In a swimming pool shower room.

In a gloomy brightness of tile walls of the biggest Prague swimming pool...

Bodies
Young, old, fat, slim, dark, nut brown or white.
Noise of showers echoes from the bodies and penetrates into bones.


Man sits in front of steambath and reads a newspaper. Other man staggers around and gabbles inapprehensible words.

A snake start crawling on the ground tiles. It's not a snake, but a water hose used by a maintenance man.

All of the sudden, water starts spraying from the snake body.

I move a bit away.

Water sprays the newspaper, but man keeps reading.

A maintenance man arrives. He cleans up his glasses and check the problem. Somehow, he is not able to fix it. Water sprays all around.

Propably some sealing...

I observe carefully, what's going to happen.

All of the sudden, the man stand up and screams: "FUCK!" In the very same moment he throws the hose wildely towards the tile floor.
Water sprays up to the ceiling.

Man with newspaper keep reading. Water is turning paper wet.

The hose starts sweeping around like a monster. Spit out water all around.

Allways the same, the inferno comes.

Maintenance man lean down to the monster. Immediatelly, he's drenched throug. He sees nothing as the monster managed to sweep over his glasses.

He grabs the monster, throws it wildely towards the tile floor and shouts: "FUCK"

Man with the newspaper rise his eyebrow. He's got his news dead drenched.

Other man goes by and gabbles. I hear a word "genitals..." He's got huge red wounds on his back.

Somebody stand right beside me and observe monster and maintenance man wrestling. Monster-snake winning...

"Fun house" he breathes out and leaves.

I move towards the showers. Someone beside me vocalize sounds like a wild boar.
He soap himself, than lies down and start tossing himself around and grunting.

I check what's up with the monster.

Totaly drenched maintenance man explains to the man with the newspaper he needs sealing.

Man looks at him with an amazement.

Water is all over.

Wild boar on the ground keeps tossing himslef over the tile floor and than shout out: "FUCK!" The shout echoes from the tile walls like a thunderstroke
with no chance to stab anywhere.
I move to drier room.

A man stands ahead of drier and pounds his head at the wall.He keeps gabbling work "genitals."

Warm wind.

Man comes and look at my eyes.

"Haven't you seen my bag, have you?"

I look at him.

Sadly, he sinks his eyes and leaves.

Some kind of mugging

A figure jumped from the cliff. It was a man and he had a knife. He had a big advantage because we were in slow-mo but he was as fast as lightening.
Suddenly, John had the knife at his throat.

I glanced at the cliff, the woman, who was there just few seconds ago was gone, and instead there was a man. I felt time swirling all around me.
“I’m nuts, I’ll kill you!” shouted the man with the knife. Other than that, he wore just a pair of dirty boxers.
“I must be nuts,” I said unintentionally.
“I don’t care about nothing!”
I saw the knife on John’s throat, so I began handing over my things. I didn’t feel sorry for them at all. I was curious what would come next. John handed over his backpack.
Suddenly, another man showed up and told us not to make any stupid moves, otherwise he’d kill us. I had no desire to make any such moves, so everything was just dandy.
“Just to get some chow,” said the Robin Hood as he gave me back my credit cards and IDs.
“Hey, gimme back by backpack,” said John. Jesus fucking Christ, John, this is no joke, it’s a mugging, I was mumbling quietly to myself. To my surprise, Robin Hood grabbed the backpack and gave it back to John.
“So, gringos, this time you get off pretty cheap, but next time…!!” warned Robin Hood. He took the cash and disappeared. Where, I have no idea. He just suddenly wasn’t there. The same with the other man.
We looked at each other and time was once again running at normal speed.
“Did you see that? What was it?”
“Some kind of mugging, I guess.”
We were a few dollars lighter but otherwise nothing. Not even a scratch.
“Goddamnit, we should have fought,” I thought for a moment.
“Fuck no, it’s not worth it.”
“That’s true, but… uhh,” some fucking stupid pride was emerging in me, everybody’s a general after the battle.
And than...,we decided to go drinking in Salvador, one of those best places to have a fun in Brasil.

Homeless

I spotted a homeless guy bothering some older tourists on the beach.
Why the fuck is he bothering them, I think I’ll tell him to leave them alone… idiot…
he’s as dirty as a pig.
“You’re as dirty as a pig,” I heard next to me.

