21

THEY WERE SITTING at the bar in the Blue Lagoon. Branoš was telling Sobotka a story but then realized his companion was paying no attention. Sobotka was smiling dreamily, nodding and drinking. He seemed like he was gazing into himself with an odd glow, like a poignant child.

Nikola also noticed this and whispered to Branoš, “What’s up with him?”

Branoš shrugged, turned toward Sobotka, and said, for the sake of saying something, “This rakija of his is not bad.”

He was referring to the homemade plum brandy that the owner, Rafo, had been bragging about, calling it his weekend special. Sobotka only nodded in return.

Rafo was bragging about the marketing strategies he’d learned in Germany.

“You always have to have an Angebot, a special offer,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s right, nothing without an Angebot.”

“No. Without an Angebot, you’re an amateur. I see them, opening bars and—”

At that moment, Sobotka exclaimed, “A round for everyone. On me!”

“You celebrating?” Nikola said.

“Yes!” said Sobotka sharply.

He did not feel like explaining that he’d become a grandfather. This was sort of an odd thing for him to say out loud. Or it just seemed that it meant he would then have to tell a really long story.

Earlier, Viktoria had sent him a text: “Another girl in the family. Jasmina is doing well. We’ve been swimming, although the sea’s still cold. But we’re used to it. Christina sends her regards.”

This Christina kept sending her regards, which confused him, but he decided not to dwell on it.

He called Jasmina’s cell. She didn’t pick up. He thought she must have been exhausted from the birthing so he sent her a congratulatory text.

He had just received an answer: “Thank you. Jasmina.”

Before the text’s arrival, it felt hypocritical to celebrate, as if he’d be celebrating something he was only imagining was his to celebrate, something that didn’t acknowledge him as being a part of it. You can’t have a granddaughter if you don’t have a daughter, he’d thought. But now it felt right for him to buy everyone drinks.

He clinked glasses with Nikola, Branoš, Oleg, Lipša, Erol—everyone within reach.

“Friends, I’m happy! If I die tomorrow, I will die a happy man!” he said, without explanation.

“C’mon, stop fucking around!” Oleg said. “You can’t die tomorrow. That’s not what the plan says.”

They toasted.

Everybody loved Oleg, maybe even more than they loved Nikola. Perhaps because he drank with more fervor and eloquence. He kept buying everyone drinks and every day was like a holiday with him, so much so that Nikola had to keep prodding him to cool it.

The previous night, back at their apartment, Nikola had said, “You can’t keep getting them drunk, they have to work tomorrow.”

“But they do work. Even harder than we deserve.”

“Okay, but don’t say that in front of them. They’ll start slacking off.”

“Ha ha. Them, slacking off? They’re working as if they were the owners. I was right, wasn’t I?” said Oleg drunkenly. “The country’s in crisis, yet we’re working. You have to celebrate that!”

“Yes, yes,” said Nikola quietly. “But we mustn’t mess things up now with all this drinking.”

“Too bad I can’t give them everything,” Oleg whispered, as if bad luck were preventing him from doing so. “But I’m going to, someday.”

“What are you going to give them?”

“Everything!” said Oleg drunkenly. “You’ve seen how much they love me. And I don’t deserve it at all. . . . Fuck.”

“You know,” Nikola said, looking at Oleg, “sometimes I really don’t get you.”

“Like that would be of much use to you.”

People thought of Oleg as a bit mysterious, a well-respected oddball, and Nikola was concerned about him. At times he appeared to be bright and cheerful, his eyes shining as if there was no tomorrow, and then he would look as if there were something chasing after him.

In any case, Oleg had completely disregarded his instructions about “moderate intimacy” and “keeping a polite distance.” When Nikola warned him, which happened mostly when he was already drunk, Oleg answered, “The organizer reserves the right to make changes to the event program.”

Now, talking loudly so the whole bar could hear, Oleg declared, “We’re drinking, but we’re not slacking off!”

The drinks Sobotka had bought were now in everyone’s hands. At least the weekend began tomorrow. Nikola didn’t care. Let them drink.

Then Nikola noticed Šeila come in. She was not alone. There was a man with her, and Nikola knew right away that this was the same guy, the American.

Sobotka also noticed Šeila and started to wave to her as if seeing a member of his own family. She seemed hesitant for a moment, because she’d noticed Nikola, but then she came over.

“Šeila!” Sobotka said. “It’s as if you knew!”

“What?” she said.

“Our Jasmina had a baby today!”

Sobotka hugged her as if she were Jasmina, or at least his connection to Jasmina. She suddenly found herself in the center of all his joy. She was also glad to hear this news from afar, this virtual bond with the past.

“What are you having, Šeila? You and your friend,” asked Sobotka.

