DOES ANYONE KNOW WHO JACK IS?
At the intercity bus station, I find out that the first bus to the village leaves in an hour.
That's what they told me at the info-counter.
At the ticket counter, they inform me that the bus does not go through the village, but that it stops at an intersection, followed by ‘how many more questions am I going to ask’, ‘only one person is working at the info-counter’, ‘cannot go into too much detail’, and “I don't have time to waste, so many people are waiting, imagine if everyone starting bothering me out of boredom, next, please!”
The distance from the big intersection to the village is about 5 kilometers by car. On foot… I don't know, but I'll soon find out.
Only until recently, people travelled to the village by train. (I’m excluding the motorized ones).
The railway has been under renovation for months, and the answer I got from the workers, when I asked when the works would be done, was:
"In a year... Maybe two... Kinda… A year to two. ”
Since the railroad wasn’t in use, most people travel by a taxi-van of the ‘Riff-Raff Vroom Vroom’ company, which does not work on red-letter days on the church calendar.
Given that Serbia has saints equal to a half of the Chinese population, the regularity of that transport company was discouraging. True, the company was flexible - there were days when they drove three trips, days when they went full throttle, with the passengers in the van bouncing up and down four or five times a day.
However, the van was unavailable most of the days.
I tried to figure out the schedule, find some order, but in vain. I guess some saints are more important than others. I have no other explanation.
I counted to the thirteenth time. Then I lost the thread and hope that my aunt would stop making calls focused only on repetition:
“Don’t ride with strangers!”
“Don’t ride with men!”
“Don’t ride with drunks!”
“Don’t go into a car!”
“OK, I won’t hitchhike.”
“I'll call you soon, uncle will find someone to pick you up. And if someone offers to stop and take you, just march away and tell them who is your family.”
(I knew exactly how David felt when he started going out to play into the yard behind the building where we lived without my supervision:
“Don’t talk to strangers!”
"Don’t run across the street!"
"Don't pet stray dogs!"
"Don't go into bars to drink water!"
"Don't touch syringes!"
"Don't accept chocolate even from people you know!"
"And, David… Uh, I forgot what else I want to tell you…"
Already exhausted, in a sweaty T-shirt, holding a soccer ball, he reminded me in his deadpan voice:
"Yes, I know. Don’t take chips from strangers…”)
With a severe headache, inhaling heavy air after the rain and with even heavier legs, I dragged myself around the station for a while.
I sat on the benches, drank Coca-Cola, had thick coffee in a musty restaurant, smoked half a box of cigarettes, looked at the big station clock - I always forget that the last time the clock worked was in "nineteen-eighty-something…"
I ask passers-by what time it is, I still have 20 minutes left. (Those last minutes always go the slowest.)
How come I didn't bring anything to read? I am such an idiot!
I go to the train station (bus and train station are adjoined) to see… trains that are not there?
I have to get away from the crowd for a while.
The station was abandoned, the benches were empty, the traffic lights were off, there was no garbage strewn around as usual.
Across the street, for the first time, I could clearly see the houses of people who were called "those people who live across the street from the station".
Women were putting their clothes out to dry, children were running around like sparrows, men were dozing off in the middle of the yard on huge armchairs without armrests, dogs and cats were drinking water from the same basin (with a slight fuss). I thought I could write a story, but I lost the moment, I didn’t absorb it the way it should be absorbed.
On the way out of the station, I noticed a stall.
Not the one that sells popcorn, souvenirs or trinkets.
A bookstall.
I hurried to get to it. How come I haven't noticed it before?
The paint on the stall was peeling off, it was lop-sided, somehow strangely sloping, with a small number of books and an odd LP on it.
I walk around and see cardboard boxes all around the stall, loaded with books.
"Good day. Can I help you? ”, I saw a tall man, with big cute ears, whose age I could not determine, with a potmarked face and youthful eyes, smiling.
Clean clothes, a long coat patched in several places, shoes with differently colored laces.
"Thank you. I would like to peruse through the boxes, I have to hurry, my bus leaves in ten minutes, could I do it by myself? ”
"Of course! Go ahead!"
I bent down, but not all the way down as two boxes were already on the stall.
“Here… So you don’t need to squat…”
"You're so kind," I said, and thought to myself "what a nice man".
As I pushed my hands and nose deep into the boxes, trying to put the books back where they were, I thought I saw Jack London's novel ‘Sailor on Horseback’.
I pushed my arm the entire length down, rummaged through a bit and pulled out a book
Yes, it was Jack!
I held the book close to my chest - nothing mattered anymore, I searched for it… for years!
"How much does it cost?" I asked.
"Three hundred and fifty dinars," replied the lanky vendor.
I went into my purse, took out my wallet, and then the sun laughed wholeheartedly at me - I spent all the money I took with me and I maybe only had enough to buy a box of matches, if I decided to set myself on fire, but to no avail, since I didn't have money for gasoline.
"Are you OK?"
"Yes."
“Pardon my straightforwardness, as I have no intention of sticking my nose into your business, but you don’t look OK. It would be such a shame to ruin a beautiful day like today. Or any day, for that matter.”
Is he making fun of me, I thought and immediately felt shame.
His kind eyes said what he really thought.
“Errr… I don’t have money to buy the book. I spent all the money I brought with me. Are you going to be here tomorrow? Can you keep it for me, please?”
“I can’t,” he replied and his face lit up.
"I can give it to you."
"Well, then, see you tomorrow… Give it to me?"
His smile was the answer. And the book was in my hands.
"I cannot refuse. I will bring you the money tomorrow, here is my ID card, please write down all the details… ”
He clasped my hands with his:
“We don’t need that. I would be glad if you would accept it as a gift.”
“I don’t know how to thank you enough. I…. You are…” I stuttered.
“You can thank me by enjoying reading it. Now, off to catch your bus, you’ll be on time if you stop thanking me.”
“I will bring you Dovlatov!” I shouted.
“’The Suitcase’ and ‘A Foreign Woman’!” he continued.
No need to add anything.
Two Jack’s in one day.
A day that is worth more than any dead of the night.
One Jack that the whole planet knows about…
And the others I only know of.
Both were inscribed by Eternity itself.