Eye for an eye

Naked Indians in trees are holding tommy guns. Their bodies are painted in war colors and their faces are beautifully sculpted. Even though the government proclaimed their territory a protected area, it doesn’t mean that their land was really saved from the white man. The year is 2007.


Lungs of the planet. Who came up with this stupid phrase?

Besides an oxygen production plant, it’s also the home of people. Some of the people living there have not been touched at all by civilization as we know and love it. This civilization hasn’t found them yet and “made them happy”.

They have their own habits and religions and they have no interest in those of the white man.

Government-sponsored research shows that there are 727 protected areas in Amazonia, but other research and satellite photos show that on twenty five percent of this land forest clearing continues the same as before they got on the list of protected areas.

Then the destruction supporters get on. They are sometimes called men of progress and product increase, and claim that researchers are anarchists and that what’s happening is not an outright clearing but only a selective timber cutting, which is actually better for the virgin forest than if there’s no cutting at all.

Then the cattle farmers claim that they need more cattle and that their cows just get confused in the forest. That’s why they need to burn the forest down, so they can create great meadows and feed the hungry masses. The result is that the majority of the forest isn’t cut down, as some people may think, but burned down. The fact that people live there is of no interest to the farmers - you know, they have to feed other people and make money, so they can raise more cows, and it’s for those cows they have to burn down a new living space.

Researchers timidly point out that the pictures speak clearly and if it continues this way, one won’t be able to breathe any more in a few years.

Politicians, bribed by the lumber and farmer lobbies, immediately curtail the funding of the researchers and explain to the public that the research isn’t valid because one of the researchers receives funding from the USA and his colleague has an illegitimate child.

The nervous public heaves a sigh of relief that there’s no danger with nature and immediately switches their attention to the world of soccer.

The area is so large that the law can barely be enforced there. The government does not have the money to pay an army of soldiers to send to the forest to enforce the law against wild lumberjacks and soybeans growers.

While this chattering is going on, hundreds of acres of virgin forest disappear every day together with unique plants, animals, and… people.

Indians do not see a tree as a “piece of wood”. For them, it’s a living creature who somebody, in their mind for no reason whatsoever, burns down alive or cuts down with a chain saw.

Death awaits every white man who tries to cut down a tree or destroy the forest on the territory of the Uru-eu-wau-wau tribe in the state of Rondonia.

Eye for an eye.

While in other protected areas the destruction of the forest has been increasing by tens of percent annually, on the territory of the mentioned tribe, it was just one percent in 2006.

The seat...

I decided to stop for a beer at the pub by our house.
I went in and sat down on a chair. I was there for a while but nobody paid any attention to me, so I got up and walked to the counter.
“One beer please.”

The bartender looked at me and told me to sit down. I did.
I lit a cigar and put my foot on the bottom of the chair next to me.
The bartender looked at me and slowly ventured around the counter.
Finally…, hopefully he’ll bring me a beer, my first Czech beer after a long time, it’ll probably be pretty bitter but on the other hand there’ll be a lot of it.
“Take your feet off the chair,” I heard above me.
“Why? And where’s the beer?” I asked.
“Take your feet of the chair before I get pissed!”
I put my feet down and stared at my cigar. It’ll peg out soon, just like me. Oh well.
The bartender came with a beer. As usual, the glass wasn’t filled all the way and the beer had foam with huge bubbles, well, what can you do…
I took a sip and suddenly felt my youth coming back to me. The years spent with this beer, parties and drinking binges at cottages and in apartments… IT WAS GREAT.
I got a little too excited, put my foot on the rail, and the chair cracked and broke…
FUCK!
I saw the bartender coming around the counter again.
“I’m sorry, I’ll pay for it,” I almost wept.
The bartender took my beer glass and without a word went back to the counter.
I must have looked like I was crazy.
“Please, gimme my beer back.”
Without a word, he poured the beer down the drain.
“Please, I’ll fix the chair, I’ll take it home and fix it, I know how,” I heard myself saying.
“I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUT YOUR FEET ON THE RAIL.”
“I’m really sorry…”
…
“Really, I’ll fix it.”
“Hmmm.”
“I’ll leave my ID here if you want me to…”
“Nooo… hmmm… you would really fix it…?”
“Yes, really, I know how to do it, I’ve fixed chairs before.”
“… OK… take the chair and bring it back tomorrow…”
I walked back to my table and picked the chair. I was sooo pissed, but I felt nobody could tell.
The bartender put his arm on my shoulder and walked out of the pub with me.
“You’re a good guy,” he said and squeezed the hand that was holding the chair.
“Hmmm,” I said and turned away.
There was a line of parked cars in front of me, ending at the intersection about fifty meters away, at the corner where I live.
I grabbed the chair and with all my strength slammed it against the ground. The actual chair fall apart in little pieces, but its seat rebounded and rapidly flew away above the sidewalk.
I heard some screams, but at this prolonged moment of time I was mesmerized by the seat as it rebounded from the sidewalk and jumped on the hood of the closest car, and from there on to another one…
I got scared that exactly at this moment somebody would drive by, the seat would fly straight into the driver’s face, and he’d be dead…
FUCK, I didn’t anticipate that.
“I’ll kill you, you fucking asshole,” I heard next to me.
Shut up, that’s not important right now, I answered the challenge in my mind.
“Guys, come here, look Frankie, this asshole…” I heard from a distance.
But all my attention was fixed on the flying seat. It was jumping from one car to another and it seemed it was accelerating more and more.
Jesus, please, don’t let anybody drive by right now, it could kill him…
“You bastard, I don’t want to ever see you around here again!”
“Well, I won’t be around, ever, don’t worry,” I heard myself answering.
The seat bounced off the last car and disappeared behind the corner.
It seemed that no car was coming. Uhhh… great, what a relief, I was already imagining myself in jail for murder…
I went home.
The seat was lying in front of the door. I picked it up and looked at it for a second. Goddamned seat.

