The Way of Muri (12 page)

The inside of the car was getting colder. The girl’s feet were already frozen in her light shoes, and she soon regretted the hastily chosen dress that barely reached the top of her thighs. ‘Oh God!’ The girl gave a short, high-pitched shriek as a gust of snow covered the windscreen. ‘Oh God!’ Wiping away her tears, the student stared at the hopelessly blank wall of snow. The windscreen wipers didn’t stand a chance. ‘Oh God!’ she wailed once more.

Suddenly she thought she heard a strange scratching noise. The girl was so frightened that she opened the door, and a snowball with grey whiskers jumped straight onto her lap. ‘A cat!’ she cried. The smell of make-up and tears inside the car told Muri all he needed to know about its occupant. The student was too stunned to protest when Muri started turning in circles on her lap. Eventually he stopped and lay down. The snowstorm, on the other hand, was growing stronger. After further unsuccessful attempts to locate her phone and start the engine, the girl succumbed to genuine panic. Fear had already enhanced her sense of hearing; now the student detected a strange howling noise in the wind. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she pushed the disgruntled cat from her lap, grabbed her bag and scrambled out of the car into the pitch darkness. She had picked just the right moment. A battered old lorry lumbered noisily into view. Its four wheels screeched as the driver braked, mercifully stopping right in front of the girl.

Under normal circumstances, the sight of this old wreck and the sound of its brakes would have been reason enough to refuse the services of its driver, but the girl’s fear overruled the remnants of her common sense. She reached up and grasped the door firmly as it opened, fully prepared to climb into the front seat with the devil himself.

‘Traitor!’ miaowed Muri, abandoned in the frozen car along with the scattered contents of the girl’s handbag. ‘How dare she leave me behind?’

He catapulted out of the doomed VW, slipped past the girl and leapt up into the lorry, straight onto the worn front seat. The driver was invisible in the darkness.

‘Is this little devil with you?’ he asked.

‘No,’ answered the girl, climbing in and pushing Muri out of the way. ‘He just appeared out of nowhere.’

‘Well, the more the merrier,’ declared the driver, to her surprise. ‘Where are you heading?’

‘My town’s about nine miles from here,’ she answered, fidgeting on the seat as she tried to make herself comfortable.

‘No problem!’ her saviour swiftly reassured her.

Once she’d settled down in the warmth, the girl sniffed and looked around. Her face took on a worried expression, because there was an unpleasant smell inside the lorry and the driver – a large, powerfully built man with black hair, speaking with an obvious accent –made her feel distinctly ill at ease. It was too late to change her mind, though, as the lorry had already set off.

‘Don’t worry, Fräulein, I’ll take you straight there!’ promised the driver, stroking his moustache. This declaration and the accompanying gesture further stoked the girl’s panic. Gripping the wheel with his large hands, the driver began singing a strange song:

Curled up on the floor near the pedals, the cat immediately recognized the collector of corpses from Sarajevo. Despite her fear, the girl suddenly began talking.

‘You shouldn’t let that cat sit down there, you know. I’ve heard loads of stories about animals in cars suddenly getting under the driver’s feet, or throwing themselves at the windscreen… They cause accidents.’ Her teeth were chattering. ‘I’ve honestly got no idea where he came from!’ she added, categorically disowning her fellow traveller.

‘Calm down, Fräulein!’ answered the driver. ‘He’s not taking up much space, and he wouldn’t dare get under my feet. If he does, he’ll know about it!’

The lorry skidded on the icy road, but the driver’s boot remained in control of the brake. His passenger gave a belated squeal of despair as they passed yet another ravine.

‘My town’s not far now,’ said the girl. ‘Please, just slow down!’

‘Seriously, stop worrying!’ The driver burst out laughing. ‘You’ll be at your front door in no time.’

Nevertheless he obediently slowed down, and the girl surprised herself by telling him about herself – that she was studying at college, which was fifty miles from her home, and that she was on her way to visit her parents for the weekend.

‘The journey’s been an absolute nightmare!’ she grumbled.

