Ivan Dobnik - Vilenica

The Tribal Dance
Vesna Lemaić · 161
Cause when love is gone, there’s always justice .
And when justice is gone, there’s always force .
Laurie Anderson
An old European saying ran thus: Behind every tragedy is a racial mistake.
Those models were made to order, but that order did not include wickedness.
They were still only mannequins of standard proportions, there
was no doubt about that. But when they were placed alongside the native
mannequins, you could feel the difference. Mister Rodendrich had not as
yet suspected anything. He rubbed his hands when the newcomers were
carried into the Heavens clothing store, his rings clinking together like the
golden teeth of the first capitalists. It was a good investment, he was sure
of that. Even immigrants eventually managed to assimilate and get their
hands on some money. Now all he needed to do was set the trap and play
the identification card.
“They will certainly add a touch of diversity to the shop window,” said
Angela, his shop assistant, whom Rodendrich had working for him on
short-term contracts for the last three years, but she had grown on him so
much by now, he was unable to let her go.
Before them stood three mannequins, like hostages up against the wall.
“What is it, Muhammad?” Rodendrich lifted up the black mannequin’s
curly wig. “That is your name, if I’m not mistaken?”
Angela laughed. She always laughed when mister Rodendrich was trying
to be funny.
“Make it Barack!” she said, clapping her hands. As an employee, she had to
support and foster the development of her employer’s ideas.
He chuckled, thinking how he was going to tell the joke to his friends
when they met for drinks.
“Why are you staring at miss Angela, you pig!” He singled the black mannequin
out of the line-up. “Angela, watch yourself! This one won’t leave
you alone when it’s only the two of you in the Heavens!” He hid behind
the mannequin, stretched out its arms and swayed clumsily towards Angela.
“I smell white pussy!”
Angela dodged, joining Rodendrich’s little game. She turned up her nose,
dilated her nostrils. “What’s that smell?” She turned around with a disgusted
expression around her mouth. “It stinks. It smells of Chinese food.”
In mock surprise, she stared at the Asian mannequin. “Chop Sui! Look,
there’s Chop Sui! I didn’t see you come in.”
“Chop Sui! Yes! Yes! That’s what we’re gonna call it!” Bellowing with laughter,
Rodendrich’s face was beginning to look more and more like roast beef.
Angela tried to keep him in a good mood. Her contract was only valid until