Marko Štromajer: Poštar

I’m actually afraid of your stopper. I never take them in the car when they hitchhike. I just look the other way and walk past them, as if they weren’t there, by the side of the road. I never connect them …

Have you seen Drago-postman? Fuck, just a man all the way, the other day I saw him, sitting on a bench under the department store, I greet him, he doesn’t “a” or “be”, he doesn’t recognize me, he doesn’t see me, man, hey! It’s all kind of twisted, yellowed, that nasty yellow color, dead, it’s all fucked up, it doesn’t look like a man. He sits there, silent, looking somewhere blank. I approached him, looked at him, and instead of eyes, two holes, a kilometer deep, as if you were looking into a well. Smeared, torn, I tell you, ugly to look at. Horror.

Dude, I remember him from childhood, he’s a couple of years older than me, I remember him from elementary school, he was always an ok guy, a normal guy. And now … I’m sorry, man, you can’t help it. It’s worth nothing, he’s dragging himself around the city like the last garbage, around him those bums, drunks, he’s all broken, man, nasty to look at.

And he was the perfect man for me, the way everyone would want to be. He was married to that Dana, the teacher. They had two children, that they had two then, and the third, that little girl was supposed to be born in those days. Yes, three children. I remember Drago when he got married. They had been a couple since their high school days, then she went to college, so she quickly returned to the city and got a job in elementary school, he initially did something with the old radio, and then the old man pushed him into the Post Office. And so, they looked good. Children started to be born, they moved into an apartment across the school, so those little children, one after the other, a real family man, you see them in the park, a pleasure to watch. One runs after the ball, Drago after him, the least one cries in a wheelchair, Dana gives him a bottle, I’m telling you, nice to see.

His trouble began some two years ago. He told me about it until he went completely crazy. He says, some two years ago, he was at the Post Office in the morning, picking up the shipments for the day, getting ready for the street, when two plainclothes cops entered the post office, asking him to go with them to the station. He called the boss, left the bag, went with them. When he is there, they bring him into the room, they say; Listen, we know each other well, but this is serious, we have a rape report. They explained to him that he had been reported by a woman, 21 years old, a woman, they told him his name and surname. She was raped and is pregnant. He remembers the woman, drove her by car a couple of months ago when he was returning from Bjelovar, he was returning from the doctor, he was suffering from heartburn for a while, so he went for a gastroscopy there. Never drank, sometimes smoked cigarettes and drank coffee, no exaggeration, so he thought, he goes to record it for the doctor to tell him what it is about. Just that, he thought, was a routine checkup, when the doctor told him — chronically inflamed esophagus, he went on a diet, here were the pills, cut down on coffee and cigarettes and fatty foods, and he answered in a few months.

He also remembers the women, thought some kid, a student, what … He also remembers that he drove her, and left her where she wanted to go out. He didn’t even think to touch her, let alone anything else, a married man, two children, a third on the way. An example for an exemplary family. He left the woman in a village and returned home, forgetting about her after five minutes, when the police came and reported him for rape that day. He knows exactly the date, the license plate number, which car, his description, everything, fuck. This cop knows him too, he can’t believe it either, but what are you going to do; the company is the company, and the service is the service, they have to interrogate him, they don’t let him go home, they will have to draw blood and what do I know about some tests, he turned completely pale, begs them to call Dana, they say, call a lawyer , this is not a joke dear Drago naš. Raped and pregnant.

They did their thing that day, let him go home around eleven in the evening. He came home, the children are sleeping, Dana is pregnant, he tells her where he was, he doesn’t believe what he is saying, Dana listens to him, she doesn’t even know what to think, and she thinks secretly in herself, postman, damn whore, what are you doing behind my back back, you bastard bastard.

Plakali su tu noć i on i ona, oka nisu sklopili, jutro je došlo, djecu su spremili u školu i u vrtić, Drago otišao na posao, u pošti ga svi pitaju šta je bilo jučer, on šuti, problijedio, samo je šefu otišao reći da će imati određenih problema, nije mu rekao točno o čemu se radi, al stari Bićanić je već sve znao u detalj. Ispričao se Drago šefu, zamolio ga da mu odobri dane godišnjeg odmora kad bude išao na sud, izišao iz šefove kancelarije i otišao na ulicu sa svojom velikom poštarskom torbom, i odjednom mu se grad u kojem se rodio, odrastao, živio, i radio, grad kojem je znao svaki ćošak, svaki mostić, uličicu, skoro svakog stanovnika je poznavao, odjednom mu je taj grad postao neobično stran i nepoznat. Nije se više sjećao nijednog imena ulice, nije znao kamo ide. Otvorio je svoju torbu, uzeo prvo pismo koje mu je došlo pod ruku, pročitao adresu, i nije znao gdje je ta ulica, nije znao u kojem pravcu da krene, a nekad je žmireći mogao razdijeliti svu poštu koju je imao u torbi. Pse u dvorištima je znao poimence, a gdje ne bi znao ulice, kuće i ljude. Jadan čovjek, izgubio se. Nije prošlo nekoliko dana, kolega na poslu mu daje plavu kovertu u ruke, Drago gleda-Općinski Sud, poziv za ročište, on otvori, zahtjev za razvod braka. Gleda, ne vjeruje. Stoji, šuti, ko da je odletio u zrak, u svemir negdje, osjeća  samo jednu malu kapljicu znoja kako mu klizi niz prsa ispod košulje. Osjeća ju, kao da samo nju ima, a zna da ni nju nema, da ni nju ne može zaustaviti, kao što ne može zaustaviti ništa na ovom svijetu, sada kad je sve tako ludo i divlje krenulo nekim putevima koje on, jadni Drago-poštar ne može shvatiti u svojoj nesretnoj glavi. Dođe kući taj dan, Dana odselila svojim roditeljima, odvela i djecu, kuća prazna, prazan čovjek, prazan život…

Suđenje je kratko trajalo, imao je obaviti nekoliko vještačenja i liječničkih pregleda. U međuvremenu mu se rodilo i treće dijete, mala kćerkica, lijepa zdrava djevojčica, plakao je od sreće, ali nije osjećao sreću, bio je izvan sebe zbog svega. Bio je na sudu nekoliko puta, ta ženska nije nijednom došla na ročište, dolazio je njezin odvjetnik, neki debeli ćelavi gad iz Bjelovara. Na kraju se izvještačilo da nije bilo nijednog njegovog traga na toj ženskoj, ne samo da ga je lažno prijavila, nije ju on ni pipnuo, tako se ispostavilo, nego su vještačenja pokazala da je on, Drago-poštar od rođenja neplodan, da nikada nije mogao imati djece, niti će ikada moći imati djece, i onda onih njegovih troje malih, onih anđela, za koje je živio, zbog kojih je bio najsretniji čovjek i otac na svijetu, uopće nisu njegovi, eno ga sad ispod robne kuće, jebemti život, da ti jebem život krvavi!

 

Marko Štromajer

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