Lagramyncki ôbsztalunek / Terms of Commerce (cz. 7)

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Dogodane. Piyrszy transport na połowa ôbsztalōnku, sto sztyrdziści tōn maczetōw, pojechōł 11 grudnia i przijechōł do Kigali 26 stycznia. We fabryce Kozio Gōra robiyli sztyjc na dziyń i na nocki. Pōn Chen niy cyganiył. Zreedukowane robotniki znali swoja robota i chcieli jak nojgibcij iś do dōm. Jejich dźwiyrze do wolności to bōł prawie tyn ôstatni ôbsztalōnek z Kabuga ETS. Nowe heresztanty robiyli gynau to samo, co ône, wylynkane, coby niy zebrać korekcyjnych szmarōw i coby im niy wziynli jedzynio. Yntliś poradziyli narichtować wiyncyj, jak mieli. Skuli tego we Ôriyntalnyj Kōmpaniji Maszinowyj ôstōł tysiōnc ibrycznych maczetōw. Ng wciepōł je do drugij tajle, kero zawarła cōłki ôbsztalōnek. Kożdy fest sie nerwowōł skirz tyj roboty. Ng słepōł jeszcze wiyncyj jak piyrwyj i kej miōł iś nazod do dōm do swojij ôfuczanyj baby, rod nynōł na szezlōngu u siebie w biyrze. 18 lutego Félicien posłōł faks, coby im podziynkować i pedzieć, że drugo tajla prawie przijechała. Bōł richtiś rod z tych maczetōw, kere posłali mu na ibrich.

Hned Félicien posłōł Ng brif, w kerym pisōł, co w maju rod przijedzie z byzuchym do Ôriyntalnyj Kōmpanije Maszinowyj. Dyrechtōr, dobry wojok i prawy partyjniok, kozōł Boqinowi zbajstlować gościna. To bōł tak po prowdzie szpas, kej ino ftoś sie spōmniōł szpana, kero mieli, coby szafnōńć produkcyjo. Boqin wczas ôbsztalowōł plac we Hotelu Otani Chang Fu Gond, kerymu Félicien bōł przōdzij taki rod. Kej miōł to już pochytane, dōł sie pokōj z byzuchym aże do aprila. Za tyn czas miōł mocka roboty z papiōrami, coroz to wiyncyj było zakozōw, na kere musiōł dować pozōr, kej rozchodziyło sie ô auslynderske gyszefty. Chiny miały prawie wlyź do Światowyj Ôrganizacyje Handlyrskij, beztōż partyjne fest tego wachowali. Yntliś, kej wszysko było porachowane, pod kōniec marca Boqin podsztymplowōł antydatowane rwandyjske faktury, na kerych stoło po angelsku: „Legalny import”. Ng sie na nich szrajbnōł i posłali je faksym i kurierym do Kigali.

Na poczōntku aprila zestrzylyli samolot, kerym leciōł szwigerfater ôd Félicienowych cerōw. Prezydynt Rwandy bōł umrzik. Naszrajbowali ô tym na piyrszyj zajcie „Dziynnika Ludowego”. Wtynczos sztopły faksy z Kabuga ETS. Żodyn niy ôdpisōł Boqinowi, kery pytōł sie, keryj ceście Félicien terozki bōłby nojwiyncyj rod. Żodyn na nic mu już niy ôdpisōł. We Rwandzie napoczła sie lagramyncko ôstuda. Fto by to poradziył spokopić, co hań richtiś było louz? Cywile z Ministerstwa Bezpieczyństwo prziłaziyli do Ng z byzuchym dwa abo trzi razy na tydziyń. W maju ewakuowali ambasada chińsko w Kigali, ôstatnio dyplōmatyczno sztela, kero ôstała sie we Rwandzie. Kamrat Ôficyr Dyrechtōr bōł wykamany. Ani niy miōł siyły słepać gorzoły, a pod ôczami zrobiyły mu sie sine tytki ze smynczynio.

