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Underground eXperts United File 475
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Underground eXperts United
Presents...
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[ Insignificant Showdown In Central Europe ] [ By The GNN ]
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INSIGNIFICANT SHOWDOWN IN CENTRAL EUROPE
by THE GNN/DCS/uXu
I stumbled out of bed early in the morning and thought this cannot be me it
must be my double. I smoked a cigarette and tightened up my gut.
I left my home a few minutes later. A taxi took me to the airport. Rain
poured down from a grey sky. During the flight I was entertained by a woman
who told me that she flew to France every year just for the sake of the
intellectually stimulating conversations at certain coffee shops. In between
her seemingly never-ending babbling, she never asked me why I were on my way
down there. If she had, I would say that I had decided one week ago that it
was time to take of some unfinished business.
Touchdown at Charles de Gaulle at half past eleven, central European
time. Customs: a tall man dressed in a black uniform stopped me and asked
where my luggage was. I honestly replied that I carried none, except for my
wallet and watch. He wondered why. I said that I needed nothing more, I
would just stay in Paris for a few hours.
The second taxi of the day drove me downtown. The driver tried to make
conversation, but I did not respond; partially because I did not understand
what he said, but mainly because I was not in the mood. Something inside of
me told me over and over again that this was not a very good idea; something
inside me politely asked me to head back to Stockholm, and forget everything
for real. But I did not listen. I had tried to forget, but I could not.
Father time had failed to heal the wound, perhaps because the scar was
buried too deep beneath my skin.
I already had the address, but to make really, really sure that it was
correct, I did the same thing I did a couple of days ago. I called the phone
company from a booth. After a few seconds of searching, the benevolent woman
on the other end of the line found the name and address I looked for. It was
identical to the information on the note I carried in my pocket.
At the central station I catch a train, and stepped off after twenty
minutes. Nothing had changed since my last visit. Even after more than five
years, the suburb looked exactly the same. Dark, grey houses; strange
gardens, tiny cars speeding here and there, typically French people speaking
or shouting at each other; and all this within a framework of streets that
no one obviously had swept since the end of World War II.
It was no problem to locate the house. I climbed the stairs and found the
apartment. A familiar last name was neatly printed on a card and taped to
the door. I checked my watch. It was two o'clock. Since it was Saturday, I
assumed that she did not work. The door bell growled without echo. My heart
felt like a raging machine gun.
The person I used to know opened the door. Her jaw dropped to the floor;
I guess she recognised me instantly.
"Hello", I said in Swedish.
She did not reply. Even if she had, I would have interrupted her. I just
had one single matter to discuss, nothing more, nothing less; all other
words were redundant.
"Tell me," I hastily continued, "remember last time we met?"
"Well, yes..." she said with perplexity in her voice.
"Fine. I've always wondered one thing: did you tell me truth, or did
you lie to spare me from grief?"
She did not recall the statement in question, I had to remind her: She
and I, on that empty street in the middle of the night. Her confession and
despair. And then the things that she said. How I did not listen, but instead
raised my hand and pointed out the way she ought to walk from now on, which
was in the opposite direction of mine.
"The truth."
That was it.
Well, if you wonder why I had gone all the way just to engage in what
could be regarded as a pretty trivial enquiry, let me tell you. She had lied
to me in letters, deceived me on the phone, and fabricated evidence on post
cards. Nevertheless, she was unable to tell a single untruth to the face of
anyone, including me. It was in her nature.
My heart slowed down.
"A shame that I didn't believe you, then? Now it's too late."
I heard a male voice growl something from somewhere in the apartment. She
turned around and replied, but naturally I could not understand what she
said. When she turned back, I was gone. I have never seen her ever since.
The train took me back to central station. From there, I walked six
blocks north-west. I rang the door bell of yet another apartment. To my
surprise, an old woman opened instead of my desired target. She explained
that her son did not live there anymore. He was dead. He had been found in
the bathroom of The Locomotive with too much heroine in his blood.
I nodded and left. Nothing to do about it. It did not matter. His only
purpose on a day like today was to be punched in the face by me. But he had
punched himself too hard. Nothing to do about it.
The third taxi of the day drove me back to Charles de Gaulle. The second
plane took me back up north. The fourth taxi took me home. I closed and
locked the door to my apartment at eleven in the evening. From now on, my
life would be less shattered. My inner dispute that had haunted my dreams
every night for over five years had at last been settled, concluded and put
aside, forever. The birthmark on my heart was gone. Once again, I could
finally laugh and forget, but more importantly, love and remember.
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uXu #475 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #475
Call INTERNATIONAL INFORMATION RETRIEVAL GUILD -> telnet iirg.org
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