The Bridge (5 page)

They were carrying an oval tray between them at least a meter and a half long. It contained an enormous roast bird. Madam Olga first thought it was a swan, but it must have been something larger. An ostrich, perhaps? They stopped in front of the table and placed the tray in the middle. The Indian gave a warcry, hitting his mouth with his hand, while the knight stamped his left foot thunderously on the floor three times.

As they headed back to the door, a tall ballerina in a long, fluttering, orange dress as transparent as a veil passed between them. She started to jump and pirouette, zigzagging towards the table. When she finally landed next to Madam Vera, she bowed deeply. She took something resembling a sword from the tray, cut a huge chunk of meat off the leg and put it on the porcelain plate, covering it completely. Then she seemed to float away.

When the double doors closed behind her, a gong sounded and then faded into the reverberations of an aria. The soprano sang a cappella, as though musical accompaniment would have sullied the crystal clarity of her voice. At the same time, something quite boorish had started: gorging.

You couldn’t tell who was faster: Madam Vera wolfing down the roast meat or the monkey gobbling the bananas. Her cheeks puffed up in an instant but this didn’t stop her from cramming more meat into her mouth, stopping just a moment to sip a little of the green beverage. Her eyes grew as big as saucers whenever she swallowed the under-chewed bites. The monkey soon stopped peeling the bananas. He simply shoved them down his throat along with the peel.

As the feast proceeded, the tempo of the aria sped up and the audience started to clap to the beat, shouting encouragement to the competitors. Madam Olga was the only one unable to get into the spirit of the show. This would not end well. Madam Vera had often complained to her of indigestion. She had had to be very careful about what she ate and particularly how much she ate. Death certainly had not improved the situation. Bolting food in such a manner would soon result in nausea. She didn’t know about the monkey, but its stomach would certainly have a hard time with so many bananas, particularly the unpeeled ones.

Just as she was feverishly searching for a way to put an end to this madness, the gong suddenly sounded and stopped the aria at its peak. The brief silence that ensued was interrupted by the monkey’s screeching. He was jumping up and down on his front-row seat, tearing apart the empty bag in rage.

Madam Vera stood up. The plate in front of her was empty too. She walked around the table, stood before it and bowed deeply. The audience jumped to their feet and gave her an ovation sprinkled with shouts of “Bravo!” The monkey sank back into its seat dejectedly.

Turning towards the bottom of the stage, Madam Vera signaled with her hand. The door opened and those who’d been part of the show came out in pairs and took their place around the leading actress. First came the liveried waiter and the butler, then the Indian and the knight. The ballerina received the most applause as she graciously jumped over the table and settled at Madam Vera’s feet like a sleeping swan.

The curtain started to fall. The applause sped up when it completely hid the stage, and shouts of “Encore!” rose throughout the auditorium. But the curtain did not rise. When the lights came on, the audience sat down. A heavy-set young man in a firefighter’s uniform entered through the side door next to the stage. He went up to the monkey, grabbed it around the waist and lifted it with one hand. It offered no resistance and hung there limply. As the young man took it out, whistles sounded from several parts of the audience.

When Madam Vera soon appeared at the same side door, the audience said not a word, as if they didn’t recognize the leading actress of a moment before. Now empty-handed, she went along the aisle towards the exit.

As soon as she passed by, Madam Olga turned and started after her. She didn’t know why the rest of the audience didn’t leave too. Were they waiting for a second act, perhaps? As far as she was concerned, she’d had enough. She’d seen more than she wanted. In any case, she couldn’t lose sight of Madam Vera.

When Madam Olga reached the vestibule, the fat woman at the entrance to the auditorium stuck a leaflet in her hand, once again without a word. If there had been time she would have handed it back and explained that she no longer intended to frequent a theater with such a repertory. But since Madam Vera had already gone out into the street, she simply took the leaflet and rushed after her.

