Free The Bridge by Zoran Zivkovic Page B

hair in disarray. She was trying to bite a piece off the top hat’s brim.
    Madam Vera raised her hands and untied the scarf, then the black blindfold. Her eyes rested briefly on Madam Olga. Then she came down from the mound and went up to the figure in purple. She dropped the scarf and the blindfold into his lap, covering the four pieces of costume jewelry.
    The sigh that coursed through the audience merged with a wheezing sound, like a death rattle, that came from under the hood. The purple glove rose tremulously towards the hood, waited briefly after taking hold of the pointed top, then pulled upwards.
    When it was plain there was nothing underneath, the clowns broke into painful sobs, and the girl clutched the bitten top hat to her breast and screamed. The headless, empty robe remained upright for a long moment, as though defying the inevitable, then crumpled onto the high-backed chair like a discarded rag.
    Madam Vera went up to the wheel and started to untie the straps that bound Madam Olga. She stretched out both hands to help her down. Without her support Madam Olga would certainly have stumbled or even fallen. Her head was still spinning from the turning wheel.
    They stood there for a while, looking at each other silently. Finally, Madam Vera let go of her and headed for the exit. Madam Olga started after her without a moment’s hesitation. As they climbed up between the torches a chant resembling a rhythmical dirge accompanied them from down below.
    The girl who had stayed outside the crypt also held her top hat on her breast, with bite marks on its brim. When the two women appeared at the door, she turned away her tear-stained face, framed by luxuriant red hair. Madam Vera let Madam Olga climb into the carriage that was still there, then got in herself.
    They didn’t speak a word to each other during the short ride. The clattering of the carriage wheels subsided when they left the cemetery and hit an asphalt road. Lying back in her seat, Madam Olga gazed at the row of chestnut trees dotted with an archipelago of bright islands.
    When they turned off the boulevard she wasn’t sure where they were. She thought it was a side street, but when the carriage stopped and she got out after Madam Vera, she saw that they were in the middle of a bridge. As soon as she touched the pavement, the carriage moved on. It turned right on the other side and disappeared from view.
    Madam Vera went up to the low, broad parapet between two ornate lampposts and stared into the river. Joining her, Madam Olga noted that a dark-green raincoat was lying on the parapet. She stood on the other side of it and looked down too.
    The reflection of the lights rippled through the water, creating trembling, fleeting designs on the dark background. A boat festooned with countless colored lights, full of dance music, was coming upriver. They watched it slowly move under the bridge.
    When the stern disappeared, Madam Vera held out her hand. Madam Olga needed a few moments to understand what was expected of her. Swiftly reaching into her pocket, she took out the scarf. Madam Vera held it before her briefly, as though inspecting it, then placed it on top of the raincoat.
    With an agility not at all characteristic of the elderly, and particularly not of the dead, she climbed onto the parapet. Madam Olga looked left and right anxiously. Luckily, there was no one on the bridge to see this gymnastic feat.
    So there was no one but Madam Olga to witness the jump that soon followed. Another eyewitness might have been amazed when there was no splash in the water, but she did not find this at all unusual. Indeed, any sound at all would have been cause for surprise.
    She stayed on the bridge a while longer, looking at the scarf on the raincoat. In other circumstances, good manners would not have permitted her to leave one of her belongings lying around here. But the scarf, in actual fact, had not had time to become hers. She had only worn it once, very