You. Zoran Drvenkar

held your tongue. That was a mistake. You’re saying no to me? He took you into the bathroom, and there in the dark and with a wet towel over your head you cracked. It was too much. It was memory and it was the madness of a man who was your father and always found a way into your head. The secret came stammering over your lips. It was over. Your father led you in silence from the bathroom. He waited till your brother was conscious again, then he spat in your face and said, You’re a traitor and you would have gambled away your whole family’s lives. Your brother had to spit on you too and your mother wasn’t allowed to look at you for the rest of the evening.

      It was all a matter of discipline.

      Since that day more than thirty years ago you have known exactly what silence is worth. Today your father could do what he liked to you, he wouldn’t have a chance. You’ve learned from him.

      It takes Tanner and David forty minutes to find the boy. They bring him down to the swimming pool. David tries to tell you all the places they’ve been looking. You wave him away, you don’t want to hear it. They leave you alone.

      He looks like he’s about twelve, but you’re sure he’s older, otherwise he wouldn’t be in your son’s crowd and they wouldn’t be friends. You wait for him to meet your eye before you say, “Do you know who I am?”

      He shakes his head. He doesn’t know your face, but he knows your name.

      “My name is Ragnar Desche.”

      He ducks down, he actually ducks down. Good. His eyes flicker from left to right, he gradually realizes how much trouble he’s in.

      “Your girlfriend stood us up, that’s why you’re here, do you get that?”

      He nods, even though you’re sure he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. You let it go, you want to get it over with as quickly as possible.

      “As I’m sure you’ll have noticed, I have a small problem here. You see the man in the armchair?”

      The boy turns his head.

      “His name is Oskar. He was my brother. Now do you understand why I brought you here?”

      The boy looks at you for a moment, then turns his head away. You can see the dark fluff trembling on his top lip. You should ask more questions, make him feel he has something to say.

      “Where do you come from?”

      “From here.”

      “And your parents?”

      “Slovenia.”

      “Do the Slovenians get on with the Serbs?”

      The boy’s eyes wander nervously around the room.

      If he bursts into tears right now, you think, I will go crazy.

      “I asked you a question.”

      “I … I don’t know.”

      “You’re Slovenian and you don’t know if the Slovenians get on with the Serbs?”

      “I’m from Berlin.”

      Two steps and you’re standing beside him, he’s a head shorter than you, your face looms above his. You smell fear and the chewing-gum he has in his mouth.

      “Spit out the chewing-gum.”

      He spits it on the floor, ducks down again; your voice is a hiss.

      “Listen carefully, you little shit, I can rip your asshole open until your parents can’t tell whether you’re a human being or a sewer. I can rip open your parents’ assholes too, if you like. I need clear answers from you, that’s all I want to hear, you understand?”

      He understands, you wait another few seconds, then you turn away. It is time for some calm words. You take one of the chairs and put it by the pool.

      “Sit down.”

      The boy hesitates, then he sits down and looks at the pool.

      “Sad sight, right?”

      The boy doesn’t know if he should answer. You stand behind him and put your hands on his shoulders. Like father, like son. You’re sorry your son isn’t there. He might learn something.

      “What do you know about the girl?”

      The boy flinches as if you’d stabbed him in the back of the neck. Your hands stay where they are. His collarbones feel as if they’re made of chicken bones.

      “Tell me everything. What her name is, where I can find her. Everything.”

      The boy’s body is rigid, you take your hands off his shoulders. One blow and his neck would be broken.

      “You know what she’s done.”

      The boy says he doesn’t know anything. He has to say it twice, his voice is so weak. Suddenly you sound friendly.

      “My son told me lots about you. He says you’re good, you’ll go a long way some day. He also told me there’s more between you and the girl. He said you’re an item.”

      Silence, his face turns red, he stares into the pool; that’s an answer too. He’s probably one of those late developers who jerk off six times a day and bore girls senseless with stupid pickup lines.

      “Do you know Taja?”

      The boy shakes his head.

      “Do you know Taja’s father?”

      He shakes his head again. You tell him that’s Taja’s father right there. He follows your outstretched arm, looks again at your dead brother and slowly grasps the connection. His eyes widen. It’s time for him to understand you completely.

      “A daughter kills her father, a man loses his brother, five kilos of heroin disappear, and a boy sits on a chair and doesn’t reply. That’s how things are.”

      You look at your watch.

      “I’m going to leave the house in exactly half an hour. If I don’t get an answer from you by then, you’re staying here. Now look at me.”

      The boy looks up, he has tears in his eyes. He stinks of hormones and sweat and a little bit of shit.

      “What’s your name?”

      “M-M-Mirko.”

      “Hi, Mirko, you’ve got half an hour to save your life.”

       MIRKO

      A wood louse hides under a stone. That’s exactly how it is. You’re the wood louse, the stone’s a car that you’ve squashed yourself under as if the sky was about to cave in on you. If someone tells you right now that Darian’s father will be standing beside you in three days’ time, giving you half an hour to save your life, you’d probably never come out from under that car. You’ve not met Ragnar Desche until then. He’s a legend, he’s a ghost and the father of your best friend. Nobody talks about Ragnar Desche. Never. Even thinking about him is taboo. Or as Darian once said: If my father wants, I’m dead within a second.

      There’s a nasty taste in your mouth, sweet and metallic, as if you’d bitten off some chocolate without taking off the silver paper. You spit, see the red stain on the tarmac and swallow down your own blood.

      You ran away. That’s it. The end.

       I know.

      How could you run away? Only an idiot would run away. You’re the idiot. And what are you going to do now? You can’t just stay under the car hiding. You just can’t do that. Somebody will find out. These things always come out.

      The wood louse rolls aside and pulls itself up by the door handle, it crouches beside the car, back to the driver’s door, head thrown back so the blood doesn’t drip from its nose. You know if the car alarm goes