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SHORT STORY

Slobodan Ilic

THE JOB

As I was walking along I often looked back to make sure no one had me followed. It felt important to know I was free for a while, that there was no one behind my back. Of course, I also knew this wasn't possible; anyhow, it's how I wanted to feel: unprotected.
That was my last day in the town. On the next day I was going on a trip I didn't know anything about. Only later would I learn some more about the journey, just as I knew now that before I went I was to have an unpleasing night - a night of cold sweat and wild guessing.
I slowly went on to my flat.
Lately, I was changing the residence every two days. It often happened as I was heading to the street I had just started to get used to, a man would intercept me, hand me a piece of paper and then disappear. This was the usual way I acquired details on my new destination. I wasn't giving it much thought whether it was right or wrong, all I had to do was to follow the instructions. I never dwelled on any kind of revolt either, for all in all, though without any specific job, I was too tired of everything, including messing around with things of no concern for me.
My family changed flats whenever I did so we rarely met.
That was a part of the game. That's what I was told some time ago after I tried to raise a question about my family. After a brow was raised I realized that questions only complicated things already too confused. Of course, whenever I allowed myself to think, I'd think about how all those allegedly complicated things came only as a back side of something that was, in any case, happening in a simplest possible way. I was sure of that, but I wouldn't want to mess into something for which the importance of my presence was as small as a grain of sand on a beach.
The meetings with my wife and children lasted shortly, in obligatory presence of two men whose job was to sit at a table and enjoy drinks leisurely, at times trying to play it funny with my kids that swarmed around their trousers like birds. In fact they just waited for me to get lost as soon as possible. I had no chance to be alone with my wife, and with the kids I tried to act as a father who takes interest in their fantasies. The kids looked at me in wonder, especially when I'd take a horse for a giraffe. I couldn't hide my absent-mindedness. And the kids were quite sensitive about my lapses, or rather about the absence I radiated, spreading it around like unbearable stench. The wife was trying to act normal, accepting it all as a price to my job. I could never fully comprehend the job I was doing. If someone would ask me what I was doing I wouldn't know what to say. Some people would probably mind that, get frustrated, but not me. I didn't know what my job was exactly, however I was living quite well. There was nothing to worry about; someone would always show up to take care of a problem instead of me, if there was any. I was just switching flats and often meet with a man I was told to be my friend, which I accepted without hesitation since there was nobody else to exchange a word or two with. My job didn't seem to involve meeting new people, and that I liked. New acquaintances were pure waste of time, and everyone would agree on that. My friend, named Ozluf, was kind to me and as I could notice, he had all the qualities needed for a solid and reliable friendship.
Our meetings lasted much longer than those I had with my family. What made them so pleasant was the fact that no one was there to watch. Or maybe there was, but fortunately faceless.
Ozluf was a man who knew everything. And all that he knew he was telling very clearly and simply, so that one could say that with him by my side I myself knew almost everything. When I say everything I think of what was most important, what the world was founded on. But since there was a multitude of worlds, Ozluf was in charge of the one the two of us were meeting in. What was that world like, of course, only Ozluf knew and he never spoke straightforward about it, at least not about its basic features. If I knew almost as much as he did he was ahead inasmuch as he knew those bits I wouldn't dare to ask; what was my job about; where was I heading the next day; why was I changing flats; why was I separated from my wife and kids; why was I followed by two men every time I went to see my family; why was Ozluf my only friend. Those few things that dodged me could be a basis for a normal and humble life.
The questions I couldn't answer would appear and swiftly fade away, leaving the space for all that was supposed to be known, and what was mostly Ozluf's job. In a word, Ozluf was my friend who, above all, filled in the blanks in me which he knew about and that would otherwise stay blank. He tried hard to do his part, that is to provide me with all that I, his friend, was missing. The information he was giving I accepted without any doubt, and that made our relationship lasting and steady. I knew very little about Ozluf, only what he had told me, and he spoke very little of himself, saying that it wouldn't be polite and after all it would be much more useful to pass on new information than to talk about his childhood or his family. True, sometimes he'd say something that seemed quite personal, but he'd quickly change the subject, rushing to inform me about something much more important, something that was a question of the day, and that he estimated as far more significant for me. Yes, Ozluf took every occasion to assert he was talking only about important things, and that everything else could be postponed. There would be time for everything else, and what he had to tell at the moment couldn't wait.
