3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

by Igor Pop Trajkov

Scribd
XII.2015
Short info from the author: Dear Scribd readers/with the stories He and She (The
Lemur) and Pro I applied for the Festival of the European Short Story in
Zagreb. Thank you for inviting me! With the story Murderer I applied for the
contest of the short stories of the daily Nova Makedonija in Skopje

HE AND SHE (THE LEMUR), p.1, English

PRO, p.6, English
MURDERER, p.9, English
TAJ I TA (LEMUR), p.12, hrvatski (Croatian)
PRO, p.17, hrvatski (Croatian)
UBIEC, st.19, makedonski (Macedonian)

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

HE AND SHE (THE LEMUR)

*
Did today as always the proprietor leave the adequate things for me in my fridge? She always
makes mistake with her selection of salami and chicken. I simply cannot stand turkeys. Today is
my very important day; I am having an interview. Which is for job but it is political as well. Let
us not be naive, Skopje is in the heart of Balkans, not in Germany. Here the law books are being
used so that people could serve coffee on them. So my respectful readers I told you that the firm
in which I am going to have an interview is in the building about which everybody knows are
placed the headquarters of the party and for which no rents are being paid, nor water or
electricity; dont say I didnt tell you about this! Here it was good for me, but only at the
beginning; I mean not when I found out what really means to be adult. When I left my parents, to
me everything became somehow interesting, I was being emanated by the beauty of liberty. Then
I grew old (I am 28 already) and I can clarify that here everything is fake as this forthcoming
interview of mine. I want to save myself and run through to New York, disappear, be swallowed
by the city animals. I am opening the fridge; so miss proprietor wants to tell me that she wants
me to leave this nest that is killing me, more precisely she knows I want to run away. She is as a
sophisticated lady, she doesnt want to have anything to do with the ones like me; so everything
in front of me is filled with turkey. Indeed she is mean, smelling, little old lady. She knows I
have to go to an important interview/she knows I am allergic of turkey/she knows I will become
hungry/she knows she wants to harm me. Why does she want everything worst to happen to me?
Surely because that will be satisfaction for her sophisticated age group. Let me prepare - shaving,
showering, clothing. I know that Mr. Interview-man is a policeman. I had a little bird to whisper
this on my ear. So I am putting my most expensive shoes and watch. I forgot to tell you what my
name is; you will forget me quickly, so you actually do not need my name. I am simply he.

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

**
Ugh will I be on time, for that interview? I must somehow reach that New York otherwise I am
going to get nuts. Actually I already did, partially; imagine a virgin, age 27 well 28, Vlach,
that is a direct tunnel heading towards insanity. I am already two hours in this tab with the most
expensive liquid cream soap. New York!- I am prepared to do everything for you!! I should not
pass near the room where my daddy sits with his brother, I am going to kill myself if I again hear
them speaking about me. Mum left this world long time ago, daddys brother became me new
mother (since he has no kids nor wife); I can imagine what do they do right now, they know I
have some kind of important interview, and as those good fairies from that Disney cartoon about
the sleeping beauty, they are debating how I am supposed to dress up, each of them pulls the
strings on his site, they are making me wear those impossible for ironing dresses, though I, my
dear respected readers, could attend that interview completely naked. Let that cop loose his
mind. Thats how we are, the Vlach girls with hot blood. We have a certain goal in our lives, we
are not scumbags like the rest of the Balkanians. I am phoning for a cab, I have to leave
immediately if I dont want to be late, that hot water in the tab indulged me too long. Remember
that I am not anyone, I am Viola.
***
I gave to both of them retrieval and reassignment for a big city, and damn it- I did no mistake.
My name is not Iljo if I am not right about this, let me tell you one thing- this two are going to
represent us gorgeously. Both of them are going to be there with the ours, is there anything better
than this?, always with a bloody stick in the fridge. Open nicely those plastic covers and eat like
kings, my dear respected readers. Dude was really handsome, not too tall, not too short in tight
jeans, blonde, though she was like that too-beautiful Veronica Lake, the only difference is that
her hair is black, waved, I admit I pinched her, she gave herself the indication what I am
supposed to do, I asked for nothing. I have to open these windows immediately, here it smells so
deliciously, mmmm, unfortunately the constable will arrive here at any moment, I have to clean
up the stool, my name is not Iljo if I am not right about this
**
Now I am undoubtedly going to be on time, I did not let myself be indulged in the tab once
again, I am seeing the airport through the window of the taxi. My bottom pulsates in the rhythm
of the music; how come this taxi driver is playing the old hit from Atina Apostolova Iljo Ilija,
love unforgettable?
*
Two weeks already I am in the big apple. I am walking on the sidewalk towards my workplace, I
am adsorbing the smog, I am going by feet because I am only two blocks away. I arrived in front
of the grayed building, one of those that they have hundreds of here, with the showy fire stairs those mute witnesses of the fear from the internal fire. My chef is some she-Vlach - Viola. The
door is being opened by a not tall not short miss with simple but perfect beauty, type from the
old films from the 40ies. That cheap white shirt with samplers (combined with cigarette-pants
and black saloon hills) leaves an impression of complete glamour and richness. Now I can see

