Absolution. Aleš Šteger
I know this may sound messianic, but when you experience what I have, when you’ve seen your own fate with the clarity that I have, then you don’t want to waste your time with meaningless phrases any more. When I said that my soul is clean, I meant to say that I can see clearly who I am and who you are, the reason we’re here and what task lies ahead of us. Listen, if I weren’t clear, cleansed of my past, I’d never be able to grasp the task I’ve been entrusted with. The here and now is no different from what it was back then in the distant past. One of those ancient souls had a different programme from the rest of them, do you understand? When the souls of our ancestors were destroyed and overwhelmed by darkness, it was the soul that survived. One thetan preserved its memory and has waited until now. Look, today seems like any other day, but today offers us a historical opportunity to free ourselves and cleanse ourselves. The filth on my coat is nothing compared with the filth that once darkened our souls, Rosa. Now it’s over, once and for all!’
A waiter takes their coats. Rosa keeps her gloves on. They are shown to a table. The restaurant opens on to an outdoor terrace, bar tables and patio heaters. Rosa steps outside and lights up a cigarette, huddling against one of the heaters. The cigarette smoke billows in the direction of the snow-capped mountains behind them.
‘They’re called the Pohorje Mountains. They say here that everything, good and bad, comes from Pohorje. That’s the Pohorje ski resort,’ says Bely.
Bely points at an area in the form of the letter Y on a treeless, snowcovered slope.
‘If you look down you’ll see the old and new bridges over the Drava River, the industrial part of the city is just across the river, and what surrounds us is the old part that stretches out into dormitory towns and nearby villages. Welcome to our capital, the capital of Lower Styria.’ Rosa slowly blows smoke from her lips and stubs out the cigarette with her gloved left hand. Shuddering with cold, she presses against Bely and lays her luxuriant black hair on his chest.
‘So this is where you’re from,’ she says gently.
‘This is where I’m from,’ replies Bely, standing still. ‘Although we all have many places we could call home.’
‘Or none for that matter,’ replies Rosa and adds, ‘The thought of having no home makes me happy. It’s horrible to have a home. I like being at home nowhere. I like being a guest, a tourist, a traveller. The idea that I might one day return to where I came from is devastating.’
‘I understand,’ says Bely. ‘When I left sixteen years ago I swore I’d never come back. And now look at me. I’m back. But there’s a difference. Sixteen years ago, as I was leaving, I remembered the words of a Yugoslav entertainer. The man had escaped the ravages of war in Sarajevo and took refuge in Maribor. He liked to joke about how, on his way up, he’d prayed to God to take him to Austria because he so wanted to go to Vienna. And just outside of Maribor his tyre blew out.
There’s something malicious in this city. Sixteen years ago I didn’t know what it was. Now I do.’
Bely stares at the swirling currents of the Drava beneath them. Big plates of floating ice move through the grey of the day; a puzzle being solved by a strong current. A handful of trumpeter swans on the banks of the river mingle with pigeons. A big shopping mall across the river, signs with brand names and tired New Year’s decorations leading people into temptation. Beside it a construction site, a huge sign on the fence enclosing it: YOU, TOO, ARE ONLY ART.
‘What rubbish. “You too, are only art.” What’s that supposed to mean?’ Rosa whispers and presses harder against Bely’s chest.
‘Self-proclaimed artists, I’m sure,’ says Bely catching himself indulging in the warmth emanating through his shirt from Rosa’s body, leaving a heat mark on his skin. Bely steps away. ‘The sign should say: “You, too, are only past.” These days everything is so easily proclaimed as art, but in reality there aren’t many people who have fresh ideas.’
Bely puts his hands on Rosa’s shoulders. He gazes into the depths of her brown right eye and her glassy-green left one, into her small Cuban face, at her mocha skin and her snowy-white teeth. He gently touches a lock of her hair, moving it to the side.
‘Our goal here is for everything to change, for the past to become the future. For as long as I can remember, people here have lived in the past. You see, the past is an infinitely large net that they drag behind them; they get tangled up in it, and it’s not long before they fall, swaddled in the past like mummies. Only a few succeed in saving themselves, or they appeared to.’
Bely lets go of Rosa’s shoulders and searches the pockets of his jacket.
‘What are you looking for? Your pills?’
‘I think I left them in my coat. Brrr,’ Bely blows on his palms. ‘Should we go in?’
‘I’m not cold when I’m with you, but if you’re cold …’ says Rosa and looks at the ground shyly, like a little girl.
Bely scratches his chest nervously and readjusts his shirt. ‘Rosa, since I met you, you’ve meant a lot to me. Really, a lot. We’re on course. We’ve got the list of eight names; we’re still after the other five, but it won’t be long, I’m sure. Once the entire Great Orc is absolved, everything will be different. Look, my whole life I thought I had to fight, to resist, take an eye for an eye. It’s true that nothing comes from nothing, but it’s also true that everything is already here, we just need to ask ourselves what we are, what we see, what we recognize and what we make out of it. The world is infinite, and still we’re blind to everything it offers us day after day. And the road to that moment of recognition is a difficult one. Sometimes a person has to relinquish everything and be a kind of hermit just so he can see.’
‘I’m not exactly an ascetic, let alone religious,’ says Rosa, lighting another cigarette.
‘This has got nothing to do with religion, nothing at all. But it does relate to the past, the truth about where we come from and who we are. Mostly it relates to the truth of who we might have been if we hadn’t constantly been hypnotized, confined and boxed in within our very own boundaries. Which, by the way, happen to be even more confining, even more airtight in this city than anywhere else in this part of the world. Maribor is a truly unique city in this sense. There’s no other city anywhere that is as narrow-minded as this one. And that’s not a coincidence, just as it’s no coincidence that we’re here, you and me, today, in this moment. Coming here means entering the pyramid of mud. Its guards will bury you alive, and you won’t even realize it. Instead of burying you in sand like an Egyptian pharaoh, they’ll bury you in useless stories and intrigues. The spirits of the past will bury you, and not for the sake of some local folklore. No, you’ll be buried for a reason. They’ve got a damn good reason for putting us out of action, Rosa, a damn good reason!’
‘The Great Orc,’ repeats Rosa, taking a deep puff.
‘That’s right. The Great Orc, the guardian of the past, its secrets and energy. We’ll incapacitate them in order to give the future of this city a chance. The Great Orc is made up of thirteen people. We’ve seen two, so there are eleven more to absolve. We’ve got a lot more oyster crackers left in the compact, but we’ll get there. But Rosa, you’re shivering all over. See, you’re cold, even in my company. That must mean something. We’d better go back in. I’m hungry, and I’ve heard the food here is excellent.’
Off-Stage
Deep in thought, Bely paces the hotel room. Squeaking floor and a mild scent of decay. Beyond windows, solid greyness. Rosa sits on the bed, earphones in her ears, rewinding the recordings. She turns off the Dictaphone.
‘I don’t know. This could be a big mistake.’
‘What do you mean, a mistake?’ mutters Bely under his breath.
‘We didn’t get enough information from them. It was impossible to get anything out of Ornik this morning, with her colleagues next door, so we should’ve been that much more thorough with Gram.’
‘Don’t go there!