur hats with the ear straps tied up and a gold crest on the front. Oh shit, these guys are pretty intimidating.
The couple below Him is showing these men their passports and forms. When the military men look up at Him, He does the same. They take a longer with the information. He is propped up on His elbow, looking down at the men. The one with the passport keeps looking up at Him and back at the passport.
This man growls, ‘Keeif?’
He replies calmly, nodding His head and looking the man in the eyes, ‘Yes, Kiev.'
The man looks down at the passport again. He looks back up at Him, taking a strong look and says, ‘John-athon?’
Still looking at the man in the eyes, He agrees, ‘Yes, Johnathon.’
The man looks down at the passport again and back up at Him. ‘Opi-em!?’ and shows the other military man.
Closing His eyes He says, ‘Opium,’ while shaking His head.
The man hands the passport to the other military man.
This man takes many long and hard looks at both Him and the passport. After some time of this, they stop the profile check, type the information into their palm-pilots, stamp the passport and hand it back to Him with half of the passport form. They do this with no emotion on their stone faces.
Relieved, He lies back on the bed staring at the ceiling. He takes this opportunity to look at the passport photo. No shit those guys were suspicious, that picture doesn’t look anything like Him. In the picture, He has a shaved head and no facial hair.
He is interrupted from thought when a new group of military men come into the compartment. This time they have a large German Shepard. He peers over the edge of the bed to look down at the men and the dog. He quickly falls back on the bed, worried about the grinder in the carrier. If He just remains cool and keeps to the bed, the dog won’t mistake Him for being a drug.
He decides to switch over to Lonesome Traveler and again join Jack running around the slums of San Francisco. The train begins to move but the way it shifts as it starts, it feels like it is going in reverse. He bends down to look out the window and sees the lights on the tracks flickering in the direction that would be going backwards. Why is the train going in reverse? They’re taking somebody back! Is it Him!?
The train slows and stops. After a moment of silence, everything begins to shake like in an earthquake. It sounds like the roof is about to rip off and fly away. And a flood of water could crash through the window at any minute. Oh shit! What the fuck is happening!?
The train does a tilt one way and a tilt the other. He flips up a bar by the edge of the bed to prevent Himself
from falling out. This roughhousing stops but He can hear the cars farther down the train going through the same treatment.
After catching His breath, He does remember Gedeon saying something about trains needing to change tracks in Ukraine because they are different from other parts of Europe. But did they really have to air lift the train over the junction? After some time of silence, the train starts up again, going in what feels like the right direction. Nothing else unusual happens and He is able to fall into a deep sleep.
He gets off the train with the rucksack heavy on His back. As He steps down onto the platform, His feet sink into the soft sand. He struggles a couple of steps and then stops to look around. He is on a small sandy island with a cluster of palm trees and rocks in the middle. The other side of the island is only feet away. The ocean is completely surrounding Him. He turns around hurriedly to get back on the train. He turns around to a single car; one that has been rusted and beached for years. Anxiety overwhelms Him. He struggles to take off the rucksack but it will not come off. The more He struggles, the tighter the shoulder and waist straps get. He tries to run to the palm trees but His feet are stuck in the sand. The rucksack’s weight becomes too much to balance and He falls backwards on top of it, like a flipped over turtle. He struggles to get free but all effort is useless. The sun is hot on His face. It becomes too hot. He can feel His face melting and…
A loud thud wakes Him from the dream. It is early morning and the couple is packing their bags, getting ready to leave. He lies on the bed deeply breathing the burning air. He settles down and so does the couple. They are eating something and drinking water. He brought none of these items, lieing in bed envious of the fellow roommates
The train eventually comes to a stop. The couple say, ‘Bye,’ as they leave. This is the first thing they say to Him the whole trip and they do it in English. What nice people. He smiles at this and returns the jester.
Once the couple has left, He jumps down from the bed. He has the compartment to Himself. On the table, there is a wrapped 7Days and a bottle of water. Fuck yeah! The train staff must have provided these for all the passengers! He grabs at them in excitement.
Eagerly taking a necessary swig of water, He then tears open the croissant bag. A brown medium-size dog comes up to the train, salivating as he watches Him from the outside. The dog is dirty and He can see its ribs. There is a chocolate spread in the croissant. He tears off pieces of bread that does not have any on it and tosses it out the window. The dog jumps on the pieces with quickness. The two finish the croissant in this fashion. He should toss it some chocolate to end its worry. The dog stands shaking outside the window until he realizes there is no more food and trots off along the train.
The train starts again and He sits on the table to look out the window. It takes about nineteen hours to get from Warsaw to Kiev by train. He turns on the phone to check the time. It is about 7.30. More than nine hours to go. Looking out the window, He sees more dogs running along the train. There is trash guttered all along the tracks and shanty shacks fence it off. Some have yards, others are clustered together. Occasionally there is one with a fire in the yard, looking like burning trash.
The stops become more frequent, every hour or so. At these there are always dogs running around. There are old women now, round and covered in blankets and shawls. They have bags of potatoes and lettuce they try to sell to
the people on the trains. The women come up to the window with their wrinkly worn-out faces begging for someone to buy their vegetables. I wish He could help all these women. From standing and looking out the window, He sits again on the table to not be noticed.
Looking around the compartment, He discovers the middle bed of the three can be folded down. He can sit on the bottom bed and read more comfortably. Gathering up the old couple’s linens, not having considered using His own, He tosses them out of the way on the top bed. The folded down bed reveals a little light by the head of each of the beds; used for night-reading. Ah, good to know.
He sits reading by the sunlight. Once in a while, He will stare out the window, where, if there is not shanty shacks, bare trees and yellow open grass fields make up the scenery.
‘Um, you guys. I kinda think we got a fucking situation down here.’
‘A situation, Richy? What do you mean by ‘a fucking situation?’’ I mock.
‘Well, do you remember when He drove the whole nine hour drive to Munich for Beerfest and then drove the twelve hours back to Amsterdam two days later?’
‘Yeah, Ha,’ Harry laughs. ‘He wore whitty-titties with the grandfather’s wool pants, didn’t He? I remember because He was driving a manual and Richard wouldn’t shut up with how hot he was getting. Ha-ha, I was so pissed with you. Didn’t some sorta rash develop down by you Richard?'
‘Um, yeah.’
There is a silence
‘Wait! Are you telling us that that rash has come back?’ I shout.
‘No, no, no. Well, not as bad as it was before.’
‘What the fuck! He can’t be needing medical attention. He just got into Ukraine! The people who live here probably don’t even get medical attention.'
‘Calm the fuck down. It’s not as bad as before so chill the fuck out. I just thought I bring it up so you’d fucking know. Ok!?’
‘Ok! Ok. He needs to act early and stop it before it gets worse. What He needs to do it take a shower.’
‘Take a shower Beard? I asked for a shampoo before He got on the train and do you think I got it then? Huh!? No, no I didn’t!'
‘I just said that’s what He NEEDS to do. What He CAN do is use talc.’
‘Well, tell Him to do it,’ Chase butts in.
‘What!?’ I ridicule. ‘Tell Him to do what?'
‘Tell Him to talc His balls!’
‘Tell Him to talc His balls!? Ha-ha-ha. Tell Him! He! Himself! what to do!? Ha-ha-ha, that’s ridicules.’ I feel on the verge of hysteria.
Coughing, ‘You were saying you had ‘connections’ with Him, weren’t you Beard?’
‘Yeah, connections, Chase. Not command over. Hairs controlling the body!? That’s crazy.’
‘Is it? Think about it. What do these girls spend all their time doing? Fixing their hair! Shit, in Amsterdam, guys had the hair on their heads frozen like marble statues. The hair is one of the first things a person sees about another. It’s a statement of individuality. Immediately it says this is who He is!’
‘I do have a lot of responsibility I guess,’ Harry smirks.
‘And it’s not just Harry. It’s you too Beard. Whether He’s rocking the sideburns, the moustache, the beard or just clean shaven; you’re saying something about who He is. You say more to people than He even gets a chance to.
We’re all a part of Him.'
‘Hum, interesting point Chase,’ I muse.
‘Yeah, well… I need a cigarette.’
‘But that was just drunk talk,’ I jeer. ‘He was probably going to do those things even if I didn’t say anything. I don’t think He actually… heard me.'
‘Whatever, fuck, I need smoke.’
‘Try it Beard! Maybe you can get Him to start using conditioner.'
‘Well somebody’s gotta fucking do something because I feel like I’m running a fucking marathon down here.’
‘Uh, alright. I’ll give it a shot. I could use a little trim myself.'
‘Do it already!’ Richy shouts.
‘Ok, don’t rush me… Um, mister, um man? I think it might be wise if you...'
‘No ones going to hear you praying, Beard.'
‘Hey! Man! You’re BALLS are SWEATY and you need to TALC THEM!!!'
Nothing happens. He is staring out the window.
‘Hey! I’m talking to you!’ I bark.
‘Oh for Christ sake,’ Richy criticizes and tickles His inner thigh. He is startled and jumps in the seat. Quickly, He reaches down the kakis to scratch His balls. They feel sweaty and He gives them a talc.
He does not realize when He arrives to Kiev. It sounds like more people than usual are getting off the train. Taking a step out of the compartment, the train conductor down the hall says something to Him. He does not understand what he is saying. Annoyed, the conductor waves his arm in a shoeing fashion to get off the train. He jumps back into the compartment, gathers the bags and heads down the hall towards the conductor.
‘Kiev?’ He asks.
‘Yes, yes. Kiev.’ And he shoes Him off.
Being one of the last persons off the train, the platform is fairly empty. There is a short man at the end of the train with a sign reading, ‘OPIUM.’ He finds out the man’s name is Alexander and he is in a hurry; he was not expecting Him for another couple days. Today, he is supposed to be chopping pine trees with his son; a seasonal event.
Alexander begins to lead Him out of the train station. He stops him and asks if he could help buy the next train ticket. Since He doesn’t speak Ukrainian and… well, you do! Flustered, Alexander finds their way to the ticket reception on the main floor.
‘Where you want to go?’ he asks as they are speed-walking.
‘Mmmm, Krakow,’ He guesses.
‘Kharkiv!?’
Following Alexander around a quick corner, He does not really hear him. But… it sounded right. ‘Yeah,’ He says doubting Alexander is listening.
They get to the ticket reception where Alexander walks up to one of the windows. There is already two men standing at the window but he cuts his way in and begins to talk to the woman behind the glass. Off to the side, He is keeping an eye out for pickpocketers. Nobody is close enough to be a threat.
Alexander sneaks up behind Him and startles His prowling. Giving Him the ticket, he guides Him to the departure board to find the platform. ‘Platform 4,’ he huffs. Now he ushers Him to an ATM to pay him back for the ticket. Pushy guy, isn’t he?
There is a McDonald’s in front of the main entrance. Busily walking past the many men who gather out front of
train stations shouting, ‘Taxi! Taxi!’ they pass the taxis and take a sidewalk along the van pick-up. Alexander points out two skinny smoke stacks neighboring the station as landmarks.
‘There are many power plants in Ukraine,’ Alexander informs. ‘But not enough to power the surrounding cities without the help from Russia.’
As He is looking up at the smoke stacks, Alexander sticks out his arm to stop Him before He walks out onto the street. When they cross safely He discovers Alexander has worked with the father and is now on a new project with the UN.
They come up to a busy street that makes up a large intersection. Cars seem to be coming and going in every direction. They cross but have to stop in the middle to let a couple cars go by. Why is Alexander calm in this danger? They pass by a large hotel and follow the sidewalk along a mall. There is a tall and narrow monument, white marble with a gold star on top, in the grassy median.
They walk a block before Alexander takes a hard left down a vacant road that leads to some back alleys. They follow a building to the back where it is dark and dirty. Taking it to the far end, they stop at the third green door on the left. The website said to press the numbers 3-4-5 at the same time to open the door. He does and leads into a rundown cement stairway. The white paint has tanned and is chipping. It smells like an old outhouse. Walking up three floors, they stop at a door that has a ‘Ukraine Backpackers’ sign.
There is not an answer the first time they ring the buzzer. When they do get one, it is a young woman with frizzy brown hair and a cute face. She is confused with their presence. Alexander points to Him to speak.
‘Do you have a bed for tonight?’ He asks
‘Mmmm, I don’t know. Did you make a reservation?’
Before He can answer, she turns and leads the way in. It is a two room apartment filled with wooden bunked beds. They step into the first room and look around. The white walls have turned brown from water stains and the ceiling looks on the verge of caving in. Looking into the other room, it is dark but He can see the outlines of more bunk beds. Mmmm, I thought this was supposed to be a hostel, not some charitable shelter. The woman is in the kitchen where she has a desktop-computer set up on a table.
‘I thought you had a reservation,’ Alexander whispers to Him in aggravation.
‘No, I like to just pop in,’ He corrects. ‘I don’t want to commit to anything mostly because I don’t even know what days to reserve for.’
Alexander shuffles agitatedly.
'Plus,’ He adds, ‘it gives me a chance to look at the place first to see if I do indeed what to stay there.'
‘Yeah, this place does look to be a little too democratic.’
The woman comes back and says she does not have a
bed for this night but does have one for the next couple nights. He thanks the woman and leads Alexander out the door. With no other options, they go back to the hotel by the large intersection. It looks to be a nice place; polished marble floors, large lounge and bar, lots of men in suits.
The reception is a large marble desk and the receptionist speaks English. She wears a friendly smile
with her maroon vest and skirt. He books two nights in a smoking room. Alexander looks at Him in shock. Before they part, they take a seat in the lounge where Alexander has Him make sure He was returned the passport and credit card. Just in case, he gives Him his phone number and e-mail.
They stand and say their goodbyes. He leaves Alexander at the elevator. It takes Him a couple seconds to figure out He has to use the room card to make the elevator
work. He’s a dumb ass! It’s like He never stayed in a luxury hotel before. Getting off on the sixth floor, He finds
the room down the hall.
Going in, He takes off the carrier, rucksack and jacket, but is unable to turn on the lights. He finds some switches but they do not do anything. Opening the door to let some light in, He discovers a card holder that reads, ‘Main
Switch.’ He pushes it but nothing happens. He slides the
card into it and all the lights turn on. Ok, now that one’s new.
He takes off the clothes and hops in the shower. His crotch is red but it is not itchy. He washes it with extra care.
‘Why is His crotch doing this?’ I whine. ‘Has Richy
tainted Him?'
‘Fuck you!’ Richy snickers. ‘There hasn’t been any infections down here and you know it!’
‘Well, obviously there has been something,’ Harry joins in.
‘Fuuuuucccckkk yyyyyoooouuuuu!!!! I’ll tell you what it is.'
‘We’re all ears,’ Chase sighs.
‘I’ve been working on this theory since the last fucking incident,’ Richy snorts. ‘There are three or four individual stretch marks down here. One is right on the crease
between His thigh and crotch.’
‘Stretch marks?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, fucking stretch marks, jackass. I noticed they started forming around puberty. He was doing a lot of self- discovery at that time,’ We all sigh in annoyance. 'Hey! Give me a second fuckers. When taking many
opportunities a day to explore Himself, His cock and balls were growing faster and bigger than the rest of His body; creating these stretch marks.’
‘Growing faster than the rest of His body!?’ I question.
‘…well,’ Richy continues without stopping, ‘on that road trip to Munich, it got pretty fucking sweaty down here and never really had a chance to get clean. So a fucking rash developed around those stretch marks.’
‘Yeah, a rash from fucking,’ Harry blurts out.
‘Fuck you! He’s clean from infections I tell you! He just needs to make sure to stay clean from sweating.'
‘What He needs,’ I bitch, ‘is to stay clean from you,
Richy.'
‘Fuck you!!!'
Dried and looking at Himself in the mirror, His lip has a huge scab around the stud piercing. It looks like the cut has gotten larger and the swelling has gotten worse. Bitch! He washes it again in the sink and brushes His teeth.
‘Ha-ha, we’ve all got a little curl to us, though, don’t we?’ I try to lighten the mood. ‘And you Harry, you’re growing wings!’
‘Yeah, I hate it when I do this,’ he is still bitter. ‘It makes me look like such a kid.'
Back out in the bedroom, He pulls open the curtains. It is dusk and He is looking down at the large intersection below. It is rush hour and the cars are slowly flowing through with what seems like little order.
The croissant is the only thing He has eaten in almost twenty-four hours. There is a nice restaurant in the hotel. It’d be fun for Him to dress the part. Putting on jeans, He
does dresses-up with a t-shirt and sports-coat. In the restaurant, He is allowed to sit where He pleases. There is only one big table surrounded with loud businessmen. He
chooses a seat facing away from them.
After ordering a beer, a name he cannot read, He looks over the food menu. When the waitress returns with the drink, He orders Borscht soup for appetizer and a steak for the entrée. A TV showing models walking down a runway occupies the time. All the women are skinny, blond and with long legs. Oh yeah, now this is television. When men start taking over the runway, He loses interest.
After eating, He stops by the reception to ask a couple of questions.
‘I have two things I hope you can help me with,’ He smiles.
The woman does not understand English and has to get another woman to come over to speak with Him.
'Where can I buy beer and cigarettes?’ He asks still smiling.
The woman describes how to get to kiosks that sell beer a street down from the hotel.
‘And where is a good night club?’ is the second question.
She tells Him all He has to do is walk down the main street out front of the hotel and follow it downtown until it forks. The club is in the middle of the fork.
After thanking the woman, He finds the many kiosks easy enough; He walked by them earlier with Alexander. Picking one just to pick one, He steps up behind a person at the window. He is next in line. When it is His turn, He tries to talk to the woman in the booth but she does not speak English. She understands ‘beer’ and ‘Marlboro’ but not ‘pretzels.’
Noticing the communication breakdown, a young man behind Him steps up to help. He tells the worker which pretzels He wants, and thinking how to translate the numbers, tells Him how much everything costs. He pays
and gets the cigarettes and pretzels.
‘And now take your beer,’ the young man says pointing to the drinks.
The woman in the kiosk presses a button that unlocks the glass door of a refrigerator. He smiles back at the helpful man in appreciation.
Back in the hotel room, He is sitting on the bed, naked, with legs up and enjoying the purchases. He is watching dubbed Simpsons. Futrurama was on earlier. The voices are so different it’s creepy. It’s like everyone on the show is possessed. Although it is in Ukrainian, He still knows what each character is saying.
'Why doesn't mine look like that!?' He quotes Homer. He really has watched these shows too many times. This episode is when Homer tries to build a bar-b-que pit but ends up becoming a contemporary artist. He has seen it a hundred times.
After drinking the two tallboys, He is still thirsty. He washes up, talcs and puts back on jeans. The bar in the hotel is full of businessmen. He gets a large beer and a shot of vodka. After taking the shot, He finds a seat facing a TV where women models are again walking down runways. He sits down around empty seats.
When the waiter brings Him a second beer, a man in a suit comes out from the back casino and decides to sit down next to Him. The man is friendly and He does not mind talking to someone. He finds out he is Romanian and is in Kiev for business. Upon finding out He is from America, the man gets excited to bash American politics; mostly the war in Iraq.
‘World police what you are,’ he announces in rough broken English.
‘Well, first of all,’ He counters, ‘I want you to know I hate politics. It’s an endless discussion and when it’s
boiled down, all that is left are old gray-haired men who are corrupting the younger generations into believing money and power mean everything.’
‘No, sorry… I...'
‘It’s ok,’ He is quick to sympathize. ‘I’m sorry. It can be frustrating because most people are eager to jump on Americans when they don’t even realize we struggle with the government as well.'
‘What you mean?’ he takes a sip from his whiskey.
‘America is no different than anywhere else in the world. It’s a land filled with people simply trying to live happy lives. Our pursuit of that happiness may be perceived as selfish, but isn’t that the reason to be alive? To be happy?’
‘Well…’ the man is unable to start a sentence before He cuts in, ‘It’s human nature, I guess, to get caught up in that personal pursuit for happiness. We forget happiness is for all. The values we stood by in the beginning are lost in the end. Money and power can be the biggest blinders. Once we get them, we think we are happy and don’t care if anyone else is.’
