Križaljka

by Antonija Novaković

opet nisi bio sretan što me vidiš. nikad nisi bio. iznad sudopera je visio novi papirić, skuhati rižu. i jedan iznad plinskog štednjaka, skuhati rižu. i još jedan na ormariću za cipele u predsoblju, riža!
napravila sam nam čaj.
na zidnom kalendaru na kojem si pažljivo križao datume, pisalo je da tog dana stiže proljeće. pogledao si na sat. držao si ruku neko vrijeme u zraku prije nego što si je pustio da padne na naslon fotelje.
– evo, stiglo je – rekao si i mahnuo glavom prema prozoru.
vani je s drveta padalo neko sitno bijelo cvijeće. latice su padale tako gusto i sporo da se gotovo moglo čuti kako proklizavaju na finim naletima suhog vjetra. bijelo je sve zaglušilo. nisu se čuli čak ni tramvaji što su ispred zgrade škripali po tračnicama.

– moglo bi nas zatrpati – razveselio si se prvi put toga dana.
ustala sam od stola i otvorila prozor. nekoliko latica upuhnulo je tišinu u sobu. zeleni listić dokotrljao se do ruba saga. ispružio si nogu i odgurnuo ga šlapom, ni ne gledajući.
– vidi koji si nered napravila.
liznula sam prst i pokupila ga. bacila sam ga u drobilicu smeća u kuhinji.
da nije imalo korijenja, drveće iz parka davno bi se još bilo bacilo pod jureće automobile, pomislila sam navlačeći zastore. uzela sam papirić, napisala svako jutro navuci zastore, navečer ih razgrni i zalijepila ga na zid kraj prozora.
– natjecanje u kaubojskim vještinama? – doviknuo si iz sobe držeći križaljku u rukama – pet slova!

– imaš koje? – prišla sam ti sleđa.
– ne viri! – izmaknuo si novine i sakrio ih pod pazuh.
sjela sam na krevet i ocijedila krišku limuna u šalicu sa čajem.
– ne ide limun u zeleni čaj – rekao si ustajući. uzeo si kaput i stao se oblačiti.
– kamo ćeš?
– po novine.

– pa ja sam ih već kupila.
– nisi! uvijek zaboraviš. sve moram sam.
– a ove pod rukom? – izvadila sam novine koje su ti šuškale pod kaputom i pokazala datum pri vrhu stranice – gledaj, 21. 3, to je danas.
pogledao si novine, pa kalendar. prišla sam bliže da ti pomognem skinuti kaput.
– ne viri – obrecnuo si se i sjeo.
iz džepa si izvadio olovku i ponovo počeo rješavati.
– kratkonoga životinja iz porodice kitova?
nisi ni čekao da odgovorim, počeo si se smijati.

bacio si križaljku na niski drveni stolić. s nogice je stršao papirić, skuhaj rižu za ručak!
– ručak! – pljesnuo si rukama i podigao šalicu.
na plutenom podmetaču na kojem je bila stajala, ostao je vlažni polumjesec.
u kuhinji si sjeo za stol i pitao:
– što ćemo ovdje? ljepše nam je sjediti u sobi.
skinula sam papirić iznad sudopera i pokazala ti ga.
– ah, da, da – živahno si ustao i počeo otvarati ormariće.
– polako – zaustavila sam te – ja ću izvaditi sve što treba, pa ćemo skupa. može?
ponovo si sjeo.

otvorila sam ormarić na vrhu ormara. na pod se rasuo bunt novina. svi s jučerašnjim datumom.
– što će nam tolike novine? – pitao si me zaprepašteno – baci ih!
skupila sam ih na hrpu i stavila u kut. iz teglice sam odmjerila rižu i dala ti je da je očistiš.
– idem prvo na wc – rekao si – mogu sam, mogu i sam... – dodao si kad sam krenula za tobom.
ostala sam čistiti povrće.
vratio si se sa papirićem.
– vidi što sam našao na ogledalu. danas mi je rođendan. poslije ćemo jesti tortu.
raširila sam ruke da te zagrlim. poljubila sam te već četvrti put taj dan i čestitala ti.
– torta?

– prvo ručak – podigla sam poklopac s kipuće vode.
– nisam gladan. ajmo prvo tortu!
isključila sam štednjak i iz frižidera izvadila okruglu kutiju. odrezala sam dva velika komada.
sjeli smo u sobu i jeli.
– fina je. tko ju je ispekao? – pitao si gledajući u tanjurić.
– ja – rekla sam i odlomila komadić.
– a zašto je nije napravila irena? obećala je da hoće.
– pa je... – progutala sam zalogaj – napravila ju je...
nastavio si jesti gledajući u suprotni zid i tapiseriju koju si davno bio donio iz libije. počešao si se po glavi.

