Tallo

Bones

By Michal Tallo

The woman came here to shoot a film about her grandmother, she’s a well-known documentary filmmaker from the city, now she goes from house to house, looking for someone who remembers her grandmother, at each door, she utters the name she made up again, because her grandmother has lived her whole life in the city and has never left it, and she certainly has never been here, the film will then be exhibited in a gallery and available online as video on demand, says the woman, not on television, she answers, that doesn’t make much sense anymore, no, it doesn’t matter that you didn't know her or that you haven't heard about her, tell me something about yourself, she says, she smiles and the man answers her, his family has been living here in the kopanice settlement for generations, he worked in the armature factory, but then it closed down and then he had nothing to do so he convinced all the children that the skeleton of a dinosaur is buried on the land behind their houses and the children kept digging for days, some of them for weeks, and sometimes they dug up what nobody should have ever dug up, and he observed them, once again having something to fill his time with, if there are any children here, I can teach them stuff, she says, I can organize a workshop, but there haven't been any children here for a long time, responds the man with the skeletons, the last of them left us a cemetery, because it was a strange child, constantly occupying itself with dead animals, freeing dead mice from traps, and collecting deceased tits and thrushes, and in an old shed full of rotting boards, it then assembled crooked tombstones and crosses, and with a small shovel, it dug holes in the ground, but this child showed no interest in dinosaur skeletons, he also tried to persuade this child to look for dinosaur skeletons, but the child didn't bother to react, it continued to see only its rodents, its tits and thrushes and crosses and tombstones and I disliked the child, he says, something was wrong with the child, something about that child terrified me and he spoke about it so often and to so many people and so seriously that the child finally got into a car full of things and left with its parents, and it never showed up here again, a relief, adds the neighbour from the next house, she also knew everything, heard everything about the child from the man with the skeletons, and the child scared her just as much and she dreamt of its departure and she dreamt about ice hockey, where she effortlessly defeated everyone, and she dreamt of the man with the skeletons, waiting for years for him to show his affection and she dreamt and hoped for it, but he never did, then another one appeared, and she couldn't afford to reject him anymore, how would it look, but the other one is already buried underground and she occasionally dreams again of ice hockey and the man with the skeletons, but this time it's one and the same dream because in ice hockey, she knocks the man with the skeletons to the ground, and the ice beneath him cracks, and he plunges into the water, and the water is purple, and she scores a goal and the match ends and this is the last dream she has left and it returns to her repeatedly and she greets it as an old friend, but your grandmother’s name doesn’t ring a bell, young lady, she apologizes, but try the others, there aren’t many of us left, she apologizes, more empty barns than occupied homes, she apologizes, she was a teacher, but one by one, the children dwindled, and she had no one to teach, she apologizes, and since then, she just waits, she finishes and she gazes at the small hills beyond the horizon, as if something were about to come from behind them any moment, and the other one, the one she couldn't afford to reject, worked in a store and each day he sold two loaves of bread and two boxes of milk and two packs of rice and two kilograms of flour and two bags of potatoes, if he was lucky, that is, and hoped that he would also sell wine and beer and slivovica and vodka and juniper brandy and cognac, but in these parts, people always distilled their own stuff, plums grew everywhere, one stumbled upon them, and if they didn't feel like distilling their own, they took some from their neighbour and if the neighbour didn’t feel like it, they sat down in the pub and didn't get up for the whole day and then the other one didn't sell a single bread or a single box of milk and occasionally sold a bit of rice and a bit of flour and then he stood alone among the empty shelves and wasn't sure exactly what had happened, and then he closed the store permanently and in its place, the one who ate orange berries opened a larger pub, but even that one is no longer operating, she is the oldest among us, perhaps she will remember your grandmother, but if you want to speak with her, young lady, you'll have to go down the road, take the second turn to the right, past the six-hundred-year-old lime tree, behind it, you'll see an abandoned house, a little further another one, that's the one where you must ring the bell.

