DOOM 94 Read online

  Winter had just suddenly turned to spring when we moved into the kindergarten. The snow was melting and we could green and brown patches of grass peeking through. I was still wearing my winter jacket, but instead of wrapping my scarf around my neck I let it hang elegantly down to my legs; in turn, girls were rushing to shed as many layers as possible. All these elements of spring were leaving people with an aching sense of excitement. As if we were remembering something big and beautiful that once passed us by, and which we’d probably let pass by again, but without knowing what to do about it. We can’t even remember what that thing was, just the smell, something in the air reminds us of it.

  I was the first to arrive that night. Death had said he’d be a little late, and he was right. He’d also said: ‘Bring a bottle of something with you!’ And I’d done so; the bottle was in my pocket and I was standing outside. From inside the kindergarten I could hear:

  — Battles! Battles in the North!

  Evening was settling down on Jelgava, and the spring air was warm. People came in small groups; I was the only one by myself, but it didn’t bother me anymore. I was our so-called cult’s leader and holder of the encyclopaedia of metal. I stood by myself, accepting greetings with dignity. I didn’t want to go inside and talk with anyone. It was nice to stand outside, in the darkening world, on the brink of something amazing. I felt more a part of this scene than the majority of these kids showing up tonight. But everyone said hi to me, and I mean everyone. Even a few girls. I imagined that if someone were to ask me what I was doing outside by myself, I’d say:

  — I’m hoping for the Moon.

  And then I’d look up at the heavens. Two people walked up; it was dark enough that a near-sighted person wouldn’t recognize them, but one of them called out:

  — Hey!

  And I answered:

  — Hey!

  It was Ģirtiņš, the one with the beard, and his girlfriend. This Ģirtiņš was a great guitar player, which was another reason to be jealous of him. His girlfriend was one of my sister’s students. She was wearing an intensely lowcut shirt that night. Ģirtiņš threw down his cigarette and asked:

  — Why’re you out here?

  Without taking my eyes off her cleavage, I gave my prepared answer:

  — Groping for the Moon.

  A Freudian slip. His girlfriend looked at me in surprise:

  — Do what now?

  I could tell her exactly what I wanted to grope, but I tried again:

  — The Moon, I’m waiting for it.

  — Is that a new band or something?

  I threw up a hand.

  — Let’s go in.

  Once inside I slipped into a corner and took a drink from my bottle of Merkurs. This stupid life and monogamous philistines, and the silly moon maidens, who needs it. Life should bite you in the throat, like Merkurs does. Of course, that’s the traditional approach. To accept the path you are already on as the one and only. ‘Walk the path of sorrow’, as Satyricon sang. One more swig of Merkurs. It went down smooth as life. Now I could take a look around.

  The space here wasn’t as fancy as at the Bunker or the Villa. No iron doors, no columns, just a smallish, windowless room. There was supposed to be a show tonight. I never would have believed that a room this small could accommodate a concert, much less without any sign of a stage. But a lot of other people did believe, and the room was packed. Or maybe they were just here to be here. Mele’s pretty friend walked by, her hand protectively over the opening of her cup. Sammie watched her go. Ziedonis was carrying a big box. And then the guys from the Other School tumbled in. The kindergarten was in their neighbourhood, after all. Crab, Sīnis, Bundle, Eižēns, the whole gang. Their hair was now a lot longer than what was considered normal, but still shorter than mine — the perfect combination. We threw our arms around each other in greeting, and I was genuinely happy to see them; I just didn’t show it.

  Sīnis pulled a bottle of ‘Kristofors’ — locally-made gin that we colloquially called ‘the ship’ — out of his pocket. I paled a little at the memory of its taste, but I drank, and drank heartily; the smell of juniper made every cell in my body cringe, but the Crab passed me an open bottle of tonic. Turns out they were quite refined, my friends. I poured the tonic in to mix a fancy cocktail right in my mouth. The world became even better, I could feel it. I even wanted to say something about it, but I didn’t know what. It was just like with the smell of spring.

  Twang — the sound of a guitar. Twang, twang, twang, twang! What was that? We all turned toward the sound. There was a group of young guys setting up; Ziedonis was pulling out wires around them and looked very business-like. I didn’t want to admit it, but I didn’t know who they were. Dull Doll, someone said, seeing the confusion in my eyes.

  Well, sure. I’d heard people talking about them; they were a newlyformed band. The first twangs of the guitar were indicative that they weren’t starting their creative path in the right venue. Of course, all the alternative factions are kind of like us… But then again not really… What did I care, I just felt bad for all the people who had come here to find metal. I felt a little bad for the band, too.

  Then some kid I didn’t really know came up and shouted into my ear:

  — Death is waiting outside for you.

  And there he was, and I saw that I had been saving the rest of the Merkurs for nothing. Death was whipping his torso up and down as if he’d decided to slam his head into the ground as hard as he could, but then changed his mind at the last second. It was maniacal, uncontrollable headbanging, complete with some strange dance steps forward and back.

