Without names - Short story by Vugar Guliyev

"If the word is the world, literature is life".
This is Azerbaijani author Vugar Guliyev's motto. During the autumn and winter of 2011-2012, the Göteborg Book Fair will regularly publish his short stories and chronicles on our website. "Without names" is his fourth story - A true talk of refugees fleeing from either political persecution or widespread corruption

By the end of their lives great people have a lot of interesting stories to tell, but as the time goes by statues of them have at least several times as many. And the sad truth is that nobody will ever hear as much from these monuments as from that of Gustaf II Adolf in Gothenburg, which became a witness to an unexpected meeting of countrymen some time ago. Therefore the question of whether one would laugh at how they met or weep over hearing what had happened to them will remain unanswered to the end of days.

A grey-haired man in his seventies with a slow firm tread and a solid figure would have never dreamt about wandering in the streets of Sweden many years after the day when his country became independent. Fiddling with his thirteen-stone bead set, a gift from his co-prisoners, he approached and comfortably seated himself on the plinth stairs to the monument and became interested in what was happening around.

Before long, he would have probably started yawning if he hadn't noticed a man show up from the right. It was a tall, middle-aged, and well-dressed man. Gazing at a brochure in his hands, the man confidently continued walking along the pavement.

'"What the heck is he doing here?" thought the man to himself on the monument-base. "Could that be him? But he doesn't look like… No, that's not him. He would never touch any brochure. And he is certainly from my country… if not from the city of my past."

The tall man crossed the street, approaching the sheltered bus stop in front of the monument when the grey-haired man simultaneously wished he were able to use his glance as a fishhook to pull him back. At the bus stop the man suddenly began to fumble in his pockets for something.

"Looking for the keys?" called out the man sitting motionlessly on the plinth.
"Not exactly… I guess for you," answered the tall man with a surprised smile on his face turning around to see where the question had come from.