Bez cufal ftoś przismyczył do Ôriyntalnyj Kōmpaniji Maszinowyj pora cajtungōw ze Hong Kongu. Boqin wejrzōł na nie, kej prawie słepōł gorki kafyj, i ôd razu dōł pozōr na zdjyńcia. W kożdym jednym cajtungu. Poharatane umrziki na zmaraszōnyj ceście zatōmkane w zowcityj wegetacyji. Spolōne umrziki w spolōnym kościele. Kadubki, ujynte rynce i gowy rozciepane w ajnfarcie keregoś amtu. Zaciukane szkolorze, kerych ftoś ôstawiył leżeć w jejich klasie, na tabuli tymat lekcji naszrajbowany biołōm kryjdōm: „Notre Patrie” – „Nasz Hajmat”. Na jejich gymbach durś szło zoboczyć tyn miszōng wylynkanio i zdziwowanio. Hołda zgnitych umrzikōw kajś na polu, klara świyci, a ze zadku zielōno ściana trzciny cukrowyj, keryj niy miōł fto żniwować. No i na kożdym zdjyńciu setki pociepanych maczetōw, kożdo z inkszyj zorty. Hołdy i kympy skōnfiskowanych maczetōw. „Naszych maczetōw” – frōnknōł Boqin sōm do sia i pokiwōł gowōm, „Ja, Belgi zbijajōm Etiopczykōw i żodyn niy do ani pozōr na Chińczykōw. Niych idōm w pierōny! I ône, i my. Wszyscy pudymy w pierōny!”.

Rynce Boqina dyrgały sie choby galert, kej miōł sie chycić swojij ańfachowyj roboty z papiōrami. Niy poradziył utrzimać filoka w rynce. Z cōłkij siyły ciepnōł nim ô ściana. Plastikowo rułka połōmała sie i modro tinta ściaprała cōłki lak. Boqin znerwowany wykurził cygareta. Jedna za drugōm w raji. Wtynczos już miōł fajrant, trzeba było iś do dōm. Parki w stolicy były take zielōne i zowcite. Kwiotki kwitły, fōntanny pultały wodōm w roztōmajtych formach, kero chytała prōmiynie słōńca i łōmała je w małe dyngi. Nale Boqin tego niy widziōł. Wszysko było ćmawe, choby ftoś to zmarasiył. „Aszynbecher. Choby my żyli w jednym epnym aszynbechrze” – myślōł sie Boqin.

W dōma pedziōł pani Wu, co „we Rwandzie Belgi zbijajōm Etiopczykōw i Chińczykōw »naszymi« maczetami”.

– Ciebie piere na dekel!

– Im piere!

– Ô czym ty do mie godosz?

– Ô chińskich umrzikach!

– Tyś richtiś ôgupioł?!

– Niy, tysiōnc razy kożdego poharatali!

– Dej pozōr, co ty godosz, Bo cie sucho! Chcesz, coby miała takigo pitōmego ôjca?

– Dyć roz stykło chlastnōńć! To bōł porzōndny karbōnowy sztal. – Boqin napoczōn ślimtać.

– Ciś samstōnd! – znerwowała sie pani Wu.

– Cisna! – Boqin niy poradziył ôtuchnōńć.

Wyleciōł z miyszkanio i prasnōł dźwiyrzami. Niyftore sōmsiady wejdzrzeli zdziwowane skuli tego larma. Boqin ani na nich niy wejzdrzōł, niy czekōł na winda i śleciōł na dōł, ôziymdziysiōnt klotek schodowych, zaczym wyparził ze sztokowca

– Belgi zbijajōm Etiopczykōw i Chińczykōw! Naszymi maczetami! – ryczōł durś choby pofyrtany.

Kej zrobiyła sie ciyma, usnōł na ziymi we krzokach wele epnyj zandkastle na placu miyndzy blokami. Rano siod sie bamōntny na banku, niymocny, choby bele pōniywiyrok. Ludzie, kere kludziyli swoje bajtle do szule, łaziyli naôbkoło tego ôszkliwca.

