Jela Krecic Read online

  NONE LIKE HER

  Matjaž is fearful of losing his friends over his obsession with his ex-girlfriend. To prove that he has moved on from his relationship with her, he embarks on an odyssey of dates around Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. In this comic and romantic tale a chapter is devoted to each new encounter and adventure.

  The women he selects are wildly different from one another, and the interactions of the characters are perspicuously and memorably observed. Their preoccupations – drawn with coruscating dialogue – will speak directly to Generation Y, and in Matjaž, the hero, Jela Krečič has created a well-observed crypto-misogynist of the twenty-first century whose behaviour she offers up for the reader’s scrutiny.

  None Like Her marks the arrival of a witty and fresh new voice, and the novel is one of the first titles in the World Series by Peter Owen Publishers in association with Istros Books, bringing some of the best contemporary writing from Slovenia to English-speaking readers. The other titles in the Slovenian Season are Three Loves, One Death by Evald Flisar and Panorama by Dušan Šarotar

  JELA KREČIČ ŽIŽEK (b. 1979) is a Slovene journalist, columnist and philosopher. She writes for Delo, the largest national newspaper in Slovenia, where she notably published an exclusive interview with Julian Assange in 2013. Her philosophical research focuses on films, television series, the star system and aesthetics, and she has contributed to several studies on these topics. She has co-edited a couple of anthologies, one on contemporary television series and another on Ernst Lubitsch. An anthology of writings about Lubitsch, Lubitsch Can’t Wait, was published in English in 2014. Ni Druge (None Like Her), her literary début, was well received critically when published in Slovenia in 2015 and now appears in English for the first time.

  OLIVIA HELLEWELL is a literary translator from Slovene and a doctoral researcher at the University of Nottingham. She was awarded the Rado L. Lenček prize in 2013 by the Society for Slovene Studies for her essay on translating the poetry of Dane Zajc. Her current Ph.D. research explores the sociocultural functions of translated literature in Slovenia since 1991. She has previously translated a selection of short stories, poems and literary extracts including the prize-winning ‘Dry Season’ by Gabriela Babnik for the European Commission’s European Union Prize for Literature. None Like Her marks her full-length literary translation debut.

  To Asja, for the sparkling soul,

  Dubrovnik and highlighters

  CONTENTS

  A Note on Slovene Pronunciation

  None Like Her

  Saša

  Brigita

  Poker Queens on New Year’s Eve

  Katja

  Saša

  Maria

  Suzana

  Stela

  Mini

  The Journey to Jajce

  Melita

  Nada

  Kat and the Three Horsemen of the Apocalypse

  Ronja

  Sara

  Gabi and the Priest

  All Together Again

  Brigita on Hvar

  A NOTE ON SLOVENE PRONUNCIATION

  NONE LIKE HER

  ‘What do you know!’ Matjaž retorted, looking at Aleksander reproachfully.

  Matjaž, who had already lit his tenth cigarette in a row, received a blank look from his friend, who was taking in their surroundings on the Petkovšek Embankment. Once again it was packed with hordes of people, who in late August had checked back into the capital, into their small, enchanting city and their favourite bars after their holidays. Sitting around on Petkovšek Embankment was the easiest way to meet up with friends, to have a beer, and to tell stories about what had happened by the sea. If memories of these escapes to more beautiful places had already faded, they grumbled about the government, parliament, the courts, the president, or, if they had drunk enough, their work, wives and children.

  Matjaž and Aleksander didn’t talk to each other about their holidays, and they didn’t discuss the worrying political situation, or the crisis, or how the EU had become detached from its citizens. They didn’t catch up on the escapades in which they had found themselves over the past three days, since they had last seen each other in this very same place. They didn’t talk about work and they didn’t even ask how each other’s parents were. No, they talked about the same issue that had been on the agenda every day and night for the past two months, since Matjaž had broken up with Sara. While Aleksander, despite now being a married man, was able to appreciate the crowds of girls – some younger, some older – parading past them along Petkovšek, Matjaž was seized by one single image and one single thought.