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

why she is above me in this investment: otherwise it is completely impossible for somebody to
find out about the education she had. The interior here is new and very expensive contrasting the
nasty facade, we are elevating beneath the level of the ground, of the see- perhaps, 5 floors
down, this iron elevator has no indicator. The door is opening, in front of us is some chemical
laboratory, we are walking through the tight corridors in which are placed cages with animals.
-What a wonderful gray squirrel - I asked her.
-It is not a squirrel, it is monkey, lemur, see those hands, they are like ours
-Actually what are we doing?
-Something very secretive, thats why they gave this job to us. You are chosen because you
know to keep your mouth shut... But dont worry, our scientists are excellent, they already found
the magic formula. You know a lot of us die, that is too expensive, our planet is too inhabited,
we need something efficient to solve this. Crematory, graves, thats too expensive. Watch this
Miss Viola is pouring some transparent liquid in a metal bowl which she is putting on the table.
From the locker beneath she is taking crystal glasses and a bottle of whiskey. We hit with the
glasses, when I told her that I was at Ilias place for my interview her eyes begun to glitter
magically. She is taking a white rat from the cage, places him in the liquid, the animal falls apart
quickly as wrecking itself while fighting for life, yells in pain, she does not feel sorry for the
animal, she could have first killed it, this is a scary whore (she was with half Skopje, I heard
about this only acknowledgements), I could found out about her about this (but not, as I already
said, about the level of her education). Oh she is undressing Oh my god Ogghht those
mesmerizing rounded shapes, these wild marble hills with hellebore on their top I wonder
what will happen with the rat, the rat is transformed in white liquid like yogurt with rats mask
on its top as the ones from the mask-ball, with size as the boll containing it. Viola explains that
they have to improve the formula, that with the new formula the rat will entirely became the
white liquid. She is telling me not to think about this any further, she is asking me do I really
know Ilija, did I come here through VMRO too? I am saying yes yes yes This makes her
insane even more. She is completely naked! I am entering with my tongue in her ear, nose,
mouth, as an otorinolaringologist, her hair is elastic, waved as of those divas from the 40ies. Like
this:

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

Or why not like this as well:

Dear respected readers, now she sleeps on this cement floor, I dont like this. I have to run
away, all this is so scary for me, you know there was a lot of blood, on the grounds of her
reputation I didnt expect this from her. But nevertheless she did not use her bottom just for
physiological needs. What a butt, so waspy! I was her first, I would like to be the last as well.
The first, but only from in front.
**
Oh where am I? Oh I became so stiffed sleeping on this cement? Where did that Lemur
disappear, surely he is not a cavalier, with him went away my so far most serious investment-my
hymen. Why is so dark here? Here they indeed spare on everything. I hope they did not lock me
in, I hate waiting. What? Somebody is moving behind me. Hey you scum around me, whats your
name! I have to run away from here, I am on my feet again, I hit my head on the edge of the
table, somebody approaches me from behind. Oh he hit me with some sharp I am
disappearing I am shrinking Daddy come and save me
*
I am standing in front of the gray building, I rang few times, now it is a new working day, 6 in
the morning. There is nobody to open me. Look at this, the door is actually opened, I am
entering. This kind of irresponsibility the Macedonians would have not allowed, that Violenta
messed this up, they are so lucky since nobody entered up till now. The whole investment is all
on the first floor, the burglars could easily rob this entire so expensive inventory, Juliani is not
number one here anymore. Now I have to go where the king goes all alone, my prostate is so
exited after that from yesterday. I am opening the door from the toilet, I am bending over above
the porcelain that is always enchanted with the veil of thousands of mysteries, I am scenting the
relief, I am staring at the Jacuzzi tab. Whats that? some kind of plastic table cloth with the
portrait of Betty Boop?? That floats on white human semen Oh my god Thats Violenta.
Oh all this is too scary, will somebody wake me up from this nightmare? Somebody enters
through the window, using those fire stairs, in his hands he has a pipe from the public hygiene
tank with its truck parked straight beneath the toilets window. He is wearing that orange
uniform of the public hygiene workers in New York, he tells me on Macedonian not to worry

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

about anything, that he is like me- VMRO, that we care about each other, that he is my brother,
that he fixed her since she was a dangerous snicker that wanted to sell me for biological
experiments, that he did that so that I will not end on the illegal stock-exchange for human
organs trafficking, that he is proud he did that for me. Then he plunged the tube in the liquid with
the portrait, the sketch from that cartoon; the liquid was sucked till the last drop producing at its
end the sound of the humid cough-ssssshhhhhhhhhlllluuuppp Then he saluted me with his
orange hat and told me to stay in good health and that brother Iljo have sent him. Only when he
exited and went away, when the noise of his truck-tank disappeared, I figured out that I am still
in my position above the porcelain with the zip of my pants opened.
..

