22

‘They are waiting for you,’ the child said to him one morning.

Kosef J had just got out of the liftcage. He hadn’t seen the child for some time. This is why he had a good look at him, and also because he could sense a change in his way of being. He couldn’t tell whether it was only his face that had turned sadder or perhaps the child had become more pensive.

‘He’s growing,’ Kosef J said to himself.

The child had been waiting for him at the corner, this was obvious to Kosef J, and this made him a little apprehensive. Who could have possibly sent the kid? The short, stocky and cheerful man? The prison governor perhaps? Kosef J felt a slight shiver. Could it be that the wretched day had finally come when he was meant to be thrown out of the prison for good?

‘Who? Kosef J asked sensing a bad omen.

‘Come,’ the child said.

Kosef J didn’t repeat his question, in fear of the response, so he just followed the kid. They left the main prison compound and joined the gravel path. They crossed the two–three deserted internal courtyards that had become so familiar to him, and headed towards the rubbish heaps. The child led the way, walking a few steps ahead, without turning his head to check what Kosef J might have been up to.

‘Should I flee?’ the idea suddenly crossed Kosef J’s mind, but he immediatey shook his head to brush such a stupid thought aside.

The child led him to the derelict pool, where they came to a halt. Then the child went up to the edge of the pool, knelt down and started to stare at the water. Kosef J stopped right behind him.

‘This water is really clear!’ the child observed.

Kosef J came closer and looked at the water, too. Someone had skimmed off all the algae and the thin film of water had turned into a mirror in which one could indeed see the reflection of the sky.

‘What are you doing with the hedgehog?’ Kosef J asked, having suddenly recalled an earlier image by way of a mysterious association.

The child turned towards him, looked at him for a moment or so, and smiled. He didn’t reply, and Kosef J was sure that in his heart of hearts the kid didn’t find the question worthy of a response.

They continued to walk. They headed towards the cellars with all those barrels and Kosef J started to have an inkling as to what all this was about.

The fugitive was awaiting them at the cellar door. Not without a sense of pride, he was wearing a leather apron and he was armed with a trowel.

‘You’ve come!’ he cried out.

Kosef J didn’t dislike seeing this man again. After all, the fugitive hadn’t done any harm to him, and his cheerful face reminded him of his mother’s equally cheerful face.

‘Hey!’ Kosef J greeted him.

The man untied his apron and put the trowel down.

‘I’m really dirty,’ he said, pointing at his hands.

‘What the hell is he up to now?’ Kosef J wondered.

The man had no intention to wash his hands. He had owned up to having dirty hands, as he probably thought that this was the right thing to do. Then he pulled Kosef J inside.

‘Let me show you something,’ he said.

There wasn’t much to see inside. Kosef J looked around for a while and then, intrigued, turned towards the man.

‘I covered the holes,’ the man explained.

Indeed, Kosef J got the impression that there were signs of preparation for the winter.

‘I want to build a fireplace,’ the man said. ‘I know how to do it, and will do it.’

He then urged Kosef J to look behind the barrels.

‘The mattresses,’ the man said. ‘Here they are!’

And he threw himself on one, to demonstrate just how soft they were. Kosef J gathered momentum and also threw himself on a mattress. The man laughed. The child laughed. Kosef J laughed, too. The mattresses were made of plastic foils filled with dried algae. They were soft and sweet-smelling.

‘Now,’ the man said, ‘we have to get started on the fireplaces.’

‘To get started . . . ’ Kosef J repeated what he heard. ‘What did this man really mean? He had plans to put him to work again?’

‘This is why we want to ask you something,’ the man continued.

‘You, meaning who?’ Kosef J asked.

‘Us all,’ the man replied.

‘Us who?’ Kosef J wondered.

‘You know,’ the man said, ‘there’s a few of us. And we’d like you to buy us a spade.’

Kosef J didn’t expect such a turn. How unpredictable people have become. All people. The guards, his mother, the elderly men, the kid, the short, stocky and cheerful man, Rozette and all the unknown people who’d keep greeting him, standing by their front doors and waiting for him to turn up in town. And once again he had the impression that all the others knew something that he wasn’t yet privy to.

‘But what?’ Kosef J wondered.

‘We’ve saved up the money,’ the man continued as if this could act as the decisive factor in convincing Kosef J to buy the shovel.

‘And the others, where are they?’ Kosef J asked, quite ruffled by the thought that they were several.

‘At work,’ the man replied.

‘At work, I see,’ Kosef J’s brain echoed.