– ja sam... – započela sam gledajući u grumenje sira na tanjuriću. nalikovali su na hrpicu onog cvijeća što je vani letjelo zrakom.
vani je stablo sipilo tišinom i zatrpavalo vidik.
– zašto je ova žena gola? obuci je! – mahnuo si vilicom prema crnkinji na tapiseriji – tko ju je tu objesio?
– ti si je objesio. sjećaš se, ja sam ti držala stolicu dok si zabijao čavao. sjećaš se? – gledala sam van, drvo kako se naginje preko svih drugih zvukova. bijelo je koso padalo po prozorskoj dasci i slagalo humak.
– ti?! tko si ti? – pogledao si me.
– ja... ja sam ti držala stolicu... – okrenula sam glavu da ne gledam proljeće kako zida grob preko vanjskog svijeta.

– ... stolicu – zamišljeno si ponovio gledajući crnkinju – ali lijepa je, jako je lijepa... sjećam se jedne takve – ponovo si se osmjehnuo – ima još ovih kolača? morate mi reći dućan u kojem ste ga kupili.
otišla sam odrezati novi komad. svoj sam bacila u smeće i gledajući kroz odškrinuti zastor zapalila cigaretu. cvijeće je uporno padalo. kao da nikad neće prestati. ravno u koš. ugasila sam cigaretu nakon nekoliko dimova i zgnječila je.
– nije imala ni dvadeset godina... – nastavio si pričati kad sam se vratila.
navukla sam jaknu.
– imala je takve... – ne trepćući si gledao crnkinju na zidu – i onda je... oh – rukama si prešao preko čela – kad se samo sjetim kako je...
zaboljele su me bradavice. kao da ih netko okreće među prstima. zažnirala sam cipele i čučnula pokraj tebe. sjedio si nijem i gledao u zid.

– moram ići sad – rekla sam dotaknuvši ti ruku.
prenuo si se.
– da, jasno, morate ići. hvala što ste došli – ustao si nespretno da me ispratiš. u hodniku si me zagrlio i naglo se odmaknuo.
– čekajte, da vam pokažem, ako je sretnete – zavukao si ruku pod vestu i iz džepa na košulji izvukao novčanik. rastvorio si ga.
– nije bitno, nema više veze kako izgleda, stvarno, nije bitno – blago sam te odgurnula rukama i primila kvaku na vratima.
– ne, pričekajte – gurnuo si mi fotografiju u lice – trebala je doći danas, ali valjda se negdje zadržala. a svidjela bi vam se.
na fotografiji sam bila mlađa barem 30 godina. slikana iz profila, u onom šeširu s velikim obodom koji si mi bio kupio u kairu. nisam se mogla sjetiti kada si je točno snimio.
uzela sam kemijsku i na poleđini napisala riječ od milja za glupaču, pet slova.

– evo, rješavaj križaljku dok se ja ne vratim.
zagrlila sam te još jednom i izašla.
nekoliko sam trenutaka skupljala hrabrost da iz haustora izađem u dvorište. iako je staklo na vratima bilo mliječno, znala sam da je vani i bez toga dovoljno bijelog da me ušutka. ali nisam se mogla vratiti gore k tebi. ne još

