The 14th Day Read Online Free

running water in the sink. Alone in the room, he studies some of the pictures on the wall: the last prime minister as a younger man, with a full black mustache and a chest full of medals; the crafty cardinal, hiding his thoughts even from the camera; a husky-voiced cafe singer from the capital, her large, shadowed eyes foretelling her early death. Everywhere Vaniok looks is some memento of the lost place.
    â€œHere we are,” Jory says brightly when he returns with a bottle and two small glasses, still beaded with water. In the bottle is the famous amber-colored liquor so beloved in the homeland. “This is good for coughs and sniffles,” Jory says. “Insomnia, indigestion—and if you’re in good health this will preserve it.” His speech is accompanied by sudden, emphatic gestures, unlike his reserve of this morning—it’s clear he’s at home here. But Vaniok is still trying to get control of his own reactions to this room. Maybe he actually has caught a cold: his hands are trembling and to keep Jory from noticing it, he nods heartily. Bringing his hands together, then apart, he takes a step forward, then retreats, his own movements as animated as his host’s.
    He accepts the tiny glass gratefully and holds it between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it so that the light turns its contents into liquid fire. “Ah,” he sighs in anticipation. The fumes of the powerful liquor send forth a flood of sensations—sounds, sights from somewhere else. He doesn’t try to sort them out; he allows them to wash over him. Still he waits for Jory to make a toast before drinking the liquor down in a swallow. He shivers with pleasure, his body instantly calmer now, even though his uneasiness hasn’t left him. Jory has rolled up his sleeves and for the first time Vaniok notices a long scar on the top of his right forearm. He’s determined not to remark on it; he knows there are many scars after the Thirteen Days and people don’t always want to talk about them. “I hope you’ll like it here,” he says. Though he’s said it before, the occasion seems to make it appropriate.
    Jory indicates that he’ll pour another drink and Vaniok nods in agreement. Jory pours carefully and hands the glass to Vaniok. “Thanks,” Jory says, “but I hope it’s a very short stay.”
    â€œYes,” Vaniok is suddenly elated. “Yes. May your stay be very short and very delightful.”
    Jory drinks and brings down the glass. “May my stay be delightfully short.”
    Vaniok is feeling better now, the liquor has begun to take its effect and talk comes more easily. “My father owned a boat livery in the Deep Lakes,” he says, as if Jory has asked about his family. “My older brothers were happy to follow in his footsteps. I wasn’t so sure.” For a moment he can see the family gathered for his father’s last birthday in the twilight on the screened porch, the blaze of candles on the cake in the next room. “I think I would have probably joined them in the long run.” Once again he remembers the pleasure of rowing slowly and steadily across one of the lakes, the lily pads bobbing in the wake of the boat. “At least,” he sighs, “I get some outdoor work on this job.” The weight of the memory has already caused his spirits to sink.
    Jory has fallen silent and as Vaniok lifts himself out of the past, he wonders at how easily he got back there—he hadn’t been thinking, he’d just started talking and now he’s managed to make himself sad. Has he done the same to Jory?
    When Jory looks at him his eyes are unreadable. “Yes, what to do with ourselves,” he says deliberately. “The men in gray certainly complicated that problem for us, didn’t they?”
    At the mention of the colonels who seized power, they solemnly declared, in order to save the nation, an impersonal