Dziwna kapliczka

And again the Lord betook Eshaim to speak.8 And Eshaim went down, neither went up anymore.9 Then was there a tamarisk of brimstone sprung even into the bowels of the city.10 And nitre imbued its roots and they afflicted the great houses of the city and of the governor and the priests and behold foulness thickened the roots.11 And the Lord gazed upon the countenance of the earth saying, Behold that evil which prevaileth even unto the end of sight.12 And them that heard were shriven to the knee even upon that ground.13 Then a third of men were smote with a grippe frenzy to know not their kin nor anyone nor spare even the suckling.14 And another third were astonished in their hearts and tooketh up the sword that they might slay by the edge thereof the mad.15 And the Lord spoke a halt into the pinion which doth change the sun and also the engine whereby it moves.16 And darkness swayed the counter of the earth and the space wherein dawn was barred was three days.17 And the night prolonged was exceedingly dark.18 And men named the darkness ichabod and abyss.19

He stood on the roof in the cold and the wind and he watched the sun dissolve like a tungsten platelet into the horizon, its faint shine slipping through the city. He sucked his cigarette down to the filter and exhaled a thick blue smog and let the stub fall and with the heel of his shoe scraped out the its faint light.

The nightshift was already on its rounds when he came downstairs. He nodded to Pakulnis, to Dowgiałło, to Balasas. He went to the locker room and opened his locker and stripped out of his scrubs and hung them up and changed.

Gliński walked in. Look whos last out again, he said.

I wanted a cigarette.

They havent outlawed in car smoking yet.

Yet.

Yes. Still though.

I hate the smell of smoke in leather. Its like sitting in a chemical factory.

Tak tak. Heading home to the harpy? he asked.

Unless god strikes me dead. Pray he does.

I see. I too would prefer to view neon through the belled bottom of colored glass. Dont take Postvide, there was an accident. The lanes are jammed to hell.

Janda shut his locker and pressed his head against the thin vents. Cold metal. Shit.

I know.

What happened?

Gliński shut his locker. I didnt bother to find out. I saw that it was bad and not over. 88.5 should have updates. I have to get on though. Lublin is a city that likes to die at night.

Janda didnt check the radio. He took the elevator down to ground and looking not left not right escaped through the sliding doors of Lublin General. Ambulances were in the circle and ambulances were in the dock. He raised a reluctant hand to those who waved and head down he kept on through the parking lot. His car was towards the back and when he came to the driver side he stared at the scratched handle a full minute before turning away.

He followed the crosswalk traffic across the four lanes of busy road and walked lonely soul among his austere countrymen to Brzydki Mędrzec. He pushed through the overstickered door into a small L of an atrium and pulled open a second door that let him into the darkened confines of the pub. He foudn himself a seat the bar and the barman did not see his held up finger. He crossed his arms on the bar and hugged his elbows and stared at an amorphous globule of drink squatting before him shouldering a sliding morph of neon light in perpetual dawn or twilight. At his right were two men seated deep in stupurous talk. They were an old man and a man growing old and this latter allowed that he was not a coward.

I was never tested, said the man farther away. That doesnt make you a coward. Lucky.

Thats the trick, said the other man. A man goes his whole life waiting for that chance to prove himself. Hes got the film on repeat, watched it a million times before, finally he finds that the moment has never come. He has never accomplished the manly act. That proves that ah for whatever faults and foolishness thats in me when the meats in the fryer he comes through. Do you know why?

Why?

Because its in his head and he watches it so much that he doesnt recognize the moment when it does come. You have to search for it in the world. Now there are those who crave the spectacle of witnessed action out of vanity or the need to prove something but there are others who want it for redemption. And very often this is prior to an evil act. They think yes I will be selfish this once because I must or I cant resist and when they have done whatever chicanery they do the guilt makes them say let me make up for this somehow, anyhow, and I will do it. Of course most conjure up any excuse they can to weasel out of this bargain but every once in a while some damn nit will take that expiatory plunge. I dont believe it having never seen it, and it does not justify the initial wrong, but maybe it happens and maybe more good than ill is brought about.