The lime tree is enormous, stands by the stream, is wider than two cars, and has a hollow trunk, during the war, it is said that partisans hid in the tree trunk, no one here told the woman about it, she Googled it before coming here to gain their trust, she couldn't find anything else on Google, so now she enters the tree, looks up, and observes how the interior of the trunk gradually narrows upwards, and at the very top, it is cracked, allowing daylight to penetrate, otherwise, there is nothing here that would captivate her, she climbs out of the lime tree, she continues around the dilapidated, abandoned house, further along the overgrown gravel path, and somewhere in the distance, a tired dog barks, then she rings the doorbell for a long time, and no one responds, she's about to give up when the entrance doors finally open, and there stands the one who ate orange berries, her hair is sparse and completely white, and in many places, her skin peeks through, and she looks at the woman confusedly, trying to identify her, and the woman just stays silent, waiting, and eventually, the one who ate orange berries addresses her with the word mum, and the woman realizes that the one who ate orange berries doesn't remember anything at all and so she corrects her, saying, no, no, I'm not your mum, I'm your granddaughter, you are my grandmother, and the one who ate orange berries nods, as if recalling, and invites the woman inside, and she enters the neglected old house, pretending she has entered this way many times before, although it's her first time here, and she places her backpack on the chair by the stove, and in the kitchen, she searches through all the drawers, and in the living room, she opens all the cabinets and occasionally takes something out, examines it, and either puts it back or doesn’t, and she contemplates how to handle the fake name and tentatively pronounces it in front of the one who ate orange berries, saying, that’s your name, grandma, and the one who ate orange berries nods in agreement, it wasn't difficult, but what about the others, convincing the others will be harder, she already mentioned the fake name twice, the man with the skeletons and the woman who waited still remember, but perhaps it won't even be necessary, no one will take the old hag seriously anyway, and after going through all the drawers and all the cabinets in all the rooms of the neglected old house, the woman says she has to go but promises to come back, and the one who ate orange berries nods and says, in the meantime, I'll cook something good for you, and the one who ate orange berries sits in the chair and doesn't cook anything and the woman leaves and continues walking along the stream, there is almost no water in it, only stones, and gravel, and mud, and dirt, and at every step, a multitude of garbage, after a few minutes, she arrives at another house, and this one looks better than all the others, it's bigger and better-maintained, and signs of movement are visible behind the windows, and so she rings the bell, and an old man immediately opens the door, asking what she needs, and with his eyes and a tight-lipped expression, he conveys that she is not welcome, and she answers that she’s a documentary filmmaker from the city, now she goes from house to house, looking for someone who remembers her grandmother, who once lived here, and she pronounces the fake name, and the man with tight lips just shakes his head and closes the door in front of her face, and the woman stands there for a while, pondering how to get inside, and then she turns around and walks back along the stream and up the gravel path, and somewhere in the distance, a tired dog barks, and she returns to the main road and to the house of the woman who waited, and rings the bell again, and asks about the man with tight lips, she tells the woman who waited how much she needs to talk to him and how important it could be for her film, she asks the woman who waited if she knows anything about him, saying that the man with tight lips doesn't want to tell her anything and closed the door in her face without a word, and the woman who waited nods understandingly and says, yes, that's how he is, he doesn't trust anyone and is ashamed, all because of his brother, young lady, he had a brother and something about that brother didn't sit well with us, something about him terrified us, the brother was always peculiar and different, even as a child, and he was never interested in what other boys were, he never chased after girls, and even when their father urged him to find a wife, the brother didn't do it, and even when their father urged him to become a priest, he didn’t do it, and eventually, that brother, during a cold spring night, took a suitcase full of things, walked to the district town, boarded a bus, and was never seen here again, no one heard about him, he didn't even come to their father's funeral, even his own brother never heard from him, until one day, many years later, news came from the city, and the man with tight lips learned that his brother had been killed and his head smashed to pieces during a similar cold spring night in the capital city, and apparently, the brother was doing well in the capital because he left a large inheritance and left behind neither a wife nor children nor anyone else who could inherit after him, and so, the man with tight lips, who had been a builder until then, with never enough work because no one was building or repairing anything anymore, inherited everything and he expanded and reconstructed his house, and his wife left him, who knows where, and now he lives there alone, trusting no one, you know, there's all sorts of gossip, and he doesn't want to hear about it, he won't utter a word about his brother, but if you need to talk to him, young lady, I'll convince him, give me a few hours, and I'll persuade him, it’s for the good of everyone here to be in your film, and where do you even have a camera, young lady, I didn't even see that you had a camera, and the woman lies, saying she left it in the car, and in reality, she doesn't have any camera, and she can only shoot on her phone, but that's not relevant because it won't happen, still, the explanation is enough for the woman who waited, give me a few hours, and ring his doorbell again in the evening.