He takes a sip from the beer and continues as the Romanian is trying to follow His quick talking, ‘It’s the politicians and corporations that have both money and power. The people put trust in them to make important decisions. But even they are human. They can even forget about their values.’
‘Ok,’ the Romanian takes a chance to jump in with something that has been on his mind. ‘Then why America elect Bush twice?’
‘That I can’t even believe. But I’ve stopped talking about American politics. I’m talking about all politics and all big businesses. Greed, corruption and monopoly runs in their blood. This is nothing new. This is as old as
government itself. As old as business.
‘Some might claim to be fighting for human rights. But human rights exist with or without politics. It’s the governments that are infringing on human rights not the other way around.’
‘But…’ the Romanian tries to get in.
‘What am I talking about?’ He rolls His eyes. ‘Politics!? Bah. All this is just a waste of time. Rhetoric is what it is. Rhetoric about politics and about religion. Because, you know, God just can’t keep Himself out of government. ‘In God we Trust!?’ ‘God Bless America!?’ It makes me sick. ‘In our Children we Trust!’ I say. ‘In You and Me!’ I say.
‘Heaven is on earth, my brother,’ He does not know why He is now talking like a reverend, ‘and god is you and me. Before we figure this out, everybody will be dead in the name of government and religion. By then it’ll be too late to wonder what it was all for; wonder if we were happy.’
He sits back in the seat while the Romanian searches for something to say. Not finding anything, he joins Him in watching the models on TV.
The Romanian buys a round of drinks. At this point, He is feeling drunker than He wants to be. But He humors the man and joins him in a whiskey. Finally being able to say goodbye, He stubbles out of the hotel and follows what could be the main street to the club. At this intersection, there are so many ‘main streets’ to choose from. He picks one and starts walking.
After a long while, the street still has not forked. There are tall buildings in the distance. At least He’s walking towards downtown. He decides to walk to downtown until He gets too worried. Before He makes it there, the road turns left ninety degrees. None of this was in the
directions! There is another windy road to the right that leads up a hill to some casinos but that is not what He wants either. Standing on the corner, there is a couple making-out. He feels too uncomfortable to ask them directions.
He remembers passing an open Italian restaurant close by. Retracing steps, He finds the restaurant and goes inside. A cute girl with bright eyes is behind the counter. He asks her if a nightclub is close by. She leads Him outside and starts showing Him directions with her hands.
‘It,’ she holds up her hand in the shape of horns, ‘hard core.’
‘Hard core, huh. And you like it?’ He smiles.
‘No, no,’ she blushes. ‘I have work.
‘Ha-ha, oh, no,’ now He blushes. ‘You like the club?'
‘Yeah, it good,’ she says looking down at her feet.
He thanks her and heads to try and find the club. After walking two blocks, there is a building that is playing really loud music and lights are flashing on the second floor. Going in the door, He walks up to the person collecting cover charges. As He is reaching into the jeans pocket to pay the woman, a bouncer in all black takes Him by the arm and pulls Him to the side. He says something in Ukrainian.
‘I’m sorry but I don’t understand,’ He smiles worriedly.
‘Not right shoes,’ the bouncer reports looking over His head to the door.
He looks down at the blue Chuck Talyers. ‘But…’
The bouncer does not look down at Him.
‘Can’t you make an exception?’
‘No,’ and he begins turning Him to the door by the arm.
‘But…’
After a final push he says in an unnecessarily stern voice, ‘Sir, you must leave.’
Walking towards the door, a group of men and women come in laughing. They are looking suave in dark sports-coats and silk dresses. He looks down at the men’s black shoes. Damn it! In such a tizzy and fairly drunk, He does not know what else to do but go back to the hotel.
Not wanting to take the long walk back, He gets in the back of one of the many taxis out front. Discovering He does not know how to give directions to the hotel is irrelevant because the driver does not speak English. Flustered, He gets out of the taxi and starts walking.
Back on the street that leads straight to the hotel, He tries to wave down a taxi. Three cars pull over to pick Him up. None of these have a taxi sign on them. All are regular four-door cars. Hum, this seems sketchy. One throws open his car door and starts yelling at Him. Not sure how to take this, He keeps walking. The cars accelerates and speeds by. He does not mind and decides to walk the rest of the way.
He is starving when He gets back to the room and orders room service; a ham and sausage sandwich, pickle and a Pepsi. The food comes in no time. He tips the waitress 25 Grivna. Eating in bed, He watches late night TV. The channel He is on is very psychedelic with many simple camera tricks; blending images and altering shapes and colors. It loses its feeling, however, being in black and white.
It is the next morning and He has found the way to the main street in downtown Kiev. The one thing He is looking for is a place to eat. He does some sightseeing along the way and walks as far as the main square. There is a towering white statue decorated in gold vines. On top is an angle with its golden wings stretched out. That’s quite inspiring.
After eating more Borscht soup and sausages, He takes the long walk back to the train station to check the departure board again. Along the way, He stops to observe a city bus. It is connected to tram lines just as street cars are. The bus is not set in tracks but still has the freedom of movement like regular buses. Is this a way to combine gas and electricity?
He makes it to the train station. The lettering on the departure board is in Cyrillic, making it hard to read and match up with the train ticket. He asks the lady at the information booth for help. She shrugs her shoulders and testifies her ignorance. But you’re information. Shouldn’t you know these things? He decides to rely on what Alexander told Him earlier. With nothing else to do but wander, He begins to wander.
There is a large hallway with vendors in wooden booths lined along the walls. He decides to walk through. Purses and t-shirts are the more popular items sold but the list is endless. They are selling toys and jewelry, books and magazines, cigarettes and liquor. Then the food venders start; steaks and sausages and fish. Nothing appealing.
He finds Himself close to the power plant again and takes a walk around the perimeter. Huge pipes are leading every which way but all eventually make their way into the main building. A small river is funneled adjacently. He discovers another small market down below the train station, almost underneath the tracks. Walking through is an explosion of junk. Microwaves, TVs and radios; toothpaste, soap and shampoo; steaks, sausages and fish. Where do these people get this stuff? Somebody must be stealing or bootlegging from somewhere.
He goes back to the hotel without buying anything, reads and takes a nap. When He wakes, it is dark outside. Tonight He is determined to go back to the club. Watching
TV until 22.00 according to the English news channel, He becomes interested in a documentary about Russian and Ukrainian politics. It speaks of Ukrainian revolution and economic independence from Russia. The documentray shows a past demonstration held a year ago in the city square He just visited.
Flipping over to the news channel, He finds Russia is threatening to cut off Ukrainian power if they do not pay their debuts. Hum, He probably doesn’t want to be staying in Ukraine for TOO much longer.
To trick the bouncer tonight, He decides to wear the Birkenstock clogs and the dark-green wool pants. When He makes it back to the club, it looks and sounds like it is closed. All dressed up and nowhere to go. He walks up to the doors. They are locked. Defeated, He aimlessly walks up another block and follows a street that forks. In the middle is a nightclub. Ah! Here it is!
The building hosts a nightclub, a casino and a sports bar. Decisions, decisions. He chooses the nightclub.
Paying the cover at the entrance, the music is loud but there does not seem to be many people inside. As He walks up the carpeted stairs, the dance floor opens up, empty. Tables back in the lounges are full of people talking and laughing.
He gets a beer from the bar and takes a seat on the leather chairs that are the only vacant seats. A girl in a black tank-top comes up to Him and comments on something. He does not understand and she rephrases it.
‘You need to spend 100 Grivnas at the bar to sit here.’
That’s nothing. He should throw the money at her and tell her to fuck off.
‘I only got 65 left.'
‘Excuse me,’ the girl snarls.
‘Oh, I already spent 100 at the door,’ is all He can think
of saying, regretting immediately how cheap it sounds.
She raises her eyebrows and rolls her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she says and leaves Him.
He gets up and stands at the bar by Himself. The only one standing. He takes this opportunity to listen to the DJ. This guy is off the chains. Blending and remixing songs with precision while throwing in heavy bass with the right amount of treble. He slows it down to a tease only to slowly bring it up again. The best DJ He has heard since Girl Talk at the Paradiso in Amsterdam.
He cannot help but move around with the beat. A pair of girls in shinny dresses come up to the bar to order drinks. He asks them if they have a lighter although He has one in the pocket. They look at Him and without a word move farther down the bar. That only works when the girls are smokers themselves.
‘I guess that only works when they’re smokers themselves,’ He laughs to Himself.
An old man with a big breasted young girl comes into the club and stands by the bar. The man is flashing his money around and dancing with his arms in the air. This jerk must have come up from the casino. The young girl is annoyed and embarrassed with his perverted dancing. When he buys her a drink she becomes less irritated.
He orders beer until He runs out of money. What keeps Him entertained more than the DJ are two young go-go dancers. The girls dance in short and shinny dresses but leave the stage only to return in a more scandalous outfit. Sexy!
This keeps Him around until He feels awkward not ordering drinks. He uses the toilet before He leaves. As He tries to unbutton the wool-pants, the top button pops off. Now He cannot keep the pants up by themselves.
With a cool strut, He quickly walks across the vacant
dance floor holding the pants up by the waist.
The last day in Kiev and the train does not leave until the afternoon. He reads in bed before He gets up. There is a park near the hotel. He finds Himself here, observing the bare trees, the women pushing strollers and the young adults drinking beer on benches.
He walks through the park and comes to a playground. A woman and her child are drawing pictures of Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse with chalk on the sidewalk. Finding an exit, there is a white church with a large gold dome across the street. He takes some time to look at it. A man stops next to Him, makes the sign of the cross and keeps on walking.
Stopping at a kiosk to get water and food for the train, this time He is able to successfully communicate through pointing. Back in the hotel room, He packs the rucksack in preparation. He discovers a hidden zipper on the side that allows access into the bag without having to unbuckle the top flap. Learning as He goes, is He? With little else to do, He picks up the leather notebook and opens it to a blank page. He uncontrollably starts to write down key points that have happened to Him throughout the travels:
Leaving Amsterdam.
Getting off at the wrong station in Berlin
Free tour of Berlin.
‘Fucking two bitches IN Berlin,’ Richy shouts out.
Fucking two bitches in Berlin.
Getting picked up by strangers in Kutno.
Polish girls are really hot.
Meeting Gedeon.
‘Oh! Oh! Going to Torun,’ Harry suggests.
Going to Torun.
Having lip bitten off in Warsaw
‘Smoking Cigarettes,’ Chase throws in.
Smoking Cigarettes.
Long train to Kiev.
Passport checked by militia.
Markets in Kiev.
‘And… and…’ I try to think of something to add.
He sits there trying to think of something to add.
‘And growing a beard!'
And growing a beard.
* * * *
‘It’s funny,’ He says to Himself as He sits down in the train compartment. ‘I’m actually excited to be getting back on a train.’
There are four beds in this compartment, two on each side. He has one of the bottom beds. The train should not leave for another half-hour so He pulls out Lonesome Traveler and begins to read. A young girl of about His age comes in and sits down on the bed across from Him. Really!? What luck to have fine female companionship!
She only has a purse and a small carry-on bag.
While talking on her phone, she is looking out the window, in her purse, into the hallway; everywhere except at Him. He takes some glances at her from the top of the book. She has black hair and a skinny face. With a sexy accent like all these women of foreign lands.
He keeps glancing up at her over the book until four men come up to the compartment door. They are busy in discussion. Two of the men, one middle-aged and skinny while the other old and fat, put their bags on the two top beds. The other two linger just outside the door.
Once settled, all the men sit down on the two lower beds, having three people per bed. I hope they don’t try
and stay here the whole trip. The skinny man pulls out his briefcase and starts showing papers to the rest of the entourage. He gets a glance at the papers; they look like charts and diagrams. The train has slowly begins to move.
The men are talking in Ukrainian and He does not understand their conversation. Eventually papers are put away and the other two men leave. What a relief. I had a feeling He was about to lose His temper. The old man gets off of the bed and begins to loosen his belt and pants. He takes off his shoes before getting in the bed above Him. He sits there in disgust. The skinny man and the girl are busy making their beds, digging around in their bags and taking turns going to the bathroom.
He is uncomfortably happy sitting on the bed reading with the rucksack next to Him. Once everyone gets settled back in the compartment, the skinny man asks Him, in few English words, if He is going to make the bed. The old man says something too but He does not understand. He shakes His head and holds up the book to indicate He is going to spend the time reading.
This confuses the skinny man. The girl too is confused and shows Him how the lower beds can be lifted for underneath storage. He smiles back at her in understanding but again shakes His head. He curls up in a ball by the small reading light.
Leaving Him be, the skinny man takes a seat on the girl’s bed and begins to endlessly talk with her. This is really annoying when trying to read. He is constantly getting distracted and has to stop reading out of exhaustion.
The two try to be friendly and talk with Him but neither one speaks good English. What He does get is them asking why He is going where they are going.
He points at His eyes to indicate that He wants to see
the city. Why else do people go to Krakow? To party, right…? They do not get this. They try and say that Kharkiv is an industrial city and there is not much to see there. He sticks with the story.
Getting back to the book, the two get back to their conversation. They end up talking the whole night. He falls asleep from time to time but occasionally wakes from their laughter. He does slowly finish the book, having to read pages over and over again to stay focused. Jack’s chapter on ‘The Vanishing Hobo in America’ is interesting in that he is talking about how the hobo’s simplistic life outside the realm of monetary concerns is really a struggle to be free.
The train is suppose to pull into the station at 6.25. When He finishes the book, it is the beginnings of early morning. People have been walking around in the hallway and soon those in the compartment too are starting to get ready to leave. But the train hasn’t changed tracks yet and passports haven’t been checked. Don’t those things have to happen before getting to Poland!? The train slowly comes to a stop. The girl and the skinny man exchange phone numbers before they led the way out the compartment.
He lights a cigarette once stepping off the train. This time, He planned ahead in Kiev and wrote down directions to the next hostel. If He follows the directions, He’ll be fine. What’s the first thing to do? Take the main street to a square. He takes a deep drag of the cigarette and starts walking.
There is a McDonalds but not a major street. He looks up at the main entrance to the train station and notices its name is written in Cyrillic. Ok… Maybe they also use Cyrillic in Krakow. He walks past the McDonalds in hope the main street is close by. When He comes to a corner, He
looks up at building where waving in the wind is a yellow and blue flag. What the fuck!? He’s still in Ukraine!
Anxiety and stress strike Him. He starts breathing heavily and becomes panicked. Whoa, He really should calm down. Freaking out won’t get Him anywhere. He just needs to figure out what happened. He takes some slow deep breaths and calms down. Setting down the rucksack, He finds the phone and Alexander’s information. When calling him, the line does not go through.
What the fuck Alexander, where did you send Him!? He becomes panic-stricken again. His throat gets tight and His eyes begin to water. It’s ok. It’s ok. He needs to not get overwhelmed here. This is a problem that can be solved.
He takes a deep breath and puts back on the rucksack to start walking towards the train station. There’s a police officer. I’m sure he can help. He approaches the officer but before He can finish asking for help, he has already begun shaking his head. Well! Fuck you bitch!
He walks up the main stairs of the station and finds a ticket reception. They do not speak English. After many attempts of trying to understand, the woman eventually points Him to the international ticket office.
He goes into the office and tries talking to the woman at the counter. She does not understand Him either and points to a sign informing office hours are between 9.00 and 20.00. It is not even 7.00 yet. Stressed, He throws off the rucksack on the couch. The woman, annoyed, comes around the counter and points to another sign that reads: ‘No Bags on Couch.’
Jesus Christ! He throws off the bag and tiredly sits down. There is a TV playing Tom and Jerry cartoons and He watches a quick show. Alright, something familiar. Now He can gather His thoughts. At best, we can hope He's heading toward Poland. Pulling out the ticket, He
tries to find the name of the city where He is. On the pamphlet, there is a small map of Ukraine and all the major train stops. He matches the name on the ticket with a city on the map. Ha-ha, oh shit! He discovers He took an eight hour train ride east of Kiev instead of going west. He is probably no more than fifty miles from the Russian boulder.
He sits back on the couch, not knowing how to think about this. Didn’t He see ‘Kiev’ on the departure board? Maybe He can try and get back to Kiev to start over. He gathers the bags and goes back to the ticket reception.
‘Kiev?’ is the only thing He asks to the woman.
She says something back but He does not understand. She keeps pointing to the left which seems to be where to get a ticket to Kiev. He quickly goes down the station corridor and finds another ticket reception. ‘Kiev!?’ he asks the woman in a hurry.
She says something back but He does not understand. She keeps pointing to the right. He quickly goes down the station corridor He just came from, passes the first ticket reception and ends up in the large main hall. There is no ticket reception here but there is a desk with a woman sitting behind it. He approaches and asks, ‘Kiev?’
The woman says something and points even farther to the right. But that leads outside! He decides to take the woman’s advice. There are a couple of temporary tents outside that have more ticket receptions. He goes in and asks ‘Kiev!?’ The woman says something and points back into the station.
He stands outside to smoke a cigarette. Yeah, that didn't work out. It’ll be good for Him to calm down again with a cigarette. He decides it would be best to wait and talk to somebody who can speak English. It is so cold outside the snot in His nostrils begins to freeze. There are the
annoying men that gather out front of stations shouting, ‘Taxi! Taxi!’, women bundled in blankets going around asking people for money, while stray dogs run around chasing birds to keep warm.
After the cigarette, there is nothing else for Him to do but sit in the international ticket office. Inside it is warm, comfortable and safe. He is happy He can watch the bags without having to wear them. The cartoon, Chip ‘n Dale Rescue Rangers, is now on. He has seen this one when He was young. The team is solving the case of the mysterious magician. Jesus, hasn’t He done anything else besides watch cartoons?
The cartoons change to ones He does not recognize when soon after some workwomen come into the office. They take their time getting ready but once they have their hair done and blue vests on, they nod over at Him.
One woman is on the computer while another is translating. He tells them He is trying to get to Krakow, Poland. He should make sure to stress the Poland! The women talk amongst themselves and do some research on the computer. The first option is to go back to Warsaw. But that train does not leave until late tonight. The second and last option is to go to west Ukraine and from there take a bus to Krakow. This train leaves at 13.00. I think He’ll take the latter!
He does not have enough Grivnas but does have Euros and Zloties. He has to go to the currency exchange to change out money. Once there, He finds He does not have enough money from any one currency to exchange and He has to use an ATM. Fuck, just adding up the international service fees. He gets money and comes back to the ticket office. There is an option of going first class or second. The difference between classes is second class does not have doors on the compartments while first class does. I
think He wants doors.
The women are helpful and read Him the information on the ticket; train number, car and compartment. He has to find the platform on His own. Oh! Sure! That’ll be easy. A black man has been standing to the side overhearing the conversation. He comes up to Him and asks, in good English, if He needs help. He tries to convey His content but the man is insistent on helping find the platform.
He leads Him out of the room toward the first ticket office He came to earlier. It costs 2 Grivna for information. He has the money but the man is quicker and pays for Him. Wow! Ok!? The receptionist writes down the information needed and after checking it with the ticket, the man shows Him what platform to go to. Extremely grateful for the help, He is speechless. The man sticks out his hand for a shake and then is off. Holy shit! That was nice.
He now has four hours to waste. There is a tent out front of the station where He can buy coffee and sandwiches. He buys two sandwiches, one for now and one for the train, and sits down at a table. Smoking another cigarette over a coffee, a beggar woman comes in and sits down at a table next to Him.
She keeps looking over at Him. He cannot help but look back at her. They smile at each other. With her hands, she indicates opening and closing a book. If you only knew what story this could produce. He smiles back at her and directs His attention back to the table.
After finishing the coffee, He finds Himself back in the main hall. The high ceiling is lit with half a dozen huge and elaborate crystal chandeliers. He finds a wall to lean against, sets down the rucksack and takes a deep breath. The station clock reads 10.07. A stray dog is sleeping in the corner and an old woman walks by with bootlegged
videos for sell. He tries to stay comfortable but an advertisement repeatedly playing the Mika song, ‘Relax, take it easy.’