In the bar Samuraj...

A car stopped in front of the bar.
Three black men got out and argued with the cab driver. He was getting shit and that was good. After a while he slammed the door and took off. The blacks headed to the bar towards me.
That was bad.

Shit, nooo, maybe they won't notice me.
I started intensely looking at cases of empty beer bottles like they were something very interesting. I felt their eyes on me, getting closer and closer, three huge black dudes… and me, maybe big, but pale, GRINGO...
Then I felt something move by my leg. Excellent, at least the dog's here with me, maybe they'll think it's mine and leave me alone. I looked down and realized that the dog had left. ASSHOLE, fucking goddamned asshole…
I grabbed my glass and pretended I was drinking. I hid my gringo face a little behind my hand, hoping it wouldn't be so obvious I'm of that different race.
Just in case of a fight, I rearranged the keys in my other hand so I could shove them in somebody's fucking face. I began shivering and felt sweat trickling down my ass.
I checked the other side of the street. There was somebody standing at the building door.
Who the fuck is standing there, some kind of juggler or what… and what the hell is he swinging with, some kind of pole or what???
I focused my exhausted eyes and the brothers froze in their steps, just like in the Matrix.
I saw a figure in a black habit with a huge scythe in her hand. She beckoned to me and made a notch in the air with her scythe. Her move was incredibly fluent, it was great to watch it because it was like thousands of pictures compressed in one. When she finished the move, she lifted her head and turned towards me; I curiously stared in the direction where I expected her eyes.
They were the eyes of a teacher from high school who died two years ago. Suddenly I had the same feeling like when he used to go to my parents and snitch on me and when I had to go down in the elevator to open the building door for him and he would be jovially punching me on my shoulder and laughing, "Well, Ivan, you got another whipping coming, eh, ha, ha, ha…"
I began shivering, my whole body was trembling. I realized the brothers were still standing in their tracks.
My eyes were fixed on one spot and I couldn't move them, I felt time vibrating inside of me, it wanted OUT, but I was holding it, no fucking idea how, but I was!!
A girl walked by the bar. She passed by the brothers, who were frozen in the middle of their step towards the bar, and continued in the direction of the bus stop.
I finally managed to take my eyes off the figure in the cape and looked at the girl's ass.
BANG! I heard and the brothers finished their steps. They were still in slow-motion but accelerating towards normal pace. They had just two more steps to make and they talked among each other in some strange lingo.
I wasn't able to get a word out and felt the car keys slipping out of my hand. I expected them to ram a knife into me, take everything I had, have a beer, and continue on their way, wherever that was.
I was contemplating how it would feel, to look at a knife sticking out of a belly… my own belly… how long would it take before the brain realizes the body's dying… what will I feel?!
"Three beers, old man!" shouted the biggest one and sat down on a chair.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. Jesus fucking Christ, thank God the keys slipped out of my hand because otherwise I would have, at this moment, shoved them into the man's fucking trap.
I turned my head.
It was the brother closest to me. He was smiling at me, showing his perfectly white teeth. Another one, the biggest one, had his curly hair done up into a bunch of little dreads that were, some way or another, glued to his skull. The third brother had a shaved head and a shit load of scars. All three of them wore humongous gold rings on their fingers and chains around their necks.
I knew they were from the other side. Nobody in this town wears gold like that because nobody can be SURE that somebody else won't mug him…
"Tchau, how's it goin'?" asked the one who had his hand on my shoulder.
"Great, excellent."
"I've seen you here before, they said you're from ..Finland."
"No, I'm from the Czech Republic."
"What the fuck is that, some kind of a country or what…"
The brothers looked at each other and started laughing…
I felt a rush of peace. They're all right! They don't want to kill me…
I smiled.
It took them a while before they could grasp that the local term for pussy is also a country in the heart of Europe, where I come from, and that such a country lies between Germany and Russia. I understood them, if I were them, I wouldn't be interested even where Germany is.