Do you think so? That its better or worse. I mean suppose all men did one wrong action and then spent a lifetime trying to make up for it, not that they try to undo the first wrong, but that being humbled by their own guilt strive to live a beneficial life. Towards others. Do you think in that case that those first injustices are in a manner justified because they lead to an exponential multiplication of good?

Good god, said the man laughing, look around you.

No no I meant it as a for instance.

Gaah, I dont nkow, growled the older man refilling his tumbler. Ill tell you this for what its worth. I ripped out my rearview mirror.

The men laughed and the older one winked and they both drank.

The barman hoved up before him. Have you been helped yet?

Stolichnaya.

The barman’s face darkened. Someone behind him tched in warning but Janda didnt look to see who it was.

We dont carry that piss, said the barman.

You dont carry Stoli-oh. Give me, his eyes ran across the bottles on the backwall, Futile Greeks.

The barman grunted and turned aroudn and got the bottle from the shelf and poured a glass full and dropped in the ice like coins and slid the glass to him on a coaster.

Remember, nothing out of Kalinigrad.

Ok.

Ask for it again and Ill put you out on your ass.

I said I wont.

The barman stalked off but before Janda had taken his first drink another leaned towards him.

Youre a fan of the dagestai.

Janda looked down and jumped off his stool. Jesus what the fuck are you. He had spilled some of the drink on his hand and he shook the droplets off like holy water. What had perched at his elbow was a frightening scrap of walleyed heretic. A wrinkled face that housed rusty teeth, thats brows were like borebrushes and him in his sooty overfrock and breeches and cracked leather shoes filthy enough that his person clothes and all might have been used to clean the bores of howitzers.

Janda retook his stool. Move back a little, he said.

The sleeves of the heretic’s overfrock were long enough that they hooded the foreknuckles of his fingers and as he withdrew the cuffs pulled back to reveal gnarled fingers kept straight by rings that belonged on a richer man.

What do you want, said Janda.

Ill tell you this, said the man producing a flask from an inner pocket and operating the cap lever took a covert swig and smiled a sly wricken smile.

Theyve unnatural gods. Evil gods. They say the little one worships a cannibal.

I dont follow politics, said Janda and took at last a draught of the heavy ale.

Weve our own queer gods, continued the heretic. He raised his hand and let it fall upon the bar obliterating the spill of alcohol. He pointed at where the spill had been and smiled and then he sucked the colored wetness from his palm blade.

I think we can manage them.

You there shitstain! The barman was lumbering down. Who the fuck let you in here?

The heretic grinned and skittered towards the exit.

Thats right get out of here.

Barkeep! shouted a man from a table.

What?

Unmute the TV for me.

Janda looked up at the television. A female reporter was standing on a rail bridge overlooking a block totally afire. Twists of fire were raining down and smoke was rising out of a collection of warehouses and even in the night it could be told the smoke was not black. The camera panned down into a gravel lot where fire crews hosed the flames and drones zoomed into the fire squelching their agents.

The bartender pointed a remote at the television and the woman’s voice was suddenly audible.

…Garbarska where firefighters are hard at working suppressing a warehouse fire. Four people have been killed and an unconfirmed number injured. I am told they are being taken to the 3rd Military Clinical Hospital…

That isnt you is it? said the younger man.

I work at Samodzielna Stacja Medyczna nr 5, muttered Janda watching.

…have aired the possibility that the fire is due to the actions of Russian saboteurs. Already paladins of Porzadek Poszukiwaczy are in helicopters searching for them. The Metropolitan advises that the saboteurs are highly trained heavily armed and that all citizens are to report any sucpicious persons to the police immediately.

You hear that? said the older man.

I heard it, said the barman.

A suspicious man. Was that not a suspicious man?

He was.

What are you waiting for for god’s sake?

The barman sighed and pulled a cellphone out of his backpocket.