Free Moving Parts by Magdelena Tulli

home. The boy is rocked by hiccups; evidently the chocolate or the ketchup has disagreed with him. Through the kitchen window a fence can be seen. On the other side of it a man in blue overalls is standing. Standing and waiting. The sunlight shining through the iron fence posts makes the same striped pattern on his clothing and on the ground. A small white cloud passing across the sky darkens the glare only for a moment. Blades of grass sway, while over them flutter colorful butterflies. The man waiting is in no hurry; it’s clear that he has all eternity, and will always be able to reach into his pocket and take out his wallet, in which there is a picture of a little girl taken a long time ago, let’s say somewhere in the Balkans. If he were to be permitted to say all that’s on his mind, in a moment it might turn out that for example the little girl’s mother – her picture is also tucked away in the wallet – remained in those parts with an infant whose picture they unfortunately did not have time to take. Where they are now is not exactly known; in any case they’re in a place from which there is no way out – in some deep pit, amid a host of others lying rigid under lime and earth.The man in the overalls has no intention of asking for pity – he will demand only what in his opinion is his proper due. It does not matter to him that his wishes cannot possibly be granted. The tower of cans comes crashing down. This is the last sound of this sequence, and it is heard on the terrace too. Now everything will start again from the beginning. And so the partner of the tightrope walker Mozhet, whose affairs are connected in an invisible yet fateful way with the scene taking place on the terrace, must once more sit in the dentist’s chair, again with aching heart. Let it be the dental clinic next to the travel agency – why not? No one is presently in the waiting room, and the dentist has lots of time. He likes his patient, so he’s telling her funny stories. In his opinion the damaged molar is dead and cannot hurt while it’s being drilled; that is why a needle with anesthetic has not appeared in his hands. The open drawer of the filing cabinet containing patients’ records reveals that Mozhe’s partner’s last name begins with a T. The door to the waiting room is open to let in a breeze – the day, as already established, has been hot since morning – and if the next patient were waiting, he would see the top of her head with its closely cropped red hair on the headrest of the dentist’s chair. The body must bear a pain it does not understand; nothing should hurt since the tooth is dead. If it were possible to strike from the score the loud crash presaging repetition that sounds in the Feuchtmeiers’ kitchen every time the tower of cans falls down, it would prevent needless suffering. And the dentist would orderan X-ray instead of repeating the painful mistake over and again. But did he really not order the X-ray? It’s lying on the table, in an envelope bearing the patient’s name. She is called Touseulement, Yvonne Touseulement. Things could not be otherwise, since her tightrope walker is Mozhe. His name declares his freedom; it announces that maybe he will do one thing or another, but is not forced to do anything. He maybe will appear or disappear; maybe he will leave her. Her name, on the contrary, condemns her to subordination and exclusivity; whatever happens to her, nothing else is possible. Hence for him – maybe her, but for her – only him.
    In the meantime the story line concerning the narrator continues to develop in a gently descending line. The narrator ought to note that the narrow wooden stairs creak underfoot, while the door swings shut of its own accord behind his back. So this is the cellar. It’s spacious; high on the wall there is a vent, but it’s barred. In this place Feuchtmeier keeps a set of winter