No big deal, the passengers tell each other.|
Itís hard to understand that kind of thing, I mean, how some people know. Where do they get their information? Theyíre always there, in every situation, there are those who know right away, they know everything in advance, and they talk like it, too. We usually gather around these people and listen to them, it starts in childhood, we gather around them, and gape at them, because they really seem to know some unknowable things, and it goes on until their number is up too, and as we wonder how such a thing can happen to them, we gather around them for the last time. Theyíll check the problem over on the other side, says one of them, the port maintenance shop will fix it, thatís how they do it, it would be too hot now, and besides there are too many people wanting to take the ferry from K to M, or back, for whatever reason. He, for one, doesnít understand at all. They come over here in the morning, and now, in the early afternoon, at nearly the hottest time of day, they go back over. Before long, everyone knows these things, even though there hasnít been an announcement about the reason for the delay. Instead, thereís irritatingly soothing, slightly scratchy music, turned off in the middle of a song when the dock finally edges away from the boat.
Itís going to be good, thereís a nice strong wind to toss the boat around. The boy and the girl now step into a womenís bathroom on the lower deck, the girl yanks her panties off, tips the cover down with the toe of her shoe, sits down, unbuttons the boyís pants, and when she feels she canít keep it in anymore, she turns around and leans on the basin. They fuck. The girl fills the toilet with vomit at the same time. Then the boy goes out into the lobby, staggering because of the increasingly heavy rocking. He washes his face, ducking his head under the faucet.
When the boat leans the opposite way, the door that was left open slaps the wall of the WC noisily.
As the boy rises, he stumbles, falls into the mirror, somehow pushes himself away, now he feels how strange things are, all topsy-turvy, and itís not just the rocking, because the topsy-turviness doesnít go away, it doesnít swing back in the other direction, as it should, but stays the same. Then the door bursts open and sea water gushes into the lobby, it roars through and slams the boy back into the wall, as if there really were something, even though itís not so certain that there is, as if there were a force that separates the everythings, once and for all, every thing separate from every other thing, an empty force, things separate and me separate.
From that something here, from loitering about, from the wind, and sunshine crashing down from up high, from the smell of the water, from the too good breakfasts, from others, from anyone else, from my own superfluous and unmanageable tasks, from trying, devoutness and boredom, from very smart girls like these Ė fragrant and staring at shop windows, from my motherís questions, from asking and answering, from my most foolish, my hopelessly foolish answers. From awakening in the afternoon, awakening from dreams too full, truly away.
Translated by REICH Péter