  — Hey! he called out in one of the moments he managed to lift his head — I can’t get in!

  And again he lurched forward, then back upright.

  — I don’t have a lat.

  Standing upright now, he didn’t say anything else, and just stared at me. But I didn’t have a lat, either. I went inside to talk to Ziedonis. He sometimes let his friends in for half-price. I doubted that Death even had fifty santims on him (I didn’t). Maybe this time Ziedonis could get him in for free? I didn’t want to be begging him. Where was he? Over there with the guys of Dull Doll, looking all official as he turned a knob on the amp. They’d just finished their set, the audience had listened to them politely, and the singer was saying:

  — Thank you!

  Someone in the audience, probably Ģirtiņš, shouted back:

  — Thank you for stopping!

  As happens between sets, the audience started to mill around — some went outside to smoke, others moved closer to the stage, because Heaven Grey was about to go on. And poor Death was standing outside, braving the storm; now where was Ziedonis? I bumped into Mele (‘Hi!’), Sammie, Ģirtiņš, his girlfriend, Crab (‘Can I borrow a lat?’) and Death. He was standing right inside and was headbanging like before, except now he had a just-opened bottle of beer in his hand.

  — How did you get in?

  — I don’t know!

  And he let out an odd giggle. He clearly wasn’t lying.

  — I don’t know.

  Do you remember the task Nasreddin Afandhi was given by the travelling philosopher? To answer the forty most-complex questions with a single answer. Afandhi listened to all forty questions and said:

  — I don’t know.

  More than seven hundred years have passed since then, but no one has been able to come up with a better answer. Death cackled like a mad philosopher and took a swig of his beer, which oddly enough seemed to sober him up a little. It didn’t matter how he’d got in. We were here now, and Heaven Grey was starting their set.

  There’s nothing new or negative to be said about legends. And I truly have nothing negative to say about Heaven Grey. They poured their hearts into playing some old-school death metal songs, sometimes adding a few new doom elements, all of which made me nostalgic, and like on every night like this one, I reminded myself that we lived in an amazing time, that music was big and that we should take tha
t whole guitar and band thing and actually do something with it. I resolved to talk to Death about it right after the concert. For now I pushed my way to the front row. Cramped, wet from the other bodies surrounding me, I felt like part of a single organism, at least that’s what I liked to imagine, a single cell in a powerful organism. Couldn’t I embrace the other cells, and not just wait for them to do the same? But then Heaven Grey played their greatest hit, and I had to stop thinking about life and start thinking about music.

  Time flows, flows just like a river.

  The river flows swiftly, inconceivably.

  And these words seemed like deep, philosophical questions, even though time wasn’t flowing at all then and the meaning of the lyrics was even inconceivable to the guy who had written them. But all of that is trivial compared to the vast grey heavens I walked out under right after the concert. The rosy ends of cigarettes glowed all around, and I was one of them. I wasn’t alone. There was Death, his jacket all askew and — what was he holding!? He had his arms around a girl, and they were kissing like they were possessed. It was Milēdija. No, it wasn’t and it couldn’t be here, why would she be here. It was Mele’s pretty friend; no, it wasn’t her either. All cats look alike in the dark. It was a totally unfamiliar girl with very dark hair. When they broke away from one another for a moment to come up for air, Death noticed me and said:

  — Hey!

  He seemed stone cold sober, even though the only reason he was upright was because the girl was holding onto him.

  She looked at me, too, then back to Death, then to me again and said:

  — Hi!

  Just ask me what I’m doing out here. I threw out all sorts of clever remarks about the concert and the meaning of metal. Death managed to respond coherently, but the girl just kept ruffling his hair and laughing. It was a pleasant laugh, clear and crackling, but it gave me chills. My teeth even chattered. But why? It felt familiar. I took out my bottle of Merkurs and offered it to them. The girl drank, her head tipped back to show the world her endless neck and the pulsing hollow at her collarbone. For some reason it got on my nerves, and I started to criticize Heaven Grey.

  — They were great. Banging away, cutting, sawing. But… is that what metal is for? Isn’t it somehow a little too perfect?

  The girl listened to this:

  — How come? I liked it!

  — But where’s the pain? Isn’t metal supposed to be the antithesis to the world? Why do they want people to like them?

  A few of the guys from the Other School had joined us and were listening intently.

  — We’re supposed to be about rejection. They’ve kind of given in to the Satan of acceptance.

  Heaven Grey was not at all guilty of these things, but I was on a roll.

  — It’s time the band broke up.

  That was crossing the line. No-one said anything.

