Ivan Dobnik - Vilenica

Neubrasilien
(Excerpt)
Guy Helminger · 367
On that long November day in 1999, around six in the morning, a small
van arrived at the dimly lit square by the train station in Esch-Alzette, moved
towards the wall and braked sharply. On the other side of the wall, the rails
led off toward Luxembourg city station. A few seconds later the back door
was thrown open and a shaft of light shot into the van, between the crates of
grapes. Ten-year-old Tiha narrowed her eyes to slits, but the beam of light disappeared
immediately. The driver, a man whose face looked like it was made
of wax, hastily removed the tower of grape crates from the right side of his
load bed, waved everyone out, and replaced the boxes back once the vehicle
was empty; he took his spotlight, climbed into the van and drove away. Tiha
saw how the vehicle accelerated across the parking lot; the brake lights flashed
once before it turned into the street. Then it disappeared behind a house.
“We’ve arrived,” said her mother.
Tiha noticed her mother’s eyes sparkle and thought: Mama’s happy. Tiha
was glad too; at least the man with the face of wax was gone. He hadn’t
spoken a word during the journey, nervously walking up and down during
the stops and urging them to hurry up after only a while, though they
only stopped in places where no one came anyway, on a back road, or in
the middle of a forest. Wax-face though just waved his hand, time to leave,
except once when Mr. Carter asked him the time they would arrive – only
then a couple of words slipped from his mouth. But even that information
was not true; as dark as it was, it could never be nine o’clock.
Two black taxis were parked on the other side of the parking lot. The drivers
were sleeping, their heads leaned back.
Biljana stroked her daughter’s hair. Tiha liked this gesture, but that morning
she had the feeling that it expressed helplessness rather than tenderness.
“What are we going to do now, mum?” asked Tiha.
The group standing about smiled at her. Some of them were carrying suitcases
as if they knew where they were headed to, as if they were waiting for
someone to pick them up any moment.
“We have to wait for the shops to open. Then we can call your father,”
answered Biljana.
“Aleksandar will be here in a snatch,” said Mr. Carter. He said it with such
emphasis that Tiha knew it would take a long time before her father came.
After all, she was ten, nobody had to speak to her as if she was five!
“Oh, really?” she answered.
Mr. Carter cocked his head in surprise. He was a kind man, Tiha knew him
from Trpezi. But he was a terrible liar. She sensed immediately whenever he
tried to cheat or tell stories that only sounded true but were in fact not. He
had never lived in her village, at least not as long as Tiha could remember,
but he used to come from Berane once a week in the evening to play cards