And so she must somehow kill a couple of hours, evening descends on the kopanice, the air cools, and the light fades, making everything easier for her, in some of the inhabited houses, lamps, light bulbs, and television screens are lit, and she chooses one of those she hasn't tried yet, it's a shabby building with two floors, nothing that interests her, but she has to kill a few hours somehow, so she tries ringing the gate, and nothing happens, and no one reacts, and then she notices a faded message in a punched pocket on the ground under the doorbell, it was probably hanging directly under it and fell off, the wind hasn't blown it away yet because it's weighed down by a stone, perhaps randomly, or someone placed it there since lifting the message and sticking it back seemed unnecessary, and she reads the message, the doorbell doesn't work, and the gate is open, and please knock loudly, she learns, and so she opens the creaking gate and approaches the door, knocking loudly, and after some time, a short old woman with hair dyed purple opens it for her, good evening, says the purple one, good evening, the woman replies and proceeds to tell her that she’s a filmmaker and her grandmother lived somewhere around here, and now she's looking for someone who remembers her and she repeats the fake name and the purple one searches among names in her memory for a while, then squints at the woman and compares the facial features in front of her with similar faces in her memory, and eventually gives up and informs the woman that she doesn't remember, she's sorry about it, it doesn't matter, the woman says, tell me something about yourself instead, where you worked, how you lived, she asks, and she hopes the purple one will invite her inside, and without hesitation, the purple one does just that, and on the way to the living room, she asks the woman if she wants coffee, if she wants tea, if she wants slivovica, or if she should bake a cake, the purple one doesn't have many visitors, she apologizes, and the woman replies that she doesn't need anything, maybe just coffee, and the purple one tells her to sit down in the living room and hurries to prepare instant coffee in the kitchen, and meanwhile, the woman manages to scan the living room with her eyes and assess whether she can find anything interesting or valuable in it, and she contemplates whether to dare to start opening cabinets and drawers, but she decides to leave it for later, and the purple one indeed returns quickly with coffee and places it in front of the woman along with milk and sugar in a decorated porcelain sugar bowl, and the woman examines the sugar bowl with interest, it looks antique, she mentions it to the purple one, and the purple one nods, she doesn't even know how old it could be, she inherited it from her mother, and her mother had it from her mother, and the woman stares at the sugar bowl intently and doesn't add sugar or milk to her coffee, and she takes a sip of instant coffee, and the coffee is disgusting and almost makes her vomit, but she doesn't show anything, I don't need milk, but leave the sugar here, maybe I'll have some later, she tells the purple one, then she asks her again, where did you work, how did you live, and the purple one answers, I worked at home, took care of the children, and took care of the house, and took care of the garden, and took care of the field, so you didn't work, the woman replies, and the purple one shakes her head, my husband worked in the town at the factory, my poor late husband, I was at home, but I worked, she says with a shy smile, and lowers her gaze, and I also believed all my life that I don't work when I'm at home, she adds, but my son, you know, he studied at the university, she says proudly, and the last time he visited me, he tried to boost my confidence, and indeed, the house doesn't clean itself, and the weeds don't pull themselves out, and vegetables don't plant themselves, and dinner doesn't cook itself, and children don't raise themselves, and my son, when he was last here, told me about a book release party he attended in the city, and that book was also about this, he even read to me from it, and I wrote it down so I wouldn't forget because I forget a lot already, wait a moment, and the purple one opens the drawer under the TV, which is full of papers, and she digs into it for a while, then she pulls out a neatly folded sheet of paper and sits down again, and she carefully unfolds it, and on the paper are several handwritten words, and the purple one reads them aloud, to maintain the apartment with an empty floor and to keep the apartment whole, preventing it from tipping over the point of no return, to keep the world within its limits, she reads with her shy smile, as if she were afraid to believe her own words, and she looks at the woman and apologetically says, I don't remember the name of that book anymore, I didn't write it down, it's been two years since my son was last here, when he visits me again, I want to ask him about it, if I don't forget, I hope I won't forget, and the woman nods and pretends to care, and then she asks the purple one where the bathroom is, and the woman gets up and follows her directions upstairs, and fortunately, the wooden stairs creak, so if the purple one decided to follow her, she would hear her, and on the way to the bathroom, she also enters the bedroom, and opens all the closets, and shelves, and drawers but finds nothing interesting, and disappointed, she leaves, and she doesn't need to use the bathroom, but she knows she should at least flush to avoid suspicion and so, she goes into the bathroom, and flushes, and washes her hands, and goes back downstairs to the living room and doesn't finish her coffee, and the purple one is still sitting there, and on the table in front of her is the decorated porcelain sugar bowl and at that moment, it doesn't occur to the woman how to distract the purple one, and so, she just says that she has to go, and if she needs anything else, she'll get in touch, and the purple one agrees and expresses how much she looks forward to her next visit, especially with the camera, and the woman says yes, that's right, and leaves the house without feigning interest anymore.