The kiosk man was passing me my beer.
“Yes, I know, thanks!” I took the beer and checked myself. I tried to clean it but it wasn’t really working. Meanwhile, the homeless dude had begun bothering some other people, they were sitting next to me, talking. Shit, in a few moments he’ll get to me, I should get going…
“You want another one, son?” Again, I didn’t catch how he exactly called me.
“Yeah.”
The homeless man was looking in my direction, he was hardly standing, had a huge shit spot on the back of his pants, and it looked like he hadn’t taken a shower for at least a couple years.
He was skinny but his arms were full of scars and muscles. He came up to me…
“How ya doin’, all right?”
“Sure,” I cracked open the beer can and took a swig.
“Can I have some, I’m thirsty…” I glanced at the can and then his mouth, which reeked.
“Of course, have some…” I gave him the can.
“Hey, amigo, gimme another one,” you old, gray idiot, I thought to myself.
“Here it is, son…” I was looking at him, he was looking at me. I grabbed the new can and opened it. I was losing the last remains of my strength, so I drank it down in one gulp. Without any other words I promptly received another one. Everything was starting to look much better.
“So you fight, huh?” the homeless man asked. I contemplated the question for a moment and then truthfully answered yes. He began doing steps and thrusts in front of me. He told me that he used to teach Kung Fu. Years of drinking hadn’t robbed him of it, even at this stage he still had the MOVES.
He sat down next to me and said:
“When I was a boy, I spotted a girl from a neighboring village, beautiful as a picture.”
Shit, now he’ll start telling me the story of his life.
“I went to see her and told her she was beautiful. It was about a hundred miles from here, up in the mountains. Back then, I was living with my seven brothers in a three by ten feet brick hut, in the middle of the jungle. When I returned, everybody was laughing at me. I lay down in the corner, rolled myself up into a ball, and fell asleep. I was happy. The next day, when I saw her, she smiled at me.
I was happy, she was thirteen, I was fifteen. I went to see her again and asked her if she wanted me. She smiled and said yes. I went to see her dad in a village nearby and told him I wanted his daughter.
He told me I had to be nice to her. And from that time we lived together.
I’d work in the forest, teach Kung Fu, which I learned from books, in the evenings, and come home late. We were happy. When I’d come home late at night, she’d always smile at me, stroke my cheeks, and sing me beautiful songs.
She always had dinner ready, even when bad times came and there was nothing to eat and hunger was everywhere. I’d buy her beads in the market behind the village, and sometimes I even ventured to the city, to get dishes, fans for her dresses, and parrot feathers just for decoration. Then, one day, I came home and she told me not to be angry but that she had a headache and couldn’t be with me.
After that she had headaches more and more often, pretty much all the time when I got home she had one, but she’d take a pill and it’d go away. I was begging her to see a doctor, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She said the pills helped ease the pain.”
He looked at me and said: “You know, I lost what I loved the most in life.”
I was fixated on him.
“She died three years ago, I lost the thing I loved the most in life.”
He gave me a long stare once more then walked away.
I felt bad… what kind of prick am I, I had wanted to tell him to stop bothering some fucking stupid tourists…
I had one more beer to collect some strength and went home. That night I was really tired but couldn’t fall asleep. I finally fell asleep in the morning when the birds were already singing.
They kept singing the same song over and over again. So, I eventually got up, made myself a cup of coffee and watched the lake and mountains from our balcony. The rowers were already out on the lake, again.
They always are.
The sky was dark blue, as blue as it could be, the bright white statue of Jesus against the blue sky and on top of the dark wooded hill looking like the greatest kitsch picture one could imagine.

Czech nazi

"Jake almost got beat up last night"
"Why?"
"Around thirty nazis assaulted them...they all had weapons."
"And guys?"
"They were all five, Bon got beat up...nazis chase them down to the city center, had beaten them in a tram, nobody said nothing, they said that to policemen, they hadn't done nothing...
I talk to my wife across the whole world about this shit. And than I thought, what is the Czech nazi all about.


"Czech nazi is a brave man, who is able to raid on few "something to think of" guys, when he fancy to mill. Important is number of nazis to be higher than number of victims.

"Czech nazi is a motherfucker, who runs off if he would have to stand off face to face to someone and explain him, by his own words, what does he mean by being nazi.
That is to say, that he doesn't own anything like "own words."