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

PRO
We are in a hurry! Mum drags my hand; quickening and recklessly. People on the street that
walk by us goggle with their eyes when they see us. As they want to say - youll tear the childs
hand. I have an impression that we are flying above the street, few times we passed while red
was on the traffic-lights. I heard that now the fines arrive directly home, so I dont know whether
mom will survive if she receives any penalty. They installed secret cameras on almost all
crossroads; hence my mother is happy they did not do that in our apartment. That is to say if
somebody does that, she might get a fine for bad child upbringing. Again she had hit me strongly
with her fist with the ring, that expensive emerald imitation. Actually a very sharp plastic. She
did that because my dress was stained with the tooth paste foam. Theres nothing I can do about
it, for a girl of 8 I am very toll, its just that this morning I wasnt careful enough. Some
insignificant quantity of that foam flopped at the tab edge staining my new pink dress, given to
me by my aunt. They will not consider us seriously, at the place where we are going! Dont you
understand that you stupid girl? We are supposed to go to a very important place! I have told you
millions of times already it is important how they see us. Again we will gain nothing! Again I
understood nothing, with mum things always happen in a very unpredictable manner. I believe in
things we talk and in things we are taught, to listen to the adults, to be polite, not to insult
anybody, always to do everything by the law and by the rules. But my mother thinks the laws are
efficient only in the kindergartens and in the classrooms; anywhere else the laws imply only
when we think they will catch us for sure; so it is completely unproductive one to respect the
laws where undoubtedly they are not going to catch us.
-How do you know when they will, or when they will not catch us? - I asked her once.
-If they feel kind of lazy they are not going to catch us.
-When are they lazy?
-Always.
-But why?
-Their payments are poor.
-Then why do they take care of us in the classrooms?
-In the classrooms and everywhere else they are going to catch us because they will have to.
-Why?
-Because they will lose their jobs.
-I dont understand, their payments are small, yet they dont want to stay without their job?
-Because that is how they make money without working.
-Isnt that dishonest?
-Little girl, you should figure out what is good for you. These questions are not appreciable for a
girl of your age. I have told you millions of times already about it. What was our agreement,
what are you going to talk about in front of the social worker?
-That you care for me

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

But even so I lied. I asked my friends is it true that they were all bitten by their mothers, not
on their bottoms but on their heads and that that was a sign of their mothers` love? They
directed me towards the psychologist who telephoned the social worker and sent her the news,
that the injuries on my face were from my mothers punches {specifically from her notion of the
term love [specifically her fist (specifically her ring - that repulsive emerald imitation)]}.
I am developing, I need normal upbringing, thats how both of them told me, I have to
cooperate with them, that is for my future, my mother has obsolete comprehensions, now
we will go to EU, having dignity is important; then the social worker (who in half an hour
time arrived in the psychologists office) and her host, narrated my recent bio, that perhaps
it was good that my father was killed in the criminal groups in Ohrid and that it is good
that the gas is so expensive, that is how it is rather lossmaking to those groups to travel
towards me, as his only child.
They asked me: what is mama working? I told the truth, that after the death of my father she
found a job in an agency, for which she works all possible nasty jobs in the streets of Skopje, at
most the intimidating using somebodies private data that is being sent on her tablet. They told me
to tell them immediately: what is the next job, that they will take away from her her wright for
parenthood since something like this is fully disallowed with a minor girl like me.
Already I feel a pain at my shoulder and on my hand, and on my cheek from those hits from
the hand with that awful ring. I think we arrived in a posh, private park, but which has a free
entrance. Here the reach guys train their kids how to ride ponies. Mom took the tab, pretending
she was speaking with somebody, she yells, but actually she quotes the fresh dialogue of this
reach bitch (that is reprimanded with somebody) with her child; the talkie in the supermarket,
that is so hard to be forgotten as it happened this morning. I had the task to scream frightening
so that that bitch will feel even worst. Nevertheless she is a strong bitch; she heads towards
us with the whip in her hand; the coward-mom runs away; I figured out all this too late, she hits
me with the whip on my cheek and curses; in the swamp beneath me I see that part of my face
had lost its place, my teeth are shining through my cheek. Those from the social service are
arriving with the police and are arresting everybody.
They stitched my cheek, effort from a professional doctor, because this was paid by the NGO
sponsored by EU. They have told me that the scar will not remain, perhaps only a very small
one, because I am still growing. I love this doctors because unlike the ones I was brought to by
my mum, they do no experiments with me, as a consequence of which my body already has
some incorrigible consequences; this happened so that mama could earn something. Mama is in
jail, I am in the special institution for the children with no parental care, sponsored by EU. I
would lie if I say that I will ever want to see my mother again. They told me I am allowed to take

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

from EU, because I am a good girl, because I am ProEU. I am not unhappy, but I am better. I am
not afraid from the life, just from its length.
.