"I don't think I can fit in your pockets," merrily exclaimed the old-timer coming downstairs to greet him. "I am Academic and hope I haven't offended you," he said extending his hand out to the man.
"Not any more than I did. I am…"
"Professor?" inserted Academic hastily, shaking his counterpart's hand.
"Not exactly. I used to work as a secondary school teacher."
"OK, "Teacher". No names."
"Why is that?"
"Perhaps, soon you'll get that yourself. Frankly speaking I was surprised by the way you answered my question about the keys" said Academic. I was expecting something like…"
"…the key to the house where the money is…." They both heard the voice of a young lad from behind and turned around in wonder.
"And who the hell are you? Where do YOU come from?" asked Academic hardly overcoming his angst for being suddenly interrupted by a handsome fellow with thick optical glasses displaying the glint of intelligence in his eyes.
"I suppose you can figure that out very easily since I used a once widely popular expression. Not many people in our country know this expression these days. Not everyone reads classical books... I am… "Translator", since you're not mentioning your names."
"You are a lucky bastard," said Academic a bit aggressively, but couldn't resist smiling at Translator's face. "If you had happened to turn up in the same cell as me, you would have learnt how…"
"Maybe," inserted Translator interrupting Academic again. "But if only you could have "educated" all today's corrupted bureaucrats in your prison cell, we wouldn't have ended up here."
"Right you are, boy" said Academic grimly and then patted him on the shoulder.
"So, you are an ex-prisoner" said Teacher.
"Yeah! And that's how I earned my nickname." Academic turned toward the monument and gestured the way towards where he had been sitting before he met his new acquaintances. They both followed him.
"How come you dare start talking so openly with someone you don't know?" asked Academic looking at Translator.
"You remind me of my late grandfather. He was a wise and morally sound taxi driver. And since imbecility became a fashion in our country, people of your origin and generation are nothing more than worthless bags of bones."
"I also worked as a taxi driver" said Academic.
"Was that before you went to prison?" abruptly asked Teacher.
"Yes," answered Academic very sadly. "Once I had two passengers. Two tall men like you. After I drove them to the place they wanted, which was quite far from the city, they attacked me for the money I had. So I took the crowbar I had always kept in the car… A few minutes later the muggers were dead."
"Did the police arrest you right after?"
"They didn't find me. I myself went to the police. I could have avoided them. There were no witnesses around. I had brains and enough experience to mislead the police. But my conscience wouldn't have let me live in peace. When I was little, my father made me read a lot. He taught me a lot about life."
"If so, why didn't you get an education? It was free at that time."
"Indeed it was, Teacher, but only officially. I, so to say, failed the admission exams because my family had no money to pay bribes. My father had already passed away."
"What did you do after your release?" asked Translator.
"I went back to the same prison. My destiny had it. I returned home a week early, I found an ugly man in my bed with my wife. You see, that was the moment when I no longer cared about my wife's cheating on me. The problem was that man. The cheeky bastard showed no sign of regret or embarrassment. His attitude and behavior made me lose my control. That morning I didn't know that that evening I would turn up in the same cell."
"Is that how you became "Academic"?" Teacher continued the conversation.
"I learned the unwritten laws of dignity and pride in the world of crime. But I'm not a killer" slowly said Academic with a desire to be remembered for the rest of his life. "A dead man is always guilty of his own death. In prison I educated a lot of lost and unruly kids. I had to do what the government should have done at that time. Hell!" said Academic with contempt. "These days a person, having turned up in prisons by some mistake or due to some order, becomes an extremely hardened criminal prior to his release. Imagine the quality of society in some ten or twelve years! Amnesties, especially before every governmental election, are mainly granted to those who have already sold their souls and pride for money…"
"Are you planning to stay here?" asked Translator.
"Of course. In my country I have nowhere to go. My second wife died and our daughter got married to a countryman who has a job here. And besides, I feel lonely in our country. All my good friends passed away a few years ago. For the government, moral principles and standards are now being successfully demolished. So, here I am."
"That's the unfortunate truth," Teacher, looking depressed, nodded in agreement. "I guess that's the only way to direct and manage millions of slaves. And I am one of those who have understood this. That's why I am here like you both."
"You were a teacher. You were one of them. Why the hell did you disagree with them? Didn't you have everything?" said Academic and started fiddling with his bead set hastily, making its pieces click with pleasing sounds.
"You are right, dear friend. I was a part of that destruction system. But it's impossible for an ordinary citizen to imagine how torturous it is to be a part of it if you're a person who has some pride, or any shred of conscience."
"I think I can imagine what you are talking about" Translator said in support of the flow of the conversation. "The educational system had already fallen to pieces when I was studying. I am sure it has gotten worse by now. I am so terrified for the future of the people who are still in our country."
"Not people. Slaves. And my family is still there. I thought that we'd become independent of the old ruling system, not knowing that it was only a change of the godfather."
"And why did you leave?" asked Academic looking pensive and serious.
"Cause they pushed me to pay more than sixty percent of my income that I had from some private teaching. You see, I had to work as a tutor to make my living. With so-called increasing official salaries my family and I couldn't survive even a week."
