Ivan Dobnik - Vilenica

164 · Vesna Lemaić
nostrils. A joker by heart, he will mistake it for the smell of fine French
cheeses. He will wander in the fog and no logical explanation will come
to his mind. When he discovers the hole in the counter, he will be utterly
confused. He will begin to miss Angela and her ideas which would make
the strange situation more familiar and clarify it.
The male and female mannequins are dancing the waltz. The male and female
mannequins dance the waltz very well. They know they need to have
a full view of the room to avoid running into any obstacles in time and
accordingly dart cool glances all around. They realize polished looks are a
reflection of fine taste. The tension in their arms is just right, the physical
distance well measured, they follow the rules, but the background of the
idyllic setting is becoming more and more disturbing.
“The waltz demands a particular atmosphere,” remarks the female mannequin
loudly, insinuatingly. “These imposters have completely soured it.”
Looking at Barack behind the counter, the male mannequin grimaces. He
follows Rodendrich’s example. “Look, Barack is scrounging for food! Africa
is hungry.”
Now the black male mannequin rotates his hips, everything becomes clear
to him all of a sudden. Barack chews off the corner of the counter.
“Barack is eating private property!” exclaims the female mannequin.
Barack scratches his wig which slips off down to his shoulder. He stuffs it
into his mouth and chews on it.
“Everything about you is private property!” shouts the male mannequin.
“Even you are private property!”
“We don’t choose our owners,” adds the female mannequin.
Now Barack tears off his hand with his teeth, grinding his jaws.
Something will seize Mister Rodendrich by the knee. Come at him with
the force of innumerable mouths, demanding theirs in unison. He will
squeal, wringing out drops of sweat, staggering into the empty hangers,
swinging, free of their weight, like unsaddled backs.
He will feel a pair of lips pressing to his hand, planting a wet, sure kiss on
his palm. It will hang on his neck, begging in his ear: “Givemeajob!”
Something will tear his clothes, shoving him on the ground. Burying its
fingernails into his forehead. Scratching and branding him like countless
needles. Rodendrich will think to himself that Angela would come to work
any minute and save him.
Like a moonwalker, Chop Sui is walking between the lines of clothes,
smoothing the garments with her fingers. She recognizes their smell. She
explores the new surroundings. She takes up a newspaper from behind
the counter. The cover says Asian Economy Threat to Europe. Her wrists
rotate inwards, the message demands immediate action. She stops next to a