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

MURDERER

He was already stiffed from his long sitting on the bench, in some neither half-set, nether halflied-down position. He felt very uncomfortable, for this contributed those expensive clothes he
had on himself, in which he felt like in armor. Dressed like this he cannot admire enough the new
look of his neighbors yard, in which corner dominates the newly plated fig-tree, his neighbors
children placed bubbling lemonade on the table aside him. This clothes smell on lavender, he
borrowed these for this event from some rich neighbor, the conscientious one. One boy chases
rabbit, wades in the bog. Splash!? This sounds strangely, this water is so thick, muddy, it
should have sounded something like- shplashssss!? Again he hears splash, as the child is far
from the bog (how come he sits on a bench in the yard, and his neighbor has only braided
chairs?). Who produces this sound? He raises his hand intending to rub his eye, but then he
opens both of his eyes. Again he took a nap. He is not in Shtip1 at his neighbor, but in a park in
Paris. Two chestnuts splashed in the pond in this park, and now he hears the third one- splash!
He entirely wrapped himself in those clothes he rented for seven days in one repository. Though
it is not cold, the chill easily catches him even while the smallest breeze blows especially if it is
while he is taking a nap. Actually he is very tender; when he was a boy his mother (when his
father was not near them) was putting make up on his face and was dressing him in dresses
borrowed from her neighbor. She didnt want anybody to find out that she wanted to have a
daughter. Later he found out that currently in Vienna works a doctor named Freud who proved
that all women would like to transform their male children and husbands in homosexuals so that
they could control them, that is why they were making them ware female clothes It is truth he
is tenderer than the rest (at least this is what he wanted to think of himself), but he is sure that
this activities of his mother did not succeed to make him homosexual. Actually he found out
about this while everybody (even the baker2) presented a forced barbaric primitivism typical for
the Balkan nations openly telling him: Where ar you murderer? What are you dong
murderer??; sometimes they even told him this with empathy and seductiveness, always
beneath the mentioned primitive presumption, that he might like this, or that if he didnt , that is
not important and nobody will be responsible for it. As a reason for this they always mentioned
1

City in Eastern Macedonia

At this time since not every house had an oven in its yard, before the family went to sleep, the patron of the family
was bringing the dish with the food in the oven-shop, and was taking it away in the dawn
2

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

10

to him his gray eyes, thick eyebrows and his low, glittering forehead as of a wondering dog this last one was always told in a manner as all the rest of them, the Macedonians, were a nation
that could never be lied. But are not aware how tender is the gray eyed? Actually when he went
to rent this elegant suit so that he could sit in this elegant part of the city, the vendor had to
search a lot to find out a suit with shoulders as wide as his; and as he could see in his reflections
on the shop-windows- compared with the French he had much larger hands and feet, he was fully
convinced that he looks as a sophisticated westerner, and this was not a coincidence, because his
Macedonian ancestors were the first European aristocrats; actually he didnt saw a woman here
that didnt look at him seductively (actually all the woman he saw here were the ones in the
inns); neither a man not looking at him with humbleness (actually all the men he saw here were
the ones from Gar dNord). He is not a murderer and he is from an old, fine family, it is just that
he slept few days in the train, that is why he is so dizzy, and the food they gave him could have
been stronger. But here is his cousin; the murderer that is sure he is not murderer is waking up
from his dizziness, and with the petrol vehicle they head towards the cultural attach of the
Kingdom of SHS3, where they have reception personally with the king, the murderer lets his
cousin do all the talk (not because he is in the kings guard, but because he couldnt learn this
language). How beautiful looks this uniform on his cousin, how beautifully he talks- that the
king did not keep his promise that he would allow schools on Macedonian. On the question why,
he arrogantly answered: Because your language is Gipsy! But than his cousin impudently saidis it truth that there were many degenerates in the aristocracy, your predecessors that were
childless were thrown out from the window, and their brain was coalesced with the overlay? In
the blink of the eye time they were both threw out and were falling down at the stairs, a servant
up high yelled at them: You came here to drink, here you have it! and he threw the cold water
from the silver ice container for Champagne straight at them. But this water is warm? it seems
the murderer again took his nap?? One street-urchin from a group near the pond came to him
and threw some water at him from a metal glass. Then he understood that the kid shouted
something at him on French which meant: this bench is for resting, not for napping; and then the
scared kid being afraid that this big one might beat him run to the group near the pond; and what
the murderer was dreaming of was an event that happened few years ago in a saloon in
Belgrade, after what his cousin was disintegrated and forced to return to the plough. Children
3

