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The Vein

 

We are angry with each other. I moved away from the cheater and I finally felt I have enough air to breath. I shouted from distance:

— Don't you dare to come closer!

I went straight, I fallowed my nose. I came to my senses when I fell into a pool full of water. Damn it! What was that? Luckily I knew a little how to swim and I survived. I couldn't say a bad world about Rotter, he immediately came to the place: he threw me a lifebuoy, meaning leash in that case. Somehow I got out from the pool. Damned companion! He was probably afraid, that if I had drowned he had had to work hard himself.

— What is it doggy? – I asked.

— Truth?

— Well you know it is always more cheerful to have a company if you are down and out.

— Well, you scam, you wouldn't make it alone. People would quickly kick your ass and send you to hell.

After some time I pulled myself together after the sock of being nearly drowned.

— Where am I?

— In front of the House of Cultures of the World.

I looked at the huge building made of concrete, the design was modern which was in opposition to the world's condition which is behind the times. According to me at least half of the building should look as an old shack, than it would be a fair portrait of the world, it would make the balance for the lie.

Rotter said:

— What? Are you looking for the balance? It's a carousel and laughs, Beggar.

I smelled with my snotty nose. Something was stinking. It was me.

— Why does it smell as if I've just got out from bucket of shit?

— Ah right! Sweaty waters of the darker half of the population are gathered in that pool. And the combination of various aesthetic categories gives such essence. It is one more universal value.

— What's the big deal? The same trousers are worn in Tokyo and in Berlin.

— That is true Beggar, but the tailoring is made of peaces of robes and wisely put together – one detail in front from rice fields, the rest from other remote parts of the world.

— That's ok. Everyone can be promoted.

— My dear friend. Backwaters gain nothing. No-one pays shares for tradition. And the centre sucks out everything from peripheries.

— Does it mean that the Berliner tailors cannot sew trousers according to their taste?

— Well that's not the point. The public needs novelties, and not only from its own playground.

— Well it is nice doggy, that they are opened for different cultures.

— In that multicultural building only the strong ones gain their profits and the pool in front of the building is a good proof. Fellows with interesting corpuses are invited here and asked to get undressed.

— Well, what's the big deal? Artists are like Gypsies. They mope around.

— Wow, wow my friend, here comes the best ones of the dark side, for light. They get their charity and present their bodies. They show their skeletons and than wormed up with the effort they wash over and leave their sweat, the essence of their thoughts and that's what it is all about. That is why you smell so badly, because the water stinks with the colony.

— So what's the news! If the pool stinks it needs to be cleaned and filled with clean water.

— Well, you're still stoned.

— Than say it quickly, I am getting peeved.

— The thing is, it cannot be removed, my friend. It is under protection.

— It's bullshit. It's grunge in the middle of the town.

— Well, that's the essence of backwaters. The rich ones, if they are not in the vain, they order a pipe in a special company, to sip some of the pool water. Then they extract the precious sweat. If it's condensed it has the form of a pill. They swallow it, and in that way it gets into their organism. They feed their brains with it. And with such spiritual power they can produce art pieces off hand.

— That's not so bad. The pool is opened, everyone can use it.

— Yes, but democracy is only for those with full pockets, and you can find hardly anyone amongst idiots. Genius people don't need such support, only wise-asses do.

— Ok, I got it. So why won't they focus on selling trousers?

— Think about it. It's not a prestigious job; one can have hardly any profits of it and no position on the social ladder. But being on the top of it, that's a prestige! From the top you can have unlimited access to bank accounts.

— Rotter, I fell into the pool, does it mean I am going to be an artist now, just because I washed over?

— Well it has influenced only your skin.

— Oh, that's good. I was afraid I wouldn't be a beggar anymore. What for do I need a new job?

— Don't worry, you will do the same.

— Thanks Lord. Otherwise I would get into trouble! Tell me, are there no ideas to be stolen in Berlin? Why do we need to import them from Africa?

— Well, there is a place where you can get local ideas.

— I wonder what it looks like and where is it?