"What did you teach?" asked Translator.
"Physics," said Teacher. "And I came here almost six months ago on an employment contract. In this country, my cousin owns a construction company. But it's just the official side of existence. In reality I am doing language courses. Trying to learn the local language and survive. As a matter of fact, I am unemployed."
"I wonder when peace and prosperity will come to our land?" Academic sighed deeply.
"When the natural resources are over," Translator hastily assured. "I have been praying that this will happen soon. The sooner the natural resources run out, the sooner the nation's rebirth will begin."
"That's true. But by the time the natural resources are finished, the slavery will have reached its peak," added Teacher, "and it'll be a lot easier to manage an uneducated nation."
"That's why I've been praying for it," responded Translator. "And such madness is taking place not only in our country. The situation in neighboring countries is a lot worse. That's why I am here."
"What do you mean?" asked Academic, looking completely puzzled.
"I worked for a private language teaching and translation company. Once, the administration received a tape with a recorded conversation. One of my colleagues, a close friend of mine, was given that record for translation. He was supposed to translate and type the conversation on the computer in our language… He did that, and some hours later… was killed," Translator hung his head in helplessness.
"Why? And what did it have to do with you?" said Teacher.
"It was an interview with someone questioned about the personal life of one of the presidents' in Central Asia. If everything that was on the tape were filmed by any Hollywood director, he would receive an Oscar and make a fortune." Translator answered very quickly, looked at their opponents' eyes and quietly added, "I helped him. I know what was there."
"Who was it about?" Teacher asked impatiently.
"You don't want to risk your life, do you?" smiled Translator and lit a cigarette.
"Didn't you go to the police for help?" Teacher asked.
Academic gave a snort of disgust.
"Our government doesn't give a damn about us citizens. The police officers would have been first to set me up for some amount of money. Now, I must survive. When I came here, I was placed in the North. I could have probably made it. But not my wife and son. It was too cold for them. So here I am… looking for fresh and unspoiled representatives of my country. By the way, how come you both came here? Did you make any appointment or..?"
"I moved into this city a week ago. Today is the anniversary day of our independence and since I don't know many countrymen I thought that coming to the city center would be a nice idea," explained Academic with a kind smile on his face, which uncovered the untouched and shining gist of his soul he has been protecting since he was born.
"Frankly speaking, I wanted to go home. Some thirty minutes ago I was in the city history museum. And when I began looking for my monthly bus card, Mr. Academic called me. His language and accent made me happy to respond, and with pleasure," said Teacher.
"Well, the only reason for my coming here is that I miss the favorite street of my childhood city. I really do," added Translator with trembling voice, "and when I heard the talk in the language I was brought up and educated in, I couldn't help joining you."
"Academic, why did you choose exactly this place to sit and..?" asked Teacher.
"When I was hanging around, I came across this green metallic guy," said Academic pointing at the statue, "who not only greeted me, but also showed me a place to sit. I immediately understood that this guy was a very good friend of ex-prisoners when he was alive," said Academic with difficulty as he started shaking in laughter with all his body by the end of his talk.
And the laughter of both men, following Academic's, seemed to shake the whole square in which people weren't paying any attention, whereas such laughter for all three countrymen was quite rare since they had left their motherland under, softly speaking, unpleasant circumstances.
"Why don't we call each other by our names?" suggested Translator. "I guess that would be a lot nicer."
"I know why we don't," inserted Teacher.
"I know that you know, Teacher," said Academic, "but let me explain it to the young man."
"Please go ahead," agreed Teacher.
"People usually call each other by names. In our cases the names will activate our, most probably, unpleasant memories. But if one wants to start all over again, he could use his nickname, showing the nature of his soul. You are Translator, what most probably means you can adapt. He is Teacher, which means he is a very good analyst. And my nickname reminds me of the power that I use to survive and remain law-abiding."
As Academic's talk made Translator and Teacher look pensive and very concerned, none of them noticed how storm clouds had darkened the city. Chilly gusts of wind, coming from all sides, began emptying the streets, parks and the square. By gradually becoming stronger, rain drops warned everyone about the seriousness of the coming shower. But there were still some unruly people displaying resistance to an unexpected change of weather by putting on their raincoats and opening umbrellas.
"I think that the weather in this country isn't used to hearing rough speeches and talks. It gets emotional right away," said Academic looking at the sky.
"Here they are! Our countrymen! Look!" said Teacher pointing at a crowd of happily marching people chanting "In-de-pen-dence!". Following a large flag waving in the wind the crowd was approaching the far end of the park on the left side of the monument.
"Shall we join them?" said Translator.
"It would be nice to. But by the time we get closer to them, it'll be showering," said Academic and rose up. "I guess we'd better go home now. See you here next week."
"You are right, Academic" said Teacher and got up shaking a little from the cold. "I think we'll join them next year."
"Hopefully when our nation will indeed be free," added Translator and shook the hands of his chuckling countrymen."
A few minutes later, the monument was left standing all alone in the wet and emptied square, while people with late reactions were cramped in the bus shelter.

The end