  ‘I don’t have a clue, I admit it. But how many more times?’ Aleksander replied.

  Matjaž was silent for a moment. ‘Why is she so withdrawn around me?’ he asked sulkily.

  ‘I think she just doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.’

  ‘I don’t understand – the fact that she doesn’t want to meet up for a coffee is what hurts me the most.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to give you false hope. I think she still loves you, at least that’s what she said.’

  ‘When did she say that?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘I don’t know when, Matjaž,’ sighed Aleksander, already tired of this same repetitive back-and-forth with his right-hand man.

  ‘But what else did she say?’ he continued restlessly.

  ‘Oh, how many times! Nothing, that’s what she said, just that she wants you to be happy.’

  ‘Happy?’ Matjaž looked like he was ready for a fight.

  ‘Yes, happy,’ nodded Aleksander, as if it were a neutral statement.

  ‘Stupid cow! What does she mean by that, happy? I’d be happy if she was still here, with me.’

  ‘Well, that’s clearly the problem,’ Aleksander replied, nervously running his fingers through his thick hair.

  ‘Of course that’s the problem.’ Matjaž looked straight at him, agitated. ‘If she were here, I wouldn’t need to be arguing with you.’

  ‘She can’t talk to you when you’re like this – that’s the problem.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Aleksander considered his words before releasing them with the smoke of his cigarette, ‘If you could find someone and be happy with them, like she is with Jaka . . .’

  Matjaž lowered his head and fell silent momentarily. He didn’t want to hear that she was happy with Jaka. He absolutely never wanted to hear that, and it was of no interest to him whatsoever.

  ‘The Jaka thing is just a fling,’ he insisted. ‘I hope you realize that.’ He raised his gaze towards Aleksander, who closed his eyes wearily.

  ‘Matjaž, this is exactly the problem. You won’t accept the present – well, the ongoing situation – which I agree is a difficult one. And she knows that you don’t just want to go for coffee with her, you want a lot more . . .’

  ‘A lot more. What is a lot more? A few sentences maybe, a smile of some sort, maybe a little hug,’ Matjaž admitted repentantly. ‘After ten years am I asking too much, if I want a little hug?’

  ‘A fair amount of time has passed now; not a lot, I admit, but a fair amount. What would you do after that little hug?’

  ‘I’d promise her that I’m a completely different man . . .’ blurted Matjaž, full of hope.

  ‘Which you’re not . . .’

  ‘No, OK, but I’d assure her that I’m still the same man that she fell in love with.’

  ‘Which is the same man she clearly fell out of love with,’ said Aleksander firmly.

  ‘Don’t be so harsh!’ Matjaž cried.

  ‘I’m sorry, I really don’t like to see you suffering, but I think the time has come for you to move on. Maybe then she’ll go for a coffee with you.’

  ‘D
id she say that to you?’

  ‘No, of course she didn’t say that, but it makes sense – only when you move forwards can you then go back,’ Aleksander said reasonably.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense to me yet.’

  ‘But you know how it is,’ he said, concentrating again. ‘Until you have a girlfriend of your own, until enough time has passed, there will be no grounds for a comfortable conversation.’

  ‘Why would the conversation have to be comfortable?’ Matjaž persisted. ‘I like her when she’s uncomfortable, too.’

  ‘It’s not about that! Until you move on, she’ll always be asking herself whether you have some kind of hidden agenda, or she’ll be scared that she’s giving you false hope.’

  ‘False hope is better than no hope at all! I’d sleep soundly with false hope,’ protested Matjaž once more.

  ‘It’s not going to work. You’re not yet separate enough to be together. That’s just how it is.’

