Fantastic Metropolis

The fish were now taken care of until morning. As soon as I had had something to eat myself, I would be in need of their services. I’d just been through another depressing day. Only the ignorant could think that if you work long enough in a funeral parlor you stop being affected by what goes on there. It’s actually quite the opposite. At least with me. The older I get, the harder it is to do my work. I’ve recently started considering the idea of taking early retirement as soon as I meet the qualifications. I guess I can make it through another two years and eight months. My pension will be quite a bit lower than it would be after full retirement, but I’ll manage somehow. Whether I would even live to see full retirement at that job is very questionable.

I was heading for the kitchen to make something to eat, when I suddenly remembered the mysterious envelope I’d left on the coffee table. I hesitated a moment, but curiosity got the better of my growling stomach. It wouldn’t take long just to see what was inside. I raised the envelope to the window. Through the white paper, the rays of the afternoon sun outlined a small, dark rectangle in the middle, at somewhat of a slant. I tore open the envelope carefully on the side edge, stuck two fingers into it and took out what was there.

Even though I knew what it was right away, I stared at the movie ticket for several moments in bewilderment. Then I peered into the envelope but, as I expected, there was nothing else inside. I looked at the blue ticket again. It was valid for a screening at the Film Archives that day at six o’clock. There was no mention of what was playing. I opened my briefcase, took out the newspaper, found the movie page and looked for the program at the Film Archives. But instead of the name of the film it said, “Closed on Monday.”

I put the ticket, envelope and newspaper on the coffee table, and then headed for the kitchen once again. It was easy to figure out what these unidentified but clever promoters were up to. They had rented the Film Archives theater for the only day it was closed to regular showings. Not a single other movie theater in town had such a convenient day off. I had had no idea that this reputable institution rented out its premises, but we live in a time of general commercialization and nothing should be surprising anymore. Even funeral services are affected, making my job all the harder.

They had sent out tickets for a series of showings to countless addresses. Certainly to many more than there were places in the theater, rightfully judging that many would not respond to their invitation. Those who did get hooked by this bait would have a surprise in store for them. Instead of the film they expected, there would be some kind of dog and pony show. And what would be even more unusual, most of the people would stay until the end, even though they weren’t the slightest bit interested in what was being offered. They might even buy it finally. It is truly unbelievable how gullible people are sometimes. I, of course, was not of their ilk. It wasn’t easy to sell me a bill of goods. In any case, even if I’d wanted to go there, I would have had a hard time getting there on time. I looked at my watch: twenty-five to six. Bearing in mind the distance between my house and the Film Archives, I would be racing against the clock.

I took a package of goulash out of the freezer and got the pot I use to fix frozen food from the cupboard. I filled the deep pot about one-third full with water and put the aluminum foil-covered brick into it. I put the pot on the largest plate and turned it on. I then set one end of the kitchen table with practiced movements and returned to the stove. Dinner would be ready in about fifteen minutes. I spend this time every day watching the water heat up. It’s not exactly exciting or useful, but what else could I do as I waited for the meal to get ready? There was no question of reading the newspaper, for example, because I never do that in the kitchen.

I’d been staring at the silver bar on the bottom for about three minutes when something suddenly snapped inside me. In a rapid succession of movements I turned off the plate, stuck my hand into the already lukewarm water and took out the package of goulash, wiped it with the dishtowel hanging next to the sink and put it back in the freezer. There was no time to put the pot away and clear the table. All I did was grab the two slices of bread from the bread basket that I’d just sliced. I started stuffing them into my mouth on my way out of the kitchen.

I picked up the ticket from the coffee table in the living room and then rushed to the vestibule. I had trouble putting on my coat. It isn’t easy to pull your hand through the sleeve when you’re holding a slice and a half of bread. When I finally got it through there was a small pile of crumbs on the floor. I’d bought the bread that morning so it was already rather dry. I was strongly tempted to clean up the mess right then and there, but I somehow managed to curb the impulse to put everything in order without delay. That could wait as well. I didn’t have a moment to lose. I quickly put on my hat and went out. Thank heavens I didn’t have to fool with locking the door. It was enough to close it behind me.

Hidden Camera, translated from the Serbian by Alice Copple-Tosić, will be published in the USA in late 2004 by The Dalkey Archive Press. It will also be serialized in six consecutive issues in the British monthly magazine Interzone in 2004.