How can she even move, let alone so quickly? wondered Madam Olga, doing her best to keep up with Madam Vera who was walking as though her stomach wasn’t the least bit bothered by all the meat she’d crammed into it. It must have been at least a kilo and a half. And why had she competed with a monkey? That wasn’t at all like her.

They crossed three intersections before Madam Vera finally stopped. Madam Olga felt relieved. She didn’t have a heart condition, but she hadn’t walked so briskly in a long time. She was quite short of breath and had started to sweat. She was just too old to be shadowing anyone. Hopefully it would soon come to an end.

This time Madam Vera entered a large department store. Madam Olga went in after her without a second thought. Waiting outside was out of the question. She might leave by one of the other entrances. Luckily, the department store was full of people so her shadowing would not be conspicuous.

They took the escalator up to the third floor, where Madam Vera headed to a big section selling musical instruments. Madam Olga stopped at the toy department not far from it. She pretended to look over the little cars, plush bears, toy guns, dolls, puzzles, tricycles, lighted plastic swords and wooden building blocks. The awkwardness of feigning was mitigated by a sudden feeling of tenderness. She hadn’t been in a toy store in decades.

Assisted by a saleswoman, Madam Vera was trying out the instruments. How strange, thought Madam Olga. She’d never mentioned an affinity for music, let alone that she played an instrument. She first sat at a drum set and drummed a little. After that she took a violin and drew the bow over the strings several times, then set it down. She raised the cover on the piano keys and played a few notes, but this didn’t satisfy her either. She gave up on the double bass before making any sound, realizing it was too big as soon as she took hold of it.

She finally chose an oboe. She held the reed in her mouth for a while, her cheeks puffed out. She seemed to be playing, but there was no sound. She nodded her head in satisfaction and gave it to the saleswoman, then they headed towards the cash register. Madam Olga felt a pang of sadness as she left the toy department.

Taking the bag with the oboe, Madam Vera went up the escalator again. The entire fifth floor was filled with summer and winter sports equipment. It was no accident that Madam Olga went up to the long table with the skis. Until late middle age she’d gone skiing regularly. Glancing over the new models that had become too extravagant for her taste, she kept her eye on Madam Vera.

Of all the departments on this floor Madam Vera chose the last one Madam Olga would have expected. Why did she need a swimsuit? Who else her age still went to the beach or swimming pool? Well, maybe points of reference changed after death. One shouldn’t be a slave to one’s opinions.

She seemed to have a hard time choosing once again. Madam Vera took a dozen swimsuits in various shapes and colors into the fitting room. When she’d pulled the curtain behind her, two saleswomen exchanged amused looks, shaking their heads. She spent a good fifteen minutes inside. When she finally appeared and indicated the swimsuit she’d chosen, Madam Olga was astounded.

Did she really intend to appear in public wearing that? Why, Madam Olga wouldn’t have been seen dead in it. The bikini was not only skimpy but a vulgar shade of red, suitable solely to a young vixen. The fact that Madam Vera was no longer alive was no excuse. It was not a matter of personal opinion. There is simply a line beyond which one does not go, living or dead.

Shopping was over. Carrying two bags, Madam Vera took the escalator down five floors. When they reached the ground floor Madam Olga got disoriented. She’d always had a bad sense of direction. She was convinced that they’d left the store on the same side they’d entered, but they emerged on the opposite side and ended up on a busy boulevard.

As Madam Olga was fearing another forced march, Madam Vera went up to a nearby bus stop. Madam Olga stayed by the department store entrance until the bus arrived. She let two other passengers go in after Madam Vera and then got on too, sitting several seats behind her.

When the bus set off, she suddenly realized she was still holding the leaflet that she’d been given when she left the theater. Just as she was about to put it in her coat pocket until she had a chance to throw it away, she noticed that it was not the same one she’d received from the majorette.

This one also recommended a play, again without the name of the author. Madam Olga shook her head in disbelief when she read the title: “Water”. “Food” had seemed harmless too, but that’s not how it had turned out. Never trust an advertisement, even when formulated in unassuming terms.

