The Bridge (6 page)

When the double glass doors on the other side of the swimming pool opened, there was deafening applause sprinkled with obscene shouts and screams. A short woman wearing the same yellow terry-cloth robe appeared between two stocky policewomen. Owing to the distance and because her hair was covered by a plastic yellow bathing cap, Madam Olga didn’t recognize her at once. She only realized who it was when she saw the oboe by her side.

It’s not possible, thought Madam Olga in shock, watching as one of the policewomen reached for the robe. The shouts had grown into frenzied bellowing by the time the old body in the bright red bikini appeared from beneath. Several of the prisoners started to shake the wire wildly while others climbed up it.

Head bowed, Madam Vera approached the edge of the pool. She set up the oboe next to her body. The spectators started to chant something unintelligible, accompanying the rhythm by stamping on the iron floor. When it reached a peak, Madam Vera simply stepped forward as though she had solid ground before her. A hush fell the same moment.

She barely disturbed the water. There was just a brief ripple at the spot where she went under, and then the surface turned calm again. Seconds passed but nothing happened. Madam Olga turned towards the guard anxiously, but he stared impassively ahead. The faces of the prisoners were also turned silently towards the swimming pool.

Sighs of relief came from all around when something started to appear in the middle. Madam Olga had to lean forward in her armchair to get a better look. She didn’t recognize the oboe until it was halfway out. But the movement stopped before the whole instrument appeared. The reed stayed underwater, and so did Madam Vera.

Even if Madam Olga had wanted to turn and ask the guard something, in spite of his threatening behavior, it slipped her mind as soon as the music started. She gazed fixedly at the thin silver staff and the wet tones pouring out of it. She didn’t need extensive knowledge of music to be enchanted by what she heard. The raging prisoners of a moment before were now listening intently.

The fragile notes of the oboe broke off into the large acoustical space above the swimming pool. As though they were becoming visible, the air started to shimmer with colorful sparkles. The beaming faces behind the wire stared open-mouthed at the quivering interplay. And then the water came to life. Drops from the surface rushed into the air, like rain falling upwards. When they hit the high ceiling, they dispersed silently and turned into watery powder that intensified the tiny sparks of lightning.

The instrument heralded the end of the music when it started to turn in circles. Moving slowly at first, barely noticeably, it turned faster and faster, forcing the water around it to follow suit. When a whirlpool had formed around the oboe, drops ceased pouring upwards and the sparks went out. Soon a funnel formed that became deeper and wider, drawing the silver staff into it. When the tip disappeared into the circular opening, the music stopped.

But the whirlpool continued to spin and the water level in the pool started to fall, baring the rectangular tiles that lined it. The rapture on the spectators’ faces eroded into dismay. Alarmed, Madam Olga looked over her shoulder at the guard, but his face was all that remained unchanged.

When all the water had drained out of the pool, a small round opening covered with a metal grate became visible in the middle of the floor. Across it lay the oboe, the two parts of the swimsuit and the bathing cap, but there was no trace of Madam Vera.

Madam Olga stared several moments at the empty hole in front of her and then made a decision. She would stand up and ask the guard for an explanation. People couldn’t just disappear like that in a prison, even if they were dead. They must have some human rights too.

But before she had a chance to turn around, commotion in the corridors caught her attention. She raised her eyes and saw the prisoners come off the wire and head for their cells. Their bowed heads and sluggish movements betokened defeat. It was the exact opposite of the sight that had first greeted her.

The cell doors closed one after another with a sharp clang. When the last prisoner had disappeared behind bars, a heavy hand landed on Madam Olga’s shoulder once again. She turned around angrily, but before she had managed to say anything, the guard nodded sharply towards the door.

She got up meekly and started after him. He locked the door to the pool behind them and led her down the hallway. They reached the opposite end before she had a chance to formulate what she wanted to ask him.

At first she misinterpreted his extended hand. Did he really expect her to shake hands cordially after all she’d been through? Then she realized what he wanted. She quickly removed the bathrobe, having a bit of trouble with the long sleeves. She handed it to him disdainfully and waited for him to open the small door within the large one. She went out, head held high, into the falling dusk.

Once out in the street she was overcome by a twofold sense of relief. Everyone is happy to get out of prison, and all the more so if there is someone there they didn’t expect to see. The tall policewoman was just saying a friendly goodbye to Madam Vera, several steps away from the prison entrance.

As Madam Olga set out after Madam Vera, who was heading down the street, she was suddenly stopped by a barrier in the shape of a nightstick. She looked at the policewoman in bewilderment. Once again no words were exchanged. The policewoman eyed her for several long moments, then reached for her breast pocket, slowly took out a leaflet, and handed it to her. The barrier only went down when Madam Olga took it.

As she quickened her pace to keep up with Madam Vera, she hastened to read the leaflet. She had already experienced enough to know that it was not the same as the one she’d used to enter the prison. She was curious to know what came after “Food” and “Water”.

The new show was entitled “Life”. Madam Olga smiled. It would be quite fitting for the late Madam Vera to play the starring role. This time there was no recommendatory hype. The front of the leaflet bore only that word and the back differed from the previous ones. When she turned the leaflet over, instead of a map there was just a large number eight.

Madam Vera turned right at the fourth street. When Madam Olga reached it, she saw that it was full of little shops, similar to a bazaar. It was a pedestrian zone and quite lively in the evening hours. There was a hubbub all around, and the lanterns that decorated the middle of the street had just been turned on.

Even if Madam Olga had walked with her eyes closed, she would have known which shops they passed. She was struck by the heavy odor of roast meat turning on a vertical spit, the moldy smell of wet books on a table in front of a secondhand bookstore, the exotic spices wafting out of a shop crammed with colorful little boxes, the sour smell of bird droppings from a multitude of chirping cages.