After an hour and a half, it becomes tortureious to watch the clock. He decides to get a cup of coffee and sit down at a café across the hall. He gathers the bags and makes the way over.
The woman at the counter makes the coffee in the most mysterious way. She pours a brown liquid into a little metal beaker, places it on a hot cooker with what looks like old coffee shavings and begins circling the beaker around the cooker. After some time, whatever is inside begins to boil over. She takes the beaker off the cooker, pours the liquid into a paper cup and hands it to Him. He accepts it with a smile and sits down at a table to rest.
Sipping on the coffee, it tastes like hot muddy water. The grains are sandy in His mouth and it has a bitter taste. At least it will keep Him warm. When He is about half way done with the drink, He tips it up to His lips to finish it off but nothing comes out. He looks down into the cup and the drink has settled into a wet clog. He does not try to drink any more. How could He? It’s made of mud!
He does not know what else to do but stand back in the main hall and try to ignore, ‘Relax, take it easy.’ Isn’t this that song His gay suitemate in Amsterdam would ALWAYS play? God this is annoying. Truly a living hell.
After the slow passing of time, the train finally arrives. He is more than happy to leave the cold and desolate station. In the compartment, He shakes off being half frozen and rests His heavy legs. This compartment only has two beds. They’re not packing Him in like anchovies this time? Doors and space: the privileges of first class!
He lifts the bed and uses the under-storage for the
rucksack. Some folded linens are waiting on the bed. He unfoldes them as sheets and crawls under the heavy wool blanket. He easily falls asleep even though kids in the next room are loudly laughing and banging against the thin walls. Teenagers...
He only awakes again at a stop when someone is knocking on the door. It is a middle-aged woman in a white suit. I don’t think she’s the train conductor. He opens the door and crawls back in bed while she sits herself and small carrier bag down. He finds How to Lose… but does not feel like reading. Instead, He grabs the cigarettes and makes the way down to the smoking section at the far end of the car.
On the other sleeper trains, He has seen signs promoting smoking areas. When going to the end of this car there is a ‘No Smoking’ sign. Hum, maybe it’ll still be cool. He lights a cigarette and tries to hurriedly smoke it down. Only after a couple of quick puffs, the train conductor comes through and waves a friendly finger at Him in disagreement. She directs Him to the next car where the smoking section is.
She opens the door between the cars as He apologizes for His negligence. After unnecessarily jumping across the small gap that looks down to the outside tracks, He takes the opportunity to finish the cigarette instead of catching His breath.
Back in bed, He notices the woman has changed out of her suit and put on pajamas. He gets back under the covers and picks up the book to read.
‘I am just so greasy right now. Wring me out and sell me to the sex shop as a natural lubricant.’
‘Gross Harry, what the fuck!?’ I am too grouchy to be nice.
‘Ha-ha, what? Can’t I be gross?’
‘No. Not Mr. ‘Oh, Aren’t I so Beautiful!’’
‘Well, the sad thing is it took me over four hours in that pathetic little train station to come up with that.’
‘Yeah, that is sad. Speaking of. Hey, Richy. How you doing down there?’
‘Me? Oh, well… Lets just say, if Harry is ‘lube,’ then consider me to be, oh, I don’t know, A FUCKING SWEATY BALLSACK! You know, like a REAL fucking ball sack! And a sweaty one at that! This shits unreal down here. I can barely keep above water.’
Chase asks, ‘What’s to be done?’ under coughing.
‘I don’t fucking know man. In some parts, the talc is mixing with the sweat and forming into a flowery clay substance. I think we’re just going to have to ride this out until we can get in a shower.’
‘But is it all rashy?’ I ask concerned.
‘To be honest. Yeah. It’s mostly just fucking red but I can see it getting worse.’
We all grunt in annoyance. He grunts in annoyance.
How to Lose… has gotten to the point where the protagonist has sold-out his friends and co-workers in order to be as rich and glamorous as the celebrities he is writing about in Vanity Fair. This makes Him think about His own journalistic morals.
He was not always fair and truthful when He began a journalism career. Laziness, college life and procrastination all played a role. But none are excuses. He knows how to write proper articles and how to do it well. He knows how to properly interview and how to do it well. He was never slanderous and never fully misquoted.
Maybe it was all the responsibility that made Him feel damned. Most of His writings were feature articles on bands, artists and other writers. These interviews were held
over beers and cocktails. Deadlines, working with editors and photographers, showing up to work. These were His biggest flaws.
In His two year career, He worked for three major newspapers and two popular magazines. At every place, He never found a mentor. The editors were too busy eating their lunches over computers. His writing was good enough no one felt the need to say anything besides simple editing. He eventually started to make His own schedules and deadlines without the permission of the editors; which He still did not hold to.
If He did not leave a publication after half a year, then He was surly to be fired. All He wanted was a couple of good bylines, some fresh income and a little college credit. When He got those, He was done coming in. After college, He would have had to make that giant leap from internship to fulltime career. He was not interested. He built up such a bad reputation He doubted He would even be able to get an interview.
He knew this all along. He knew what He was doing and was getting away with it. The final piece to His master plan was waiting to fall into place. He did not need any recommendations from editors to get on an airplane to Amsterdam.
‘That was fun though,’ Harry laughs, ‘being a rock-n-roll journalist.’
‘Yeah, it was cool. A good university experience. It did have the perks of access to any concert in Colorado.'
‘What are you saying Beard? I don’t remember Him having a beard in university.’
‘I’m around every time He hasn’t shaved, jackass. But He did have some pretty fatty sideburns, that’s for sure.'
‘Oh, yes! I remember those. They made me look like I had speed-skater legs!'
‘And weren’t you in a pony tail at one time?’ Chase mocks.
‘I was shaved once too so…'
We all break out laughing.
‘Hey! Don’t act like none of you have been either overgrown or shaved. Richard! Beard! Even you Chase. Maybe the shaving is the reason why we’re so beastly today.’
We break out laughing again, mostly at remembering ourselves throughout His life.
‘What I really enjoyed,’ Chase starts again, ‘was His personal writing.’
‘Personal writing? What personal writing?’ I criticize.
'The only other stuff He would try to get published was for creative writing class and that was just as big of a fuck up as His newspaper shit.’
‘You know, the stuff that He would write for Himself; the stuff that never meant anything. He would just write down whatever was on His mind.’
‘You mean the stuff that He would do so professors thought He was taking notes?’ Harry jokes.
‘Well, the other stuff too. When He would write down the stories about girls He would fool around with or times He had to deal with the cops or even when He would throw keggers in the apartment hallway. Ha-ha, I liked those stories because He’d always end up blacked out and had to make up what happened through the perspective of the beer-pong ball.’
‘You mean like His fucking journal?’ Richy characteristically contributes.
‘Yeah, but it seemed to be more than that, like He was practicing for something.
He puts down the book and throws the blanket over His head to block out the evening sun. ‘More than that,’ He
mumbles to Himself as He falls asleep.
The woman is reading a magazine when He wakes again. It is dark outside and the main lights in the compartment are on. The train begins to slow and He decides to go out for a smoke. Jumping over to the smoking section, He sees city lights in the distance. I wonder if that’s Kiev. Taking time to finish the cigarette, the city slowly comes into view. That does look like Kiev! Seeing the green lights on one of the taller buildings, He knows it is Kiev. He puts out the cigarette in the ash tray.
‘Fuck you Kiev!’ He chuckles flipping off the city with both hands. ‘You didn’t think you’d see me again… But here I am Mother Fucker!!’
He gets back into the compartment before the train stops. It has been eight hours since He left Kharkiv. Eleven hours to go until He gets to whatever city in west Ukraine.
Turning on the phone, He discovers it has been twenty-three hours since He left Kiev the first time. This has been a re-donk-u-lous day.
The woman is friendly and tries to talk with Him. But she does not speak any English. She does offer Him a breakfast bar. He understands that! They both have one while sitting on their beds, munching contently to themselves.
Using the small pamphlet map, He asks the woman where the final stop would be. She looks at the ticket and indicates Him on the map the unmarked city of Lvov. He tells her about trying to make it to Krakow but she looks at Him with a blank stare. He wonders if she understands.
After some time of silence and awkward looking at each other, the woman gets an idea. She digs in her bag and pulls out some photographs. They are of her, her and her small child, her and her small child and her husband,
of the lake by her house, of her. He tries to humor her by smiling and saying kind comments like, ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ and, ‘Pretty,’ but He becomes bored.
To be fair, He also has some pictures of His own. They are random pictures of Munich and Beerfest. The first one is Valerie looking sexy in a German dirndl dress. Another is Him and Nathan holding up beer steins and smoking dog-legged cigars. The last one is Lauren, in her crocheted hat, rolling a joint. The woman replies to the pictures just as He replied to hers.
Only having three pictures to show, He tries to communicate He wants to read by lying back on the bed. The woman has pulled out her phone and begins to show Him more pictures. Oh Jesus, this lady won’t give up.
Propped up on His elbow, He once again humors the woman but is becoming irritated. She finally runs out of pictures and leaves Him be while she still searches for more things to show Him.
Before the final stop, He is able to finish How to Lose… It disappointingly ends with the man falling in love with a simple girl and not a glamorous one, being content with moving back to England, and overall unsatisfying Him that he did not end up becoming a junky on the streets of New York. Damn stories with their moral lessons!
It is early morning and the sun has been up for some time. The woman is sleeping very strangely; she is on her side but has her bottom arm resting behind her. He giggles at this odd flexibility.
Eventually the train slows and the woman begins to stir. She sits up and slowly starts to wake. Sliding her legs off the bed and rubbing her eyes, she takes a deep sigh and tells him, ‘Out!’ I take this for Him to leave so she can change. He grabs the cigarettes and leaves the compartment.
After the smoke, when jumping back over the gap, He finds the train conductor smoking in the non-smoking section. He gives her a jokingly shake of the finger. She smiles back and points to her coffee cup. Ah! Excuses, excuses. He smiles and leaves her be.
Having to wait in the hallway while the woman finishes changing, this gives Him an opportunity to stand and look out the window some more. The morning sun is making the bare trees glow deadly alive with the fields in resurrection.
The fanning out of train tracks indicates the coming of the station. He grows anxious to be getting off the train, but strangely enough, He still desires to stay on. Oh come on, He should be over the anxiety from leaving the comforts of the train by now. He should be excited about the uncertainties of what’s to come when He gets off!
Taking a deep breath to release stress, He tries the door again and discovers it to be unlocked. Inside, the woman is back in her suit, polishing her white boots. He gathers the bags from under the bed and folds up the linens to sit down.
The train comes to a stop and He lets the woman leave the compartment first. Having a rucksack thrown on the back can be violent in small spaces. Stepping off the train, the woman is waiting for Him outside. Oh! Ok!? He walks with her in silence down the platform and through the hall to the station building. Patiently standing with her as she browses around the main hall, she finds what she is looking for. Pointing down another hallway, the end is the bus ticket reception. Wow, He didn’t even ask her for help. He thanks her for the guidance and bids her farewell.
At the ticket window, He asks the woman for a bus ticket to Krakow. Annoyed, she tells Him no buses go to Krakow. Really!? He then asks her for a train ticket to
Krakow. There is only one train per day that goes to Krakow and it has left fifteen minutes ago. Well, shit. He has to spend the next twenty-four hours in Lvov.
Walking out the main door of the station, there are the annoying men that gather out front shouting, ‘Taxi! Taxi!’ Now, He has to use one. He asks a man how much to get to a hotel.
The man happily replies, ‘Hotel? Grand? Hotel Grand?’
Not caring He agrees, ‘Yes yes, how much?’
‘Ten.’
He accepts the price and has the man lead Him to his car. It is an old silver four door with no bumpers or wheel-caps. This thing looks pre-war. With the man's assistance, He puts the bags in the trunk and makes the way to the front seat. Once in the car, the driver makes many attempts to get the engine to turn over. After filling the car with gas fumes, the thing finally starts. Settling on the hard plastic seat, He looks around at the Rosemary hanging from the rearview mirror and the saint cards in the visors.
The roads in Lvov are cobblestone and very uneven. The tram lines are dangerously exposed above the stones and the driver has to make a direct line at them to avoid getting his tire stuck in the grooves. The ice on the road sure doesn’t help. At one point, the car stalls when going up a hill. Oh god! The driver gets the car started again, this time with only a couple of tries. And soon they make it to the hotel safely.
Handing the driver a ten Grivna, the man shakes his head and says, ‘No, ten American.’ Annoyed because of the deception, He gives the man a fifty Grivna.
Outside, the driver takes the rucksack out of the trunk and helps get it on His back. He annoyingly thanks the man and heads to the front door of the hotel where the doorman opens it for Him.
In the reception room, He notices it is lavished in gold and marble. He’ll fit in here nicely. After talking with the receptionist, He finds out the only rooms available are the more expensive ones. He takes one but has to pay extra for early check in. Fortunately for His temper, breakfast is included in the price.
*
A shower is the first thing He does when He gets into the room. He almost forgets to close the door! The hot water on His balls makes Him lightheaded. The rash is heavy in the crotch and mild along the inner thigh, only where His balls can reach. It’s like they’re a marble sack of poison oak. He gives everything a good cleaning. There is not much else He can do.
Out of the shower and dried, He is looking at Himself
in the mirror. The swelling of His lip has gone down but the cut along the piercing is not getting better. To make things worse, the corners of His mouth are starting to get chapped, making it painful to open all the way. What the fuuuccckkkk!!! He’s falling apart.
Deciding to say ‘Fuck it’ to the sports-coat, He goes to breakfast in a yellow long-johns shirt. At these prices, He deserves to be sloppy. A waiter stops Him at the entrance
of the restaurant and asks for a room number. He shows the man the room key and is allowed in.
There are apples and oranges and bananas, yogurt, chocolate cereal and oat cereal, bread, cold meats and cheeses, scrambled eggs, sausage and ham, tomatoes, olives, orange juice and coffee.
He makes many trips to the buffet only to have a cigarette break in-between to help settle the food; and then back to the buffet. Might as well milk this! He brings a
banana and an apple, a yogurt and some bread back up to the room. It has been a long time since He has eatten so much in one sitting. On a full stomach, He takes the opportunity of having a bed to read it off. He brought along Anna Karenina incase He got in this situation where He begins to run out of books.
Reading turns into a short nap. When He wakes, He is fully energized. There is still a full day ahead! He should do something, like, go for a walk.
Out in front of the hotel, it is on the main square where a huge black statue of angles and saints is at one end. He walks to the statue and sits down at the base to have a cigarette. The square is circled by traffic. One side is congested due to the construction of a temporary stage being built. Maybe He’d have some entertainment tonight.
He finishes the cigarette and tosses the butt on the ground. Following the road, it leads to a large church. He decides to not go any farther in fear of getting lost. Along the way, He passes hundreds of old women standing with bouquets in their hands. Even the stores are selling flowers. Not very original. He takes a walk around the church and its surroundings of medieval fortifications.
Finding the church entrance, He goes in. Just inside He becomes overwhelmed with the litter of gold crosses, candle holders and picture frames of saints or Jesus or God. Money well spent.
When He steps out the main doors, there is a beggar woman sitting with her amputated legs sticking out. People are coming and going from the church but no one looks at the woman. He stops by her but does not know what else to do. Walking on, just past the disabled woman are a mother and daughter feeding a skinny dog lying under a tree. The dog is too weak to take the food from their hands so they leave it at its paws.
Walking on, He passes the angle statue again and follows the square to a large building with many pillars and statues of men holding gold feathers. Standing there observing the building, He slowly begins to watch a group of old men playing dominoes on benches. It’s pretty damn cold to be playing outside on a park bench.
There is a building with a gold dome just off the main street. He finds an art market in the small courtyard before the building. There are paintings of Christ or other religious figures for sale.
An old man, intoxicated by the way he is unable to hold himself, is bent over looking at a painting. The woman who owns these particular artworks runs up to the man and hits him on the shoulder. He falls over from the force, right on top of the painting he was looking at. This knocks over all the pictures around him. That probably wasn’t the best way to get that guy to leave. Everyone around freezes and a neighboring merchant breaks the silence with loud laughter.
He crosses the street and finds another market. There are clothes and purses for sale. As He is walking through, there is a building with a lot of people coming and going from it. Upon entering, He is overwhelmed by the smell of raw meat and fish.
A chopping sound to His left wakes Him from this choking stench. He follows the sound past the pig legs and ribs where He stops to watch a man chopping meat as if he was chopping fire wood. He watches for a while but is scared away as a woman props up a pig head for display.
Everything in this place is scary. He walks past huge cow hearts, chicken heads and legs, a variety of steaks, brain, liver and hundreds of types of sausages, cheeses and fish.
It would be comical if He got something here. He stops
at a booth and gets Himself some spicy dried sausage. As He is paying for the purchase, a stray dog comes up and starts sniffing next to Him. Ok, He’s had His fun. Now lets get the fuck out of here.
Upon stepping back outside, He does not recognize where He is; having come in a different door. He thinks He needs to go south and makes a direct line in what He believes is that direction. He soon finds Himself lost. No roads look familiar. Although nothing looks familiar. He decides to make the way back to the market and retrace the steps. Doing so, He is able to find the way back to the hotel; past more women selling flowers.
At the reception, He asks the woman if she can make sure to give Him a wake up call and have a taxi waiting the next morning. She makes a note and promises to do so. As He begins to walk away, she politely shouts back at Him, ‘Happy Valentines Day!’
It is dark outside when He gets done with a nap and a read. In the room, there is a bottle of complimentary champagne. He pours a glass and toasts Himself a happy Valentine’s Day. What better way to spend this romantic holiday but by being alone in a strange city drinking complimentary champagne? Dinner is spicy sausage, bread, yogurt and an apple and banana. He hears fireworks going off outside and receives this as an invitation to go see the entertainment.
He takes a shower and inspects His crotch and mouth. Both are fucked. His beard is coming in thick and long which makes Him smile.
Outside, there are a lot of people walking around the main square. He buys cigarettes at a kiosk and follows the crowd. They lead Him to the stage that was being built earlier. He makes the way to the middle-front of the
crowd. This is where young adults, high school kids, are clustered together. It won’t be too hard to blend in with this crowd now will it?
He has a cigarette as it begins to lightly snow. This is the first true snow fall He experiences all year. He looks up at the night sky and watches the snow fall on His
face. It makes Him smile uncontrollably.
Catching snowflakes in His had entertaines HIm until a middle-aged man and woman come out on the stage. They are dressed in a black suit and a red dress. He does not understand a word they say. The crowd slowly becomes
denser and the sound system is unnecessarily loud, making
screeching noises.
There is a live video link to Kiev with two other hosts.
The feed keeps going in and out. Maybe the power would
be better if Ukraine paid their debts to Russia. The hosts carry on for far too long, but randomly to Him, they walk
off the stage. There is a silence while the crowd condenses even more.
He is not sure what to expect. A band comes out and
everybody starts cheering. They play popular authentic Ukrainian music; throwing the accordion in from time to time. Everyone in the crowd knows the words to the songs and are hopping around, swaying from side to side. He has no choice but to follow their lead or He will just be in the way. If they’re enjoying it, I’m sure He can!
He gets shoved from behind and attempts to take a step forward. The person is standing on the left pant cuff.
He feels the kakis tear and there is a cold wetness on His heal. Ignoring it, He watches as a young man gets on someone’s shoulders, takes off his shirt and whips it around his head. Everybody is enjoying themselves and He too begins to have fun.
He has given over to the music and the crowd when the
band finishes playing their last song. The two hosts come back out and wave them off the stage. They talk not as
long as before but introduce a group of ten girl dancers.
These young ladies are in Ukrainian long dresses
decorated with genuine embroidery. Ah yes, some old-time
dancing. A few people leave during the dance but many others try and make their way closer to the front.
The dancing ends and the hosts remerge. They attempt to talk with Kiev again but the feed is still poor. The
speech is cut short and they introduce the main band.