Serbs, Croats, Slovenians

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11

from the pond come near him, they are not afraid from the big one probably because they are in a
group, they walk him in the poor (but descent) part of the city where they live, where everything
smells on milk and vanilla, as by a miracle they speak Macedonian, aside him is his cousin, who
now is a teen, and our murderer is a child. With the children they go to the river, his cousin
takes this now small murderer for his legs, and with his head down plunges him in the river,
and the child takes from the space which is a little hole in the mud beneath the edge: fishes, little
cat fishes, snakes, frogs, then they go in the yard of his cousins house in the middle of which is
an ember carrier. They throw directly the hunted things in the ember, and after some twenty
minutes the group of children eats all this using their fingers. Then they go in the basement of his
cousins house, that is fully empty, the floor is from soil, and at the edges with the walls there are
holes. With his large hand his cousin takes a baby rabbit as small as puff on a hat. Than by
holding them at their ears they take big rabbits. They heard rumors that the city authorities would
forbid this raising in Shtip because it may tumble down the houses. One rabbit barks in the
middle of the basement, the murderer opens his eyes- again he took a nap, in front of him is a
lady with a hat a la Pompadour that is calling her barking puddle. Why is he so tired?- maybe
because during his trip across Europe (collaboratively organized by VMRO with the Syndicate
of the French Railway-men, that is under the hat of the Communist Party of this country) got the
elite space for standing, or maybe because here he sleeps above a loud inn. He doesnt have any
time for this kind of thinking, the elite column in the most elite and secure part of Paris passes
without almost any security. He by walking averagely quickly comes near the petrol vehicle, he
stands on the little stair and is being driven together with them. The king of SHS who sits on the
back sit looks at him as kindly as he thinks he wants autograph from him. But he takes a gun
from his pocket, moves his hand towards the kings eyebrow, shoots acquiring large
chink on his scull; he will indisputably need a lot of strength, after he returns home, in Shtip,
to adapt to the Balkan primitivism soon after he became a part of the European niceness. The
murderer is definitely something he is not!
..

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

12

TAJ I TA (LEMUR)

*
Dal je i danas namjesnica stavila odgovarajue namirnice u moj friider? Uvijek sagrei sa
suhomijesnatim i s izborom perad. Naprosto ne podnosim purice. Danas mi je vaan dan;
upuujem se na poslovni intervju. Poslovni al djelimice i politiki. Nemojmo bit naivni, Skoplje
se nalazi u srcu Balkana, a ne Nemake. Tu zakoni slue kako bi se na njih posluivala kava.
Dakle potovani itaoci rekao sam vam da se firma kod koje idem na intervju nalazi u zgradici za
koju svi znaju da je uprava partije i za koju se ne plaa najam, dapae nit voda nit struja; nemojte
kazati da nijesam. Ovdje mi je bilo dobro, al na poetku; elim re ne i kada sam saznao ta
zaista znai biti punoljetan. Kada sam napustio starce, sve mi je nekak postalo interesantno,
proimala me je ljepota slobode. Zatim sam ostario (sad mi je ve 28) i uviam da je tu sve lano
kao i ovaj intervju koji mi predstoji. elim se spasti i bjeati u New York, nestati, biti progutan
od gradodera. Otvaram hladnjak; dakle gospa nastojnica mi eli re da eli da napustim ovo
ubitano gnijezdo, tanije zna da elim bjeat. Ona je kao uglaena gospa, ne eli imat ita sa
takvima kao ja; dakle sve tu je napunjeno puretinom. Doista je ta zlokasta, vonjava, mala
starica. Zna da mi predstoji vaan intervju/zna da sam alergian na puretinu/zna da u i
gladan/zna da mi eli naudit. Zakaj eli sve mi krenut po zlu? Nedvojbeno jer bi to bila
satisfakcija za njenu veoma uglaenu dob. Ajmo se sreivat - brijanje, kupanje, oblaenje. Znam
da je gos'n intervjuista policista. Imah ptiicu koja mi doapnu ovo. Dakle meem najskuplje
cipele i sat. Zaboravih vam re kako mi je ime; brzo ete me zaboravit, dakle moje ime vam
zapravo ne treba. Ja sam prosto taj.
**
Uh dali i sti na vrijeme, na taj intervju? Moram se doepat do taj New York inae u poludjeti.
Zapravo ve i jesam, djelumice; zamislite djevicu sa 27... dobro... sa 28 godina, Vlahinju, to je
izravno tunel ka ludilu. Ve sam dva sata u ovoj kadi sa najskupljim tenim, kremastim
sapunom. New York!- na sve sam spremna za te!! Ne smem da proem pored sobe gdje moj tata