From the book "Short message" - release 2005

in the airplane...

"Should we go for lunch, Cris?"
"Not to the cafeteria though, supposedly there's cockroaches in the food sometimes."
"So what, I've eaten them before, they weren't too bad."
Cristina gestured like she wanted to puke.
I ate them in Thailand. We got trashed and ate frogs, then crickets, and in the end roasted cockroaches from a bag. I ate them on the way to our hotel. Then it became kind of weird and I threw them out the window.

The next day I flew from Bangkok via Vienna to Denver. Vienna was still all right.
The jumbo jet took off. I was looking forward to seeing Ludek and forgot all about the cockroaches.
Not far from Greenland I went to the bathroom. I needed to piss real bad because I always have to drink a shit load of beer beforehand in order not to be scared that the plane will go down.
I got in line and waited for my turn.
When I was three people away from the can, I had the piss almost in my underwear. I was fighting it. I could have said, people, let me go please, or I'll piss in my pants, but I didn't do it. Inborn shyness.
My anal muscles were holding on by their last strings.
Finally it was my turn. I let the anal muscles go. I felt an unbelievable freedom and relief…
After the marvelous feeling passed, I smelled something stink. Goddamnit, somebody had to shit here before me, nooo.
I reached down and found out that it was actually me who stunk. Watery shit was dripping down on my legs.
I immediately remembered the line of people waiting outside for their turn. I had to leave. I had to let them use the bathroom!!! Jesus Christ, what a situation.
I took off my underwear full of shit and put them in the toilet. I pushed the button. The lid opened and my underwear disappeared. I imagined it falling on somebody's head or car.
I washed my hands and in stinky pants, still with pieces of shit in them, stumbled out.
I could read one big question in the eyes of the waiting people.
WHAT WERE YOU DOING IN THERE SO LONG???!!!
You wouldn't believe it, but I was flushing down my underwear full of shit.
I spent the rest of the flight in the line and only four ibuprofens eventually saved me.
"Are we going for lunch?"

From the book "Short message", release 2005

ONE DAY IN LIFE

It's the third of January and outside I can hear the noises of the summer.Buenos Aires. Good Air.
I make myself a cup of coffee and get on the Internet.
I read the New Year's speech of the Czech president, who is constantly trying to impose his old ideas on the life of regular people.
Pissed off, I go to the balcony. Summer is in full swing. The summer holidays started a long time ago. I watch people jogging in the parks with hundred-year old beautiful trees.