Šeila explained to Alex that this was the father of her childhood best friend, and her friend now lived far away and had just had a baby.

Alex congratulated Sobotka and Sobotka realized he had to announce the news to everyone else as well. “Hey everyone, I’m a grandfather!”

“Wow!” shouted Oleg, clinking glasses with Sobotka again, then with the American and with Šeila.

Nikola was looking at Šeila over Sobotka’s back. She nodded to him.

Oleg said to Alex, “And who are you, my friend?”

“Don’t understand,” he responded in English.

“Oleg. Nice to meet you,” said Oleg, also in English.

“Alex. Glad to meet you, too.”

“We’re having a party tonight, so you should be prepared for anything.”

“I see,” Alex said with a laugh.

Then Oleg went over to Nikola.

“This guy’s American,” he said as if he’d sobered up a bit.

“I know,” said Nikola.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“What is a Yank doing here?”

“That I don’t know.”

“Well, shit,” said Oleg. “We’ll have to get him drunk and find out.”

“You think?”

“If I can’t get him drunk, that means we have a problem.”

Nikola wanted to give him more information, but Oleg was already standing next to Alex, raising his glass.

Šeila walked over to Nikola.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he said.

He looked as if he were still upset. She said, “So you still can’t get over not knowing what I do for a living?”

Nikola dropped his head. He knew she was out to provoke him, but he couldn’t gauge how much. If the Yank was here to keep an eye on him and Oleg, Šeila was being really provocative.

“Well, you know, sort of,” he said.

“That’s just unbelievable!” she said bitterly, as if continuing an old family fight.

Standing at the bar, he rested his forehead on his index finger and thumb, and started moving them around as if massaging. What was he supposed to answer? Until he found out what her job was, he didn’t know what answer he was supposed to give. If he told her that, she’d go crazy. And she’d think he was crazy. Dammit, just say what you’re doing with the American! The words hovered on the tip of his tongue.

“You find it unbelievable. I don’t. We obviously don’t understand each other.”

“But why?”

Because we are making goddamn turbines for a country under international embargo, for the enemies of America, and you’re here with a Yank, and they don’t come here on vacation. That’s what he thought about saying to her. It would have been lovely if he’d blurted it out before discovering what she was up to with this American guy. He was getting really fucking furious as he thought about this.

“You don’t trust me,” he said. “There are certain things you don’t want to tell me. Okay.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“It’s unbelievable how you just cut through everything,” she said, shaking her head.

He was fuming. He thought he could see her soul, but he still didn’t know who she was. She was so sexy, but he couldn’t reach her.

“Look, it’s just that one thing,” he said abruptly.

“But this one thing means everything. I’ve been going against this my entire life. Avoiding boss types.”

“Are you trying to say I’m sexist?”

“I’m a bit angry. Never mind . . . I did care about you, you know.”

“I cared about you, too,” he said stiffly, frowning at her.

“Fine. I can tell,” she said, making to turn around.

He used his hand to stop her and pleaded, with a grimace, “Tell me what you do. That’s all I’m asking!”

“You’re crazy. Honestly,” she said, looking at him in disbelief. “No. That’s not how it works!”

She moved away from him and left him staring at the drink in front of him on the bar. He wanted to smash his head into the glass. But he couldn’t do that here in front of the workers, Sobotka, Oleg. He couldn’t do anything.

He finished his drink and ordered another round. He could see that Šeila hadn’t left, but was standing near Sobotka and the American. But what could he do with that?

At that moment, Lipša, who’d been mingling, emerged in front of him.

“Look,” she said. “Don’t stare, be subtle . . . I think there are three of Ragan’s guys here. Over there, at the table in the corner.”

Nikola glanced over. He hadn’t even noticed the three before with all the smoke and people milling about. He shifted position so he could take a better look at them. They were dressed in sports clothes. Yes, they did seem somewhat apart from everyone else, alone.

“I remember faces, and I used to work there,” she said. “I’d say they’re his men.”

“They’re just what I needed. I could kill someone tonight, really.”

“Hey, what’s up with you? Oleg is clearly not himself, but I’d thought you’d be acting more normal.”

“You’d think.”

“You’re running a factory here! Have you all gone nuts or what? Four beers and that’s it—crazy? C’mon, I’ve seen my fair share of crazy! For God’s sake, remember what you’re supposed to be doing here!”

Nikola looked at her . . . and thought how she’d just earned her paycheck.

“Okay,” he said.

He sent a text to Erol: “Come over here, but make it casual.”

Lipša was still standing next to him. “Has Šeila been giving you the runaround?”

“No, no.”

“Sure she hasn’t.”

“You know her?”

“Sort of. Nerd.”

