Rus Like Everyone Else (17 page)

Wanda was in the shop buying shaving cream and a tie. She had a job interview arranged for him. They had gone to the shopping district in the city center, a street where Rus had been often before during the long walks he used to make. Back then he only noticed things like the clouds and the seagulls, the rain making circles in the puddles, the sound of an empty can rolling down the road. Now, for the first time, he noticed the buildings, the brands written on them, the clothes in the shops, and all the people passing down the street.

For the first time in his life Rus felt like he had something to do with all these things, because he had nowhere to hide anymore.

Slowly, Rus started walking down the street, looking at the shops and what they sold. Across the street from Rus there were giant photos attached to a building, pictures of women with shiny faces and wet bodies, men in their underwear with sweat on their foreheads. Rus stopped below a large photo of a bare-chested man looking into the distance with a briefcase and a woman lying at his feet. The man looked very relaxed, and he had his foot on the belly of the woman to make sure she could never go away.

Rus could not take his eyes off the man for some reason; there was something about him that made Rus feel like he was connected to him. Under the picture it read,
WHAT'S IT GONNA BE?
and it was as if this question was aimed directly at him.

“What's it gonna be?” Rus whispered. “What
is
it gonna be?” Slowly, very slowly, an idea about what it was going to be came into his mind.

Maybe I have lost my house, he thought, and the space in my head. But I have new things. I am a person now, with a number and a suit. Yes, I have a suit, and a résumé, and Wanda, and in that way, I am very similar to, for instance, that man on the board. When he thought this, Rus felt himself growing a little taller, and he held his arms away from his sides a bit to look broad. Then he frowned like the man in the photo as he looked at the shop windows across the street.

Reflected in the shop windows across the street was a strange-looking man in a fur coat looking back at Rus, holding his arms a little away from his sides to look broad.

Startled, Rus lowered his arms and stepped toward his reflection. Was this him? His face did not look strong at all; he had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks looked very thin. The brown trousers of his suit were much wider than the trousers of the men in the photos and too long—they didn't end right where the shoe started, but a bit farther, causing the extra fabric lying around on his shoes. Even the buttons on the jacket were strange, too big and too many, not to mention his shoes. The yellow plastic bag that contained his résumé hung sadly from his arm.

Rus felt himself getting warm as he thought about how he used to walk around East shamelessly, pushing people aside on the market square, and the one time he cut in line in the Starbucks because he was in a rush to see the flock of sparrows that flew over the street. Rus's heart started pounding. He felt so ashamed, so ashamed all of a sudden, for that day and all the days he had existed, walking around like he really was someone, and all the while looking like this.

Rus hid the plastic bag under his coat and walked along the wall back to the shop where Wanda was, making space for the people he came across and avoiding their eyes. When he did not see Wanda he was sure she had left him. The sweat under his armpits felt cold.

“Wanda,” he said, “Wanda!”

He walked hurriedly through all the people, searching for her; she was the only one who could help him become a new man. “Wanda, Wanda,” he begged as he ran down the street, scanning all the faces of the people passing by him. When he finally saw her, waiting for him in the car park, he walked right up to her and clenched her arm tightly. “I don't know why you want me,” he said to her, “but I am going to keep you. I'm going to do everything you say. I will become a real man, like the one in the photo.”

MRS. BLUE WITHOUT THE SHOW

Mrs. Blue couldn't walk as fast since she fell on the forklift truck, so she walked slowly, pushing her rolling walker down the street to
get her groceries. She had never really noticed how many old ladies like her there were, pushing their rolling walkers through the street, past the cars and the advertisements on the billboards. Mrs. Blue pulled her fur hat farther over her eyes.

“Hello,” the checkout girl said when Mrs. Blue came into the supermarket.

Mrs. Blue nodded distractedly. She took her hat off and redid her hair in the mirrored window of the shop. She used to walk around here knowing that Grace was waiting for her, but now that this was everything there was, she saw every little thing: all the dirt in the corners, all the fast-food advertisements.

At the register, the man behind Mrs. Blue said that everything was going to hell these days and Mrs. Blue knew that it was nonsense, things had always been going to hell and it was just the people who really believed in civilization who got disappointed. Nature had always been growth and decay, there had always been kindness and viciousness; it just took on new forms.

“I hope you have a nice day,” Cathy said.