‘OK,’ he responded to the earlier question regarding the shovel.

‘Thank you,’ the man blurted out, and started to count the coins he’d been clutching in his fist.

Kosef J didn’t only buy a shovel. After a couple of days, he was also asked to buy a pickaxe. Then he was asked to buy a box of nails. In about ten days he also got around to buying a ball of string, an axeblade, a sawblade and a whole lot of other bits and bobs that could only come useful in a carpenters’ workshop.

Put in a situation to respond to all these requests, Kosef J felt quite anxious. The coins were rattling in his pocket, and he wasn’t sure how to behave in front of Fabius and Franz Hoss. How on earth was he meant to buy a shovel without anyone noticing? How could he possibly slip it on the cart without any of the guards getting wind of it or spotting it?

To make all these strange purchases, he relied on all the enthusiasm he kept stirring up in town. His presence on the streets had become such an important event that Kosef J had the impression that the entire town had suspended their activities only to spot him for a fleeting moment. People’s glances did no longer convey mere sympathy but something quite different, something outright conspiratorial.

‘Mr Kosef,’ the elderly men would say, ‘in case we could do something . . . ,’ and held a long silence after the word something, looking him straight in the eye.

‘Mr Kosef,’ the man with a short leg added, ‘I’m here for you. Just so you know. You can always find me here.’

‘And I’m always here, too,’ Bruno rounded this off.

All these glances carried the same meaning, as if wanting to convey that we trust you, Mr Kosef, give us a sign and you’ll see.

The day Kosef J was meant to buy the shovel he had the impression that all eyes were on him, basically saying, ‘Yes, Mr Kosef, we are the ones who can do this, just ask us and we’ll do it.’

‘Could you perhaps buy me a shovel?’ he quietly asked the old man with a short leg as they bumped into each other at the beerhouse.

‘Yes, of course!’ the old man with a short leg replied, looking over the moon.

The day he was meant to buy a pickaxe, all faces in town looked as if they were waiting for nothing else but to fulfil Kosef J’s requests. The only thing they all seemed to wish for was to buy him a pickaxe. And in the forthcoming days they all had a desire to purchase string, axeblade, sawblade and all sorts of carpentry sundries.

‘You succeeded at something very important,’ the nameless publican put it to him.

‘This is the way forward!’ an elderly man encouraged him.

‘We’re lucky to have you,’ another man whispered.

‘This is perfect!’ the third man rounded off each brief conversation.

Journeys into town almost always ended in long minutes spent at the beerhouse, minutes which turned into quarters of an hour and, after a while, half an hour. What was strange though, that never would more than one or two elderly men approach him at the same time. In fact, they almost always took their turn, and only very rarely would two of them arrive at the same time. As for the people on the street, even if they were awaiting him as a group, they’d greet him and then immediatey disperse in various directions.

Regarding the guards, Kosef J solved the problem quite easily. He just said to Fabius ‘I bought a shovel,’ and kept the shovel on his knee for the duration of their journey. Fabius didn’t grant any importance to this event. Same thing for Franz Hoss. ‘I bought a pickaxe,’ Kosef J announced, and indeed Franz Hoss gave no importance to the pickaxe.

Yet Kosef J was tortured by the fact that he couldn’t suss out how far he could actually go in this tacit relationship with the two guards. Most probably the two men wouldn’t have objected if he just let them know that he had decided to spend the night at home. He was afraid though that such an event might have made people in town suspicious. He would have certainly lost some of his kudos had people found out that he was even allowed to spend the night in town. Little by little, Kosef J started to wish for a good old scolding from Fabious or Franz Hoss, preferably in front of everyone, so they could all see how much he suffered.

As soon as he’d wake up each morning, he’d run to the guards’ sink and check himself out in the mirror. He’d no longer give himself a clean shave but deliberately leave a three-day stubble to make himself look slightly tired and tortured yet, at the same time, dignified. Whenever he’d get wind that he’d need to pick up bread, he’d make sure to sleep less, so he had black circles under his eyes and a somewhat creased face. The world needed to see him as they wanted to see him—dignified, heroic but also tired and tortured. He was after all the victorious prisoner, and a victorious prisoner couldn’t show up with a double chin and red cheeks.

He also paid attention to his uniform. He stopped washing it like he used to, aiming to keep it in one piece yet also make it look quite tattered. These worn-out and tattered clothes would add to his image of a dignified warrior who wasn’t at all ashamed of his war clothes.