Everybody explodes. As the band comes out, a couple of girls get hosted on some shoulders and people are
screaming at the top of their lungs. The band sounds a lot like a Ukrainian version of Snow Patrol. The music is a
little soft at times but He still tries to enjoy Himself.
The set is long and He begins to get tired. The crowd
has condensed so tightly around Him that it has become
too difficult to leave, making Him endure the rest of the
show. When the band finally plays their last song, He is almost desperate enough to push a way out.
As He is trying to find a way, the hosts come back out
and introduce the dancers again. Unable to move, He turns toward the stage and watches the entertainment. This time
the dancers are in shorter silk dresses. They run all over the stage, bending over, doing twirls and intentionally
showing off their undergarments. The young girls in front
of Him stick their tongues out at each other. Hey, now this is true entertainment.
Once the dancing is over, the hosts come back out but He is too tired to see any more. The crowd has thinned and He is able to leave easily. On the way back to the hotel, He sees an old woman trying to sell her final flowers. He decides to help her and buys them.
Back out front of the hotel, the doorman opens the door
for Him. Older couples in fancy sweaters are talking around couches in the lounge and singing songs by the piano. He asks the woman at the reception who the bands were that played outside. She looks at Him blankly and says she did not know something else was going on.
He has trouble sleeping. He is worried that He would not get the wake up call and end up missing the train. But the hotel is true to their word and He gets a call at 7.00. All He
has to do is shower and a taxi should be waiting for Him. Putting on the kakis, He remembers the tear from the night before and looks down at the pant leg. He discovers a vertical tear going up His left calf. Ha-ha, now, not only is the right leg shorter than the left, but the left is wider than the right. Shit, He’s quite a mess.
In the taxi, He asks the driver if he knows where he is going. The man turns his head to Him, raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders. He uses key words like ‘train,’ 'station,’ and ‘locomotive,’ but the driver keeps shrugging
his shoulders. Oh god! He raises His forearm and moves it up and down while going, ‘Woo Woo.’ The driver finally understands and changes his course of direction. Where the hell was he going then?'
At the station, He gives the driver a fifty and the man is
thankful. He finds buying the train ticket simple enough and is able to match the names on the departure board to a
platform.
When He gets on the train and into the compartment,
He finds a girl in bed. She is the only one in the room; a pretty young woman with dark hair. He does not mind that she is in His assigned bed and takes the bottom bunk instead. The girl is excited to talk to Him. ‘To get some practice in English,’ she laughs. She does not sound like she needs any practice. He finds out her name is Elena.
They talk about where they are going; she, Germany; He, Krakow. Finally! When telling her about the trip to Kharkiv, she tells Him that is the city she is from. Elena is
studying at the university there and taking a three week vacation. Just as they get excited about the conversation, her phone rings and she answers it.
He takes the opportunity to settle Himself on the bottom bed. George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London is the final book to start. He only gets a couple pages in when Elena leans her head over the bed.
‘So… what are you doing?’ she smirks as her hair falls over her face.
Mmmm, I’m… reading…’ he jokes.
‘You like to read?’
He sets down the book and looks up at her. ‘I do.'
‘What do you like to read?’
‘You’re full of questions aren’t you?’ He tries to sit up but her bed is not giving Him any head room.
She hops off and the two figure out how to fold the bed
down so they both can sit on the bottom bed comfortably. Once they figure it out, she has Him sit while she prepares something to eat.
‘You don’t have to feed me,’ He smiles. ‘I don’t want to eat all of your food.’
‘Oh, come on,’ she playfully smiles back. ‘My mom packed too much food for just me.'
She has hardboiled eggs and chicken sandwiches. ‘Cheese yogurt for dessert,’ she claims.
‘Moms are great, aren’t they,’ He says with a full mouth of egg.
‘Yeah, I remember when my mom would put little notes in my lunch everyday in primary school.'
‘Ah, yes. I remember the days of school. Papers, exams, classes…'
‘Didn’t you just say you only finished a month ago?'
‘Oh, I guess I did. Not too hard to remember then, huh.’
She laughs. ‘And what do you plan on doing now?’
‘Now!? I’m not sure. Just travel around, I suppose.’
‘Well, after you’re done traveling.'
‘Done traveling? At this point I don’t know if I ever
want be done traveling.'
‘When you go back home.’
‘Oh, I can’t wait to get back to Denver. But I won’t be going back for a while. Colorado was the only home I’ve known for twenty-two years. Moving to Amsterdam was the first time I lived out of the state, little alone out of the country. So why move home now? I’m free and there are endless opportunities at my disposal.’
‘Is that why you left Colorado? To seek opportunities?'
‘I truly believe Colorado is the best place on Earth. The
scenery is beautiful, the people are friendly and yeah, there are many opportunities to be found. Really, there’s no reason to leave. But I guess, that’s a reason right there. One of my greatest fears is growing comfortable with stability.’
‘What’s wrong with stability? Most people’s greatest fear is NOT having stability.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with stability, I guess. In fact, there are many positive aspects to it; reliable job, reliable income, reliable house, reliable wife. But there are bad aspects to it too. Like… becoming stagnant in a bubble of comforts. Change might be intimidating but it can also be rewarding.
‘Moving to Amsterdam gave me an opportunity to be put in a completely vulnerable situation. I wanted to see if I could survive in a new and foreign environment. What I've discovered are strengths about myself that I could have only found if I went to that new place alone.’
‘And what have you discovered about yourself?’
He has a feeling Elena is testing His theories. ‘I’ve discovered that being alone isn’t a scary thing. In fact, it can be inspiring. I now know I’m the only person in my life I can truly rely on to make good decisions for myself. I’m my own best friend and only I can create the opportunities I want in life.’
Elena pulls out the cheese yogurt for desert. Cheese yogurt? Could this be very good? He puts a spoon-full in His mouth. Oh shit! This is delicious.
He continues, ‘Have you ever read a book and said to yourself, ‘I want to go there,’ or ‘I want to do that?’ Well, I guess that’s what I’m doing. Fulfilling my fantasies.’
‘That’s cool that you can. Most people don’t have the time and money to get up and go somewhere.’
‘True, but still, that’s an easy excuse. A person doesn’t have to go around the world to be a traveler. He just needs to get out of his comfort zone and explore the world around him; he can venture downtown or escape to the country. All he needs to do is discover the differences in life to discover the differences in himself.’
As He is scraping the bottom of the yogurt container, He adds, ‘I’m a strong believer in things happening for a reason but you have to make those things happen.’
He looks up with the spoon in His mouth to find Elena's eyes, sweet and caring, glaring back at him.
‘I’ve discovered,’ He laughs, ‘for me, the trick to happiness is to put myself in a situation where there is a possibility for change. The key is I must be willing to adapt with that change. The opportunities are out there. I just have to embrace them when they come my way. I can't be afraid to throw myself into the mix because I can never predict what can happen.’
Elena smiles. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, for instance, if I never went to Kharkiv, then I would have never spent the night in Lvov. If I never came to Lvov then I would have never met you. Kharkiv was an unplanned event and not a very comfortable one I must admit. But I went there and I had to go with it. And now, here we are.’
She blushes and looks down at her yogurt. Looking over her shoulder, He notices, sticking out of the rucksack, the flowers He bought the night before from the old woman.
‘And if I never bought these flowers,’ He murmurs leaning over to her, ‘then I would have never been able to give them to you.’ She blushes even more as He hands her the flowers. Damn He’s smooth... real smooth.
Busy playing Sudoku, they are laughing and talking loudly. Elena can understand and overhear the couple in the next room saying how annoyed they are with English speakers. To change up the language, she teaches Him how to count in Ukrainian. Odyn, dva, try! This does quiet down their neighbors but the game is interrupted again when the train comes to the border.
The train stops and there is a lot of movement in the hallway. The compartment doors are being knocked on and loud voices are spoken. Soon a woman in military dress knocks on their door. She quickly glances over Elena’s passport and visa but takes her time with His.
She keeps looking at the passport and back up at Him. He picks up a couple of words from Elena telling the military woman He is American and traveling. The woman points to the rucksack and asks something about it. He becomes worried about the grinder in the carrier bag and starts mumbling words. The woman is not concerned about the bags but asks another officer into the compartment.
The two women look questionably at Him and the passport. I swear it’s Him!
They have Him pull back His hair behind His ears and ask Him to smile. He complies. The military women laugh with each other and Elena joins in. He smiles as He gets the passport stamped and handed back. When the women leave, He asks Elena what they were laughing about.
‘They say,' she giggles, 'you look more beautiful in your picture.’
‘Oh yeah!?’ He laughs. ‘They must like their men clean shaven.’
‘They must.'
Elena takes the passport from Him before He can say anything. She tells Him Ukraine does not allow people to smile in their pictures. As she is beginning to complement Him on His smile, a set of military men walk by with a German Shepard. The dog pokes its head in the compartment. This startles Him and He stops blushing.
Gaining control of Himself when the dog leaves, He wants to see how the train switches tracks. Looking out the window, He does not see much besides men moving in and out from under the train. It is less exciting than before.
‘It’s just like changing a tire on a car,’ Elena explains. ‘You have to prop up the car to slide the wheel off, right? Well, it’s the same idea here. They lift up each car to the train and slide the wheels off.
After all this is done, the train starts moving again. He asks Elena if she would like to share an apple with Him. She has her own and they eat theirs together. He laughs at her as some juice runs down her chin. She laughs at Him laughing at her. Ah, this is cute. Everyone’s laughing.
After eating, Elena is still hungry. She wants to make them soup and gets hot water from the train conductor. Wishing to help but having nothing to do, Elena has Him
get a set of spoons from the conductor even though they still have the set they used to eat yogurt.
‘What’s Ukrainian for spoon?’ He asks.
‘Lozhka,’ she says. Pronounced ‘looz-ka.'
He finds the train conductor down the hall and asks her for ‘dva lozhkas.’ The woman understands and hands Him two spoons. When He comes back to the compartment, He tells Elena the woman could not comprehend what He was saying. She looks at Him in surprise and is about to go ask the conductor herself when He steps in-front of her and pulls out the utensils.
‘Oh! You were joking with me,’ she huffs and slaps Him on the chest.
He laughs at her and sits down to a cup of soup. While eating, Elena asks Him about the lip piercing. He is embarrassed because the scab is still visible. He does not know what to say. Ha-ha, He should tell her the perverted truth. She senses His embarrassment and drops the subject. Not before she says how she does not understand why anyone would want a lip piercing.
The train ride still has a couple more hours to go and they fill their time with idle conversation. She tells Him about how she was almost not able to make this trip. Apparently she got dangerously sick a month before and had to see a doctor every week. I am impressed she is comfortable enough to talk to Him about it.
Not thinking, He invites her to join Him in a cigarette. She tells Him cigarette smoke could get her sick again and standing in the cold does not help either. She follows Him to the smoking section of the train, only to turn around and go back to the compartment.
Ah! She’s interested but not in cigarettes. Once He comes back from smoking, she has Him go wash His hands. While observing Him cleaning in the bathroom, she
begins to criticize smoking. This brings up a conversation about marijuana. She says she has never tried it. He begins to tell her His thoughts about the difference between soft and hard drugs. She listens with an open ear.
Back in the compartment, Elena tells Him she has a five-hour layover in Krakow and there are a couple of places she wants to see while she is there. Having some printed-out pages of a map of the city, they begin to look them over. The maps are on separate sheets and out of order. They try and put them together but He does not know what He is looking at. He has not seen a map since Amsterdam, little alone one of Krakow. He should just match up streets and rivers to make it look like He knows what He’s doing. She figures out the maps without His help by matching up streets and rivers.
They find themselves laughing at each other over nothing when the train pulls into Krakow. Getting off together, He has some directions to the hostel which He plans on figuring out Himself. Elena has other plans. She asks the information desk how to get to the main square, she asks a man at a bus stop directions to a street, she asks a cop where building 7 is. He needs to be patient with her, she’s being helpful. Annoying I agree. But look at how pretty she is running around like a madwoman.
She takes pictures with her camera along the way. I hate taking pictures but He better be patient. She takes pictures of Him and He is patient. She asks Him to take pictures of her. He does with patience. After finally finding the Cracow Hostel, they look at each other, sad to leave so soon. He gives her a hug and wishes her luck on her travels. She does the same. I think that’s the first girl He’s met on this adventure that I actually like.
At the hostel reception, the plump woman is friendly and
helpful. She gives Him the room with the biggest windows that face the main square. She also makes sure to give Him the six-bed room to Himself. Probably because she wants to join Him later.
After dropping off the rucksack, He takes a shower and does some laundry. Lying in bed, He pulls out the leather notebook. Instead of writing, He reads what He wrote in Amsterdam. He remembers the Siberie coffeeshop being a favorite place to write at.
Before I even get to Amsterdam, I have my first encounter with a Holland beauty. Her name is Angelique and she melted my heart away while she built the beginnings of my first real adventure.
I have been on many airplanes before, going to Mexico and all parts of the States. And of course on my way home to gorgeous Denver. But this is my first international flight (one over an ocean) and by far the biggest plane I’ve ever set foot in.
Having an economy ticket, I happily browse past the fine, wide leather chairs of the first-class and confusingly glide by the business class in search of my commoner’s seat located on the far side of the plane; seat 34H. I see the number/letter 30H on the open over-head storage and look ahead to prepare me for my upcoming seat.
Thinking I have a window seat, for that’s what the lady at the student travel agency told me, all I see up ahead is row after row of filled window seats. Estimating where my row is to be, I spot a blond woman young of age. I think how sweet it would be to be sitting next to a cutie for the seven and a half hour flight over the Atlantic. Just my luck, she was sitting in my pair of seats.
Slightly strung-out from my Denver flight and the fact that I had little over thirty minutes to find and make my next flight in D.C., my clothes are half falling off of me. As I
take off my rucksack, my kakis are down below my butt exposing my boxer-briefs. I’m mooning the guy behind me and flashing this blond I’m about to sit next to.
Once the pack is up, I pull up my kakis and look down to the girl with a wide smile. I am slightly embarrassed because she is smiling back at me, meaning she surly saw me in my poor state. Her smile is inviting however and I embrace her comforting spirit as I slowly slide into my seat.
Nothing is said at first as I silently put on my seatbelt. I simply stare at the back of the seat in front of me. Only a couple of seconds of this bores me. I turn my head to the right and notice this girl has her head down but slightly turned in my direction, as shy girls do when wanting to be spoken to but not sure if the other is willing to speak.
‘Hi,’ I smile. ‘My name is Johnny.'
Her head perks up with an excited grin and I get my first glance at the wild wind in her eyes.
‘Anglique!’ she laughs.
Trying to reveal our entire life stories while the flight attendant gives the safety instructions, I find out she is going home to Amsterdam.
‘I can’t believe He ended up fucking that bitch from the airplane,’ Richy laughs.
‘Richard, I can’t believe most of the girls He fucks.’
‘You can tell He was stoned when He wrote that,’ I sigh. ‘It’s dreadful to read.’
‘Whatever, I need a cigarette,’ Chase coughs.
‘He does put Himself in some interesting situations I must say. It’s like He’s living the life in one of those books that He’s always reading.’
‘What do you mean Harry?’ I question.
‘Well, you know. It’s like, you can’t just make that shit
up. And real experiences are more fun to read about anyway.
'Like, take the time when He flew to Chicago to see what’s-her-name and He ended up spending the whole weekend with a girl He met in the O’Hare airport. He should get a story like that published. And then He’ll be proud of something He has written.’
‘He’s proud of stuff He’s written,’ I interject.
‘Yeah? Like what?’
‘Like… Like, the piece He wrote about that one band, what was their name? STS9!? Or something like that... It had a good response. And He got to hangout with the band at their concert.’
‘He was only proud of that piece because He got to spend the intermissions backstage snorting lines with the groupies.’
‘Well, what about…’
‘All the ones about bands!?’ Harry grunts. ‘Or how about the one about the dead artist or the one promoting that man’s book or, FUCK, the one about some other fool's great accomplishment!? Shit, you can tell He was bored writing about that stuff. If you want my opinion, people should be writing about Him!’
‘Why would anyone want to write about Him?’ I snort. ‘Except that He always finds some poor girl who is desperate enough to have sex Him?’
‘Why wait and have someone write about Him?’ Chase bravely contributes. ‘He should write about Himself. It’s like His friend Thomas would say, ‘Don’t do the job you’re expected to do. Do the job you want to do.’ And I think He's going to be looking for a job here soon enough.’
‘I don’t know.’ Harry sighs. ‘It would have to be something worth reading. He can’t just be writing about the places He’s been to. Thousands of people have already
done that. If He would write something, it needs to have some sort of twist to make it exciting enough to read about.'
‘He could write about His travels through the perspective of all the girls He fucks,’ Richy laughs. ‘Ha-ha, then that way He would be able to see how horrible He is in the sack.'
‘I’m sure you have no part in that, now do you Richard?’
‘Eeeehhhhh.’
‘What I need to do,’ He speaks up, ‘is actually DO the writing. I hate it when people say they wanna do this or they wanna do that but they don’t do shit!'
‘Uh, what!? Did… Did He just talk to us?’ I mutter.
‘Well… it’s either that or I’m talking to myself.’
* * * * * * * * *
He asks the woman at the hostel reception where He can find some good authentic Polish food. She pulls out a map and shows Him some place just off Rynek Glowny, the main square. Out in the brisk winter air of Krakow, He hugs Himself in the heavy jacket. He moseys past a large metal head and cuts across the vast courtyard towards a church tower. He finds the restaurant down a side street only after asking a nice older couple where is ‘grandma’s kitchen.'
Once He receives the meal of sausages, sauerkraut and a beer am I bold enough to make the first attempts in conversation with Him. Everyone else is scared silent.
‘So… how much have you heard?’ I squeak
‘Everything I suppose,’ He takes a long drink from the beer. ‘I don’t think there’s been a thing you guys have said I haven’t heard.’
I clear my throat. ‘Everything, huh. And… how come you’ve never said anything before?'
‘What? Talk with my beard!? That sounds kinda crazy,’ He laughs and scoops a fork full of sauerkraut in His mouth. ‘And a little pathetic too don’t you think?’ Some falls back onto the plate.
‘Now it doesn’t? That couple over there is staring at you talking to yourself.’
He gives the couple a wide-eyed look. ‘People always stare at me when I eat alone in a restaurant. What, can’t a guy go someplace and eat by himself? Is that so strange!?'
‘It’s strange when you are sharing a conversation with the hairs on your body.’
Back to the food, ‘You guys are always talking anyway. Why can’t I be involved? I consider myself to be my own best friend.’
‘Ooookkkkk. Well, thank you very much. I guess… I should introduce you to the gang, then. Um, Harry is on top of your head.'
‘H-h-hallo.’
‘And Chase is the one with the chronic cough…'
‘Yes, yes,’ He slams His fist on the table, ‘and Richy is the one with the cursing problem while you I use as a, what was it you said? a ‘sex toy!?’ I know all of this! Come on guys! Don’t make me feel like a stranger in my own body. You’re forgetting you grow out of ME!’
‘Shhhh, there’s no need to raise your voice.'
‘WHAT!?! AM I EMBARRASSING YOU?!’
‘No, you’re embarrassing yourself.
‘Hum, good point. Well, I don’t care. I’ve finally made it to Krakow and I think a celebration is in order.’
‘It’s been awhile since you’ve had a cigarette,’ Chase bravely joins in.
‘True. Let’s have one, shall we!? But before that, I
propose to make a toast.’ He holds up the beer. ‘To me! And to all the hairs on my body!’
‘Here, here,’ Harry shouts.
‘Oh god! They’re going to call the cops on us. The waitresses are now looking our way.’
‘Look on ladies,’ He flashes the women a smile of chewed food. ‘All this could be yours! All could be… yours.’
Back at the hostel, He is in the kitchen getting Himself a cup of coffee. There is another man having coffee too. He meets him and finds out his name is Dean, a forklift operator from England. Dean has been in Krakow for a couple of days visiting friends. He is friendly enough and invites Him to join him in some drinks. You might as well see what this town has to offer.