I saw no reason for it to be any different. Before each meeting I felt pleasant excitement, I liked the way he spoke. Every time he'd show up, he seemed calm and prepared, and that made me peaceful and in the mood for long walks along randomly chosen streets. Only sometimes I'd think that in fact we were always walking down the same path that only seemed to be a new one, never walked across before. It also sometimes seemed, but only sometimes, that I had already heard all the things he was talking about. But I was thinking about that only when drifting off for a moment, though I tried to keep my concentration, that is presence, fully; I wouldn't want to miss a word Ozluf uttered, since no matter how long he'd talk, he spoke with utmost precision and reliability. That was Ozluf. My friend.
Unlike our usual meetings, today's one was very brief: other lasted usually five to six hours. This one however lasted less that an hour, but it gave me strange feeling that Ozluf said, that is repeated all that he had ever told, with some additional information that made the meeting reach an acme of our companionship.
In short, the conversation comprised all that Ozluf usually talked about: who would be shot and when; who would be ousted; who was new in the game; who was to be counted on; who was suspicious; who crossed the line; who couldn't hang on; whose flat would get busted and entire family killed; who would be killed on Christmas in a church; for whose larger authority would they make way; when would he (the man I had never met in person, but according to Ozluf's words, our boss or the president, as Ozluf called him, the boss of all of us who belonged to the world Ozluf and I ever talked about) decide to change the course; when would his daughter get married; when would she get murdered on his call; when would his son waste lives of those who looked at him wrongly; when would his wife instruct killings of their close family; when would he kill his own brother; when would he approve of his wife's murder; which one of them would be faster in attempts to kill each other; when would they step back and deal with each other away from the public; when would some new people take over their places; when would they get rid of those who used to get their dirty work done; in which order would those murders occur; how far would they dare to go in making their next move; which of the two of them, he or his wife, would make a mistake after all; how would the end look like and would they engage or it would happen without them. And everything else he was mentioning at previous meetings. This time he frequently asserted dates, hours, unthinkable situations for those events. He told me of various strategies and concepts, as he always used to explain in detail all the stages of what was to happen soon. I say, this time he briefed me shorter than before, but his calmness and good mood never changed. The same expression could be seen on his face all the time - the expression of undoubted satisfaction.
He also mentioned details about my journey on the next day. But he didn't dwelled too much on it. He just said I had nothing to worry about, and that I'd certainly enjoy it. He added that after that journey there wouldn't be anything to regret for any longer, except for the dreams of a journey like that. He promised that my family would enjoy as much as I would. A special program was outlined for my children, in which they would play with other kids. As for my wife, she and the kids would get separated at times and I could already tell, it would do good for her.
And then we hugged. It was a ritual that we never left out as I can recall. We'd just hug and hold our breath for a few seconds. Then we'd step back and look into each other's eyes. This time, instead of holding the breath back, we kissed and then turned away, each in his own direction.
It never happened that we take the same route after we part, although sometimes I needed to go in the same direction as Ozluf did.
That's why I'd often circle around, or slow down my pace, turning around at times to make sure Ozluf disappeared from my sight. Then I'd turn back and walk my way after Ozluf.
I particularly liked the circling. I liked taking steps after Ozluf's. I could feel I was absorbing his traces through my shoes, which gave me chills alike those when I take a pee.
I went pass a corner and climbed the steel stairway on the backside of my current flat. All the flats I ever lived at had no phone.
I made myself comfortable, took a shower and laid on a sofa.
All the flats I knew were always tastily furnished, but with no TV or music sets, books and as I said, phone.
Over the past years, my life and my job were reduced to laying around in a flat, occasionally meeting my family, and of course meeting with my friend Ozluf every day. Nothing else was happening to me. I was never in touch with my old acquaintances, but I knew all about them. Having Ozluf for a friend was good enough, having him help me with all the things I'd want to know about others, so that seeing my old friends would be damaging to them. Damaging in a way that I couldn't be of any assistance to them. I could only, with a slight absent-mindedness, watch them die, simply fade away, but not as I meet them, but soon after, always after I go away, to take a walk with my friend Ozluf, to drink a cup of hibiscus tea or rather plain milk, that he introduced to our entire ritual. Drinking milk with someone, while your old friend is being buried alive is certainly more comfortable than watching those shovels in hands, rolled up sleeves, beads of sweat falling off the foreheads straight onto clumps of earth - in all, the entire effort those red-eyed people were making. There had to be a passion to it, just like there was passion in our joint drinking cups of milk, a passion of evading what was really going on, as the reality had become unreal long ago. Ozluf was the one to help me realize that, without whom I'd feel the same disgust for milk as I had felt when I was a child, when my mother would force on her breast into my mouth.