Czech nazi-motherfucker is a cop, who is happy, that other Czech nazi-motherfucker does his national and racial job they way he would like to do it, but can't.

Czech nazi is a slime, who says, that Czech gypsies were happy in the concentration camp Lety(during 2WW), as a matter of fact it was recreation camp.
Those who were unsatisfied down there suffered plague and that is why entire society led by Czech collaborationists and German invaders had to protect itself.

Czech nazi underline the matter of national interests. But, if tanks arrive either from East or West, he starts crying and jumps up on the first one he spots and join himself immediately to the invaders.
The worst what could happen is him jumping by an accident on a Czech tank.

Czech nazi is a Czech patriot - that's why he admires Adolf Hitler.

Czech nazi likes arms and violence. When someone use the same against him...so he begins to cry.

Czech nazi would love to stand up on the Gibraltar rock and shoot down the people who swim over the strait. It sounds OK to him, because we have to defend our nation.
The problem is that he has never been out behind the Czech boarder so he can't orientate himself and moreover he doesn't know, where the Gibraltar is. Neither does he know, what it is.

On the other side, Czech nazi knows everything. Knows, that the black man comes from a monkey whereas white man comes from a white man.He knows it, because it's that way.

Czech nazi will seriously tell you that the Czech national flag reflects a Jewish symbol and it's absolutely necessary to fix it up.
As a proof he submits Main Kampf and Daniken's bullshit about extraterrestrians.

Czech nazi roll himself into the Czech national flag and set off for a street. He's proud of being a Czech citizen and makes himself up by shouting loud "Who doesn't jump is not a CZECH."
Than he jumps.

Czech nazi is also a dirt eater, who will never help anyone. When he sees a group of people beating someone, than he won't help, neither he will call police, better he calls his girfriend and says: "Immagine, honey, I just saw group of people beating someone badly bleeding."
And she would say: "Hope, you didn't interfere with anything!!"

Czech fine artists

I don’t know why, but the CZECH FINE ARTISTS came to mind.
It´s some three years ago now I was in a bar with a man from the consulate. He was complaining that some stupid painters were coming from Czech to do an exhibition in Lidice(little brazilian village named the same as the czech one burned down to the ground by the nazis), and sent him a message to find paints for them. He said he couldn’t find exactly what they wanted, so he was wasting a lot of time and therefore had to catch up with his regular work at night because the operation of the entire office relied on him.

When I went for a beer with him a week later, he was holding his head because he still hadn’t found the paints they wanted.
Yet after another week I dined with the Czech consul and was told that the CZECH FINE ARTISTS had already arrived. Instead of saying "hi" to the man who eventually found the paints for them, they said they wanted to go to the waterfalls, requested that he find them plane tickets and also buy them some canvas and brushes because they didn’t bring any. Others, who were pouring out of the plane, yelled at him to arrange a trip to the capital.
Meanwhile, the entire population of Lidice including its mayor was waiting for them. The village had been getting ready for the happening for months.
The CZECH FINE ARTISTS divided into two groups. One group went to the waterfalls, the other to the capital. The Czech consul went to Lidice to smooth out the whole situation.
Two more weeks passed by, during which I didn’t pay much attention to the affair, even though I had heard some petty complains from the consulate people that the CZECH FINE ARTISTS were not willing to walk but had to have constantly at their disposition a car with a driver, and a bunch of other stupid bullshit.
I didn’t like what I was hearing but it still didn’t touch me personally. Until last week, when I went to see the closing private viewing of the CZECH FINE ARTISTS.
I entered the room where the exhibit was taking place, and I saw them right away: cells on their belts, American style goatees, grizzled hair, copulators…
They have exhibits around the entire world, George’s successful in Germany, Fanny ‘likes girls and they like him,’ Jesus Christ, what a bunch of fucking assholes, I was still mumbling to myself even now just thinking about them.
The MAIN CZECH FINE ARTIST took the floor then.
“I would like to thank the ambassador, the consulate, the ministry of foreign affairs… the company Toys of our Boys, Bruno who sells hot dogs and salami, and others and others, for example the firm Fabric and Stitches… thanks to whom we were able to take this trip.”
The interpreter couldn’t believe her eyes, or ears.
“I would like to also say right in the beginning that our journey was one big success.” This time it was me who couldn’t believe his eyes when looking at the painted pieces of shit hanging on the walls.
“Now, I would like to solemnly announce that each of us, the CZECH FINE ARTISTS, have decided to donate for free two of his works to the village of LIDICE. THE VALUE OF EACH PAIR IS, JUST OUT OF CURIOSITY, HMMM, MHHH, fifty thousand reals.
I dropped my fucking jaw. The air left my lungs and nothing else was coming in. The audience was staring on the daubs on the wall, then the applause came.
My eyes were roaming from the painters to their pictures and back. IT CAN’T BE POSSIBLE, HOW THE FUCK DID THESE FUCKING ASSHOLES COME UP WITH THAT PRICE!!!!
One can buy a house with a garden for fifty thousand reals in this country…
“We were on TV already three times and twice in the newspaper,” I heard somebody talking big.
I left. I COULDN’T STAND IT ONE MORE MINUTE! I was trembling in fury! I ran out of the building, people were turning to see what was going on. I felt a sharp pain by my heart. Breath deep, breath deep, I told myself when running out.
It was midnight, I went to the beach, where the Czech newspapers say there is always some shooting going on. I sat down on the sand and watched the waves. I felt I might start crying.
Eight or ten fucking assholes went on a trip paid by the government and this is how they conduct themselves. I couldn’t believe such things were possible.