They decide to meet Dean’s friends at a striptease bar off the main square. The bar has many dance poles and small platforms. It is still early, about 22.00, and not too many people are in the bar. Why isn’t anyone stripteasing? They get a beer and sit down at a table.
The night before, Dean got too drunk with his friend. When trying to pull out money from the ATM, he typed in his PIN code wrong too many times and now has a useless credit card. Dean only has the little amount of cash on him. He better not be expecting you to buy him beer all night.
Dean asks if He would be willing to sneak him back in the hostel and allow him to sleep on one of the beds in the room. Don’t put yourself at risk just because this guy is an idiot and can’t get any money out of his account. He tells him He will think about it.
A tall man with a big forehead and a fat woman with thin hair show up as Dean's friends. They are a friendly couple and buy a bottle of vodka for the table. I guess
these guys like to drink. Shot after shot makes the bottle finish quickly.
By this time, the bar has filled. Every girl here is extremely attractive, except the one at your table. The couple say the last time they went drinking was months ago. The man’s constant suggestions of shots lead the two having more and more trouble speaking English.
Once the bottle is finished, the man finds his way to one of the dance poles and is twirling around and humping the pole. After a short watch, his girl decides join in. This is quite a sorry sight.
He has found the way to another dance floor with a fresh drink from the bar and is dancing around observing the cute girls on the poles. He is enjoying the entertainment when the three friends find Him. Dean is under control but the other two are uncoordinatedly dancing with each other; bumping into people. These guys are embarrassing.
He steps in and asks the man with the big forehead if he would like Him to buy them a drink; thinking it would get them drunk enough to sit down. Excited by the offer, he suggests for Him to buy another bottle of vodka. He buys the bottle and a pack of cigarettes.
The four sit down at a table to enjoy their drinks. After many more shots, the fat girl tries to get Him to dance with her. He passively resists. She keeps grabbing His arm only to have Him wiggle out of her grip. After failing to rouse Him, she goes to the toilet. The boyfriend is looking at Him with a mean face and strongly suggests Him dance with his girl. Hey! He doesn’t want to, so lay off! When the girl gets back to the table, she again tries to get Him to dance with her.
He is about to suck it up and dance with the repulsive woman when she leans over to whisper something in His
ear. Ew, gross! Get away! She knocks the drink out of His hand and onto His crotch. Oh! Now that’s just fucking great! Really embarrassed, the girl sits down in her seat and pouts. He is pretty upset too but tries to not let her know it. She begins to sob on the shoulder of her boyfriend who looks over at Him with anger in his eyes.
With a huff, He takes a shot of vodka and makes the way to the bathroom to clean Himself up. People are staring at you, Pee-Pee Pants. There are not any paper towels in the bathroom and He is unable to do anything about His wet crotch. Making the way back to the table, He can see the boyfriend in the distance glaring angrily at Him while his girl is sulking in her chair. I really don’t know about going back to that table.
As He is passing the front door, He gets grabbed by the arm. Quickly looking back, it is one of the bouncers. He drags Him back to the exit and begins to throw Him out of the club.
‘Wait! Wait! I need my jacket,’ He pleads holding up a coat stub.
The bouncer stops pushing him and signals to a co-worker to get the jacket. Waiting for the man to return, the bouncer glares at Him and imitates holding his cock and peeing.
‘I didn’t piss myself,’ He tries to explain. ‘It’s a split drink.’
The bouncer grumbles at Him.
‘If you don’t believe me, here, smell.’ He thrusts His crotch towards the man. The bouncer takes a quick step back and is about to retaliate with a fist when the co-worker returns with the jacket. The bouncer grabs the jacket and throws it at Him. As He turns towards the door, the two bouncers give Him a shove in the back and make Him fall down. Jackasses! He gets up and starts cursing at
the men. They take a step outside the club. He gets the message and runs away.
He does not want to go back to the hostel already. On the walk back, He passes a club that is playing loud music. Making the way in with jacket in front of Him, it is dark at the entrance and nobody inspects Him. He pays the cover charge and checks the jacket.
Quickly, He goes to the bathroom to clean Himself up. Paying the 1 Zloty at the door, the workwoman notices His crotch. He tells her it is a spilt drink and she understands.
He dries Himself the best He can and goes to the bar to buy a drink. Not wanting to go to the dance floor until the kakis have dried, He has a couple of drinks at the bar. At this point, your pants aren’t that bad. Bringing a drink to the dance floor, He stands off to the side to observe. There are a lot of cute girls dancing around. Some try to lure Him out but He stays off until He finishes the drink.
Once out on the floor, many girls try to dance with Him but He stays to Himself. Some try to provoke Him by thrusting their breasts or ass towards Him but He remains resistant. That’s right, you don’t want to look too desperate.
A blond woman, a couple inches taller than Him, starts dancing with Him. He tries to play it cool by dancing by Himself. When He opens His eyes after a short trans, the woman is no longer on the dance floor. In fact, many of the girls are no longer on the dance floor. Most the club has thinned out.
He has no idea what time it is but He is really drunk. Almost out of money, He decides to save what He has to find something to eat. Late-night kabob stores were everywhere when He first started out but now He cannot find any. The hostel is easy to find however.
Trying to communicate to the night receptionist Dean
might be trying to sneak in, she stops His struggle and tells Him he already has. Thinking no more of it, He goes to bed staring at the ceiling with the spins.
The sun is out and He wakes to Anna Karenina. She has just arrived to Moscow. There is a knocking on the door but He remains silent. You don’t have to talk to anybody. There shouldn’t be anyone that you have to talk to anyway. Eventually He gets to a good stopping point in the book and decides to get out of bed. The sun is high in the sky by now.
When He steps outside the room in a towel, Dean is standing there taking laundry out of the washer. He is startled by his presence. Dean asks what happened to Him last night and He politely tells him. Dean tells a similar story where the fat girl ended up hitting her boyfriend and they too got kicked out of the club. So… in a way, it all was inedible.
In the shower, He inspects His crotch. It is still a little red but it has not gotten worse.
‘If you just fucking keep me clean then we wouldn’t be having this goddamn problem,’ Richy blurts out with drunken courage.
‘Don’t use that voice with me or I’ll shave you right off!
‘Sorry sir.’
‘It’s ok,’ He laughs. ‘Yeah, I’ll try and keep you clean.’
‘You know,’ I begin. ‘I think it might be wise if you wash me too before you go to bed.’
‘Yeah? Why’s that?’ He is growing impatient with me.
‘Every time you have something to drink or eat,’ I explain, ‘a film develops around the edges of the moustache. I think that is the reason why the corners of your mouth are cracking.’
‘Everyone with their theories!' He is quick to mock. 'Maybe I should just shave you off too.’
‘Lets not be drastic here. I’m making you look very distinguished and damn sexy if I might add.’
‘Well, thank you,’ He blushes.
‘Just rinse out your mouth before you go to bed and we should be fine.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
He brushes His teeth. It is sore to open His mouth. The scab on His lip piercing is getting better and the swelling has gone down. He gets dressed and stands staring out the window.
‘So, what should we do today boys?'
‘How about a cigarette?’
‘Chase, you know I smoke a cigarette every time I get a chance. If you keep asking me to have a cigarette I’m going to shave YOU off.'
‘How about we stop threatening to shave us off,’ I say. ‘I thought we were a team.’
‘Waxing gets down to the roots,’ He threatens. ‘You mind if I use that method?’
‘Now you’re just being silly. How about we go see that castle the receptionist was talking about?’
‘That actually sounds like a good idea. I need to walk off this hangover anyway.’
He has a complimentary breakfast of cereal, toast and coffee before He finds the way to the castle. Slowly walking through and around the outside of the buildings, He does not go in because it costs money. Interested but bored with the typical medieval stone walls and churches, He starts to walk to the train station to buy the next ticket. He stops at the city’s outer wall to have a cigarette and figure out how much longer He would like to stay in
Krakow.
There is a bratwurst hut on the way back from the station and He stops to have something to eat. The sun doesn’t seem like it has moved all day. He walks through the merchant hall in square where there are some interesting swords and helmets but He does not stop to look at them. He goes back to the hostel to check e-mails.
The plump receptionist begins to flirt with Him. She asks if He went to Alcatraz or the salt mines. He only replies, ‘No.’ Concentration camps are depressing.
Bored, He invites the girl in a game of chess. She has never played before so He teaches her how. Every time she makes a move, she leans over the board to expose her large cleavage. Can she want you any harder? He tries to ignore her and play the game. Every time He makes a move to take one of her pieces, she tries to change her last move
and the game goes nowhere.
He decides to give up and take a nap. As He is putting
the chess board away, she says something about having security cameras in the shower and suggests He take one.
‘Maybe it is you who needs a cold shower,’ He flirts.
She looks back at Him with a smile. In His haste to leave, He leaves the lighter behind. When waking from the nap, the lighter is outside the door with a sticky-note. ‘I work all day,’ it reads. Oh, god. He takes a piss and investigates the bathroom. There are no security cameras. Unless… He stands in the shower looking into the showerhead.
Back in the room, He finds Himself staring out the window at the church clock tower. A long haired man in a bandana and rucksack comes into the hostel. Tired, He gets back into bed to read. The complexities Levin is trying to understand in the relationship between landowner and peasant is tearing him apart.
The big book is heavy to hold for too long. He is
hungry and goes to get a pretzel from a street vendor. The long haired man is in the lounge when He comes back. His hair is in ponytail and he has tattoos all over both arms.
The man introduces himself as Patrick. He is from Ireland but has been living at his horse farm in Holland. This brings up the conversation about marijuana and Patrick pulls out some hash he has on him. They smoke and daze out watching TV. Hum, Kenya is fighting for independence.
Patrick tells Him he is hungry and does not like to eat alone in restaurants. He offers to by His meal if He came and ate with him. Fuck, we never pass up free food. They smoke again and go out looking for food. Finding a Mexican restaurant, they sit down at a table and order Coronas. Patrick only drinks out of bottles and asks the waitress to open it in front of him. They talk about hash again. He finds out Patrick’s stash too has come from the farm in Holland.
When conversing about traveling, Patrick tells Him he has been on the move for sixteen years now; occasionally going home to Ireland or Holland. Probably to keep the authorities guessing. Patrick asks Him where He is planning on going next and He tells him. He then asks when He is leaving. He tells him. He is hesitant in answering this string of questions. Patrick asks what seat He has. He casually tells him He does not remember.
‘When we get back to the hostel, you check your ticket and I’ll try and get a seat next to you,’ Patrick says as if that is what He is thinking too.
Getting up to go to the bathroom, Patrick asks Him to watch his beer.
‘What? So no one will take it?'
‘No, so no one will slip anything in it.’
‘Ooookkkkk, this guy is kinda weird.’
‘Yeah, but he’s a nice. Plus he’s got hash and maybe he’ll buy me more meals.’
‘But we travel alone!’ I whine.
‘It won’t be that bad to have a traveling companion for once.'
‘Yeah, we’ll see.’
Patrick returns from the bathroom and they finish their meals. When paying, he leaves a hundred percent tip. Hum…
They go back to the hostel and He shows Patrick the train ticket. He wants to take it with him to the station so he can get a seat close to His. But He does not allow him. Patrick tries to convince Him to come to the train station with him and He does not want to do this either.
They smoke again and Patrick leaves to go get a train ticket. When he returns, he has beer and a reservation in the same compartment. Great! Remember this was your doing. When Patrick was gone, He has met some French travelers in the lounge. Patrick bought more than enough beer to go around.
The French people talk amongst themselves in French and Patrick gets really annoyed with this. He slams his hand on the table and demands them to speak in English if they are going to be talking around him. They look at Him in confusion. He shrugs His shoulders and continues to talk to one of the French girls.
The other French people continue talking amongst themselves. Patrick rolls a joint to calm himself down but keeps yelling at the French people to talk in English. They finish what they were saying and begin talking to the both of them. Hey! We got nothing to say. He has become too stoned to hold up His end of the conversation.
A fat man comes into the lounge as the beers are being passed around again. Patrick informs Him he is in a two
bed room and this fat man is his roommate. For some reason, Patrick does not trust this man. He asks Him how many free beds are in His room. All of them are open, but why? Without His or the hostel’s permission, Patrick decides to switch rooms.
Beginning to have trouble staying awake, although the train is not until the next evening, He goes to wash up and then to bed. What does not seem like long, He is awoken by loud knocking on the door. It is Patrick leaning against the door with his rucksack. Ok… this guy can barely speak little alone stand straight.
Only a couple hours later, the sun is up. He wakes before Patrick and has a read in bed. When He jumps down from the top bunk, He slips and falls; waking Patrick. Patrick says something about something. He ignores him and takes a shower.
‘Looking better boys,’ He smiles staring at Himself in the mirror. The redness around His crotch is turning to a pink, the corners of His mouth are beginning to scab and the piercing is almost back to normal.
‘Feeling better,’ I declare.
The hair on His upper lip itches His nose and He gives it a long scratch. Back in the room, Patrick still has not gotten out of bed. To repack the rucksack, He unpacks everything. Having taking everything out of the ‘junk pocket;’ aviator sunglasses, digital camera, stamps; all are spilled out on the floor. You haven’t used any of these things the whole trip! Patrick, finally fully awake, makes fun of Him for having condoms. He pays him no mind and suggests a joint. Patrick gets out of bed and rolls one while He finishes repacking.
They share the joint over coffee in the lounge. Having more than many hours before their train, they walk around
the square and find a bench to sit on. Patrick is irritable because he is hungover. He jokingly suggests having a beer and Patrick takes Him seriously. They go on a hunt for an Irish bar and find one near by. Patrick buys two pints.
Two pints turn into two more which turns into two more which turns into two more. They lose track of time but it soon begins to get dark outside. Thinking they do not have much time until their departing train, He asks the bartender the time. Um, you have little over an hour before your train leaves. They pound their beers, hurry back to the hostel to check out and get their rucksacks.
The train is waiting for them when they crawl on. We would have made it to the station quicker if Patrick could have attempted to hurry. He is annoyed with a traveling companion but is happy He made the train.
In their compartment, there are six beds. The most in one compartment He has had thus far. His bed is one of the top bunks and Patrick’s is the other. It is claustrophobic but He is used to it by now. Patrick, having never traveled by train before, is not.
He pulls out Down and Out… and attempts to read. This is constantly disrupted as Patrick keeps trying to talk with Him.
‘I never liked to read,’ Patrick whinnies. ‘I’d always find something better to be doing,’
‘What’s better to be doing now?’ He huffs.
As if not listening for a response, Patrick continues, ‘That’s why I want to get one of those travel DVD players. You know the ones that have the screen right on it. I tell you, technology these days. I was watching TV the other day…’
He tries to drown him out but Patrick keeps saying, ‘You know? You know?’ and would not stop until He
replies with a grunt. This becomes really irritable and He figures the best solution is to fall asleep. But this too keeps getting interrupted with a, ‘You know?'
Eventually Patrick falls asleep himself. This is good because I am uncomfortable and you would like to read. When He turns on the reading light, Patrick stirs and says something but quickly falls back asleep. A man on the lower bunk is snoring and this irritates Him more than normal. Reading gets distracted by the itchiness from all the hairs on His body. He cannot help but scratch everywhere.
‘Hey, how come my arm or leg hairs never say anything?’ He grunts.
‘They say more by being silent then anyone else on you,’ I lecture.
‘Yeah, well...’ He scratches His back and then the top of His feet. ‘Whatever they’re saying is driving me crazy. All of you are actually.’
‘If you didn’t drink so much before you got on the train, then maybe you wouldn’t be having alcohol withdrawals right now.’
‘Alcohol withdrawals!?’ He laughs. ‘Just because my skin crawls after I stop drinking does not mean I’m having alcohol withdrawals.’
‘Oh, my mistake…’
He keeps scratching His arms and legs and is unable to concentrate on reading. When the silence is interrupted with a barking snore, He asks, ‘And the armpit hair? Why nothing from him?’
‘You try talking when you spend your days tucked inside an armpit.’
He is finally able to control the urges to scratch and falls into a cycle of reading and sleeping until the sun comes up. Everyone in the compartment is soon moving
about. One of the bottom beds is vacant and He takes the opportunity to sit on it to look out the window. Patrick joins Him and the two stare out at the graffiti on the cement walls enclosing the train tracks. Going under a bridge, there is a small group of people sleeping on mattresses and huddled around camp-fires.
The man in the other bottom bed says they are close to the Budapest train station. The train eventually begins to slow and everyone starts to gather their things. Patrick tries to talk with Him but He only responds in grunts.
Once off the train, Patrick keeps pointing things out around them; how high the station dome is, the furry dog by the kiosk, how hot he is. Oh god! Won’t this guy shut the fuck up! He tries to stay calm and focuses on following the directions to the next hostel.
When He gets to the supposal hostel many blocks from the train station, the door is rusted shut and the buzzer does not have a button. There is a faded sign on the wall directing people to the Aquarium Youth Hostel’s new location. He writes down the address on His palm and starts walking back to the station without telling Patrick anything. Patrick does not seem to notice, being too busy pointing out how old a building looks.
At the train station information booth, He asks the location of the address on His palm. After being showed on a map, He accepts the map offered and leads them in the new direction. When Patrick stops at a shop window to point out a picture of a tattoo on a woman’s breast, He blows up at him.
‘What the fuck man!? Can’t you tell I’m doing something here? You’re just deadweight!
Patrick is startled but is able to counter, ‘Well… maybe we should just go our separate ways.'
‘Yes, you go your way and we’ll go ours.’
‘No, no. Sorry… I’m just a little strung-out that’s all. Sorry.'
‘Ah, you pussy! Tell him how you really feel!'
They keep walking and Patrick points out how old the buildings look.
The hostel is easy to find with the help of the map. Patrick has already decided to stay in a hotel but wants to see where He is so he can get one close by. While getting a tour of the hostel, the receptionist warns Him that the kakis are falling bellow His butt. Hey! We know how fucked up our pants are. Just show us our bed and shut the fuck up!
When dropping off the rucksack on the new bed, Patrick finally leaves Him to check into the hotel across the street. Before he goes, they make plans to meet for lunch. Finally we can be alone. Shit!
There is no hot water in the shower, the internet connection is slow and there is construction outside the window. But there is nobody in the room and He is able to lie in bed and read. Eventually, He is able to fall asleep.
*
He is startled awake with Patrick kicking at His feet. How did he get in here!? Didn’t they have security doors in this place?
He puts on a t-shirt and the two leave the hostel. They have to stop at a bank for Patrick to exchange Euros for
Forints. After getting money, they try and find food. Every
restaurant they pass is not up to Patrick’s standards. They end up settling for Burger King. Well, at least he pays for
the meal.
They walk around Pest a little but there is not much to see. They come across an Irish bar and spend the
afternoon in the dark lounge. He buys two third-rounds but
grows tired sitting on a barstool. He finally convinces Patrick for them to leave. With nothing else to do, they go back to the hostel. In the kitchen, there is a girl reading. Patrick starts talking to her while He finds escape in the bedroom.
The two come into the bedroom, which is also the girl’s room. She introduces herself as Hadtirah. Oooo, a French
girl. She knows of a good Indian restaurant nearby and they all go for dinner. The restaurant is small and the tables are close together. Patrick is not willing to eat here so they get their food to go. On the way back to the hostel, He stops in a convenient store to buy beer. He only has large bills and Patrick has to pay for them.
Back at the hostel, the food is spicy and Patrick does not like it. Does he have to complain about everything? Refusing to eat any more, Patrick tries to convince Hadtirah to come out with them. She politely refuses because she has to catch a bus home early in the morning. After He finishes eating, the two wish her farewell for the night and leave in pursuit of a bar.
They soon come across a biker bar called the Rock Pub. There are only a handful of people inside and the bartender does not speak English. They are still able to get beers. Damn right, Patrick, you buying.
One man at the bar comments on Patrick’s tattoos. Neither of them speak the same language and are having trouble communicating. A man with long hair sitting at a table behind them comes over to help translate.