– Dyć ôn je ôżarty – ciuciali jedyn do drugigo, coby jakosik sie to wyerklerować.

Familijo ôd Boqina fest było gańba skuli ôstudy, jakij napochōł. Dwōch ludowych policajōw wraziyło go do auta. Raus z gizdym, jednego pijoka mynij na ulicy, bydzie wiyncyj spokoju, katać ludzie muszōm ôglōndać takigo ôżyroka, kej drałujōm rano do roboty? Choby nic sie niy stało. No bo co sie tak naprowdy stało? Rwanda? A kaj to je? Eli ftoś to poradzi znojś na mapie? Dziynki staraniu partyjniokōw żodnego Chińczyka hań niy zaciukali. Boqina wziynli do heresztu, nale niy na dugo. Ng potrzebowōł go do prowadzynio gyszeftu, beztōż jego kamraty z wojska przegodali swojim kamratōm policajōm, co majōm go puścić. Siedziōł za gitrami ino pora tydni. Kej szōł do dōm, musiōł ino szrajbnōńć formulorz, kaj uznowōł, co miōł „leko niymoc psychiczno, skuli keryj zeszterowōł bezpieczyństwo i porzōndek publiczny”. Ino, co to bōł szlus jego spinanio sie na rzyps profesjōnalnyj kariery. Sztopnōł i wiadōmo było, co na nostympny żbel już go niy sztajgnōm. To nojbardzij nerwowało pani Wu. Ciynżko miała spokopić, pojakymu jejich prziszłość miała prziś ku takimu kōńcowi. Boqin to bōł terozki gywicht, kery ciōngnōł ich ku dołowi. Nic inkszego jij niy ôstało, ino ôdyńś.

(z angielskygo na ślōnski przełożōł Marcin Melon)

Agreed. The first transport with half of the order, or one hundred forty tons of machetes, left on 11 December and reached Kigali on 26 January. The Mountain Goat Plant went into overdrive, working days and nights. Mr Chen was as good as his word. The already reformed laborers knew how to work well and wanted to leave the center as soon as possible. Their gateway to freedom was the completion of this order for Kabuga ETS. Greenhorn inmates copied them diligently, fearful of correctional beatings and withholding of meals. Eventually the center even exceeded the plan. In this situation, the Oriental Machinery Company was left with eighty one thousand machetes too many. Ng included them as a sweetener with the second lot that concluded this order. It was a nerve-wrecking operation. Everyone was exhausted in the Oriental Machinery Company. Ng drank more than usual and rather than going home to his scolding wife, preferred to sober up on the comfortable sofa in his office. On 18 February Félicien faxed them an exuberant thank-you note to confirm the receipt of the second transport. He was truly delighted by the additional machetes.

In the letter that followed shortly afterward, Félicien informed Ng about his intention to visit the Oriental Machinery Company in May. The director – as a good soldier and a party member to the boot – told Boqin to start planning the visit. That was a leisurely affair in comparison to the crazy race with all these machetes. Boqin made an early booking for the same Hotel Otani Chang Fu Gong because Félicien had liked it so much during the previous visit. That done, Boqin put off dealing with the visit’s details until April. Now he had to catch up with polishing the freight and customs paperwork, so as not to fall foul of any of the detailed and increasingly numerous regulations that govern international trade. China was preparing to join the World Trade Organization and the party wouldn’t tolerate any missteps. Finally, all the calculations done and the filing completed in late March, Boqin stamped the backdated Rwandan invoices with the English-language note ‘Eligible Imports.’ With Ng’s signature they were faxed and sent by courier mail to Kigali.

In early April the plane with the father of Félicien’s daughters’ husbands was shot down. The Rwandan president was dead. The news made it to the front page in the People’s Daily. The fax machine of Kabuga EST went silent. No replies followed Boqin’s urgent queries regarding Félicien’s preferred itinerary. He never came again. Chaos engulfed Rwanda. No one knew what was going on there. Plainclothes from the Ministry of State Security kept visiting Ng twice or three times a week. In May the Chinese Embassy in Kigali was evacuated as the last foreign diplomatic mission in Rwanda. Comrade Officer Director was exhausted. He even stopped drinking and developed blueish bags under his eyes.