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

13

sjedi sa svojim bratom, bum se ubila budem li ih ula opet kako priaju o meni. Mama mi je
odavno otila na onaj svijet, tatin brat mi je postao nova mama (zato jer nema djece nit suprugu);
znam ta rade sada, znaju da imam kakav vaan sastanak, kao one dobre vile iz Diznijeve
animacije o uspavanoj ljepotici, raspravljaju kako bih se trebala obu, svak vue na svoju stranu,
tjeraju me oblachit se u one nemoguche za glachanje haljine, a ja bih tovani itaoci otila na taj
intervju i sasvim gola, nek se tom caji zavrti svijest. Takve smo mi Vlahinje, vrela nam krv.
Imamo cilj u ivotu, nismo kao ostalo smee sa Balkana. Telefoniram taksiju, moram odmah po
ne htedem li zakasnit, zavukla me ta vrua voda u kadi. Upamtite me nisam bilo tko, ja sam
Viola.
***
Dadoh obojici otpust i predostavu za veliki grad, i nijesam vala pogrijeio. Ne bio ja Iljo, al ovo
dvoje e nas odlino predstavljat. Bit e oboje tamo s naim, ima li ita bolje od toga, uvijek sa
krvavom govedinom u tednjaku. Otvorite lijepo plastinu omotnicu i jedete ka kraljevi, tovani
itaoci. Momak je bio doista lijep, ne previe visok, ne previe nizak u tijesnim trapericama,
plaviast, a ta je bila kao ona predivna Veronica Lake, samo joj je kosa crna, talasasta, priznajem
udenuh je, dala je sama ta da radim, nisam joj ita traio. Moram smjesta otvorit prozore, ovdje
divno mirie, mmmm, al naalost stareina e svaki trenutak sti, moram oistit i sjedalo, ne
zvao se ja Iljo...
**
Sada u zasigurno sti, nisam se i ovaj put zaboravila u kadi, vidim zranu luku kroz prozor
taksija. Stranjica mi pulsira u ritmu muzike; gdje je ba sad naao ovaj taksista da pusti stari hit
Atine Apostolove: >>Ile Ile Ilija, ljubov nezaboravna?<<
*
Ve sam dva tjedna u velikoj jabuci. Kreem se trotoarom ka radnom mjestu, upijam smog, idem
pjeice jer sam samo dva bloka udaljen. Stigo sam pred posivjelom zgradetinom, jedna od onih
koje ima na stotine tu, sa upadljivim metalnim vanjskim stepenicama - ti bezglasni svjedoci
straha od unutarnjeg poara. Moja je efica kakva Vlahinja - Viola. Otvara mi vrata ne visoka/ne
niska gospoica jednostavne, ali savrene ljepote, tipa filmova iz 40tih. Ta jeftina bijela koulja s
karnerima (u kombinaciji s cigareta-pantalonama i crnim salonkana) doima se sasvim
glamurozno i skupo. Vidim sad zato je iznad mene u ovoj investiciji: inae je sasvim
nemoguno saznat joj obrazovanje. Enterijer tu je nov i veoma skup u kontrastu s prljavom
fasadom, sputamo se ispod novoa zemlje, mora- moda, 5 sprata doli, ovaj gvozdeni lift nema
brojanik. Vrata se otvaraju, preda nas je kakav kemijski labaratorij, kreemo se uskim
hodnicima u kojima so stalci sa kafezima sa ivotinje.
-Divna siva vjeverica - pitah je.
-Nije vjeverica, neg majmun, lemur, vi mu ruke, kao nae su...
-ta zapravo radimo?
-Neto veoma tajnovito, zato su i nama dali ovaj posao. Odabran si jer zna utjet. No ne brini,
znanstvenici su nam odlini, ve su nali arobnu formulu. Zna mnogo umiremo, to je preskupo,

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

14

planeta nam je prenasjelena, treba nam to efikasno u vezi toga. Krematorij, groblje, to je
preskupo, vi ovo...
G-ca Viola slae kakvu prozranu tekuinu u metalni lavor kojeg mee na stol. Iz ladice ispod
uzima kristalne ae i bocu viskija. Udaramo se caama, kad sam joj reko da sam i ja bio kod
Ilija na intervjuu oi joj poinju arobno svijetlet. Uzima jednog bijelog takora iz kaveza, mee
ga u takuinu, ivotinja se brzo raspada i koprca se, bolno kreti, nije li joj ao ivotinje, mogla
ju je prvo ubit, ova je opaka bludnica (bila je s pola Skoplja, o tome uh sve same hvale), mogao
sam joj saznat za to (al kao to ve rekoh-ne i za njeni stupanj edukacije). Oh skida se... Ajme...
O te zanosne obline, te dvije mramorne hridine s empresom na vrhu... Pitam je ta e biti s
pacovom, pretvorio se je u bijelu tekuinu nalik jogurtu s mijom maskom kao za makarade u
promijeru lavora. Viola mi objanajava da trebaju usavrit formulu, da e s novom tekuinom
takor sasvim postat bijela tekuina. Kae mi da ne mislim o tome, pita me dal se doista znam s
Ilijom, dal sam i ja ovdje doao preko VMRO-a. Ja kaem da... da... da... To je jo vie izluuje.
Sasvim je gola! Ulazim joj jezikom u uho, nos, usta, kao otorinolaringolog, kosa joj elastina ,
talasasta poput u onoj divi iz 40tih. Evo ovak:

A zakaj ne i ovak:

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

15

...tovani itatelji ona sad spava na ovom podu od cementa, ovo mi se ne svia. Trebam bjeat,
sve me ovo plai, znate bilo je puno krvi, na obusnovu njene reputacije ovo nisam od nje
oekivao. Al nedvojbeno dosad nije stranjicu uporabljivala samo za fizioloke potrebe. Kakva
stranjica, tak osiona! Beh joj prvi, elio bih i posljednji. Prvi, al samo spreda.
**
Oh gdje se nalazim? Oh ukoila sam se spavaju na ovaj cement? Ge je nestao onaj Lemur,
nedbojbeno nije kakav kavaljir, s njim ode moja najozbiljnija investicija-moj himen. Zato je
ovakva tmina? Tu doista tede na svemu. Nadam se da me nisu zakljuali, mrzim ekanja. to?
Netko se kree iza me... il mi ui zuje, previe alkohola u kombinaciji s novom vrstom seksa za
mene. Hej ubre oko mene, kak se zove! Moram bjeat, ustajem, udarih se o ivici stola, netko mi
prilazi iza. Oh udari me nekakvom otrom... Nestajem... Umanjujem se... Tatice spaavaj me...
*
Stojim pred sivom zgradom, pozvonio sam nekoliko puta, sad je novi radni dan, 6 ujutru. Nema
mi tko otvorit. Vi vrata je zapravo otvorena, ulazim. Ovakvu neodgovornost mi Makedonci ne
bi dozvolili, ta Violica je ovo upetljala, imaju sree to nitko nije ve uao. Investicija je sva na
prvom katu, mogli bi lopovi lako odnijet ovaj skupi inventar, ulijani nije vie tu glavni. Moram
i tamo gdje kralj ide sam, prostatica mi nadraena poslije onog jue. Otvaram vrata od toaleta,
nadnosim se iznad porculana uvjek obavitog vijelom tisuu misterija, osjeam olakanje, zurim u
akuzi kadici. ta je to? kakav plastini prekriva za kuhinjski stol s portretom Betty Boop??
Koji pluta na...bijeloj ljudskoj sjemenoj tekuini... Ajme... To je Violica. O sve je to previe
strano, hoe li me tko probudit iz ove more? Netko ulazi kroz prozor, koristei metalne
stepenice, u rukama ima cijev od sanitarne cisterne koja je parkirana odmah do prozora toalete.
Ovaj nosi naranastu uniformu sanitetskih radnika New Yorka, kae mi na Makedonskom da ne
brinem o iemu, da je i on kao i ja - VMRO, da mi brinemo jedni o drugima, da mi je bratac, da
ju je >>uredio<< jer je opasna funjara koja me je htjela prodat za bioloka esperimenta, da nije to
uradio ja bih zavrio na ilegalnoj berzi unutarnjih organa, da je ponosit to mi je vidio to. Zatim
je prineo cijev ka tekuini s crteom, portretom iz animiranog filma; tekukina je bila usisana do
poslijednje kapi proizvodei na kraju zvuk mokrog kalja-ssshhhhlllluuupp... Zatim mi je
salutirao naranastom kapicom i reko mi da mu ostanem u dobrom zdravlju i da ga je bratac Ile
poslao. Tek kad je iziao i otiao, kad je tutnjava njegovog kamiona-cisterne nestala, ja udojmih
da sam jo uvijek u poloaju iznad porculana s otkopanim hlaama.
..........................................................................................................................................

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

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3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

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PRO
urimo! Mama me vue za ruku; uurbano i bezosjeajno. Ljudi koji prolaze pored nas ulicom
prevru oima kad nas vide. Kao da ele re - otkinue djetetu ruicu. Imam dojam da letimo
ulicom, nekoliko puta smo ve proli na crveno. ula sam da sada kazne stiu izravno kui, tak
da ne znam kak e mama preivjet bude li kakva kazna stigla. Instalirali su skrivene kamere na
skoro sva raskra, ali moja mama je sretna da to nisu uradili i u na stan. Bude li joj tko to
uradio, moda e joj tako sti kazna za lo odgoj djeteta. Opet me je jako oinula pijesnicom na
kojoj je prsten, skupocena imitacija esmeralda. Zapravo veoma otra plastika. Zato jer mi je
haljinica bila umrljana pastom za zube. ta mogu, za djevoicu od 8 godina sam veoma visoka,
al nisam dovoljno pazila. Neka neznatna koliina paste za zube je pala na rub lavaboa
ostavljajui mrlju na mojoj novoj, od tetke datu ruiastu haljinicu. >>Nee nas uzet za ozbiljno,
tamo gdje idemo! Ne razumije li mala glupao? Idemo na jedno veoma vano mjesto! Sto puta
sam ti rekla vano je kak nas bidu vidjeli. Opet neemo nita dobit!<< Nisam i sad ita
razumijela, s mamom se stvari deavaju uvijek nekim veoma nepredvidivim tijekom. Ja vjerujem
u ono to smo priali i u ono to su nas uili, da sluamo odrasle, da budemo utivi, da ne
vrijeamo, da uvijek postupamo po zakonima i pravilima. Meutim moja mama smatra da su
zakoni uinkoviti samo u obdanitima i u uionicama; svugdje drugdje zakoni vae samo kad
smatramo da bi nas nedvojbeno uhvatili; drugim rijeima - sasvim je neuinkovito potovati
zakone tamo gdje je nedvojbeno da nas ne bi uhvatili.
-Otkud zna mama kad nas budu, a kad ne budu htjeli uhvatiti? - pitala sam je jednom.
-Kad ih mrzi ne budu nas uhvatili.
-Kad ih mrzi?
-Uvijek.
-Zakaj?
-Zato jer im plae bedaste.
-Zato nas onda paze u uionicama?
-U uionicama i svugdje drugdje nas budu uhvatili jer bi tako morali.
-Zato?
-Jer e ih izbaciti sa radnog mijesta.
-Ne razumjem, plae su im male, a ipak ne ele ostat bez posla?
-Zato jer tako zaradjuju, a nita ne rade.
-To je nepoteno?
-uj malena, treba se nauit ta je dobro za te. Ova pitanja nisu primjerna na djevojicu tvoje
dobi. Sto puta sam ti rekla o tome. to smo se dogovorili, ta e uvijek govorit socijalnoj
radnici?
-Da se brine o meni...