Prague taxidrivers

"Man, I payed 650 crowns from Old Town Square to Nusle."My friend Ole arrived from Denmark and immediately went to the trap of czech cheats on their four wheels. And I got pissed, that this is it! This is, what the foreigners get at first in the Czech republic.
"I have been living in South America for 7 years and haven´t experienced such a robbery, shit!"

My friend Ole doesn´t give a damm about decency, if he is pissed.
It´s funny how he gets excited but my mind goes fury. I did the same route two hours ago for 200 crowns.
"Did he have a meter on?"
"Yea, but I could not see the numbers, the meter was running like crazy!"
Poor man, he really doesn´t like to be robbed.
I pull out a beer from the fridge and open the bottle of slivovice, traditional czech alco which one has to drink and belive, that will see the world again next day.
I am with him. In ANY city of South America taxidrivers don´t cheat that way - without counting disastrous airports thiefs. You get a street taxi in any center of Buenos Aires, Sao Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, Bogota, Santiago or Lima and even he might notice right away, that you are "gringo", than doesn´t try stupid tricks but puts the meter on. Usually with two tariffs, one for week and other for weekend or public holidays.Even if no meter, than usually normal price for route can be agreed.
Not worth of mentioning northern europe taxidrivers. Last taxirobber in Finland or Denmark was propably shot down to death some time during beggining of the 20th century.
Finishing drinks a leaving my place. We head to Zizkov TV tower.
"Let´s go by tram..."
"No, man, I don´t want to wait..."
I see taxi approaching. We get in . Taxidriver talks on the mobile phone. After 100 meters switches meter on and choose tariff 3.I glance the price table in front of me. It has got 8 different tariffs.
"Hey, Ole, immagine, we have 8 different tariffs, how about Denmark?"
"WHAT? We have only ONE or two!"
"You see, better we are," with laugh. Than I look back to the price table.
I note, that currently we are escorted by one additional car, according to the price table and tariff."Why did you swith on 3, there is supposed to be 1! It´s crystal clear downhere - Prague, tariff ONE!"Price difference bettween tariff one and three is 13 crowns per kilometer. My blood starts boiling.Shit! We talked about it half an hour ago!
"OK, so you want me to work for 28 crowns per kilometer?" says taxidriver.
"WHAT, what 28, the price table states : tariff one - Prague, 22 crowns. The only thing I want is to go for THAT tariff, nothing damm else! "
Taxidriver switches over tariff from 3 to 2 and shakes his head.
"BUT , hell, we going for the same tariff as we woul call your company Call center! But, I haven´t done anything like that!" DAMM!
"SO YOU WANT ME TO WORK FOR 22 CROWNS??!!"
"I WANT TO GO ACCORDNING TO THIS BLOODY PRICE TABLE, WHICH IS IN FRONT OF ME!"
"But, the price is 28 crowns. Look at the car door."
I look breathless in front of me at the price table, which is contradicting that door info.
"So, why do you have here this price table, which is NOT VALID?!"
"Well..., that´s LAW!"
"OK, so please, change the tariff according to that law."
"SO, NOW YOU WANT ME TO WORK FOR 22??!!"
"NOO, I DIDN´T SAY ANYTHING LIKE THAT!"
I thing, Ole is laughing on the back seat.Finally we reached tariff ONE!I wiped off sweat of my forehead and got off the cab. I could hear taxidriver swearing.
"Man, you seem to be pissed."
"Yea, I can´t believe that..."
"Don´t worry, FUCK those taxidrivers!"
Ole always puts me into spirits.

