Free The Bridge by Zoran Zivkovic Page A

and bowed to the audience.
    After Madam Vera took the plastic earrings out of the bag in her pocket, a third number was drawn: eleven. The clown in the middle seat on the opposite side from Madam Olga ran joyfully towards the wheel. This is losing its originality, she thought. Thank heavens Madam Vera had no more costume jewelry to pay for the throws. One of the daggers would not be used.
    This time the blade allegedly hit the middle of his stomach. Receiving a thunderous ovation, the clown returned to his seat, pointing to his dagger as he went like it was some sort of decoration. After the applause died down, nothing happened for several moments. All eyes were turned towards Madam Vera on the mound. Even the figure in purple lifted its covered head.
    When Madam Vera started to raise her hands, Madam Olga thought for a moment that she intended to remove the blindfold. Instead of this, however, the blindfold was doubled. The narrow black band was completely covered by the wide yellow scarf. The clowns jumped off their seats and started to cheer. Even the girl in the top hat applauded.
    The purple glove stayed in the aquarium longer than before, briskly stirring the balls. They spun all the way up to the brim of the glass vessel, threatening to spill over. But this didn’t happen. When the hand finally came out it was holding a dark-red ball with a sparkling number eight.
    At first Madam Olga didn’t understand why all eyes had turned towards her. When it finally dawned on her that this was her seat number, she started to shake her head. The applause surrounding her was not the least bit encouraging. She raised her hands in front of her as an additional sign of refusal. There might not be any danger from the dagger, but she certainly wasn’t going to let them spin her wildly on the wheel. There was no way she could endure that.
    When it became clear that she did not intend to stand up, the two clowns on either side of her rose from their seats. They grabbed her under the arms without a word and carried her to the stage. Madam Olga tried to wrest herself free, but they held on firmly. She stopped flailing about when they left the stand, not wanting to give any more occasion for hilarious laughter.
    The clowns didn’t let go of her while the girl was tying the straps. When she was finally stretched out on the wheel, they returned to their seats. Still smiling, the girl grabbed the brooch from her, even though it was clasped tightly in her fist. She raised it into the air, causing an outburst of delight among the audience. The brooch joined the other pieces of jewelry in the purple lap, and the hood without eye slits slowly bowed.
    Madam Olga closed her eyes as the wheel started to turn. She was unable to keep them open; this would make her feel lightheaded and she might even faint. Even without being able to see, the onrush of nausea told her precisely when her head was upside down. But at least the girl had pinned the hem of her skirt and coat to the wood. She didn’t dare think what would happen otherwise while her legs were up in the air.
    She just wanted to get it over with. The clowns cheered faster and faster, louder and louder. When the dagger finally flew, she didn’t hear the whiz, just a dull thud somewhere around her head. The crypt fell silent. She kept her eyes tightly shut a few more moments, then opened them hesitantly.
    The first thing she saw was the handle of the dagger above her like a ledge, still vibrating. She thought that it was sticking out of her forehead, like with the first clown, but when she bent her head back as far as the straps allowed, she discovered that the dagger had landed just above the top of her head. The part that had not entered the wood looked ominously sharp.
    Then she turned towards the audience. The clowns were sitting with their heads bowed. In spite of their painted smiles, they seemed dejected, as though someone had just died. The girl came out from behind the wheel, her red