Patrick appreciates the help and offers to buy both men beers. The translator denies but the other accepts. Finding it easier to communicate with the man who can speak English, Patrick keeps bringing him over to talk. This man is with a group of three young women and feeling obligated to them but not wanting to be rude, he invites
Him and Patrick over. Be careful, He might steal your women!
The women have their brown hair died black and are wearing all black leather. They are cute, friendly and speak English. He has to work hard at finding a conversation that they find interesting. He discovers one of the women is an artist and she is willing to talk about her work. A couple of her pieces are displayed around the bar. She is happy to take Him on a tour. They are pencil drawings of faces and naked women. He comments her politely.
When they get back to the table, Patrick buys everybody a round of drinks. He orders a large beer but is surprised when the women suggest Jagermeister shots. He follows their lead. After paying for the drinks, Patrick is busy talking with the man and leaves Him alone with the women.
They are interested in His travels and say they too would like to travel. He asks them why they do not travel themselves. They do not give a direct reason why and end up shrugging their shoulders. So you want to travel but you don’t make any attempt at it?
The women are laughing at one of His stories when Patrick excitedly interrupts. He announces one of the men at the bar is a tattooist who is in town for a tattoo convention. Patrick must have been buying this man beer because he gave him two VIP tickets for the convention. Plus, Patrick is barely able to articulate from excitement, they all have been invited to a bar where the tattooists are holding a private party.
The two women He is talking with are interested but the man and his woman decide to stay at this bar. He and the women gather their things to follow Patrick and the tattooist toward a bar around the corner. Upon approaching the door, Patrick tells Him it is important to shake the
bouncer’s hand and look him in the eye.
The bouncer is a big bald white man in a black and red vest. He does what He was told and is allowed in. The women do not have to shake hands. They are just allowed in.
Inside is a rowdy crowd. There are a lot of big men with wide shoulders and ponytails or shaved heads. Most of the men are wearing black leather vests and there are not many women around. But the ones that are here are not attractive and have angrier faces than the men.
The sound of bottles breaking carries over the music and the area by bar resembles a mosh-pit. Patrick goes off somewhere and leaves Him with the two women; they stay a distance away from any roughhousing. Yeah, you be the bodyguard. Patrick returns with beers for them all. The women do not like the bar and want to leave. Patrick wants to stay and suggests they leave without him.
A bottle breaks against a wall close to Him and the women. This is more than enough to convince them to leave. They bring their bottles with them back to the Rock Pub.
Back inside, He buys a round of Jagermeister shots while one of the women buys a Goldschlager round. After the shots, He offers to buy beers which the girls accept. They go to a table to wait for Him. He is standing at the bar trying to get the attention of the bartender when...
He wakes up in the hostel bed the next morning to Patrick kicking His feet. He does not know how or when He got here.
Why do they keep letting him in here? Patrick suggests going back to his hotel to have drinks at the bar. I can’t even think of drinking right now. Patrick tells Him he has yet to go to bed.
Apparently, on his way home from the bar last night, a car lost control and almost hit him walking on the sidewalk; crashing into the building he was passing. Upset with the driver, Patrick pulled the man out of the car and started beating him up. Police arrived on the scene and took him to jail and the driver to the hospital. Patrick got out of jail a couple of hours before and has been drinking since. Great, this guy is either lying or just out-of-control. Either way he’s crazy.
They go to the hotel bar where He sits at a table in the restaurant. Patrick does not join Him at the table but instead sits at the bar and continues a conversation with an older man he was talking with earlier. He orders potato noodles and a beer. The beer tastes repulsive. He asks for a glass of water too. He eats alone and does not join Patrick until He has had an after meal coffee.
He brings the beer up to the bar. Having barely had any, the two men question His manhood and order another round of beers. We can’t take that! He pounds the beer before the bartender brings the new round. Patrick informs Him that he has arranged for a taxi to take them to the tattoo convention in an hour. This brings the old man to ask Patrick about his tattoos. They all are different but have a common theme of the freedom and independence of all Ireland, North and South.
Patrick tells a story about how the tattoo between his shoulder blades is unfinished because the tattooist was shot while trying to finish it. He lifts up his shirt to show the silhouettes of ten men around a casket with an Irish flag over it. It is suppose to represent the men who died in the 1981 hunger strike.
When asked why the tattooist was shot, Patrick simply replies, ‘They were shooting at me.’
This draws a silence from both Him and the old man.
The hotel receptionist comes over and breaks the silence by reminding Patrick his taxi will arrive shortly. They finish their beers and make their way to the hotel entrance. The old man is not interested in coming but Patrick convinces him anyway.
The taxi driver takes them on a long journey throughout the city. They pass many large and important looking buildings. They follow a grassy roundabout where a half-circle of white pillars is in the middle. And shortly after, they come to a large park.
Within is the convention center. At the front doors, Patrick again tells Him to shake hands with the bouncers and look them in the eyes. He does what He is told and is let in. Once inside, He asks Patrick why to do this with the bouncers.
‘Because,' he laughs, 'the Hungarian Hell’s Angles are in charge of security.'
Oh shit! He looks back at the bouncers but does not notice anything special about them except they are all very big and wearing black leather with red bandanas. Once they walk into the main room of the convention, He notices everybody is very big and wearing black leather with red bandanas. Patrick stops at the beer tent to buy drinks.
They walk up and down the many rows of tents where tattooists have set up booths. Every tent is occupied with someone getting a tattoo and people trying to watch it being done. There are mostly men here but the women who are around are just as intimidating with dark make-up and ugly faces. I guess I should have known there wouldn’t be any prettied up girls here. As they are passing a tent, a small man wearing a blue bandana jumps out and excitedly shakes Patrick’s hand. This is the same man that gave Patrick the VIP tickets to the convention. He is to tattoo
Patrick.
They step into the tent and start looking through a book of tattoos. The man does not speak English and He can tell this frustrates Patrick. Losing his temper, Patrick has to keep stopping the man and pointing to different pictures. This begins to bore Him and the old man is looking around agitatedly.
The two decide to leave Patrick and walk around. There is a main stage with a band playing Bob Seger songs. Fuck
yeah! Bob Seger! The old man leaves Him here to use the
toilet. He continues to enjoy the music with the ugly girls. The music stops and the band casually make their way off the stage.
To the side is a skinny man in black leather pants, no shirt and a black hood that covers his face. He slowly walks onto the stage. Behind him, he is pulling a small wooden box that is connected with string to two piercings in the man’s back.
The audience is silently watching the proceedings. When the man makes his way to center stage, he kneels down and begins to meditate. Another man in black leather pants and no shirt comes out. He is wearing a doctor’s mask and gloves. Picking up the box, he brings it over to the meditating man. The two do not look at each other.
The doctor kneels down and opens the box. He takes hold of the hooded man’s left arm and begins piercing it
with inch long sowing needles. Twenty needles he slowly pierces into the hooded man’s arm. The doctor stands, brings the box with him and kneels on the right side of the
hooded man. Twenty more needles in this arm. Without looking at the crowd, the doctor leaves to the back of the stage.
After another short meditation, the hooded man slowly
begins to take the needles out of his arms, one by one. He
first does his left, then his right; allowing the blood to drip onto the stage. Once he is done, he does another short
meditation and stands. The doctor comes up to him and detaches the string from the box. The hooded man stands to the side as the doctor ties the string's ends to piercings on his own nipples.
The two stand facing one side of the stage and walk away from each other until the string is taut. The string is stretchable and when they pull away from each other, they stretch the skin on their bodies. They move to and fro,
bouncing and stretching and do so until they make their
way off the stage. The qudience is silent and no band follows the act. Oh, ok… that was… interesting.
He walks around the convention and eventually finds the way back to Patrick’s booth. Once back, He asks if Patrick has seen the old man. He has not. The old man has disappeared!?
Patrick gives Him money to get beers for him and the tattooist. He gets himself one too. When He comes back,
He takes a look at the tattoo being worked on the right side of Patrick’s stomach. It is two hands clapped together in prayer with barbed wire wrapped around them. People are trying to take pictures of Patrick and his tattoo. Holding up his arms, Patrick hides his face from being seen.
After a cigarette break, they come back to finish the tattoo. Patrick is annoyed with how long the tattoo is
taking. To top it off, he does not even like how it is turning out. It has taken over three hours to do. Many of the tattoo
tents have become vacant and there are not as many people waking around. I’m tired from being here.
Patrick offers to buy Him his first tattoo. I can’t believe
you are honestly thinking about it. If He was going to get one done, He wants the same tattooist who just did Patrick. But there is not enough time to do another tattoo; the
convention is beginning to close. You don’t really want one this way anyway.
Outside the convention center, they hail a taxi and make their way back to their hotels. He is tired and wants to spend the rest of the night reading. Patrick wants to keep drinking and is insulted when He tells him He does not feel like it. Feeling guilty, He joins Patrick for one final beer in the hotel bar.
Over the drinks, Patrick gets a phone call. It is from his
wife. He leaves to have some privacy. Finishing the
beer before Patrick returns, He orders another.
When Patrick does return, he tells Him his wife is going into surgery tomorrow and he will have to go home to Ireland. Oh thank god! I was worried you would be tagging along for the rest of the trip. Patrick is a little stressed and would like to smoke some hash.
They go to his room to smoke. Patrick’s room has a king bed, a bar and a balcony that wraps around the corner of the building. Once the joint is smoked, He finishes the beer and says goodnight. Patrick, not wanting Him to go, does not say anything. No matter, we can show ourselves out
The next morning, He is again awoken to Patrick kicking His feet. What! The! Fuck!!! How many times is this going to happen!? Patrick is saying goodbye and gives Him a piece of paper with his contact information. He tells Him if He is looking for a job, He can work on his farm in Holland. Yeah, ok…
‘Finally, fuck,’ He deeply exhales once Patrick is out of sight. ‘I can now have some time to myself.
‘You missed us that bad, huh?’ I mock.
‘In a way, yeah. This has been so dry lately. It’s like reading a story that has no direction.
‘But now we know you are better off by yourself.'
‘Just me and my lonely ways.’
‘You know,’ Harry administers. ‘We’ve been in Budapest for two days now and still haven’t seen anything.'
‘Yeah I know,’ He deeply exhales again. ‘Sorry about that. I feel like I’ve been spending my time babysitting Patrick.’
‘It was like he was trying to buy your friendship,’ I agree.
‘Well, now he’s gone and we can carry on. I hear across the river, in Buda, it’s really pretty. How about we spend the day over there?’
‘That sounds all fucking great and all but how about we get a god-dammed shower?’
‘Whatever, I need a…'
‘Chase! I’ve already pulled out my pack so you can shut the fuck up!’
He has a cigarette and a shower. Not having showered the day before makes Him nervous that His crotch has gotten worse. But the rash is still retreating and is now a light pink. You’re lucky this is quickly going away.
When he gets back to the bedroom, He notices a note on the rucksack. It is from the French girl two days earlier. She left her e-mail address and said, ‘If you go once in France ___ once. See you, have some nice trips. – Hadtirah.’ That’s nice of her. I didn’t realize we made such an impression on her.
He makes the way across Duna River and follows the ancient walls to the top of the steep hill. He stops to look back towards Pest. This is really beautiful looking out onto the river and the city. He spends the afternoon trying to avoid tourists but they are in massive groups all over; by the church, in the cafés, on the park benches.
When He gets back to the hostel, there are new girl roommates in the room. All six have traveled together from Prague. He finds out they are Americans studying in the Czech Republic for a semester. He takes them out and shows them a bar He thought looked interesting. They buy Him a beer. This is the only one He has. The train leaves early the next morning and He ends up having to talk with the fat chick. Better not tempt fate...
‘You should probably check your phone,’ I moan Him awake. ‘If the train leaves at 7.00, then we would want to leave the hostel at around 6.00.’
He checks the phone. It is 5.23. He closes His eyes to get a little more sleep. When He is startled wake again it is 6.10. Shit! We gotta go! He quickly gathers the bags and checks out of the hostel. At least you showered and packed last night. It is twilight outside and the city is beginning to wake. People are tiredly waiting at bus stops, city workers are casually sweeping sidewalks and the homeless are happily gathered in the warm underground street crossings.
At the train station, it takes Him awhile to find the international ticket office. The national office helps to direct Him. Hurry! It’s about a quarter till 7.00! At the international office, He hurriedly asks for a ticket to Prague. His quick attempts are lost as He discovers there is a strike for all international trains in Hungary; no trains leaving the country.
Catching His breath, He asks what He can do to get to Prague. The receptionist suggests taking a bus. She gives Him basic directions on how to take the metro to the bus station; take the blue line to the yellow, take the yellow to the bus station. Shit, we can do that.
There is another young man who comes into the office as He is looking over the metro directions. He overhears
this man asking for a ticket to Bratislava; only to find out he cannot get a train either. The two meet and share their annoyance. Working together, they find their way to the bus station. Um, it’s actually nice to have someone to figure this out with.
The metro is linked to the train station. They follow the signs to the metro entrance, buy tickets and wait for the blue line. He finds out this man is also American, a graduate student at UCLA studying law. Although the semester is still in progress, being his last in university, he has decided to take a mid-semester vacation.
The train arrives and they take it to the interconnection to catch the yellow. They have to buy new tickets but He now only has large bills. There’s nothing you can really do. Just don’t buy one. The law student strongly disagrees and warns Him about the legalities of hopping trains. We don’t need legal advice. What, we need is to be spotted some money. He does not get spotted the money. There are no gates to stop Him from passing so He just walks through.
While patiently waiting for the yellow train, He keeps looking over His shoulders in fear of metro security. The train arrives and He quickly hops on. While trying to keep balance and not knock anyone with the rucksack, the student begins to tell Him how bored He is with studying law. It is the subject he chose because he figures it is a good career move; for the money. He tells him He studied journalism and doubts He will get any money from it. But you studied it because it was a field that interested you. Isn’t that what university is about? To learn and explore a topic that you like?
They get on and off the metro with no hassles from security. Good job, you made it to the bus station. It’s funny how well things work out when you follow
directions.
Finding their way to the ticket office, the student goes before Him and asks for a bus to Bratislava. The woman informs him the next bus does not leave until the next day. Frustrated, he steps to the side without buying a ticket.
He approaches the window and asks for a ticket to Prague. He gets the same answer; no buses until the next day. Ok then, where CAN we go? The woman informs Him that there is a bus going to Vienna but it does not leave for another four hours. Four hours is better than twenty-four. He buys a ticket to Vienna.
Interested, the student asks Him what ticket He bought. With no other logical choice, he buys the same ticket. Putting the passport and credit card back in the traveler’s wallet, a girl comes up to Him and asks if He speaks English. Oh, we do more than just speak it. She overheard Him asking how to get to Prague. That is where she is trying to go. Knowing there is not a bus today, she wants to know what ticket He bought. She follows His lead and buys a ticket to Vienna.
Leaving the girl at the reception, He and the student go buy something to eat before finding a place to sit down. On one of the only open benches in the terminal, there is not much room for three people. He sees the girl from before walk by. She is looking in their direction with begging eyes. He asks her if she would like to join them and makes room for her to sit. She is happy to be included and begins talking uncontrollably; introducing herself, complaining about the limited bus options, commenting on His friendliness.
The student and the girl become very talkative. He does not feel like being so. He pulls out Down and Out… and spends the time reading. Discovering a benefit to being with company, He can go have a cigarette and leave the
bags with them being watched over. Might as well stock up on cigarettes. They’re cheaper in Hungary than most other countries. He buys two packs of Marlboro cigarettes for 750 Forints. They only have 100s but He buys them anyway.
Time slips by slowly. The other two are deep in a political conversation. They have not stopped talking since He invited the girl over. He spends the time ignoring their talk by reading and leaving to smoke. Eventually it comes close to 12.00; departure time. They gather their bags and load onto the bus. The student and girl sit together and leave Him be. That’s good. We wouldn’t want to have to entertain either one. Plus, those two are loving each other.
All the other passengers on the bus are relatively quiet but these too are just as loud as ever. He can hear their whole conversation about boyfriends and wives and blah blah blah. Trying to lean the seat back, He turns around to see if it is ok with the person behind Him. This man gives Him an angry look and says something in a grouchy voice. Wow, lean your seat back up before he tries to kick your ass.
With seat up, He finds no problem falling asleep. He wakes to the student and girl still loudly talking. He pays them no mind. The mountains in the distance remind Him of home and this calms Him down.
The bus has not stopped the whole ride. The long route is mostly highway but it begins to take more residential streets. We must be almost there. The bus slows and stops in a parking lot under an overpass. People begin to stand and gather their things to get off. He confusingly looks over to the friends. They are just as confused as He.
Everyone is directed off the bus and they have no choice but to follow. Hum, I always thought Vienna was supposed to be all majestic and beautiful and… not under
a highway.
They soon discover they have to take a metro to get to the center of Vienna. But once again, He only has big bills to pay for a metro ticket. Just don’t pay. It’s worked before. Again, there are not any gates to stop Him. He waits by the escalator as the student and girl get tickets from the machine.
They take a metro together and get off at what is supposedly the center of Vienna. When they take the escalator to above ground, a towering church greets them. It has impressive architecture of large doors and windows with two high towers scraping the sky. It is demeaned by a blanket of black pollution.
They stand out front of the church and gawk at it before finding a ticket information office nearby. The two buy train tickets to Prague while He decides to stay in Vienna a couple of days. Might as well see the place since we’re here. He asks the receptionist where He can find a hostel. The ticket office does not have this information but direct Him to a tourist information office. It is a couple blocks down the Karntner Strasse walkway. He gets a map to help guide Him.
The student claims he has been to Vienna before and takes pleasure in unnecessary further explanation. Having not been to the tourist information office himself, he is forced to rely on asking for guidance from a young girl. She is annoyed with having to walk her bicycle through the heavy pedestrian traffic and does not stop to help his plea.
‘Austrians are just sooo rude,’ he bitches.
‘Maybe it’s the fact that in five minutes she’ll yet again be asked by some tourist directions,’ He counters.
Without being additional help, He kindly says goodbye to the two. The girl tells Him she is studying in Prague and
writes down her contact information. He kindly accepts the paper. I doubt we’ll use it. Happy to be by Himself again, it takes Him about fifteen minutes to get to the tourist office. Along the way, the clothing stores and cafés are not as interesting as the man with a donkey. He stops and pays a Euro to feed it an apple.
Once making it to the tourist office, they politely give Him directions to many hostels. He asks for the closest one and the woman shows Him on the map. That’s the closet one!? It’s still going to require some walking…
He walks for another thirty minutes, passing a lot of large and ancient buildings with polluted white pillars and walls. Statues of angels with expanded wings fill the parks and men driving chariots are on many roofs. After much walking, His back is sore and sweaty but He easily finds the International Housing Hostel. He checks into a room, relieved to take off the rucksack.
After a quick shower, He goes to find something to eat. The receptionist informs Him a couple budget restaurants but he also gives Him faulty directions. I swear these restaurants don’t exist because we cannot find either one he told us about.
After walking around in circles for an annoying amount of time, He stops at a place close by the hostel. There is not anyone in the restaurant when He comes in. He sits down at a table and eventually a waitress comes over to help Him with the menu. He enjoys a Heineken for the first time in a month. It is dark outside when He finishes the meal. Back to the hostel, all He wants to do is fall asleep with Anna Karenina.
‘What? No going out and getting shit faced?’ I question. ‘This is a new city we’re in. I thought it was your tradition to go get wasted on the first night in a new place.’
‘Yeah, oddly enough,’ He sighs with a full stomach, ‘I'm getting kinda tired of going out every night and drinking till I can’t see straight. To be honest, I’m kinda tired of constantly traveling around.’
‘Is this too much of a challenge for you,’ Harry mocks.
‘I think this challenge has been played out. I’d say I’ve proved I can survive backpacking through Europe. What I'm interested in now is for something new.'
‘Something new, huh?’ Richy contributes. ‘What the fuck is more new than traveling to a new fucking place every forty-eight hours?’