I got up fresh like never before. I can't say what made me feel that joy.
I heard a doorbell and then someone unlocking his way in. I welcomed those sounds. A man, whom I never saw before came in, placed a black briefcase and a white envelope on the table, not saying a word. I liked his look, though I hardly caught it as he went out a little faster then he came in.
I opened the envelope. It said Larnaka, time of the flight, time needed to dress up, time needed to get to the airport, instructions on the briefcase, name and a photo of the man I was supposed to hand it to, what I was supposed to say, how and when I would return. I adored those things. Doing the job you didn't know anything about. I mean, that's pure professionalism. To be a businessman without a specific business. I never met anyone with a similar job, and I couldn't convey my experience to nobody else. I think that's the best possible situation a man could accomplish in his lifetime. Like God. But of course, I didn't think like that of myself, since I don't like God; in fact, I can't understand that kind of arrogance, that forced absence. I'm just a serene man, and terms like happiness, good, bad, beautiful, ugly, right, wrong etc. in fact mean a little to me. That's not my life, that's not my job, that's no concern of mine.
The flight was very comfortable.
Larnaka is a beautiful city.
The man I handed the briefcase to was very kind, although we didn't exchange a single word. I became familiar with the nuances of silence, and I know this meeting made quite an impression on him, as well as on me. The silence, just like speech, was needless in the world I was dwelling in. I wouldn't know that world to its fullest, but I'm sure a better one couldn't be imagined.
The return was the best possible return of my life. If I'd try to say some more about it, I'd only get messed up and tell something that has little to do with it.
Immediately upon my arrival, I went to see Ozluf. Not because I missed him, but more as a part of the job.
Ozluf informed me that my family was all right and that they had fine time while I was away. Then we went for a drink. As we were having our milk he kept silent, but after we got up he kissed me on the forehead.
We were walking down a steep street when he, seemingly casual, informed me that the boss, i.e. the president wished to see me. He said that it was a good thing for me. Nothing special had happened, he added, only time had come for us to meet. I only listened and nodded, more to myself than to show my approval. I was proud of Ozluf. He shared all the necessary details on my meeting the president, then stopped for a moment, turned around and picked a twig with a maple leaf. He spinned it between his thumb and index finger, looked at me and smiled. I saw all of his smiles in that one. The leaf slided off his hand, then he kissed me again and walked away.
The night before meeting the president I spent enjoying my sofa, at times losing myself in dreams. Each time I'd wake for a moment, I'd remember the scenes from the last dream. In each that followed a face from the previous one would show up. For a second I thought how I'd wish for dreams I had to continue endlessly. The face that reappeared in each dream was no other than boss', that is the president's. I was thrilled. Ass much as I wanted to wake up, dreams drew me back. At times I'd end up in a state I couldn't tell between being awake and asleep, between a face and the one that was in any case the same. That obstinate monotony gave me the feeling of a flying carpet. If there were anything to wish for, I'd wish neither to return to dreams nor to wake up. Then I remembered Ozluf, my friend, that told me of dreams long ago. He told me that all of us that belong to this world, which is only one of many worlds, dream in the same way, about the same figure, the figure of the president, i.e. the boss, and that there was no man who didn't experience this. Listening to Ozluf, I imagined dreaming about that figure, for it seemed to me that I had never dreamt like that before. But soon I found out myself I was only forgetful, or one of those that didn't appreciate dreams.
I knew nothing about the president, i.e. the boss. I couldn't tell what he was the boss of, and to what he was presiding. Then I remembered a conversation when Ozluf told me that it was the least important, and I can remember well now that made childishly happy. I felt the same again - happiness.
I hadn't seen my family for quite some time. But the job demanded so.