It's almost nighttime, the darkness is thick, and there are barely any lamps, and she illuminates her surroundings with her phone and is sure that a few hours have already passed, although it might be inappropriate to bother strangers so late, she doesn't want to linger, and so she returns to the house of the man with tight lips and rings the doorbell persistently, and the man with tight lips indeed opens the door, and this time, there is something reconciled or rather reconciling in his eyes, and my neighbour explained everything, he says, come on then, since you’re so stubborn, he says, and she enters, don't worry, just for a moment, she assures him, after all, it's late, she assures him, I don't want to take up too much of your time, she assures him, and repeats the fake name of the fake grandmother, and repeats that she used to live here, and he says yes, I heard, but I don't remember anyone like that, he says, maybe if you told me the names of other relatives, he says, but the woman waves her hand, never mind, tell me something about yourself, and the man gets nervous, she sees him growing pale and fearful, I heard that you worked as a builder, tell me something about what you did here, she calms him down, and he sits down in the living room, gesturing with his hand toward the chair opposite, and he offers her nothing, no drink or food, and she notices it but says nothing, and unobtrusively, she surveys the living room and the interior of the house, seeing that it is as well-maintained and renovated and beautiful as the exterior, what can I tell you, says the man with tight lips, there wasn't much work, especially in recent years, some repairs here and there on houses and barns, but even those were just a nuisance, we've always built with sun-dried bricks here, and everything is at least a hundred years old, and everything is crooked and handmade, and that's how it's always been, and then, no one repaired anything anymore, and everything stayed the same, and I stopped being a builder, and since then, I just sit here and occasionally do something around my own house, and she considers how to formulate the next question politely, being cautious not to frighten the man with tight lips and not to get thrown out, how did you live then when there was no more work, from what, from what did you live, she finally asks, and the man with tight lips hesitates for a moment and then says, I was lucky, what can I tell you, I was lucky, and various things saved me, fate, what can I tell you, the man with tight lips avoids a direct answer, and she just says, I understand, and then she asks where the bathroom is, and the man with pursed lips says I'll escort you, it's hard to explain to a stranger, and she protests, saying, no, it's not necessary, I can handle it, just tell me where, and I'll find it, but he doesn't yield, I'll escort you, and so, he escorts her, and she locks herself in the bathroom for a while and when enough time passes, she flushes, and unlocks the door, and comes out, and she sees that the man with tight lips is still waiting in the hallway, and now she's genuinely angry, and the man with tight lips asks her if she wants to know anything else or if that's all, and she says that's all and leaves without saying goodbye, and outside, it's raining now, and the rain is gaining intensity, and she walks through the darkness along the road, and at the second turn, she turns right and walks along the overgrown gravel path, past the six-hundred-year-old lime tree and beside the stream, and a tired dog is barking somewhere in the distance, and she passes by the abandoned house to another one a little beyond it and tries the handle and indeed, the door is open, and she enters the neglected kitchen, and it’s dark everywhere, and the one who ate orange berries is already asleep, and the woman enters the bedroom as quietly as she can, she stands for a moment beside the bed, observing how the one who ate orange berries is weakly breathing, and then she notices a golden pendant and small earrings on her nightstand, and puts them in her pocket, and returns to the kitchen, and takes her backpack, and leaves the house, closing the front door behind her, and along the overgrown gravel path, she returns to the road around the six-hundred-year-old lime tree, and the path is now soaked by the rain, and her shoes are muddy, and the dog no longer barks in the distance, replaced by the sounds of thunder, and lightning increasingly illuminates her steps, and she goes back to the main road, finds her car, and gets in, and starts the engine, and drives away, and in the midst of a raging storm, the woman saws down the trunks of all the large trees along the only access road, toppling them onto the path, and blocks it with rocks and she waits until the water undermines and washes away the precarious asphalt, and waits until all rodents, and tits, and thrushes, and the bones of giant dinosaurs and the things no one should ever dig up emerge from the graves behind each of the thirteen houses and they complete everything that can no longer be delayed.

Photo credit: Michal Vozar

Michal Tallo is a writer and translator from Slovakia. He writes in Slovak and English, and is the author of three books of poetry in Slovak: Antimita (Antimacy, 2016), Δ (Delta, 2018) and Kniha tmy (The Book of Darkness, 2022). Tallo’s poems and short stories have been translated into several languages. His most recent work is a short story collection called Všetko je v poriadku, všade je láska (Everything’s Fine, Love Is Everywhere), published in July 2024 by the Literárna bašta publishing house. He translated Andrew McMillan’s poetry collections Physical and Playtime, and Seán Hewitt’s memoir All Down Darkness Wide into Slovak. Tallo’s English writing has appeared in Giramondo Publishing's HEAT. To learn more, visit www.michaltallo.sk