  Aleksander’s words gave Matjaž something to think about. If he found a new girlfriend, and stayed with her for long enough, Sara would be more relaxed around him. And that might pave the way for them to uncover their old closeness, directness and completely unique sense of humour. How he missed that humour; the new words and phrases that spring up organically between a couple and only have meaning for the two of them. Maybe if they could get back to that she would realize what she was missing. And if she was going around saying that she still loved him, that meant she was still thinking about him and probably even missed him.

  Enough time had passed, a huge amount of time, more than a month – even more; two months. Quite some time. He wasn’t going to wait any more. He had dedicated vast amounts of time to passing the time, had spent far too much time waiting for time to do its proverbial healing. He had given time to all of that time without any visible results. He was still sleeping badly, still thinking about her, and the thought of their break-up still turned his stomach. There was no more time. Time had run out. He had to find a way to her, and if that meant spending time with another girl then so be it. He’d better get to work. It couldn’t be too hard. They always say there’s plenty more fish in the sea, and Sara was always telling him how handsome and funny he was – something that was not entirely negligible in today’s world. Girls like that: an attractive guy with a fiery sense of humour.

  The decision did him good; his eyes lit up, and when he looked in the mirror the next morning, for once he didn’t shake his head miserably. Quite the opposite: he gave himself a nod, and if he didn’t know better he would swear he saw the beginnings of a smile in the corners of his mouth. A new time, a new girlfriend – it was a brilliant idea!

  SAŠA

  Since Matjaž and Sara had broken up, the only thing Matjaž could remember was that he had forgotten a lot. The working day was one big haze for him; voices without meaning, faces without names. He would hear himself answering questions and greeting known yet unfamiliar faces, doing a few things, but he quickly forgot about all of it. It wasn’t just the alcohol, although that wasn’t something he particularly resisted at the time. He had a feeling that he couldn’t break through into what appeared to be life. And the more the bars filled with people in the evenings, the more the streets bustled, the more the summer lifted spirits and settled itself inside of people, the more he felt like a foreigner among the crowd, a walking corpse in the midst of a city euphoric with happiness.

  He had forgotten about the time he’d spent with Jernej; watching him clear glasses at the Billiard House, pouring customers’ drinks and taking their money, giving them their change and a smile in return. The mechanical repetition of the barman’s movements, and those of the people on the thirsty side of the bar, had cleared his thoughts so thoroughly that he forgot even himself.

  From his walks with Suzana and her dog along the bank of the Ljubljanica river he remembered the treetops, imprinted like sophisticated graphics on a fresh blue sky, the scorched grass, the coloured façades and an occasional polished antique car. Suzana held forth with her impassioned meditation on the plight of young contract workers at the national television station; his only contribution was an occasional murmur of agreement. She gently punched him on the shoulder a few times when she realized that he wasn’t listening to her, or that he was indifferent towards her commitment, and he responded with forlorn laughter.

  This reaction made her even more despondent and she cried, ‘Oh man, listen to me! I don’t know how to deal with people in distress, you know? I just don’t have the knack. Why can’t you just insult me like you usually do, or at least just . . . get lost? See, I don’t even dare swear in front of you any more! Why don’t you just go hang yourself?’

  Matjaž sidestepped this awkwardness with inexpressive laughter, made the excuse that he had to go and get some milk or something, and quickly went home. He felt as if she was relieved when they said goodbye.

  At first he couldn’t talk about Sara, even with Aleksander. He went for lunch at Aleksander and Karla’s house and just stared with bewilderment into his bowl, wondering what exactly goes on at a chemical level when a tomato is cooked and how other ingredients, like garlic and pepper, react to it. Before long, his best friend managed to tease out of him a word or two about Sara and about how he was feeling at the moment. Matjaž gradually felt his pain become just about palpable, deep in his guts. Once he started to talk about Sara, he couldn’t stop. But this didn’t diminish the pain in any way; it kept growing with every thought of her, every fleeting association of their life together. She persisted, he couldn’t forget her, and the pain did not want to forget him.