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

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...Ali ipak sam slagala. Pitala sam prijateljice >>dali je istina da ih sve mame biju, ne po
stranjici ve po glavi i da je to znak majine ljubavi?<< Uputile su me ka psihologinji koja je
telefonirala socijalnoj radnici i poslala joj novu obavijest, da su masnice na mojem licu bile od
udaraca moje mame {tanije njenog poimanja ljubavi [tanije njene ake (tanije njenog prstena
- tak gadnu imitaciju esmeralda)]}.
Ja se razvijam, meni je potreban normalni odgoj, tako mi rekoe oba dvije, trebam
suraivati s njima, to je moja budunost, moja mama ima ostarijela poimanja, sad bumo
ili u EU, imati dignitet je vazhno; zatim socijalna radnica (koja je za pola sata doputovala
u ured psihologinje) i njena domaica, prepriae moju skoranju povijest, da je moda
dobro to mi je otac poginuo u kriminalnim skupinama u Ohridu i da je dobro to je
benzin skup, tako se skupinama ne isplati da se upuuju ka meni, kao njegovom jedinom
djetetu.
Raspitali su me ta mama radi. Rekoh im istinu, da je poslije smrti mog tate nala posao u
agenciji, gdje radi svakojake prljave poslove ulicama Skoplja, najese zastraivanja putem
privatnih podataka koje joj alju na tablet. Rekli su mi da im smjesta kaem koji je slijedei
posao, da e joj oduzet pravo starateljstva jer je takvo to nedopustivo s maloljetnom
djevojicom kao ja.
...Ve me boli rame i ruka, a i obraz od udarca ruke s groznim prstenom. Po svemu sude stigli
smo pravovremeno u jedan skupi, privatni park, kojem je meutim ulaz slobodan. Tu bogatulji
ue svoju djeicu jahat ponije. Mama je prionula na tabu, kao da pria s nekim, dere se, a
zapravo citira friki dijalog ove bogate kuke (koja se nekom zamjerila) s djetetom; spika u
samousluzi, koja se teko da zaboravit jer je od ovog jutra. Ja sam dobila >>zadatak<< da
zastraujue kretim kako bi >>kuki<< jo vie pozlilo. Medjutim ta je jaka >>kuka<<;
upuuje se ka nama s korbaom; mama-stralivica bijei; ja sam kasno skuila, oinula me je po
licu i opsovala; u barici na zemlji vidim da mi je odletio komad sa lica, zubi mi vire kroz obraz.
Salijeu oni iz socijalne slube s policajima i hapse sve.
Uili su mi obraz kod profesionalnog lijenika, jer je to platila NGO sponzorirana od EU. Rekli
su mi da nee ostat oiljak, moda tek mali, jer jo uvijek rastem. Volim ove lijenike jer za
razliku od onih kod koje me je mama nosila ne prave esperimenta sa mnom, od ega moje tijelo
ima trajne poslijedice; to je tak bilo kako bi mama dola do koje parice. Mama je u zatvoru, ja
sam u specijalnu instituciju za dijecu bez roditeljske brige, sponzoriranu od EU. Slagala bih kad
bih rekla da elim da ikad ponovo vidim mamu. Rekli su mi da smijem da uzimam od EU, zato
jer sam dobra djevojica, zato jer sam ProEU. Nije mi loe, al mi je bolje. Ne bojim se ivota,
ve njegove duljine.
......................................................................................................................................................

3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

19

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3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

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3 stories on 3 languages by Igor Pop Trajkov

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