‘That’s just it. Traveling around all the time has become old. But don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed my time and want to keep traveling. It’s just… It’s like I’m doing the same thing over and over and not really getting anywhere. I’m getting tired and need to wrap this shit up.’
‘What you need,’ Chase joins in, ‘is a center base. You need a place where you can go recharge and then head off again.'
‘But if He just goes back to Denver,’ I add, ‘then it’s kinda like pussing out.’
‘Who said anything about going to Colorado? I wasn’t even suggesting leaving Europe. All I said is what He needs is a place where He can rest. A place that He can use as a sanctuary until He travels again.’
‘Kinda like a permanent vacation home?’ Harry asks. ‘Yeah, I like that. We can get ourselves a place right by the beach and just sit back and watch the hunnies walk by.’
‘Yeah! And we can fuck some fucking…’
‘You know guys,' He contributes, 'I’m part of this conversation too.’
‘What?’ I defend. ‘You’re telling us you don’t want to chill out on some sunny and exotic Mediterranean beach?’
‘Ha-ha, nah, that actually sounds like a pretty damn
good idea… You know,’ He laughs, ‘now that I think about it, I do deserve a vacation, don’t I?’
Waking up early the next morning, He only plans on staying one full day in Vienna and wants to make it worth it. There is a complimentary breakfast in the hostel that He plans on attending. When He makes the way to the cafeteria on the first floor, there is a long line of elementary school kids. This really takes the definition of ‘youth hostel’ to another level. He goes back up to the room to shower and have a short read to give the kids a chance to clear out.
When He comes back down an hour later, there is not a line but the tables are half full. He gets Himself a coffee and some bread with meat and cheeses. He takes a seat at a table with three girls. Two of them are tiny with baby faces and the third is tall and lanky. They keep looking over at Him and giggle amongst themselves while speaking some foreign language. The whole female sex, no matter what the age, they just can’t help themselves. He looks straight ahead as He slowly eats the food. When He gets up from the table, He has to pull up the kakis above His butt. The girls giggle some more.
He has no real direction on where He is going to walk. He brings along a map that have buildings highlighted. Those are probably good sights to see. The hostel is not far away from Burgring, a main road. He can go west and see a couple of buildings before coming back east to check out some more just past the hostel.
He discovers every building to be covered in a black pollution. Coming to a large building with a clock tower, the map has it named Rathaus, Town Hall. It is in front of a park that has been transformed into an ice rink with many ice paths that snake all around. He follows the paths
smoking a cigarette and watches the kids chase each other. He walks northwest and makes the way to Votivkirche, a church with beautiful flying buttresses. It is disappointingly surrounded by scaffolding that is covered with advertisements for insurance and telephone companies. It looks like the Church even has a price.
He stumbles into the busy university building across the street. It is in the shape of a giant square with a courtyard in the middle. He first wonders around the halls, going up and down the huge marble staircases. Stopping in front of a classroom to peer in, He is approached by a hurried young man asking something. He probably wants directions. All He can do is shrug His shoulders. The man rolls his eyes and heads off in a huff.
Finding the way to the courtyard, its boarders are littered with marbled heads of past professors. Wanting to reconnect with His academic past, He joins some students smoking cigarettes in the sun. They leave Him to Himself on a bench but He still feels included.
With nothing else to do, He finds Himself walking back towards the hostel when He notices a garden, Volksgarten the map confirms, that opens up to a large park. There are a lot of young people sitting on blankets, kicking around soccer balls and playing with dogs and small children. He walks through and makes the way towards some long white buildings with tall pillars; Hofburg, the Imperial Palace. Out front, there are tens of horse-drawn carriages with men in round top hats. He stops to pet the horses.
Strolling on, He discovers another small park, Burggarten, with a botanic garden. This must be where all the delinquents hangout. Large groups of young adults in black jackets and pants are sitting in the grass. He makes the way through the park getting stares.
At the end of the park, He has come to Karntner
Strasse, the walkway He was on coming from the metro. He again finds and walks around the large church He now knows is named St. Stephen’s Cathedral. Deciding to go in, it is cold and dark and filled with gold religious junk. Hum... He does not go past the entrance.
He finds a hot dog vender and buys a bratwurst. Might as well get a train ticket since we’re so close to the ticket office. He purchases a ticket and starts to make the way back to the hostel.
After some time of retracing steps, He comes across a square with four or five museums. Museumsplatz it is called. He goes into one museum advertising Albin Egger-Lienz’s famous painting Danza macabra. It is a painting depicting the peasant soldiers linked in arms with a skeleton.
It’s crazy to see how many times Albin has recreated and reworked many of his pieces. That was a man who made sure to explore all the different aspects of his work and probably was never finished exploring. What stamina!
He spends hours looking over all reproductions.
Eventually He leaves and finds a contemporary art museum next door. He is tired but decides to have a look. Most of the building is closed due to a transition of exhibits but there are a couple rooms open. One room in particular is art from Vienna in the 1960s. Much of the work is perverted photos of penis smashing and degutting of crucified lambs. I don’t know how much of this is art.
There is a video on display that He finds most disturbing. It is of a naked man cutting a large wound in his thigh. Once he is done cutting himself, he takes a needle with a string and threads it once through the wound. After pulling some string through both sides of the cut, the man ties the end with the needle around his penis. Kneeling up on his knees, he pulls the string tight. This
directs his penis towards the cut where he begins to pee on the open wound. I can’t take anymore of this. He leaves the museum most disturbed.
When He gets back to the hostel, He has to make the way around kids playing in the hallway. Finding refuge in the room, He relaxes on the bed to read. Before He gets too far, a young man comes into the room. He is friendly and begins talking with Him. He finds he is Dutch and they talk about Amsterdam.
‘To be honest, I really don’t know much about Amsterdam,’ the Dutch man boasts. ‘Fortunately I’m from east Netherlands and have only been to Amsterdam a couple of times.’
‘Oh! well,’ He coughs. ‘I’m no expert either. I’ve only lived there for five months and every day I was still discovering new things about the place.’
‘Must be a good city, though, if you like it so much.’ He shifts his weight from his left leg to the right.
‘Oh god!’ He is delighted and sits up on the bed. ‘Amsterdam will always have a special place in my heart. What I’ve discovered from living there is that the Dutch understand life as a unique experience. They seem to know there is more than one way for a person to live and they respect any person’s decision on the route they take.'
‘I guess I’ll take that as a complement.'
‘And you should. After living in Amsterdam and from my time traveling, I have discovered the fun in seeing new places. But I now realize if I really want to understand a culture, I have to spend a good amount of time surrounded by it.’
‘And you think it’s important to see new places?'
‘I do. I think it’s important to see how the rest of the world lives outside my own life. I can learn a lot by just seeing how others live.’
‘Like… learn what?'
‘Well, simply learning the differences of life. People around the world have different perspectives on how to work, on how to spend their free time, on how to find happiness. When seeing these differences, I can incorporate them into my own life and use them to better myself.’
‘So…’ the Dutch man says as he pulls over a chair from the table. ‘Are you saying that it is wrong to not travel?’
Before He can answer, he sits and continues. ‘Because my grandmother has never gone farther than a couple kilometers from the city where she grew up. And she’s happy. That’s where she has always wanted to be. Is it wrong of her for not moving somewhere else?’
‘By no means am I saying it’s wrong to not travel,’ He defends holding up His hands. ‘All I’m saying is that it’s beneficial TO travel. I love where I grew up. After all that I’ve seen I still feel like Denver is the place for me. But how would I really know that unless I went out looking? Shit, I’d never know there are better or worse places out there if I don’t go looking for them.’
The Dutch man does not say anything. He continues, ‘If the world is going to be a better place, we can’t just stay cooped up and stay to ourselves. We need to understand and embrace others to understand and embrace ourselves. The only way to do that is to go see what the rest of the world is about.
‘I must admit,’ He recrosses His legs. ‘I’ve had to sacrifice a lot to be where I’m at. I’ve lost friends. I’ve lost girlfriends. I barely see my family any more. I’m completely alone. But I’ve discovered aspects of someone more important than anyone else. I’ve discovered aspects of myself.’
The Dutch man is looking at Him blankly.
‘It’s true though,’ He does not slow, ‘I didn’t get like this by myself. I owe all credit to my parents. They’ve given me valuable emotional support. Something they’ve always taught me is to be as strong as I want to be. Any time I have doubt in myself, I remember that. I realize I can carry on if I keep faith in myself.’
‘Yeah?’ the Dutch man breaths.
‘As I quickly burn through my savings,’ He says, ‘that emotional support is what really keeps me going.
The Dutch man turns his head to the side.
‘I feel like I’m doing something inspiring,' He smiles. 'I have an interest in the places where my father has worked and they’ve given me the courage to see those places. I believe my farther has pride in my interest. Both my parents are proud of my desire to see new things.’
The Dutch man opens his mouth to speak but He interrupts him.
‘The next thing that you might say is that my university degree means nothing because I got finantial help from my parents. Well, they didn’t go to my classes and take my tests and write my essays. I did all those things and earned a degree myself. Now I’m just taking the next step. I’m out in Europe learning what university can’t teach.
‘Sure, it requires some support. I have been raving about self-reliance but in all reality, nobody can do anything without a little help. It’s what a person does with that help that matters.’
There is a banging at the door. He gets out of bed to see what it was. Kids are running up and down the hallway, screaming. He closes the door, turns towards the bed and eyes the thick book of Anna Karenin.
The Dutch man has grown bored with the conversation and decides to leave to ‘find a bratwurst stand where the man
speaks German.’
He takes the opportunity of an empty room to use the phone for a second time.
‘Hey dad.'
‘Johnny! How you doing!?’ The father seems distracted.
‘I’m doing great. And you?'
‘Uh… you know. Just packing and making final arrangements.’
‘That’s good. I’m glad I caught you before you left.’
‘Yeah? Why’s that?’
He hears shuffling in the phone. ‘I wanted to let you know something.’ He waits a second while more shuffling is heard in the phone. ‘I didn’t want to spring it on you last second.'
‘Well, this is pretty last second,’ the father comes back. ‘I leave for the airport in a couple of hours.'
‘Yeah, well…’ He gulps. ‘I just wanted to let you know…’ More shuffling. ‘I got myself a lip piercing.’
There is a silence as the shuffling stops.
‘And I know you don’t like that type of thing,’ He continues, ‘but it’s something that I felt like I should do.'
‘A lip piercing huh…’ The father is surprisingly calm. ‘What brought this about?’
‘It’s just been something that I’ve always wanted to do, so I finally did it.'
‘Ok… this is kinda unexpected. When did you do this?'
‘About four months ago, a couple weeks after you left Amsterdam. Like I said, I didn’t want to spring it on you last second.'
‘Well, I must say I appreciate that… What?... Oh… Hey, John, I don’t mean to cut you short but there’s someone on the other phone. I really must take this before I get to Armenia. Here, let me give the phone to your
mother.’
‘Aight, I love you dad.’
‘Love you too, son.'
There is a tap and then a low tone on the phone. He wonders how much credit He has left.
‘Johnny Love!’ The mother’s voice is excited. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Hi mom! I’m good, and you?’
‘Oh, doing just fine. I miss you and think about you all the time.’
‘Ah, I miss you too.'
‘It’s really good to hear your voice… I want you to know how proud your father and I are. We tell all our friends about our little gypsy boy.
‘Ah mom, I’m not your little boy any more. I’m a man!’
‘Yeah, well, you’re still my little boy…’
‘And you’re still my little mother...’ Expecting to get a laugh, there is no response.
‘Mom?’ He looks at the phone. It has hung up.
Sad to have not been able to say goodbye, He sits down on the bed staring at Anna Karenina.
‘Have you put any thought into…’ coughing.
‘Yes Chase! I HAVE thought about having a cigarette.’
‘Ha-ha, no,’ cough. ‘Have you thought anymore about your writing?’
‘Well,’ He sighs, ‘yes and no, I guess. I’ve been trying to stay as observant as possible about the things going on around me but I don’t have any ideas on how to make the story interesting enough to read about.’
‘It’s true. The whole travel story idea is sooo played out,’ Harry sasses. ‘You might as well self-star in a homemade pornographic movie. At least that way you
might make some money. Chances are higher that way then you selling a book.’
‘Although there is a bit of truth in that statement, I don't think it’s very supportive,’ I sympathize.
‘If you want some fucking support,’ Richy blurts out, ‘take my advice. DON’T WASTE YOUR GOD-DAMN TIME! Let’s just say you DO write a shit-book. What are the chances that it’ll actually get published? And then the possibility that it will actually sell!? Fuck! I say we get the fuck out of these god-for-saken countries, campout on a beach in Greece and find a sugar-mama to support us for the rest of our days.’
‘I’m actually in on that idea. Maybe we’ll finally have enough money to get a proper haircut.’
‘How much I would love to be some rich lady’s lover boy, it doesn’t really sound like a rewarding lifestyle.’
‘Don’t give up on your dream!’ I favor. ‘You’re a smart kid and I’m sure you can come up with a good idea that is worth reading about.’
‘You don’t have to come up with an idea! I’ve already got one!’ Chase shouts. But he breaks into a coughing fit.
‘Or what about fucking Morocco. We can just go fucking in Morocco...'
‘I said I got an idea!’ Chase finally gets out.
‘Knowing you, you’d probably want to head over to Northern India. Go hippy and spend the summer ‘smoking the ganja.’’
‘No! Well… yeah that’s not a bad idea. But I got an idea for His book!
‘Well, out with it man!’ I bellow.
‘We tell the story.'
‘We tell the story!? We who?’ Harry asks. ‘I think you've forgotten He is the only one who can hear us.'
‘I must agree with Harry on this one Chase,’ I match.
‘We can’t write a book.’
‘Um… You guys are forgetting. I can write! You tell me what has happened throughout my travels and I’ll write it down. We work together on this and put it into a composition! Damn, that’s genius.'
‘It’s so simple yet so complex. Wow, Chase that’s actually a pretty good idea.’
‘How come he always comes up with the fucking good ideas?’
‘Higher education, my friends, higher education.’
‘I think we might actually have something here. But still, I have some questions. Like...'
They spend the rest of the evening coming up with ideas on plot, narration, character development, et cetera.
He does take a break from the discussion to run down and use the internet. Having to pay to use a computer, He unwisely spends half the time browsing through The Onion website. This is the only place to get the news. It IS ‘America’s Finest News Source.’ When He realizes He is running out of time, He quickly tries to find the directions to the next hotel. He gets the address and the website directions but runs out of time before He is able to check a map. This does not bother Him. I’m sure we can find it.
Back in the room, the Dutch man is still not back. He takes the time to look at Himself in the bathroom. His crotch is close to skin tone, the lip piercing has lost its scab and the corners of His mouth are healed.
‘Shit boys, it looks like we’re pretty much healthy again!’ He is happy to announce. ‘And you all are absolutely overgrown. I can’t even tell who I am anymore.’
He gives His beard and head a scratch before He goes to bed with Anna.
The next morning, the train leaves at 10.00. He makes Himself a sandwich to-go in the cafeteria and checks out of the hostel. Moseying down towards to the tram stop, He hops on the streetcar without paying. At the train station, He has to wait an hour before the train arrives. Once it does, He makes the way to second class seats, pulls out Down and Out… but waits to read until the train has begun to move.
He is alone in the compartment for a while. After a couple of stops, many people do get on the train. A young man and a young woman enter the compartment. The man pulls out a computer and begins to watch a DVD while the girl falls asleep. He takes time from the book to look out the window. These mountains are incredible. I’ve missed this so much.
The man eventually becomes bored and closes his computer. Instead of being content with this, the man pulls out his cell phone to play with it for a while. Damn man, learn to enjoy life without mind-numbing entertainments. Pick up a book or look out the window for Christ sake.
The man gets off at a stop in a small industrial mountain town and two middle-aged women join Him and the young girl in the compartment. All women! This could get kinky. The two women sit in the seats in front and next to Him. Actually, there are other seats available… We could use some room here.
The women are friends and talk amongst themselves. He finds this distracting because it is not only troubling to read but He cannot look straight ahead without looking at the women in front of Him. The train continues on and soon makes its way out of the mountain range. The woman across from Him senses His discomfort and moves over to the seat next to her friend. They still talk loudly amongst themselves.
He can tell the train is coming close to Prague. There are many smaller stops with signs reading ‘Praha’ that the train does not stop at. When the train does begin to slow, He and the two women start to gather their bags. The young girl remains in her seat.
Once off the train, He follows the directions easily enough. He has to get on a metro, which He once again does not pay for. Stepping off at the Muzeum station, He emerges on a busy street, Vaclavske nam. This is where the directions end. But He has an address. There is a sign with a map of the metro but it does not give street names. The numbers on this street seem to be going down. Maybe just follow them down and you’ll stumble across your address.
He follows the numbers down the street but discovers the street name does not match the final one He has. Ok… I know you’re tired and vulnerable but show some patience and we’ll get there eventually. Was there a tourist information office back by the metro? He walks back to the metro but does not find an information office. He is on a corner and is about to cross the street when He spots the sign of a pension hotel to the right. Might as well check it, just to see. It turns out to be the place He is searching for.
The door is security locked and has to be opened by the receptionist. It buzzes and He opens the door. At the counter He tells the man who He is and asks the number to the reserved room. He finds the way through the halls and up some stairs. Knocking on door 402, He hears someone get off a bed and shortly after open the door.
Once opend, He excitedly jumps to hug the older man at the door. ‘Father!’
*
Over eager conversation, father and son wonder to a bar
the hotel receptionist suggested having ‘the best beer in Prague.’ They walk down Vaclavske nam, pass the astronomical clock tower and windily come up to the Kolkovne Bar.
They decide to sit at the bar before they move to a table for dinner. They are so excited to be talking with each other they keep missing the bartender to order drinks. Eventually they wave him down and he pours their pilsners straight from the bronze distiller.
‘Welp, everything’s the same back at home,’ His father coughs after clearing his throat. Almost seven years ago,
he had surgery for throat cancer which he got from smoking cigarettes. Every once and awhile he has to clear his throat. This reminds Him to keep the cigarettes deep in the pocket.
‘Your mother is excited for spring,’ he continues. ‘She can’t wait to start working in the garden. Of course I want
winter to linger a little more so I can get more skiing days in. You know how Colorado weather is; we’re both getting what we want. And Khristal, she sends her regards. Did you know she got a promotion?’
‘No, wow! Good for her! She’s really quite the responsible woman, isn’t she!?'
‘Yeah, we’re really proud of her. Harley, on the other hand, she just can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble. Just the other day she was playing with another dog down in the greenbelt. She was a little too aggressive and scared the other owner half to death.’
‘Ha-ha. I miss Harley. I miss having a dog; having that companion.'
‘Well, it’s a lot of responsibility.'
‘Yeah, and that’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid
finding,’ He gives the father a bump with His elbow. They laugh. Mostly He laughs but the father humors Him.
‘So, tell me about…’ and he points to his lower lip.
‘I don’t know, what do you think about it?'
‘To be honest, it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be. What? It’s just a little silver ball?’
‘It’s a stud with a ball cap.’ He shows the father the inside of His lip. ‘Can you see how it’s kinda red?’ He nods his head. ‘Some crazy girl tried to bite it off.’
‘Hum…’ the father leaves it at that.
They order another beer. The bartender suggests trying a mix with the pilsner and the stout. They try it. It’s not that bad. They both are getting hungry and bring their mixed-beers to a table the hostess put on reserve for them.
‘You know, I was much like you when I was your age,’ the father begins as they sit down.
‘You were my age at one time!?’ He laughs.
‘Ha-ha, oh yeah. I was much better looking than you though.’
‘That’s quite the accomplishment for an old man. I’m drop-dead gorgeous.’
‘You’re still a little shit aren’t you? Well… When I got out of the military, I came back home to Des Moines to reorganize my thoughts. After a couple of weeks, I realized I was falling back into old routines; hanging out with the same friends, drinking in the same bars. If I was screwing the same women I think I would have gone insane.’