Someone happened to bring along Hong Kong newspapers to the Oriental Machinery Company. Boqin was idly leafing through them over a cup of steaming tea when he saw the photos. In each newspaper. Mutilated dead people on a reddish dirt road sinking in luscious vegetation. Charred bodies in a burnt out church. Torsos, severed limbs and heads strewn on the wide entrance stairs of a public building. Massacred schoolchildren peacefully lying in their classroom, the lesson’s topic on the blackboard written in chalk, Notre patrie. You could still read expressions of horror mixed with utter disbelief from the students’ faces. A heap of rapidly decaying corpses in a field, clearly visible in full sunshine against the backdrop of the tall green wall of unharvested sugarcane. In each photograph, hundreds of discarded machetes of all shapes and kinds. Pictures of mounds and hillocks of confiscated machetes. ‘Our machetes,’ Boqin muttered to himself and shook his head, ‘Belgians are killing Ethiopians, and no one gives a damn about the Chinese. To hell with them. To hell with us all!’

Boqin’s hands trembled when he tried to go on with his daily duties in office. He was unable to hold a pen steady. With full force he threw it against the wall. The plastic tube broke, the fractured refill sprang out smudging the paintwork with gluey blue ink. Boqin lit a cigarette and smoked thirstily. One cigarette after another. Until it was time to go home. Parks in the capital were so freshly green and serene. Flowers in full bloom and fountains squirting water into a variety of fancy shapes that split sun rays into small happy rainbows. Boqin saw nothing of that kind. Everything was grey, as though covered with ash. ‘Cigarette ash. We live in an ashtray,’ thought Boqin.

At home he told Mrs Wu that ‘In Rwanda Belgians are massacring Ethiopians and Chinese with our machetes.’

‘You are insane!’

‘They are!’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘About dead Chinese.’

‘Are you mad?

‘No, not death by a thousand cuts.’

‘Watch your words, Bo’s around. She doesn’t deserve a crazy dad.’

‘A single cut was sufficient! Thanks to our carbon steel of excellent quality,’ sobbed Boqin.

‘Get out now!,’ screamed Mrs Wu.

‘I am going!,’ Boqin was bawling uncontrollably.

He ran out from the apartment and slammed the entrance door. At the sound of the bang resounding down the corridor, some neighbors peeked out anxious to see what was going on. Boqin didn’t notice them and instead of talking the lift ran and tripped down the eighty odd flights of the stairs to the bottom of their residential block. All the time he was bellowing at the top of their lungs, ‘Belgians are slaying Ethiopians and Chinese! With our machetes!’ That night he slept rough under a bush near the large sandpit in the children’s playground between their block and another. In the morning he sat down dazed and haggard. Parents taking children to school made a wide detour around Boqin, disapprovingly whispering under their breath, ‘He is drunk,’ as an explanation.

Boqin disgraced his family by disturbing public peace and order. Two people’s policemen bundled him into a detention van. Good riddance, one drunkard fewer in the streets, more peace and quiet for people to go undisturbed around their daily business. As if nothing happened. What happened? Rwanda? Where’s that? Who can find it on the map? Thanks to precautions taken by the party not a single Chinese died in Rwanda. Boqin wasn’t arrested for long. Ng needed him badly to run the Oriental Machinery Company, so the director’s contacts in the army came handy for exerting pressure on the people’s police to deal with this case swiftly and positively. After a couple of weeks Boqin was released from detention. The form, which he had to sign when leaving arrest, stated that he suffered from ‘a temporary mild mental disorder endangering the public order and security.’ The steady rise up through managerial positions in the company was over for him. Boqin’s career stalled. This irked Mrs Wu most. Furious at what had happened, she couldn’t imagine their future would be coming to such a rapid end. Boqin became a liability weighing down their family. She had no other solution but to divorce him.