‘I wouldn’t call that a journey!’ the driver pacified her. ‘Fifty miles door to door, from your student hostel to the comfort of your own bedroom and the warm milk your mother brings you in the morning? It’s barely an excursion!’

His serious tone and the way he’d spoken with such conviction about the warm milk her mother always brought her in the morning had the same effect on the girl as a handful of tranquilisers. The blizzard had died down, and things were calmer outside too. The road was less icy and seemed to be behaving itself.

‘How did you know about the milk?’ asked the girl.

‘Just a lucky guess,’ answered the driver. ‘There, look, isn’t that your town?’

It was. After continuing downhill for a little while, the road levelled out. Leaving the blizzard behind them, they headed towards the neon lights that had awoken in the distance.

‘When you find your true home, there will always be a fire in the grate and warm slippers waiting for you,’ declared the driver. ‘And the central heating will never break down. A nightmare journey, indeed!’ he continued pensively. ‘Listen Fräulein, my life has been ruined, almost beyond repair, and I’m trying to get it back – that’s the way real journeys begin.’

Noticing that he had the girl’s attention, the driver continued.

‘My name is Bolislav Zonžič. I’m from Serbia. My mother, my father, my brothers and my uncles are all dead, my home has been defiled, my fellow countrymen have fled… I had to do something!’

‘You speak so calmly about it,’ said the girl, chastened. ‘As though it were all in the natural order of things.’

‘Not at all,’ the driver replied sadly. ‘My point is that this was the reason I began my journey. Journeys begin for a variety of reasons, and I’m sorry to say that most of them tend to be rather unpleasant!’

‘Unpleasant?’ exclaimed the girl. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine what I would do if something like that ever happened to my mother and father.’

‘I’ve mourned my loss,’ said the driver. ‘Unfortunately the Lord gives many their staff to carry after they have suffered misfortunes such as this. I have also met holy men, who set off on journeys without the stimulus of grief. Personally, I have always known that my true home exists somewhere – the war just gave me the impetus to begin searching for it. As I said, some set off on their travels without any obvious motivation; others are compelled by need and misfortune… But enough about that! The important thing, Fräulein, is that every journey should have a goal, and it has to be something important enough to keep you going until the very end. I believe that what lies at the end of every journey is a person’s true home. Without it they are worth nothing and their life has no meaning, but once they’ve found it the wandering can stop. What’s the point of travelling if you don’t have a goal?’

‘But where will your journey end?’ the girl asked timidly.

‘I don’t know yet,’ confessed the driver. ‘I just feel that my road is not that long. I mean it will end here, on Earth. Some look to the sky and travel from star to star, certain that what they are searching for is situated somewhere in the region of Alpha Centauri. I’m serious!’ he continued. ‘I’ve met so many travellers who no longer delight in anything this world has to offer – nothing less than the Milky Way will do for them! These cosmic nomads are ten a penny, but even they have to stop some time! It’s all a question of timing. They’re also yearning for a place to take off their shoes and put their feet up, albeit on some distant
planet. Don’t laugh! Their home there may well turn out to be a ramshackle wooden hut with one tiny window and a garden overgrown with weeds, but it’ll be worth all the worn-out sandals! It’ll be worth jumping from star to star.’

With the autobahn stretching straight ahead of them, Zonžič the Serb tried once more to coax a meteoric performance out of his dilapidated old lorry. This time the girl didn’t even flinch.

‘On the other hand,’ continued her strange companion, ‘I’ve also met people who are convinced that we never find our true home, and that one road always leads to another. They see themselves as part of a universal whole, spanning millions of years and billions of miles, and spend their lives preparing to roam the rim of this Brahma wheel for all eternity. These wanderers must be lost, unhappy souls… Surely we’re all looking for a place to call home, a well in the garden, a window… and happiness! I mean, the feeling that all your journeys are finally over and you can spend the rest of your life sitting on the porch of your house, smoking your pipe and admiring the sunset.’

‘Well, my house, my own bedroom and my fireplace are already waiting for me,’ reasoned the girl. ‘As long as you keep your word and this old banger of yours manages to get us there without disintegrating, I’ll be outside my front door in five minutes, so I don’t really know what you’re talking about!’