‘Dad, if you can leave your sex life out of this story, I would really appreciate it.’
‘Well, what I’m trying to get at is that I found myself settling into old habits. I wasn’t doing anything too dangerous but that was just the thing. I wasn’t DOING anything. Luckily for me, I noticed this early enough to get
myself out of it.
‘When your uncle moved to Colorado, I followed him for a visit. I immediately fell in love with the place. A week later, I went back to Iowa, gathered all of my things, said goodbye to your grandmother and headed back to Colorado. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have a place to stay. I didn’t even know what I was doing. All I knew was Colorado was where I wanted to be. I was willing to do whatever possible for me to make it there.’
He smiles over His food.
‘And you know the rest of the story,’ the father continues. ‘I found work. I found your beautiful mother. I found myself. Now, the point of the story is this: what are you going to do to make sure you don’t come home settling into old habits?’
‘Wow dad! That’s a pretty big question.'
‘I know it is,’ he states.
‘Luckily we already have an answer,’ I say audible only to Him.
‘Luckily, I already have an answer,’ He exclaims proudly. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think on my travels. Shit, that’s mostly all I’ve been doing. Well… I’ve decided… I’ve decided to become a novelist.'
Choking on his beer, the father asks worriedly, ‘A novelist, huh?’
‘Yeah! I’m going to head down to the Greek isles and
write about my travels. But the thing is,’ He leans over the table so no one else can hear, ‘I’m going to write it through the perspective of my rucksack.’
‘Wait, what!?’ I shout. ‘That’s not what we agreed on. I thought you were going to be a superhero. We were to be your superpower in your fight against all evil in traveling.You know, lock up luggage thieves, save runaway trains, find a cure for all sexually transmitted diseases. Bring
down of your arch-enemy Lucy, Lucifer Herself!’
‘Yeah! Narrated through my rucksack,’ He laughs leaning back in the seat. ‘Pretty crazy huh? It just came to me.'
‘I must say that’s a pretty creative idea. But have you thought about publishers, marketing, promotions?'
‘Dad, you’re thinking too far ahead. I need to DO the writing first. After that I just assume it’s all going to fall
into place.'
‘That’s pretty wishful thinking.'
‘Especially if you’re going to be throwing away Divinely Hairs! The story of a man in a…well… a man’s body. But with the hairs, the hairs of a GOD! Come on now, I was looking forward to having the ability to grow the height of mountains. Jesus!’
‘I truly feel if I put a genuine effort in this than it will pay off.’
‘You know your mother and I are always supportive of your dreams but being a novelist isn’t the easiest route to success.’
‘Who needs success when I’m a writer?’ He smiles.
‘Those writers who like to eat?’
‘Speaking of which, you keep splattering me with meat sauce. Stop it or I’ll have Harry use his Dandruff Death-Grip against you!’
After dinner, they have a beer for desert and call it a night. You both have done a lot of traveling today. On the walk back to their hotel, He remembers the last time the father supported Him to seriously peruse His writing.
It was the summer between third and forth year at the University of Colorado. He was working at Kinsley & Company clothing store and interning at the Colorado Daily. Neither job He was putting in full effort. When He brought up the dilemma to the father, without questioning, he told Him to quit Kinsley and put full effort into the Daily. Now, walking up the streets of Prague, again the father has given Him the encouragement He needs to pursuit what He truly desires. He smiles at the father and wraps His arm around his shoulder.
‘What’s this for?’ he asks.
‘Oh, just because I love you, dad.’
The next day they wake up early. He reads Anna and takes a shower. They make their way by tram to the Prague Castle. Having dad here, it probably isn’t necessary to not pay. When they try to get on the tram, some men at the doors do not make room for them to pass. He plows through and stands in their way until He makes sure the father has passed. He joins him on at the front of the tram. They both look at each other in annoyance but they get distracted by a cute woman sitting at a window seat.
They get to the castle, where the father takes pictures looking down on the city, of the church, of the old walls. A couple of pictures he even wants with Him. Patience again my friend, patience. Feeling nice, He offers to take some pictures including the father.
There is a line to get into the church and they decide against it. They have coffee and make their way down the hill to the Vltava River. At the Charles Bridge, the father takes more pictures. He even takes pictures for a couple and asks them to return the favor and take a picture of them two.
Once the picture taking slows, they stop in a restaurant to have some real Budweiser’s. I didn’t know Budweiser was a Czech beer and the American brewery took the name. With a buzz, they make their way through the old Jewish neighborhood and take pictures of the swinging
metronome that replaced the statue of Stalin.
The Salvador Dali museum is one thing He thought would be interesting to see. Inside the museum, they walk around silently. This is cool but it seems like they raided Dali’s basement and got all stuff he did when he was out of ideas.
Since the astronomical clock is right out front, they decide to have an early dinner and wait for it to change hours. When it does, little wooden apostles roll out just like a coco-clock. This must have been quite the entertainment back in the day. It sure as hell still brings a crowd. A big mob gathers in front of the clock to witness the event.
There is only one train a day that goes back to Amsterdam. The father is leaving the next morning and He does not want to spend a whole other day in Prague, especially if He is to be by Himself. But there are so many cool drinking ideas in this city. That bar over there has taps at every table where an electronic counter keeps track of the number of beers poured. You can compete with other tables at the bar!
They go back to the pension for Him to pack the rucksack. The father reveals a couple of gifts he brought Him from home: a pack of new underwear and socks, a hardback collection of Jack London stories, and some of the mother’s home cooked cookies. He is overwhelmed with joy and gives the father a hug. But the real gift was saved for last. The father goes over to his suitcase and pulls out a new pair of kaki pants. Oh shit! He actually listens to your complaints! Not knowing what to say, He wants to show His appreciation too. He knows what to do and gives the father the Tom Robbins.
At the train station, the father buys Him the next ticket. It is the most expense ticket thus far. Good thing for
fathers. They are waiting under the departure sign with twenty minutes until the train is to leave. The sign still has not been announced which is the platform. There is a group of travelers impatiently waiting with them. That would suck so bad if the train didn’t show. With five minutes till the departure time, the sign flips through and displays the platform number. He and the father follow the crowd to platform 4. Next to the train, He gives the father a hug and wishes him luck in Armenia. Patiently, He poses for more photo taking.
He gives the father one final hug and hops on the train. Finding Himself alone in the compartment, He looks out the window and sees the father waving goodbye. He waves back to him with a large smile. I love that man.
He takes advantage of the night train to fall into the routine of reading and sleeping. The next morning, He is able to finish Down and Out… Is Orwell trying to say although He has experienced poverty, there is something more important in life than slaving to earn money? With nothing else to do, He spends the rest of the time looking out the window.
The rhythmatic swaying and clanking of the train hypnotizes His thoughts. Staring out into the quickly passing trees, He begins to see Himself, three years younger, sitting in a Boulder jail-cell contemplating suicide. Berried in His hands, His hair is disheveled and He is weeping silently. He has just been picked up under suspicion for driving under the influence of alcohol. Being the third strike with the university for student misconduct, He is looking at expulsion, little alone whatever the judicial system has in plan.
What He could not have predicted at the time was the lawyer getting Him off with reckless driving and the
university putting Him on suspension. Having that time off from school has put Him in a unique position. Although He was able to complete the major courses in the corresponding time, He was left with an extra semester of make-up credit before He could graduate and get a degree. Having that extra semester gave Him the opportunity to study abroad and come to Europe.
The flat landscape becomes familiar to Him and distracts Him with excited thoughts of arriving home. When the train stops at the Utrecht station, He begins to have trouble staying in the seat. An American girl, who caught the train in Berlin, is sitting on the top bunk. She laughs at Him and asks why He is agitated. He tells her and she replies how she has never been to Amsterdam before. She has questions about the city and where some hostels are located. He does not know of any but helps her look at a map.
He glances out the window again and sees the windmill waving the return. I am too excited now to look at a map. The train passes by the student housing. It does not seem so strange anymore. The Nemo in the distance and now over the IJ. The train pulls into Centraal Station twenty minutes late, at 11.30, but He is back! It feels so good to be arriving in a familiar city. And being Amsterdam! I love this shit.
He leaves the girl at the information booth and makes the way to the tram. The scaffolding that was on the station towers before is now gone. The clock tower and wind barometer are so beautiful. He remembers He needs to take the 9 car or the 14. He gets on the first one that comes. When He pays for a ticket, the woman asks if He needs a city map. We don’t need a map. We’re back home! He takes a seat and watches the familiar city unfold in front of Him.
Down Damrak and along the busy shops, the tram slowly passes the Dam on the right. The large square is scattered with people and the Royal Palace is prestigiously sitting in the background. Soon coming to Spui and turning down Rembrantplein, He passes over the Amstel and loops back by the Waterlooplein market. Turning right, the tram follows the street that turns into Plantage Middenlaan, past the botanic gardens. He gets off at the stop right by Café Kossje.
The excitement is too much for Him to walk casually. He is at a light jog. Glancing down Plantage Muidergracht, He remembers all the times He has ridden Rufus down this road to meet Valerie at her dormitory. Over a couple canals, past the One O’Clock Shop, the blue neon sign of Het Balloonetje is in the distance. He is a little late but is sure Jeff will be waiting for Him.
He steps into the coffeeshop, and sure enough, there is Jeff. He is sitting at the long table, blond hair held back with his two-toned sunglasses and a big grin on his face.
‘Johnny! You made it home!’ Jeff throws up his arms.
‘I sure as hell did!’
Jeff stands and gives Him a hug. He sets down the carrier bag and rucksack next to the table and goes up to the counter to buy two grams of the White Russian. The man gives Him a free set of rolling papers with the weed.
‘Lets see if I can still roll a Dutch joint,’ He laughs as He sits back down at the table.
He pulls out the grinder from the carrier bag, puts in a fatty nug with a little shag of tobacco and grinds it up. Spilling it out on the table, He rolls up a small white piece of light cardboard for the tip of the joint. He makes sure to have flipped over the rolling paper to have the glue facing down and towards Him. Evenly scattering the grinded weed on the paper and with both hands, picks it up to use
His thumbs to roll the paper up and down; to compress the weed. With His right hand, He makes sure to get a tight tuck with paper and tip, having the glue just under the paper. He then tightens the rest of the joint. Licking the outside of the paper above the glue, He leaves the excess paper exposed. He taps the joint vertically against the table to pack the weed even more. Burning off the excess paper leads to lighting the end of the joint. He inhales deeply, sits back in the chair, content with the sweet smoke. Oh yeah, it feels good to be home.
‘Oh yeah, it feels good to be home,’ He exhales a smile and hands the joint over to Jeff.
Jeff has classes all afternoon. They go back to his apartment so He can drop off the rucksack and for Jeff to grab his school books. Jeff’s apartment is one room but he has his own kitchen and bathroom. It is pretty messy and Jeff ‘strongly appreciates no help in cleaning.’ Well, at least you cleaned before we got here… Jeff has moved his mattress into the closet and left Him the spring bed in the main room. It is too difficult to move the spring mattress into the close and Jeff prefers to sleep on the real mattress. This leaves Him with the whole apartment.
Going into the closet, Jeff pulls out the large piece of luggage that has all the stuff He left with him before going on the trip. He gets the carrier bag out and returns Joe’s books; Lonesome Traveler, How to Lose Friends and Alienate People, and Down and Out in Paris and London.
As a gift, He had the father bring Jack Kerouac’s The Darma Bums from His personal collection. Jeff thanks Him for the book, goes to class and leaves Him alone to relax. He takes this opportunity to open the large bag. All of these clothes seem pointless after living out of a rucksack for so long. He finds the CDs and puts in Yonder
Mountain String Band ‘Mountain Tracks, Volume 1.’
After a shower, He finds Himself staring in the mirror at His hairy face. His beard is thick and bushy. The hair is high on His cheeks and low on His neck. The easy part is over; we are back where we started. This was as far as the plans went. What to do now? He does not know. Why stop? The end is the beginning of anew. He picks up the razor, lathers His face with shaving cream and begins to shave off the beard.
It takes twenty minutes and three razors to completely shave off the beard. But once He is finally done, He finds Himself sitting at the table in the middle of Jeff’s room smoking another joint.
‘This one is for you Beard,’ He inhales deeply.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t at least leave me some sideburns.’ Harry snorts. ‘It really would have completed my look.’
‘Don’t worry Harry. I’m about to give you a trim too.’
Chase and Richy begin to laugh.
‘And you too guys. Everybody’s going to get a little trim.’
The laughter dies down. He finishes the rest of the joint in peaceful reflection. Finding scissors in the large bag, He goes back into the bathroom. First He trims and shaves Richy into a nice orderly patch. Then Chase gets trimmed. And finally, He cuts the wings off of Harry.
Back in the main room, He sits on the bed and has a cigarette. No one is saying anything. He digs out the book Lonely Plant: Europe on a Shoestring the friend, Will, gave Him as a farewell gift before leaving the States. He spends time looking over the map of Europe on the front pages.
He must have fallen asleep because He is startled
awake when Jeff comes back from his classes. They smoke a joint and make their way out to the bars of Amsterdam. Drunk, they end up at the Paradiso and spend the rest of the night dancing with the all the cute girls.
He spends the days waking up to Jeff leaving for class. He does not get out of bed until He has spent many hours reading Anna Karenina. You gotta finish this book! He smokes weed constantly and does not care if it is day or night. A week passes in this fashion and He ends up finishing Anna. He leaves the book with Komo, Jeff’s neighbor. Komo told Him, over a joint, he wanted to get into Russian novels.
Besides going to coffeeshops and seeing Galactic at the Melkweg, the only other time He has left Jeff was to visit with Bonny, the ex-Dutch professor. Too soon Jeff has grown envious and annoyed of this freeloading lifestyle.
His beard is more than just stubbles now but everyone is so spaced out little conversation is held. Until one day Chase speaks up, ‘Johnny! Amsterdam is slapping you around like a dirty whore. You need to get your head out of this cloud and do something. We all know we can’t spend our days here in Jeff’s apartment. What are you going to do!?’
‘Meh, I don’t know,’ He begins to roll another joint.
‘What about the book!?’ Coughing. ‘What about your sense of adventure? What about doing something with your life?’ Coughing.
‘My book? Hum, I must have spaced it out,’ He says as smoke slowly exhales from His mouth and nostrals.
‘You’ve spaced out on everything,’ I join in. ‘You’ve spent your whole time here in coffeeshops and bed.’
‘I shaved your ass off, that’s something.’
‘Not enough man. Come on, I must agree with Chase. We need to do something. Be the creator of your own
destiny.’
‘The creator of my own destiny… You guys! That’s it!’ He stands from the bed and starts pacing around the room, taking puffs from the joint. ‘I am the creator. Everything in my life depends on me!’
He takes two, three final puffs off the joint and puts on the new kakis and a t-shirt. He leaves Jeff’s apartment and makes the way to the metro.
After buying a ticket, He is not sure how to get through the gates. He goes in the exit and the security men stop Him. They show Him how the metro ticket is inserted into the machine to open the gates. Ha-ha, this is new to us... paying to use the metro. He takes the metro all the way to Centraal Station. There, He buys a train ticket to Venice.
Before He hurries back to Jeff’s apartment to pack, He stops by a money exchange to change out Zloties, Hryvnias, Forints and Korunas into Euros. The only currency that cannot be exchanged is the Ukrainian Hryvnia.
With the money, He heads over to Rasta Baby to pick up two grams of Orange Weed. Since He is close, He stops by the Siberie to buy some Lavandor to smoke. He hangs out in the coffeeshop for an hour talking to the pretty girl working behind the counter. She remembers Him from when He would come in almost every day. She is excited to see Him again and to hear about the travels. It’s nice to know people still remember us.
Finally gathering the strength to leave, He decides to walk across town back to Jeff’s. Walking down Spuistraat, He stops in a smart shop and buys some Hawaiian mushrooms.
With both weed and mushrooms, He is ready to find a new home; except for one thing. He needs new reading material!
Spuistraat soon leads to Spui where every Friday the Boekenmarkt is held. Luckily for Him, today is Friday. He digs through the many crates of English and Dutch books but becomes overwhelmed with the choices. Eventually He finds Himself holding James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and John Updike, Museums and Women and Other Stories. Still having a ways to walk until Jeff’s apartment, He pays for the books and starts on the walk.
Coming home from classes, Jeff finds Him digging through the bags.
‘Going somewhere?’ Jeff asks seriously.
‘As a matter of fact, I am,’ He laughs. ‘I just bought myself a train ticket and I’m leaving tomorrow.'
Jeff rolls a joint while watching Him move about the room trying to figure out summer clothes to pack in the rucksack.
‘I’m going to have to leave this big bag here again,’ He huffs in excited anxiety. ‘I’ll have FedEx come get it or something. I don’t know.’
‘Don’t worry man. I’m here till July,’ Jeff hands Him the lit joint.
Jeff is looking online and finds out The Opposites will be performing the next day at the Paradiso. Amsterdam, you are such a tease. But we got better things to take care of. Once He is done packing, the two go to the Cuban Bar and spend the night drinking beer, smoking joints and flirting with the bartenders.
‘I know what you want to do with that,’ Jeff jokes after taking a shot of tequila.
‘Yeah, I know twenty things I want to do with that.’ He leans back on the barstool and watches the girl with the tight ass walk away from Him.
‘Ha-ha, nah man. I can think of over a hundred things
worthy to do with that. But I was talking about your book.’
‘My book? What about my book?’ He is still staring at the girl's ass.
‘I can tell you want it to be something great. The way you to talk about it, you have such optimism.'
‘Well, it’s just all talk right now.'
‘But all the reading that you’re doing; Jack Kerouac, Leo Tolstoy, George Orwell. These are great writers. And you… you want to be a great writer.'
‘Don’t forget about Tom Robbins!’ He is facing the bar again. ‘Of course I want success. But I’m not seeking greatness. What I really want… what it is that I really want… is to simply write.’
The next morning, He wakes up early, showers and shaves. This time, He leaves long stubbles for sideburns and a moustache.
‘Today,’ He declares to Himself in the mirror, ‘Today, I’m going to prove to myself that I AM the creator.
-----------------
Snorting key bumps of cocaine at the Weesperplein metro stop probably isn’t one of my best ideas. But it’s the day after Queen’s Day and I haven’t slept in over thirty-six hours. It’s chill though. Being ten o’clock in the morning after one of the biggest Dutch parties of the year, there are
only a couple people on the platform. I’m paranoid, however, that the white powder is in my moustache so I keep rubbing my right index finger under my nose.
My flight back to Croatia leaves in an hour and there’s no way I’m going to catch it. It’ll take me forty minutes of metro and train just to get to the airport. I’ve come back to Amsterdam to pick up my large piece of luggage and now
I’m using it to hide behind to do another bump.
‘Fuck, this is hilarious,’ I think to myself. ‘I wasn’t sure what I was going to do for my epilogue. But this… this should be it.’
I’ve spent the past month and a half living in Split, Croatia writing the pages to my first novel. My friends from Amsterdam asked me why I’m writing a book. The only honest thing I could tell them is that it’s the most self-fulfilling way for me to spend my time. They looked back at me with envious eyes and said, ‘Yeah, who wouldn’t want to live in paradise and pretend to be a writer.’
I might have found this discouraging if I didn’t
remember the words my mother would tell me. She would
say, ‘Create the life that you want.’ When I would recall those words, I would brush off the mocking tones and remember I was doing this as a reward for my self and nobody else.
I lift my head and rub my finger over my moustache.
Excitement builds inside me as I imagine me typing out the final words to my book. I laugh to myself and think how inspirational life can be when making a clear effort to see it. But now, I’m going back to spend my summer of solitude, relaxing with the simplicities of the stoned beaches and the high mountains. I just need to get back there.
I can hear the metro clanking down the tunnel and soon
the air begins to slightly stir. I take the final opportunity to
lean behind my big piece of luggage and take one more key bump for the road. ‘Fuck,’ I say out-loud. ‘This shit is good.'
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Saturday, January 23, 2010
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