I look at the concrete of the buildings behind the park. Concrete after concrete, as far as I can see.
I turn my email on and begin dealing with the stuff that needs to be solved over the phone.
I'm not going to the office because I'd lose an important hour of my time. This hour is super important for somebody who works for a Finnish company in Argentina. If I REALLY want to solve anything, I have to get a hold of the Finns before they leave for home. They're FIVE hours ahead of me!
I'm making phone calls and sending electronic data.
Usually, I manage to do everything I need to by eleven.
My boss calls me.
"Where are you?"
"Well, at home..."
"What? How come you're at home?!
"Well, why not, I'm home..."
"You're supposed to be at the office!"
"But I work..."
"Move it, when are you coming in?"
"Twelve!"
"WHAT!!??"
"Well..."
I pack my notebook and head out.
In the distance, I see the skyline of the commercial center and two towers, black copies of the Twin Towers in New York.
I have to switch the ventilation in my car to the internal circuit.
The well-conceived bus transportation system of GOOD AIR causes long lines of standing old buses with running engines.
I finally reach the parking garage.
"Como estás, MASTRE?"
I throw my car keys towards an Indian boy and walk to the office.
The streets are full of elegantly dressed women and men in suits.
It must be a part of the culture – whoever doesn't have a suit is a nobody.
I think about it when I'm waiting at the intersection. The noise is so loud I can't hear people talking just a couple feet away from me.
The light turns green.
None of the pedestrians move. Nobody wants to throw his life away.
Buses and cars are racing across the crossing even though the light is green for the pedestrians.
Too bad for a European who expects the same as at home, for example cars yielding to pedestrians.
I know I have about fifteen seconds to run across the hundred-meter wide street.
When I get two-thirds across, the light starts blinking red.
I hear the drivers stepping on the gas pedals, getting ready to let the clutch go as soon as possible. I'm running as always, as fast as I can. I make a great leap to overcome the last few meters.
Just in time. The cars are speeding just behind me.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead and enter the tower.
My boss Anders shakes my hand and smiles.
"Remember, you've got to be POSITIVE."
"Look, Anders, there're times you've got to be NEGATIVE towards somebody, especially in this part of the world."
"No, you must be positive," he says and disappears to make deals worth millions of dollars.
I start working and suddenly spot Onur entering the office where a hundred people sit in ten rows.
O MY GOD.
It's because the Argentineans kiss each other when they see their friends. It's ok when it's a man with a woman. However, the problem is they do it even when they are two men.
Since I don't feel good when a man touches me, I'm getting a little nervous that Onur will make it all the way to me.
Onur is quickly coming closer, row by row.
Whuff….
He shakes my hand and hugs me.
I have to hold on to my desk, even though I'm actually sitting.
"Que pasa?"
"NADA, nada...estoy cansado." Nothing, I'm tired, I say.
"Ivan, let's go for lunch!"
"Ok." I look at the pile of work in front of me. I know that I won't do anything else after lunch.
Lunches last two, sometimes even two and half hours.
To get out of the cold skyscrapers into the heat of the street is pleasant. It's warm outside, not freezing like in… inside the skyscraper.
Once in the bar, the traditional war of nerves starts. To catch the waiter's eye is an act of art that even the locals haven't mastered. Just like under the commies in those establishments which used to be supervised, from the post of deputy minister, by today's Czech prime minister.
They look at everything but you.
Beef is a NECESSITY and desert is a must.
I look nervously at my watch. I have the feeling of losing a terrible amount of time. We've been at lunch already two hours...
We come back to the office at three.
I take an office coffee and, through a glass wall, watch boats entering the port.
I'm looking at the water.
It's brown, dirty, and without waves. It's a river but also a sea. A river's estuary a hundred miles wide. You can't swim in it. I went to the docks once and the water was bubbling in decay.
The meeting starts at four. We'll get together and call our colleagues inland.
We take care of a territory as big as Western Europe plus a piece of the Apennine Peninsula but, thanks to modern technology, we don't need to be everywhere. Everything important is said in just about one hour.
It's good that everybody keeps to the point. Well, who'd want to be at a meeting longer than an hour!
I go back to my desk and pass by Anders.
"Are you working positively?" he asks me importantly.
"Of course, I'm as positive as a neutron!" I reply.
Anders makes a disagreeable face and walks away.
I collapse into my chair.
I usually stay at the office until about eight. When I'm leaving, Anders waves at me from the glassed room.
In the pub, I have a tuna salad for dinner and watch TV. Maradona on the screen is pissed. It seems that he was arrested in Brazil. I get scared it could start a war.
With my head full of black thoughts, I climb into the bar on the corner.
Vero is the owner. Kissing with her is incomparably more pleasant than with Onur.
"What happened with Diego?" I ask worriedly.
"Nothing really, he got lost at the Rio de Janeiro airport and then, extrovertly, wanted them to stop the departing plane, so they arrested him for three hours."
"I see," I calm down, finish my beer, and go to bed.
It'll be THE SAME tomorrow, but that's OK.


Published in czech magazine RESPEKT in March 2006.