Crossword

translation by Marta Kolega

Once more you weren't happy to see me. you never were. yet another slip of paper was posted above the sink, cook rice. and another one above the gas stove, cook rice. and another one on the shoe closet in the hall, rice!
I made us some tea.
the wall calendar where you were carefully crossing out the dates said spring was  coming that day. you glanced  at your watch. you kept your hand elevated for a while before you let it fall against the back of the armchair.
- there, it’s come - you said and motioned  with your head towards the window.
outside, some tiny white flower were coming down from the tree. the petals were coming down so thickly and slowly one could almost hear them gliding through the delicate gusts of dry wind. the white deafened everything. one couldn’t even hear the streetcars screeching against the rails in front of the building.
- it could cover us up -  you cheered up for the first time that day.
I got up from the table and opened the window. a few petals puffed silence into the room. a green leaf rolled to the edge of the carpet. you stretched your leg and pushed it away with your slipper not bothering to look at it.
- look what a mess you’ve made.
I licked my finger and picked it up. I threw it in the kitchen garbage disposal. if they didn’t have roots, the trees from the park would have long ago thrown themselves under the speeding cars, I thought while drawing the curtains. I took a slip of paper, wrote down draw curtains every day, and pull them back in the evening, and placed it on the wall next to the window - a display of cowboy skills? – you called out from the room – five letters!
- have any? – I stepped closer and stood behind your back
- don’t peek! – you shifted the newspapers away and tucked them under your arm.
I sat down on the bed and squeezed a slice of lemon into my cup of tea.
- you don’t put lemon in green tea – you said standing up. you took your coat and started putting it on.
- where to?
- to get the newspapers.
- but I already bought them.
- no you didn’t! you always forget everything. I have to do everything myself.
- what about the ones under your arm? – I took out the newspapers rustling under your coat and pointed at the date on the top of the page – look, March 21st, that’s today.
you looked at the newspapers, then at the calendar. I came closer to help you take off your coat.
- don’t peek! you snapped at me and sat down.
you took out a pencil from your pocket and carried on filling in the crossword.
- a short-legged animal from the whale family?
you didn’t even wait for me to answer, you started laughing.
you threw the newspapers onto the low wooden table. a slip of paper jutted out from the chair leg, cook rice for dinner!
- dinner! – you clapped your hands  and picked up the cup.  
it left a moist crescent moon on the cork mat on which it had been placed.
in the kitchen, you sit at the table and ask:
- why are we here? it’s nicer to sit in the room
I plucked the slip of paper from above the sink and showed it to you.
- ah, yes, yes – you stood up vigorously and started opening the cupboards.
- easy -  I stopped you – I will get everything we need and we’ll do it together, ok?
you sat down again.
I opened the top cupboard. a stack of newspapers scattered all over the floor. all with yesterday’s date.
- why do we need all these newspapers? -  you asked in a shock – throw them away!
I piled them up and put them in the corner. I weighed out the rice and gave it to you to clean it.
- I’ll go to the toilet first – you said - I’ll go alone, I can do it alone… - you added when I tried to follow you.
I stayed on to clean the vegetables.
you came back with a slip of paper.
- look what I found on the mirror. it’s my birthday today. we’ll eat cake later.
I spread my arms to hug you. I kissed you for the fourth time that day and congratulated you.
- cake?
- dinner first – I lifted the lid off the boiling water.
- I’m not hungry. let’s eat cake first!
I turned off the stove and took out a round box from the fridge. I cut two big slices.
we sat in the room and ate.
- it’s good. who made it? – you asked looking at the plate.
- I did – I said and broke off a  piece.
- and why didn’t Irena make it? she promised she would.
- she did…- I swallowed a bite – she did make it…
you continued to eat looking at the opposite wall and the tapestry you‘d brought a long time ago from Libya.
you scratched your head.
- I did…- I started, looking at the lumps of cheese on the plate. they looked like a pile of those flowers that were flying around outside.
outside, the tree was drizzling silence and blurring the view.
- why is that woman naked? put her clothes on! – you waved your fork towards the black woman on the tapestry – who put that up there?
- you put it up. remember, I held your chair while you drove a  nail. remember? – I was looking outside at the tree tilting over all other sounds. the white came down aslant to the windowsill forming a hummock.
- you?! who are you? – you looked at me.
- I…I held your chair…- I turned my head so that I don’t have to watch spring build a grave over the outside world.
-…the chair – you repeated looking at the black woman pensively/thoughtfully – but she’s good-looking, really good-looking…I remember such a one – you smiled again – is there any more of that cake left? you have to let me know where you’d bought it.
I went to cut another slice. I dumped mine and, as I was looking through the pulled-back curtains, lit a cigarette. the flowers were coming down persistently. as if they’re never going to stop. straight into the bin. I put out the cigarette after a few puffs and crushed it.
- she wasn’t even twenty…- you kept on talking when I came back.
I put on my coat.
- she had such…- you were looking at the black woman on the wall without blinking – and then she…oh – you passed your hand over your forehead – when I only think of the way she…
I felt pain in my nipples. as if someone was rolling them between their fingers. I tied my shoelaces and squatted down next to you. you were sitting silently, looking at the wall.
- I have to go now – I said touching your hand lightly.
You startled.
- yes, of course, you have to go, madam. thank you for coming – you got up clumsily to walk me out. in the hall you hugged me and suddenly pulled back.
- wait, let me show you, if you meet her somewhere – you slipped your hand under the sweater and took out the wallet from your shirt pocket. you unfolded it.
- never mind, it doesn’t really matter what she looks like, really, it doesn’t matter – I pushed you gently away and grasped the door handle.
on the photograph, I was at least thirty years younger. It was a profile photo of me in that wide-brimmed hat you’d bought me in Cairo. I couldn’t remember when exactly you took it. I took a pen and on the back of it I wrote term of endearment for a fool, five letters.
- here, do the crossword until I get back.
I hugged you once again and got out.
for a few moments I was gathering  up the courage to get out from the hallway into the courtyard. Although the glass pane of the door was milky, I knew that outside there was enough white to silence me. but I couldn’t go back to you. not yet