Island Operation (Part IV)

With haste I took my chair down to the channel. It was maybe some two hundred meters to the first intersection, where there was a bridge and a sort of dam. I got there quickly. 

After some time I noticed that the island, almost invisible through the wild terrain dividing the street from the channel, was ending. The patch of bush became wider here and the channel receded from the street. 

When I finally arrived at the intersection, I had to cross to the other side of the street, because some destruction of war had ended the walkway on this side. On the street there were very few people, which suited me perfectly, because I knew no one would gawk from the bridge as my cork floated by. Right there was the trolley station, where an already well imbibed fellow stood. 

“You have a nice chair, sir,” he talked me up in a Vilnian accent. 

“I can sell it to you,” I answered. 

“I don’t have any cash with me now.” 

“Are you from Vilnius?” 

The man nodded. 

“If you are from Vilnius, then I give it to you for free. You probably lost everything there.” 

I placed the chair before the bewildered guest and ran down the cement stairs under the bridge. 

Exactly under the center arch of the bridge there was a sort of natural dam, made up of different kinds of wartime junk, strewn across almost that entire stretch. There were two partially sunk, pockmarked Soviet amphibian desants there, which had to have floated down here with the current and gotten bottlenecked at the arch for good; both were turned upside down. 

Like the other vehicles stranded here, all their wheels had been unmounted. I was completely certain that by this time these wheels were a source of pride for the owners of peasant wagons, onto which the wheels were most likely at great effort transferred. 

There was even here, also partially sunk, with a strange, mangled, upward directed barrel, a large German tank, and actually a Panzer heavy gun. On the left side the tracks were gone, in part they stuck out from the water, laying at some distance. 

Even only a modestly agile person, naturally having the appropriate shoes, was able to, with no problem and without using the bridge, step over all this and, staying dry almost entirely, cross to the other side. 

Of course though the different trash and other small things easily floated through this obstacle, my cork, even the smallest pieces, had to be blocked here. 

They were just approaching, and kneeling from the side of the desant, I pulled them from the water with ease and presently wiped them dry with the towel. 

I packed two squares together as one package, and with the four long ones I made the next package, larger. Both packages wrapped in packing paper and tied with string even looked elegant enough. 

With the luggage in tow I made my way up the stairs and soon I was on the bridge again. The Vilnian with the chair was still at the stop. 

Because it unexpectedly began to rain lightly, I decided to take the trolley the four short stops, to leave the packages temporarily at the coat check with Bławat. 

When the trolley came, I got on quickly, paid for my ticket and took a seat in the front, because after all soon I would be getting off. The packages did not bother me at all, they weighed almost nothing. 

The Vilnian got on as well, sat on his chair, leaned back comfortably, crossed his legs and began to stare insolently at the conductor. On my chair he felt and looked like a good old boy. 

Now I had the occasion to inspect precisely the furniture with which I delighted the Vilnian. The chair was impressive; dark oak, hand carved with a plant motif dominated by acorns, a comfortable back and a seat covered with soft fat velvet in a cherry color. The color was temporarily not so intense, most likely not because of fading but because of the layers of dust. The entirety of it yet looked strong, very solid and rich. 

During the ride the Vilnian, the entire time looking provocatively into the conductor’s eyes, tried even to swing on the chair, lightheartedly whistling some Vilnian melody. 

When all the passengers had paid for their tickets, the conductor went up to the Vilnian with his conductor’s bag and a serious face. The Vilnian looked at him, as if seeing a conductor for the first time in his life, and began explaining, as if to a retarded child, that perhaps he could see for himself that he sat on his own chair and he had not the least intent of paying or even discussing this topic with him. 

“You better pay sir, or I’ll make you buy a ticket for the baggage too.” 

This was too much for the Vilnian. A gigantic argument began, but unfortunately I had to get off, because the trolley stood already by the coffee shop. 

Bławat was not there, his substitute was at the coat check. I did not like his kind, because apparently he snitched, which was immediately excellently apparent by his ratty face. Aside from this Bławat warned me of him many times. 

Saying that these were materials to some set design which I was now doing at a theater, I left there the larger package, and with the smaller one I ventured into town. Above all I very much wanted to meet with Anita, who had the most contacts in the business that currently interested me.