A man drove me to the president's, that is the boss' home, that I used to imagine as something like a castle, but it was really a humble little house, at the foothill of the mountains I couldn't recognize - but I immediately thought, those were the mountains I'd like to own. I couldn't wait to shake the president's, i.e. the boss' hand. Ozluf once told me it was the softest hand he had ever felt.
And so it was. I'll never forget that handshake. Then the president, i.e. the boss offered me to to sit on the sofa. I still hadn't heard his voice. I wasn't speaking either. We smiled in silence, looking at each other's eyes. For a moment he reached out to take a mask from the table, and he put it over his face. The mask was shaped like a little pig that I would - if something like that was possible - fall in love with immediately. I laughed and, putting the mask down on the table he laughed back at me. We just sat and laughed. I had never had such a healthy laugh with anyone before. Then he got up and strolled around the small chamber, touching the unusual pieces of furniture with his gentle hands. If I can remember correctly, I had seen such furniture at the Museum of Inquisition in Lima. This memory beamed me with joy, as I knew I would be able to see those same objects again.
In the meantime a woman came up carrying a tray with two cups of milk, and left it on the table. After she disappeared behind a double door, he returned to the sofa to share a sip with me.
I couldn't speak of his beauty without missing something out. For a second I got so loosened up that I forgot if all of that was still a part of the job, or just a relaxation I needed above else.
The president, that is the boss, was irresistible. I thought I could be doing just about anything with him.
Then he got up again and took off his jacket, his trousers, the tie and the shirt, and then his underwear. Suddenly he ended up wearing only socks and shoes. When I saw him like that I felt urge to undress myself, and so I did. Then we sat down again, drinking some more milk. The president still hadn't uttered a word, but somehow I could foretell the sound of his voice. I had heard the tone, no matter how silent it was. He still smiled as he was slowly taking a blue metallic tube out from a drawer. He squeezed out a long line of grease on his hand, and then he got up, kneeled on the sofa and carefully greased the crack on his behind. Although he must have been around sixty, his cheeks seemed firm as of an athlete. I was enchanted.
I also wore nothing but socks and shoes, and at first I couldn't tell what to do. Should I had drank the last sip of milk, gotten up, walked around, suggested him something?
He was kneeling bent over the sofa, and his view must had ended someplace between the edges of the carpet and the curtains. I wished I had his sight. I didn't know what I'd do with it, but somehow I knew it was a life necessity. Then I realized. His look meant only one thing - waiting.
And the waiting was something I could least stand. I got up and approached him from his behind. I put my penis into his anus and stopped for a second. Then I pushed it to the end, and started pushing it in and puling it out. I felt like being born again. He moaned, and that's when I heard his voice for the first time. It was a bit squeaky, just like something I yearned for all my life.
As I was thrusting my penis into his center, I imagined my wife playing with the kids. She was trying to show them how to hold a pencil properly. The kids were still clumsy, but she kept her patience and didn't give up. Placing the pencils back between their fingers, she sometimes wandered off and thought about me, about the moment we could all be together. Pushing it into his anus, I felt how I missed my wife, how I wished to talk to her and play with the kids. At those moments I sang to myself something like, do you remember how much I loved you, then I stopped to try and explain to her and the kids that I would make it all up to them. I could hear myself swearing, as he still moaned I swore I'd quit my job, I would never do anything ever again, I'd spend all my time with them, and it was as if my wife could hear me and she started laughing with joy, as I was thrusting hard into his asshole, I reassured her, and she kissed the kids and left to check the oven for a moment, just when I tried to pull my penis out, which made him instantly turn towards me as he wished to tell me something, but he gave up just like my wife gave up thinking about me, and I didn't know what to think about anymore, but then I thought of Ozluf and suddenly yelled his name out loud, that made the president, i.e. the boss, jerk, and then utter, that's enough.
Soon after, he saw me off to the door. A smile still beamed over our faces, like it was to stay there forever. I went to the car, still naked, and saw Ozluf inside. I asked him if I could count on a leave of absence soon. Ozluf replied encouragingly, it was the least that could be done for me. Hearing those words, I leaned on the back seat, realizing at last that was the most important to me.

(An excerpt from Slobodan Ilic, A?

As a special edition of the magazine Biblioteka Alexandria, the colection of short stories A? was published in June 2001)