“Really? You know why she is in town, what she does?”

“Nope, I didn’t even know she was here. She was gone for a while. She was supposed to marry some American guy, that’s what they used to say. Who knows, maybe that’s the guy.”

“I see.”

“On second thought, it can’t be,” she said. “I think her guy was black.”

With that, Lipša left.

Erol leaned over to Nikola at the bar. Nikola explained the problem.

Erol eyed the guys in the corner and said, “I don’t know them. They’re not from the war.”

“What do you suggest?” Nikola asked.

Erol thought hard.

Nikola added, “How many men do you have here? If we’re going after them, I’m coming with you.”

Erol sized Nikola up and concluded that he was quite drunk. Still, it was nice to hear this from the boss.

“You’ve become a real man of the people,” he told him.

Nikola sighed and said, “Ah, I don’t even know anymore. . . .”

“Look, they’re not doing anything. If we make a fuss we’ll be asking for trouble.”

“They’re sitting very close. Breathing down our necks. That’s what they’re trying to tell us.”

“Me and the guys will go and stand closer to them, just so they understand we’re not scared of them. You stay out of it, whatever happens.”

“Do you think they’re armed?”

“So are we. We’ll see how well informed they are,” he said.

Just then live music struck up, coming from young men who’d walked in with their instruments.

Those from here who’ve gone away

I used to see them in my dreams

I don’t believe they’d lie to me

It’s better for them there, they say.

The band of four had with them small drums, a concertina, a saxophone, and an acoustic guitar.

“Who are they?”

“This is a band called Turban-Rap. I have no idea what they’re doing here,” said Erol.

Oleg was meanwhile toasting Sobotka with his glass raised high.

Nikola was watching the musicians and the rollicking hubbub, while stealing glances at Ragan’s men, who were busy looking at each other around their table. They seemed to be the only ones who were not taking part in the festivities. Then one of them moved his head so as to signal something, and they started to rise. Nikola’s eyes followed them as they walked out.

Look, the music made them leave, he thought.

At that moment, Oleg came over to Nikola and said, “I told Lipša to get some music for Sobotka, and she got these reggae-rappers. . . . Crazy woman!”

Sobotka was waving his arms in the air.

“He seems to like it,” said Nikola.

Oleg was looking at Sobotka as the man was standing with his arms outstretched, immersed in the reggae-rap-sevdah music. Then he said into Nikola’s ear, “I don’t think the Yank’s a problem.”

“How do you know?”

“He seems to be some kind of scientist.”

“A scientist?”

“Yes. I kept calling him ‘captain,’ so he got tired of it. He told me he was a scientist.”

“You believe him?”

“Well, yeah. . . . I mean, when he said ‘scientist’ he looked at me, like, as if he were apologizing for not being a captain. And he didn’t tell me what kind of scientist, he went all quiet, like it was something secret.”

“And that doesn’t sound suspicious to you?”

Oleg looked at Nikola like a drunken professor planning to give one of his last lectures. “It sounds suspicious to you, Nikola, not to me. You should know that’s not how a spy acts. The guy is totally confused . . . I know spies. If he were a spy, he’d know I was checking on him. I mean, if he were a spy, he’d tell me what kind of scientist he was, he’d have a perfect cover story in case anyone asked him something, you know? He wouldn’t just say scientist and then shut up and raise his eyebrows, as if he wants to say, I’m not saying another word. Remember, I have training. For fuck’s sake, those stories were a part of my training. I always knew exactly what to say.”

“You weren’t a spy!”

“I wasn’t a spy, Nikola, goddammit, I was smuggling arms! You can’t say you’re smuggling arms. When you can’t say something, they make up a detailed, logical story for you. You don’t say you’re a scientist when you’re in some fucking godforsaken place and then clam up. You don’t do that. You know? That’s suspicious.”

Nikola was already slow from all the booze. He also wanted to make sure, because of Šeila. “So it is suspicious, but it’s not suspicious?”

“Yes! It’s suspicious to you. It’s suspicious to amateurs, not to me. See?”

“All right, I’m an amateur.”

“That’s fine. You’re better off.”

Nikola took a sip, lost in his thoughts, and then he started laughing. “A scientist?”

Oleg liked seeing Nikola laugh; he had looked very glum the entire evening—in fact, for some time now.

“A scientist!” Nikola couldn’t stop laughing.

“Yeah, I know!” Oleg was also laughing now. “He came here to study us, I guess.”

“Holy shit!”

The rappers were getting silly:

The old poet’s dead now, and so is Emina

All that’s left for us are turbine machines

The poet’s returned, a baby for Jasmina

The craft of the turbine will never leave us . . .

Sobotka was dancing, waving his arms.

Nikola headed over to Šeila.