Mrs. Blue did not say anything. She turned around and walked out of the shop, back to the apartment.

At home there was a message from her son on the answering machine. “Ma, it's Glenn. I got a call from the hospital saying you have dislocated your hip. You know that if you need any help, extra care or anything, you can just contact your local authorities. There are plenty of services for the elderly nowadays. The number is 003—”

Mrs. Blue put the bag of groceries in the corner without unpacking it and lay down on the couch.

GRACE IN THE STORY

“Hello!” Grace shouted, her hands by her mouth like a megaphone.

She was standing in the middle of the road, if you could still call it a road, that is: the trees that had framed the road by the Fata Morgana mansion had long stopped appearing, and somewhere along the way the asphalt had dissolved into some kind of dark open floor that led nowhere and ended nowhere.

“Is anyone there?”

Grace's voice remained audible for a long time; it traveled far into the empty space.

There was nothing, nothing there.

Cautiously, Grace looked up to the sky once more, only to quickly cast her eyes down again. The sky was still completely empty: no sun, no stars, no moon. The only light came from that strange white mist that was everywhere around her.

Grace wrapped her veil around her shoulders like a scarf and started walking again. She was certain there used to be a sky hanging over her, a bright sun during the day and beautiful stars at night, although for some reason she could not remember a single moment when she'd actually seen it.

RUS'S JOB INTERVIEW

“Rus,” the manager said. “Rus Ordelman.”

He tapped with his hand on his desk while he said Rus's name, as if he was trying out the sound, like a new song. Then he fell silent for a while, until he smiled and asked, “How do you feel about this country, Rus?”

“This country,” Rus said, “how do I feel about it?” Wanda had taught him to repeat questions so he would have extra time to think about his answer. The manager nodded encouragingly.

“Yes,” Rus said, “I'm not sure.”

Wanda told him never to say he wasn't sure, Rus remembered. He shrank with shame in his chair. “I mean,” he said with his head bent, “I mean I am sure. I think I just cannot find the words to describe it. To describe my feelings.”

“Well said,” the manager said.

Rus nodded actively. He started the sentences he'd practiced with Wanda: “I am very enthusiastic about this opportunity.”

“That is great,” the manager said, “positive things are always appreciated by everyone. So are you motivated to become adjusted in this country?”

“Yes, yes,” Rus said, “that is, I was born here, of course.”

The manager winked at him. “Good stuff, Rus,” he said, “good stuff.”

He wrote something on his newspaper and smiled. “I like your
attitude, Rus. And I like your name too. It is an easy name to remember, which is a plus in a large company like this.”

“I made a résumé of my experience,” Rus said. “I worked on it with my Wanda.” He put the résumé on the table. It was in a yellow plastic folder that he'd picked out. It was a modest kind of yellow, not bright like sunflowers but more like sand in a desert. Still, it was a nice summery color, he thought.

“Good stuff,” the manager said again. He opened a drawer and took out a gray book. “This book,” he said, “is the essence of good management.”

He held the book up so Rus could look at it. It was called
The Company Guidelines
. There was a black beetle on the cover. The manager placed the book carefully on the table and stood up from his chair. “Everything that concerns the company is described in this book. I know it by heart.” He took a pen out of his shirt pocket and pointed it at the ceiling. A red dot appeared on the ceiling.

“Let me tell you something about our international guidelines.” The manager pointed the pen at Rus's chest. “As a company, we prefer to look at people's qualities instead of their shortcomings. For instance, we have a lot of Asians in the calculation department. Russians, like you, do well in the docks, but also in copying.”

Rus opened his mouth but the manager raised his hand: “I know what you're thinking. You are thinking this is a horrible generalization, am I right?” The manager did not wait for the answer but leaned over his desk toward Rus. “Take it from me, there's a lot of truth in generalizations. Most people don't know this, but there is a lot of truth in them.” The manager moved the pen so the red dot appeared on Rus's hand. It then went up onto his sleeve a little bit.

The manager smiled. “I bet you've never seen a laser pen before.” Rus shook his head. He had never even heard about one. He had a strong feeling that there were many things he had never seen before, that life had been passing him by. “I'm sorry,” he said for no reason in particular.

“That's all right,” the manager said. “You are hired.” He squinted and examined Rus: his wide-eyed face, his skinny shoulders, his brown oversized suit. “Copying,” he decided.

THE CHASE