‘No, my dear Fräulein! A thousand times no! I’m talking about a home, not a house. Tell me honestly, hand on your heart, do you feel happy when you walk in through that front door? Do you never feel tempted to leave your little nest, once you’ve had your fill of sitting by the fire and sleeping in your bed?’

The lorry was making good progress along the deserted, well-lit road, the lights of the town were twinkling in the distance and the girl felt that everything was going to be all right.

‘Maybe,’ she answered, after a moment’s thought. ‘I do get a bit bored at my parents’ house after a while… I mean, I can’t sit on the porch admiring the sunset forever, can I? Two or three days,’ she added, ‘and I’m usually ready to go back.’

‘That just proves that you haven’t found your true home yet!’ exclaimed Bolislav. ‘When you do find it, you’ll never want to leave. That’s my point! Many dream of spending eternity in paradise, but my goal is to find a home that I will never, ever leave. And when I find it, dear Fräulein, my journey will be complete.’

‘So, once you find it, are you just going to sit there for the rest of your life?’ asked the girl.

‘I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life anywhere else, Fräulein,’ answered the Serb. ‘I intend to sit on the front porch until the end of time. Most houses, even villas and palaces, are no more than temporary shelters, because the people who live in them still yearn for something more, don’t they? If you ask me, each and every one of them is yearning for the road that will lead them to their true home. Despite the modern conveniences with which they surround themselves, those who languish in their lairs will always yearn for that road, and many of them eventually succeed in overcoming their cowardice.’

‘Oh, there is my town!’ the girl exclaimed suddenly. ‘You can drop me off here!’

Right on cue, the square, the market and the ubiquitous town hall came into view. The lorry shuddered to a standstill. Bolislav jumped down from the step, walked around the front of the vibrating vehicle and opened the passenger door, but the girl didn’t seem to be in any hurry to climb out.

‘There’s a really strong smell in here,’ she said, wanting to prolong their conversation. ‘Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to let a bit of fresh air in… What
is
that smell, anyway?’

‘We all have to make a living somehow,’ the driver answered evasively. ‘But I’m also transporting donations of blankets and biscuits for the Saint Caroline orphanage. I’m going straight there after I’ve dropped you off, and then I shall be 400 Deutschmarks better off.’

The girl was still sitting in the lorry, ignoring the driver’s outstretched hand. She stared straight at the intriguing Serb, whose eyes were wet with snow.

‘But won’t you get bored in this true home of yours, when you find it?’ she blurted out. ‘Maybe in a year or two you’ll realize that you made a mistake, and then you’ll start running again, driven by yearning and boredom and all the other things that eventually make people run?’

‘No!’ answered the driver, taking hold of the girl and lifting her carefully down onto the cobbles of the empty square. ‘It’s my sole objective in life. As soon as I reach it, my journey will be over forever. If you want my advice, you should get out of here as soon as you can – the stench of complacency is as offensive as the smell in my lorry.’

‘How do you know that I haven’t already found what I was looking for?’ she interrupted. ‘Maybe what I said about my parents’ house before wasn’t true. Actually right now, I feel like staying in my bedroom and by the fire forever.’

‘Then you should ask yourself that question, Fräulein!’ Bolislav looked at the shivering German girl and burst out laughing. ‘You can say what you like to me, but if you really want to stay in this sleepy little town for ever, to idle your life away, then go ahead – no one’s stopping you! It just means that your path was short, and everything’s over for you before it’s even begun. But so what? It’s not the end of the world. I suspect it’s a little more complicated, though, so you ought to give it some serious thought – it’s better to begin your journey early, while your legs are young and strong. I urge you to seek out your home, your true home, and may the Lord guide you! God loves travellers. Seriously, why stay in one place and let your life pass you by?’

‘I don’t know what to think any more,’ said the girl, her teeth chattering. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you before.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Bolislav replied gently. ‘There are plenty of others like me. You just haven’t been forced to begin your journey yet. Or maybe you’ve simply been sleeping your way through life. Most people are asleep, anyway, and that’s probably for the best. If everyone woke up at the same time and headed out onto the road, it would make for one almighty traffic jam!’