The back of the leaflet had a drawing of the bus route they had just taken, with circles representing stops. One was twice the size of the others, colored blue. Madam Olga raised her eyes dubiously to Madam Vera’s back. Was that where they were headed?

Was she intending to take part in the show again? What would be her role this time? Have a water-drinking contest with someone? That would really be insane. But then why would she need a swimsuit, and why the oboe of all things? Madam Olga hadn’t the faintest clue, but would soon find out. The stop marked with the large circle was not far away.

They were the only two to get off the bus, which put Madam Olga in a tight spot. If Madam Vera turned around and saw her, the situation would be awkward. She wouldn’t know what to say. But Madam Vera took the pedestrian crossing to the other side of the street without looking back.

She went up to the large entrance of a long, gray four-story building, the aperture wide enough for a truck to pass through. On the right side there was a smaller door for people. A tall policewoman was standing in front of the door with a white nightstick under her arm. Red curls poked out from under her small cap. They exchanged a few words and then the policewoman opened the small door and let Madam Vera enter.

What kind of a theater has a police guard in front of it? wondered Madam Olga. Then she noticed something that she’d missed at first glance. All the small windows of the gray building had bars on them. She knew that performances were held outside of theaters, but she’d never heard of one taking place in a prison. Who would want to watch in there? In spite of her rabid curiosity, she definitely would not follow Madam Vera inside the jail. She would wait outside. There couldn’t be another exit.

The policewoman gestured with her white nightstick. Madam Olga didn’t realize right away that this was directed at her. It wasn’t until she repeated the movement more energetically that she turned around and, seeing there was no one else nearby, pointed her thumb at herself questioningly. The tall woman nodded her head and motioned with the nightstick for her to approach.

Madam Olga headed across the street reluctantly. What did this mean? She had never had anything to do with the police. Why was the woman summoning her? Had she committed an offense? Perhaps it was against the law to loiter near a prison. What should she say if asked what she was doing there? She couldn’t say she’d come to visit someone because she didn’t know anyone who was in prison. And if she said she was shadowing Madam Vera they would probably arrest her on the spot.

But there were no questions. The policewoman took the leaflet in her hand without any comment, then knocked on the small door with her nightstick. It opened at once and the policewoman motioned with her head to go in. The sullen expression on her face tolerated no objections, and the nightstick had started to swing. Knees shaking, Madam Olga entered a prison for the first time in her life and the door closed behind her with a loud click.

The walls and floor of the hallway she entered were covered with ceramic tiles the same gray color as the façade, and the dim lighting only increased the gloomy impression. A large mustachioed prison guard in a dark-blue uniform was waiting for her by the door. He was holding a yellow terrycloth robe for her. She put it on obediently, even though it was at least two sizes too large, then headed down the hallway with the guard. She couldn’t muster the courage to turn up the sleeves, which covered her hands completely.

At the end of the hallway they stopped in front of a metal door. The guard took the bundle of keys that he carried on his belt, picked through them, chose the right one and unlocked the door. When he opened it, Madam Olga was struck by warm, humid air, and her ears were filled with cries.

As she was reluctant to enter, the guard pushed her in the back, then went in after her and locked the door. He indicated a brown leather armchair nearby. This time Madam Olga didn’t wait for the guard to give her an encouraging push. She hastened to sit down, and he stood behind her, arms crossed on his chest.

An enormous swimming pool stretched before Madam Olga. Along its long left- and right-hand sides rose four levels of metal corridors. These were lined with cells and fronted with wire. Prisoners in striped suits were standing there, banging on the wire, shouting, whistling.

Madam Olga sank deeper into the armchair under the invisible pressure of this noise, covering her ears with her hands. The very same moment she felt a strong pinch on her shoulder. She turned and looked at the guard, who shook his head with a frown. She quickly lowered her hands to her lap and the unbearable sound poured over her once again.