— Oh, am I right to think you got interested? You find that place in the park Hasenheide am

Suedstern in Kreuzberg. It is just a few blocks away from here.

— So let's go there doggy. There is a chance that for your money I will become a qualified beggar-artist focused locally. I'm not at all interested in the Nigger beggary. The Berlin beggars' income is definitely higher than that of Africans.

We went faster. The dog was pulling the leash so my legs didn't feel any effort. His sense of smell was also helpful, as it allowed us to cut across without loosing our way.

We made it at the time of afternoon coffee. As it was the time for drink and meal, I sat down at a park bench.

— Rotter, a drink for your Lord and Master!

He conjured it up at once. He didn't have other choice, he wanted some rest, siesta, to focus before the next activity. Slowly, without any rush, I sipped from the bottle and I was thinking about my fate. What should I change in my actions? It cannot be like that anymore! I have to stop drinking and put up some decent job, than I will have some rest, but it needs time. I'll make the radical step and I will turn my life upside down. When my bottle was half empty I started to look around. I had never been here before so I asked Rotter for some explanations.

— The patron of that region is the office of the Papal Nuncio, which properties lay along the square. They give shelter to those in need, and they overwhelm the neighbourhood with their authority. And under their protection a real drama is played.

— You're telling bullshit. What can happen in such stupid place?

— You will fall with your nose into it, than you will see.

— What?

— Look at the monument of a woman who cleans the town from rubble — Trümmerfrauen.

I asked what her connection with the case is as I could see no sence.

— You will see it and you will stand stock-still.

He showed me a monument of a virago made of not rusty metal. I felt not interested, just because there were no men after the war they had to put women to that work.

— Look into her eyes.

I looked. Although there was no life in the monument it was crying.

— How is it possible?

— Every sculpture has its soul, although its body had never lived. That one shows women's despair at dead bodies of the town's sons. And her fruitful work is turned into nothing.

— I can see clearly that she is crying. Give me some more facts so I could understand the case.

— I told you there is a sale.

— How is it possible?

— Despair drives those who are thirsty into addiction. They give their blood to vampires in order to get sources for their drugs. The vampires suck so heavily that those poor delinquents quickly get their ticket to the nearby graveyard. And than they are no longer worried what they had stolen anything....

— I don't get it.

— You see Beggar the blood plasma is full of the essence of creativity.

— But that's a cannibalism! Is there no cane for them?

— No. The park is under the Papal Nuncio's jurisdiction because it belongs to church lands. And the authority cannot mass in it. Diplomatic exteriority.

— And what about the Nuncio?

— They send missioners to turn people Catholics. And those poor delinquents are mostly atheists, so they cannot hear. The only solution that left is to conduct the Cross Way here with stations at park bench. They are not moved with Christ's passion. And in the end the vampires signed out the vein with their names.

— That's awful!

— Well dead men won't fight for their rights. And that's all about the issue.

— They should be ashamed? Where's the morality?

— Well, they don't believe in the life after life. They are cold deep inside, but warm at the surface. At the first sight they seem gentlemen, even their metrics are fine.

— What can we do Rotter to disturb them?

— Nothing.

— What do you mean “nothing”?

— Their force is stronger than ours.

— Well we did manage with the others, so why shouldn't we manage this time?

— If Nuncio can do nothing it means we can do even less.

— So why are we here?

— We will write a complaint that they do nothing, but sleep. We want them to pull up their robes and change their glasses.

— Yes! And than we will write that the case is kept under wraps and it needs to be revealed. That's fun! It will serve the assemblies right. What a relief! Let other people repair the world in penance. Rotter, the case of the pool by the House of Cultures of the World is also on their account. We don't need any trouble!

— I agree. We need to daff them up. They've become too fatty, it will serve them right to run a little.

— Blood and the graveyard, it's disgusting. Well I don't want to be a beggar — artist anymore. Let's go as far from here as possible. Brrr it stinks as a mortuary.

— Where do you want to go? Mitte?


(translated by Magdalena Połec)



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