  But the Friday that followed Matjaž’s latest conversation with Aleksander was different. Matjaž no longer felt so indifferent towards all of his forgetting; it even seemed amusing to him. Up until then his pain had taken away his appetite for silliness, for exploring what was left of himself after his break-up with Sara. What words, what inappropriate remarks, what kinds of sarcasm and ridiculous things would come out of his mouth if a crowd of party-hungry people were to encourage him? What would his response be like to a call from one of those people – or rather, from one of those girls?

  He arrived at Orto Bar with Aleksander in a fairly good mood already, and promptly lost his friend in the crowd and forgot about him immediately. He danced around a little and then battled his way towards the bar, smiling at people in a state of pleasant obsolescence. ‘Excuse me, sorry, oops,’ he said as he pushed into people, standing on their toes and elbowing them as he thrust past. He let out the odd ‘Move that fat arse, you stupid cow!’ but fortunately the music was loud enough for his words not to really bother anybody. When he finally reached his goal, he encountered a second problem: not one barman noticed him. He waved, shouted, insulted the bar’s service, but amid the crowd of other visibly thirsty individuals and the music that was blasting out, Matjažs efforts were all to no avail. Well, almost to no avail. His gesticulations and insults were noticed by a girl, slight, with a soft look about her, leaning against the bar next to him.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ Matjaž barked at her.

  ‘I’m staring at you because I like you’ a soft voice whispered into his ear, a voice to which he would never have attributed a message so bold and direct.

  He finally pulled himself together.

  ‘What are you drinking?’

  ‘Vodka and orange.’

  ‘Disgusting, but your call.’ He looked back towards the barman, who now completely by chance caught his eye. He called out, ‘Mate, mate, we’re thirsty over here!’ She’ll have a vodka and orange, and a beer for me.’

  ‘A large one?’

  ‘Is there any other sort?’ he laughed. He turned around and, with little subtlety, checked out the girl beside him, from head (short fair hair, thick make-up) to toe (clad in high heels). Her outfit was short and low-cut enough for him to make a more in-depth appraisal, too. Her appearance was not repulsive to him, but upon critical examination of her qual
ities he furrowed his brow.

  ‘Why are you so horrible?’ she asked as she sipped her vodka and orange.

  ‘So that I can entertain girls like you, Mrs.’

  ‘Don’t call me Mrs.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I like to think of myself as more of a Miss.’

  ‘Fine, Mrs Miss.’

  The girl looked away and smiled. ‘How about you call me Saša?’

  ‘Steady on. I’m a gentle, bashful young man,’ he said, looking into his freshly acquired beer as if he were deliberating something. Then he took her by the hand and led her outside, spilling their drinks in the process, and headed over to the best-lit table. When they sat down, he asked, with a barely discernible hint of irony in his voice, ‘Should we not start with something a bit more straightforward, with questions that allow us to progress on to the more demanding stuff?’ He looked at her imploringly and wrinkled his forehead. ‘Hang on, I’ll think of a nice neutral topic . . .’

  ‘Choose something that isn’t too demanding, I’m really ignorant,’ she said, going along with his game.

  ‘Yeah, and it has to be the kind of thing that doesn’t lead to conflict . . .’ he deliberated.

  ‘Just no politics, please,’ she let out.

  ‘Oh no, you’re not apolitical, are you?’ he tested.

  ‘No, I just don’t like politics, it doesn’t interest me at all,’ she affirmed ignorantly.

  ‘Good, as long as you’re not right wing,’ he said, trying to rouse her anyway. He was unsuccessful. She laughed, raised her right hand and beckoned with it slightly, saying, ‘No, I just write with my right hand.’

  ‘So we can’t argue about politics, even if you’d wanted to,’ he reflected.

  ‘No, definitely not, and not about art either. I don’t have a clue about it. I don’t have anything to say, even about the more commercial stuff. I still mix up my De Niro and Pacino, and they’re meant to be classics!’ she shrugged.