Doppelgänger. Drndic Dasa

Isabella did some drawing. There was a lot of black. The water’s getting cold. Isabella adds warm water. She must get out; she’s all wrinkled.

      The mirror’s misted up.

      The old woman asks herself, what’s that? What kind of distorted image? From now on I’ll dream of garden gnomes, from now on I’ll dream fairy-tales, Isabella decides. Isabella is drying her heels. Her heels are soft and smooth. Isabella is proud of her smooth heels. She never scrapes them yet they’re always smooth. The skin of her heels is thin. Fine.

      Isabella has never told stories to anyone. Isabella is alone.

      HE and SHE will meet.

      They don’t know it, they don’t know they’ll meet while they’re getting ready to step into the night, into the night of New Year’s Eve, bathed and old and dressed up and alone, as they are preparing to walk the streets of this small town, a small town with many bakeries, an ugly small town.

      It’s New Year’s Eve.

      It’s now they’ll meet, now.

      He’s seventy-nine and his name is Artur.

      ***

      FROM POLICE DOSSIERS

      SECTOR: SURVEILLANCE OF MILITARY OFFICIALS – MEMBERS OF THE (FORMER) YUGOSLAV PEOPLE’S ARMY

      SUBJECT: ARTUR BIONDI(Ć), RETIRED CAPTAIN OF THE YUGOSLAV NAVY.

      FILE: 29 S-MO II a/01-13-92 (Excerpt)

      Artur Biondi(ć), born in Labin, 1921. Extramarital son of Maristella Biondi(ć) (deceased) and Carlo Theresin Rankov (deceased). The father of Artur Biondi(ć), Carlo Theresin Rankov (deceased), was born in 1900 on the shores of the river Tanaro, as the extramarital son of Teresa Borsalino, co-owner of a hat factory in Alessandria, and the Serbian military officer of the Austro-Hungarian army under Ranko Matić (deceased).

      Artur Biondi – widowed since 1963. Father of two (legitimate) sons, now adults. Retired captain of former Yugoslav Navy. Stationed on the island of Vis until 1975. Citizen of the Republic of Croatia. Inactive since 1980. Lives alone. Constitution prominently asthenic. Height – circa 190 cm, weight – circa 80 kg. Asocial. Suffers from epilepsy. Diagnosis: grand mal, epilepsia tarda. Behaviour occasionally bizarre. Owns a rich collection of hats and caps. Never leaves his house bareheaded.

      ***

      Artur is wearing a black hat. The brim is broad. Artur is walking behind Isabella. He’s looking at Isabella’s hair from behind. That’s pretty hair, curly. That’s black hair. It’s swaying. Her hair sways lazily, sleepily. He has no hair. Isabella doesn’t know that, she doesn’t know his name is Artur and that he has no hair. She’ll find out. Artur’s walking behind Isabella. He catches up with her. My name is Artur, he says. With his right hand Artur touches the brim of his black hat as if he’s going to take it off but he’s not going to take it off, he just brushes it: that’s how it’s done. Elegantly. He touches the woman’s bent elbow, bent, because she has thrust her hand into her coat pocket, that’s why it’s bent. His touch is like a fallen snowflake. But there are no snowflakes. There is only the black sky. Happy New Year, Artur.

      My name is Isabella.

      ***

      FROM POLICE DOSSIERS

      SECTOR: SURVEILLANCE OF CITIZENS

      SUBJECT: ISABELLA FISCHER, MARRIED NAME ROSENZWEIG.

      FILE: S-C III/5-17-93 (Excerpt)

      Isabella Fischer, born January 29th, 1923 in Chemnitz, Germany. She had an elder brother and elder sister (Waller and Christina) both transported in 1941 to the concentration camp Flossenburg where all trace of them is lost. In 1940 Isabella Fischer, with her mother Sonia Fischer, née Leder, flees to her relatives in Belgrade. Her father, Peter Fischer, co-owner of the shoe factory BATA, remains in Chemnitz. In Belgrade, Isabella Fischer obtains false documents and with her friend of Aryan extraction – Juliana Vukas – leaves for the island of Korčula on April 8th 1941. The mother returns to Chemnitz. In 1943 both of Isabella’s parents are transported to Theresienstadt, then to Auschwitz. Isabella Fischer remains with hundreds of other Jewish families on the island of Korčula until September 1943. At the height of attacks on the island, she crosses to Bari by boat. In Bari, Isabella Fischer is taken care of by American soldiers. Isabella Fischer speaks German, Italian, and English. In Bari she meets her future husband, Felix Rosenzweig, co-owner of a chocolate factory in Austria. After the war, she learns through the International Red Cross that 36 members of her close and extended family have been exterminated in the concentration camps of Flossenburg, Auschwitz and Theresienstadt. Until her husband’s death in 1978 she lives in Salzburg, after which she moves to Croatia. She has no children. By profession a photographer, she opens a photography studio under the name Benjamin Vukas. In 1988 she becomes a citizen of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia and sells her shop to the Strechen family. She owns a substantial collection of photographs dating from World War II. Pension insufficient to cover living expenses. Receives a regular annuity from Austria of 4.972 ATS per month. Each monetary transfer is accompanied by a box of chocolates and – quarterly – by a pair of women’s seasonal shoes. No relatives.

      Applies for Croatian citizenship three times. Application rejected twice. After the intervention of Swiss Government, the request of Isabella Fischer, married name Rosenzweig, is granted on February 1st 1993.

      ***

      My name is Isabella, says Isabella, and then she smiles so that he, Artur, can see her full set of teeth. Artur notices at once that she has her own teeth, and therefore doesn’t have dentures, he thinks, running his tongue across his small left dental bridge starting from the back. Isabella smiles, she smiles, he sees that she, Isabella, has her own teeth. How come? Artur wonders. My teeth are nicer than his, thinks Isabella, because they’re real. My hair is nicer too. I’m nicer all over. And so, without many words, they stroll along. Artur and Isabella, next to each other, trying to walk in step, because they don’t know each other and their rhythms, their walking rhythms, are different, but they are trying discreetly to walk together on this deserted New Year’s Eve, when all the festivities have ended, the street festivities. It is four o’clock in the morning. January 1st.

      Those are your teeth? Artur asks anyway. Are those your teeth? he asks nervously, and without waiting for an answer he decides: I’ll tell her everything about myself. Almost everything.

      They are walking. Along streets empty and littered from the New Year celebrations. Artur says: I’ll tell you everything about myself. We’re not children. The night is ethereal.

      You don’t need to tell me everything, says Isabella.

      Artur says: I used to work for the Yugoslav Navy. I was stationed on Vis. That’s where I met my wife.

      Isabella asks: Were you a spy?

      Artur thinks: That’s a stupid question. He says nothing.

      I adore spy stories, says Isabella, and skips like a young girl.

      My wife had a heart condition. She was confined to her bed. Alongside the Yugoslav Navy I used to do all the housework. I became very proficient. Today I do all the housework without a problem.

      How do you iron? asks Isabella

      I have two sons, says Artur. My wife died, Artur also says.

      How do you cook? asks Isabella. They are still walking. Strolling.

      I cook fast and well. I like cooking. Slow down a bit, Miss Isabella. Shorten your stride.

      They walk. Artur glances quickly at Isabella, askance, and then at the tips of his shoes. The shoes are old. She glances quickly at him, and a bit at the tips of her shoes. She has pretty shoes, she has pretty shoes, new ones, his are cracked, old.

      Isabella says: Why do you have such big hands? You have unexpectedly big hands.

      He really does have big hands. When he left the Navy,