Christmas at the Orphanage

“Hi, how are you?”
“I don’t know.”
A nine-year old boy is blankly looking at me. I’m looking at him. I don’t know what to say.
“How long you’ve been here?”
“Since yesterday,” he says.
We’re looking at each other and sweat is running down my face in this 35-degree hot weather. His Christmas started with the death of his parents.



People from the company where I work have been helping this orphanage on the edge of Rio, in one of the wildest part of the city, Duque de Caxias, for several years.

They go there every now and then and bring some money. A few enthusiasts built a roof and equipped the building with things like a refrigerator, washing machine, and stove.

I always knew they visit here but I never came along. I had a feeling they’d look at me like at a gringo who’s more interested in taking some pictures of the favela from the inside. I was probably also lazy to go to a place like this. But now I’ve decided to go. I’ll be handing out presents to the kids. It seems almost unreal. I feel a little like I am coming to atone for my sins.

The kids fall upon us. In a short moment, I have three little black kids hanging on my neck and three more are pulling my shirt.

“Uncle, uncle, I want up too.”

They don’t have anybody, neither daddy nor mommy who could hold them in the air and play with them. They’re begging for something that is for most kids, especially in Europe, a matter of course. They want, at least for a short moment, to experience that feeling of security of being held in the arms of an adult, somebody else than their caregivers.

My shirt is dusty and the kids are merry. The Christmas decorations are curling in the noon heat.

I walk through the orphanage. A few rooms, beds next to each other. Stuffed toys dominate the area.

The kids are showing off but I can still feel their longing for physical contact with an adult. They feel they should be close together with an adult somewhere else than in the dormitory. For example at home.

“Uncle, come on, I’ll show you where we play.”

A girl three years old or so with colorfully braided hair pulls on my hand. I go with her. It’d make a really funny picture. A two-meter tall gringo and a half-meter tall black girl walk hand in hand along the dusty road of an orphanage.

We look like a Christmas symbol. The children are standing in a row and we hand them presents. Everybody gets one. Every child, from three to twelve, stands and eagerly stares at the pile of the presents. Which one will they get?

I’m thinking about the orgies that take place in Europe. I don’t have to go too far, it’s the same in my house. Children attacking the Christmas tree, their eyes glowing, doggedly ripping the wrappings, and collecting their presents that they then spend the next hour moving to their room. However, prior to this madness, there is a three-month brutal campaign during which their exhausted parents – in the interest of the holiday of peace and ease – are forced to purchase things about which one really wonders.

I hand out the presents. A ball, doll, car… the children’s faces are almost grimacing with happiness. Once again, they want to be carried around, even the eight and nine-year old ones. Or at least get a hug. It seems that the feeling of having a family, which we’ve tried to bring them for this very short while, is the greatest gift they got.

Most kids get here because their parents die or leave them somewhere. The relatively dangerous life style in the poor neighborhoods easily fills up these establishments. They are usually run by volunteers who depend on contributions and the minimal help they get from the government. The community around then tries to help with forming different values for the children than banditism.

“Do you want to play catch?” I ask the boy I talked to initially. But it doesn’t work. He’s totally disoriented. He has no idea what’s going on, why he is suddenly here. Seven-year old Julio is holding his still wrapped present, dully staring straight ahead.

We finish handing out presents and the children wander around the small kitchen with their new toys. They perform a dance for us, and two girls sing a modern Brazilian song. Two boys are fighting over an old bike in the corner of a little courtyard.

“Uncle, could you swing me?” It’s my little girlfriend who earlier showed me the play area.

I push her on the swing. It squeaks, like in a movie.

She leans backwards and smothers me with laughter.