Daniel Charms, 31 Plays, #31.6

The Old Woman - VI

I was walking down Nevskiy, deep in my thoughts. I should go to the super and tell him everything. And after I deal with the old woman, I shall wait in the bakery a whole day until I meet that pretty young lady again. I still owe her 48 kopecks. I had an excellent excuse to look for her. The vodka I drank was still working on me, and everything around me looked very very good.

On Fontanka I went over to a stall and bought myself a big mug of kvass. The kvass wasn't good, it was sour, and so I continued my trip with an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

On the corner of Liteynaya some drunk bumped into me and pushed me to one side. It's good that I don't have a revolver: I would have killed him on the spot.

I walked the rest of the way with my face disfigured by anger. Or so it seemed, as almost everyone I passed turned to look at me.

I walked into the super's office. There was a short dirty crooked bow legged blonde sitting at a desk, putting lipstick on whilst looking into a mirror.

"Where is the super?" I asked.

The blonde remained silent and kept applying her lipstick.

"Where is the super?" I asked again roughly.

"He'll be back tomorrow," said the short dirty crooked bow legged blonde.

I went back onto the street. A handicapped man was walking on the opposite side. He had a prosthetic leg that was hitting the pavement loudly; so was his walking stick. Six boys were running after him, imitating his walk.

I turned into my building and started walking up the stairs. I stopped on the second floor struck by an unpleasant thought: the old woman must've started to decompose. I forgot to close the widows and it's known fact that cadavers decompose faster in a room with the windows open. Stupidity! And that blasted super will be back only tomorrow! I stood hesitating for a few minutes, and then continued walking up the stairs.

Next to my apartment door I stopped again. Maybe I should go back to the bakery instead and wait for the pretty young lady to turn up. I would beg her to let me stay with her for a couple of nights. Suddenly I remembered that she already has bought bread today; obviously she won't come back the same day. It wouldn't work anyway.

I opened the door and walked into the corridor. There was a light at the end of it and Marya Vasilievna, holding a rug in one hand was rubbing another rug against it. Seeing me, she yelled:

"Shome old man was ashking for you!"

"What old man?" I asked.

"I don't know," replied Marya Vasilievna.

"When did he come?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Marya Vasilievna.

"Did you talk to the old man?" I asked Marya Vasilievna.

"Yesh, I did," replied Marya Vasilievna.

"How is it possible that you don't know when he came?" I said.

"About two hoursh ago," said Marya Vasilievna.

"What did this old man look like?" I asked.

"I don't know that eijer," said Marya Vasilievna and went off into the kitchen.

I walked towards my room.

"What if," I thought, "The old woman disappeared? I'll walk into my room and there will be no old woman. My God! Is it possible that there are no miracles left in this world?"

I unlocked the door and slowly opened it. Maybe I was a little sensitive, but I thought I could detect the sickly sweet smell of a decomposing body. I looked through the slightly open door and froze for a second: the old woman was crawling towards me on all fours.

I screamed and slammed the door, turned the key in the lock and jumped onto the opposite wall.

Marya Vasilievna appeared in the corridor.

"Are you talking to me?" she asked.

My body trembled so badly that I couldn't possibly answer her, so I only shook my head in reply. Marya Vasilievna came closer.

"You jusht talked to shomebody," she said.

I shook my head again.

"Crajy," said Marya Vasilievna and went back to the kitchen, turning few times to look at me.

"I cannot just stand here. I cannot just stand here," I said to myself. This sentence formed itself somewhere inside my head. I kept on repeating it until it reached my consciousness.

"Yes, I cannot just stand here," I said to myself, but yet I was rooted to the spot as if paralyzed. Something terrible had happened, but there was something more terrible that has to be done, more terrible than what has just happened. My thoughts were like a whirlwind twirling around and around, and all I saw was the malicious gaze of the dead old woman as she slowly crawled towards me on all fours.

I'll run into the room and crush that old woman's scull; that's what I'll do! I searched with my eyes and was happy to discover a croquet mallet that's been lying for no reason in a corner of the corridor for the past few years. I'll grab the mallet, burst into the room and bang!

My body was shivering still. I stood there petrified, my shoulders raised, my insides cold as ice. My thoughts jumped from the beginning to the end and back again, conquering new areas and I stood and listened to my thoughts and I felt as if I was a mere witness and not their master.

"Those stiffs", my thoughts explained to me, "are bad people. Calling them stiffs is not quite right, because they aren't in the least stiff. They have to be watched at all times. Ask any morgue watchman. Why do you think he has his job? The only reason is to make sure that the dead aren't running away. Some really bizarre things happened. One cadaver, while the watchman was taking a shower, crawled out of the morgue, into a disinfecting room where he feasted on a pile of linen. Naturally, the disinfecting workers gave him a good beating, but nevertheless had to pay for the damages with their own money. Another corpse crawled into a maternity ward and scared everyone to such a degree that one of the women in labor suffered a premature birth, prompting the corpse to grab the ejected baby and begin devouring it. But when one brave nurse struck the corpse on the back, he bit her leg and she died soon after because her blood was infected with his poison. Yes, stiffs are nasty alright and you should always watch out for them."

"Wait a minute!" I said to myself. "You're talking nonsense. The dead are always stiff."

"Oh really?" my thoughts were telling me, "then you go into your room where, according to you, there is a stiff corpse."

Uncertainty was growing inside me.

"No problem!" I said to my thoughts firmly.

"Go on then!" my thoughts said to me mockingly.

The mocking tone finally infuriated me. I grabbed the croquet mallet and rushed towards the door.

"Wait!" yelled my thoughts. But it was too late, as I already opened the door. The old woman was lying on the threshold, her face buried in the floor.

I raised the mallet over my head and was ready to attack. But the old woman wasn't moving.

My shivering seizure has passed and my thoughts were clear and firm. Once more, I was their commander. "First of all: close the door!" I ordered myself.

I removed the key from the outer keyhole and inserted it from the inside. I did this with my left hand whilst holding the mallet with my right and watching fiercely the old woman. I locked the door, carefully stepped over the old woman's body and moved to the center of the room.

"Now you will pay," I said.

I suddenly had a plan that to my recollection is commonly used by killers in crime stories and newspaper articles; I'll simply shove the old woman in a suitcase, carry her out of the city and dump her in the swamps. I even knew the perfect spot.

I had a suitcase that I kept under the sofa. I pulled it out and opened it. There were a few things inside it: several books, an old hat, some old torn linen. I dumped everything on the sofa.

The entrance door slammed with a loud bang, and I was under the impression that I caught a slight movement with the corner of my eye.

I jumped up immediately and grabbed the croquet mallet.