Madam Vera entered probably the only shop on the street with no smell emanating. Madam Olga looked at the shiny old-fashioned weapons and war trappings in the window. There were swords, spears, halberds, double-headed axes, sabers, spiked clubs, three-pronged spears, crossbows, shields with coats of arms, and banners in various shapes and colors.

The shop was barely wider than a hallway, but it was very long. She saw the lean salesman nodding as he listened to Madam Vera. He went to the back of the room, brought back a thin, rectangular, dark wooden box with a glass lid, and placed it in front of his customer. Madam Olga couldn’t tell what was inside.

The customer briefly looked at it and then exchanged a few more words with the salesman as he wrapped the box in brown paper. He bowed to Madam Vera as she took it. Madam Olga did not wait for her to put a little distance between them once she came out. She headed after her straightaway.

They had covered barely fifty meters, one right behind the other, when Madam Vera stopped in front of a man leaning against a wall selling jewelry. Everything he had to offer was in a flat cardboard box at waist height, attached to a leather strap around his neck.

The seller was a short, totally bald man in early middle age. A white cane was attached to the pocket of his long, worn-out army overcoat, and he wore opaque glasses in a round frame. He raised his head a little when Madam Vera started to pick through the cheap pieces of jewelry on display, but didn’t say anything.

He remained silent as she took a little paper bag from the pile on the edge of the box. Madam Olga was quite close now and could see what Madam Vera was buying. She chose a wide copper bracelet, a necklace of amber-colored uneven stones, and clunky plastic earrings.

She doesn’t intend to wear those, does she? wondered Madam Olga. Regardless of the fact that it was costume jewelry, even if she weren’t dead, these pieces certainly would not suit her. She would have to be at least four decades younger to wear them. At her age she would look vulgar.

Madam Vera took a large bill out of her coat pocket and placed it on the box without a word. Her purchase was certainly worth much less. The seller’s lips curved suddenly into a smile. He did not reach for the money, however, nor did he return any change. He continued to stand there without moving, staring blindly ahead.

He didn’t move until Madam Vera was several steps away and Madam Olga was before him, ready to follow her. He pushed himself away from the wall.

“Madam,” he said. She jumped, even though he said it softly, and looked at him in confusion.

“Just a moment,” he continued, as he ran his fingers over the objects in the box. He quickly found what he was looking for. He handed her a small oval brooch in a mock gold frame, with the profile of a girl.

“This is for you.”

She had never worn costume jewelry, or brooches. But she would offend him if she refused it. Suddenly she didn’t know what to do with the leaflet she was still holding. It made it hard for her to take her wallet out of her coat pocket. But this turned out to be unnecessary.

“It doesn’t cost a thing,” he said with a new smile, as though seeing her predicament.

She took the brooch, but thought she should make herself clear. She couldn’t accept a present from a stranger just like that. But Madam Vera had just disappeared around the next corner.

“Thank you,” she replied hastily, returning his smile, then ran after her.

As she turned down the side street, she saw Madam Vera getting into the first of two horse-drawn carriages waiting for tourists. She said something briefly to the driver, who nodded his head and then signaled the horse.

Madam Olga had no choice. She rushed to the second carriage. It was obviously free, though good manners still required that she ask… But there was no time for good manners. She climbed up and sank into the soft seat covered with a plaid blanket.

She leaned forward, uncomfortable at having to order the driver to follow the first carriage. Tourists certainly don’t ask such things. What would the man think of her? But before she had a chance to open her mouth, he cracked the whip. The horse whinnied and broke into a trot.

She thought of asking for an explanation, but when she rose up a little in her seat, she saw that the first carriage was not far in front of them. This was for the best, she concluded. The less she had to explain, the less awkward she would feel. The important thing was to head in the right direction.

What she was unable to do, though, was decide what was the right direction. She rarely visited this part of town. In addition, when she sank back into her seat she couldn’t see very much. All she could tell was that they had come out onto a boulevard.

They were hugging the right edge of a busy street lined with chestnut trees. Night had fallen in the meantime, and the streetlights created bright islands in the yellowing treetops. Madam Olga rose up from time to time to make sure they were still following the first carriage.

It was not until they rushed through an enormous wrought iron gate with gold-tipped spikes that she knew where they were headed. When they left the asphalt of the boulevard for the stone blocks that lined the paths and roads in the cemetery, the carriage wheels started to make a different sound.

She should have suspected as much. Indeed, where else can the dead end up but in this place? She, however, had no reason to be there. She didn’t like cemeteries, particularly not this late in the day. She cleared her throat to attract the driver’s attention, but he either didn’t hear or was ignoring her.

The further they moved from the entrance the darker it got. When they turned left down a side alley they found themselves in pitch darkness relieved only slightly by the lanterns of the two carriages. Then, some distance in front of them, a place lit up.

She stared in that direction. Was that Madam Vera’s burial place? She couldn’t tell in the dark. Before they even got there, however, she realized that it wasn’t. It was an enormous mausoleum resembling a small house, not an ordinary grave with a small tombstone. It was illuminated by spotlights placed about the ground. The black marble absorbed most of their radiance.

When the first carriage reached the mausoleum it was greeted with a fanfare. At the sound, the carriage with Madam Olga stopped too. Sticking her head out to the side, she saw two figures dressed in tuxedoes and top hats approach the first vehicle. There was something unusual in their appearance, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

They stretched out their hands and helped Madam Vera descend. Then they led her to the mausoleum entrance. The door opened and she quickly disappeared inside. The first carriage went forward and the closer of the two figures signaled the second carriage to approach.