  I was embarrassed. I took a swig of Merkurs and gave the bottle to the people standing around before heading back inside, to use the bathroom, or so I told myself. I ran into the guys from Heaven Grey on my way down the stairs; they looked tired and were carrying their instrument cases. I wanted to hug them and ask for their forgiveness, but I didn’t. It wasn’t until I’d reached the doors that I turned to look back up at them. A few of the people standing outside cheered when they came out; they hadn’t taken me seriously. Death’s new girlfriend was standing right by the stairs. My insides went cold again. Standing at half-basement level I was face-to-face with her knees. Her knees had an interesting shape to them. I’d seen them once before. Those interesting knees and those very same boots. And that same screech of laughter, clear and cracking; I’d heard that before, too. Another shiver ran through me and I went inside.

  It was a lot emptier now. Someone had put on Anathema’s ‘Sleepless’. It was exactly what I needed right now. As soon as the drums came crashing back in after a lull in the song, I was completely convinced that the judgements I’d passed on myself and others were stupid and unnecessary, that it was all in my head and, in the end, the snow had melted and the ice had shifted. But then a group of clowns rushed in and stumbled up to the podium and put on Pantera. Children, is this really the time for you to play the music from my first tender foray into metal, music that I’ve long since turned away from with a wry mile? But they just jumped around and danced like they’d found the source of true joy. My friends from the Other School came in and stood next to me, observing these kids with the same sadness. But where I had just muttered ‘Goddamn jumpers’ under my breath, they had crossed the line and were laughing loudly, mimicking their dance moves and shouting ironic slogans at them. It was like an echo of my controversial speech earlier. They wanted to take a stand against something, too. Maybe it was their way of backing me up. Either way, it made me uncomfortable. And I felt sorry for the younger kids.

  I went outside to smoke. To find Death. But he wasn’t out there. There wasn’t really anyone outside anymore. The ideal moment for a lonely or at least relaxed smoke. But as soon as I took a drag, an unfamiliar voice addressed me:

  — Give me the new Therion!

  It was a good way to start a conversation, cut right to music. My new acquaintance turned out to be pretty knowledgeable for such a runt (he was a grade younger than me). He knew stuff, there was no denying it. I, of course, glanced around, bored, but I had to admit that some of what he said was spot-on.

  — That’s how it should be. The majority of music is shit. Good things don’t come along often.

  — True, true. Hm.

  He looked at me. Then he looked away, across the street, and said:

  — Want to start a band?

  I looked away too. So he wouldn’t see my smile. But I didn’t know what I was smiling about. I felt incredibly happy, but didn’t want to show it. I also didn’t believe that we’d actually start a band, but this situation in which two complete strangers bond over the same dream — it was something else.

  I was trying to decide whether to ask him his name or what he’d play in the band, when Crab burst out of the Junkyard and raced by without looking back. Not far behind him was Sīnis. They both ran out onto the street and disappeared from view. I thought — strange, if they were going to be rude and just leave like that, why didn’t they grab their coats? Because they’d both had on black coats when they’d arrived. They’d both taken off as if they’d lost their minds, or else as if someone was chasing after them.

  And that was the case. Almost immediately after them came a mob of those same young Pantera fans. To clarify, the reason I referred to them as young is because they were new to this scene. Physically speaking they were almost at level with us, and a few of them were pretty fit. It became clear why they had run off, and that my friends’ chances weren’t great. As a good friend, I immediately took off after their pursuers to try and help minimize the damage. When I reached the street I saw the backs of the Pantera mob; they ran as hard as they could, but I eventually slowed down. There was no way I was going to catch up to them. And Crab and Sīnis had such a good head start, that they were likely far ahead of them and already to safety. But I didn’t stop running, either, and continued at a light jog. A small, chubby Pantera fan ran up from behind to join me. He must have thought that I was on his side, and said, panting:

  — Why’d they have to go and do that? Why’d they have to poke fun at our music? I don’t get it, we’re all friends here, how come Pantera is worse than the rest, can’t we all just like what we like?

  I picked up my pace and pulled away from him. I didn’t want to listen anymore.

  I’d lost sight of the others. I turned down one street, then another; nothing but darkness. I headed back to the Junkyard.

  The pack of Pantera fans had returned as well, but there was no sign of Sīnis or Crab. From what I could gather they had managed to escape. The Pantera fans turned to me, exasperated:

  — Why’d they have to do that? We’re all friends here, why do they have to go calling people posers?r />
  There was genuine hurt in their voices, and they turned to me like some expert on metal ideology. But I said nothing, just took drag after drag of my cigarette. Eventually they stopped asking. Then the party was over. Ziedonis was rolling up the cords. I didn’t see my new bandmate or Death anywhere. The stragglers were putting on their coats and heading home. After the Pantera fans had left — they even waved goodbye, as if we’d forged some sort of strange friendship — I went down to the coatroom. It was empty except for two black jackets — Crab’s and Sīnis’. I took them and went outside; I’d bring them their jackets the following day. I doubt they were going to come back here tonight looking for them, and you could only get into the basement on Fridays. The guard locked the basement door behind me.

  The snow was completely gone, and the streets looked empty. I felt exhausted, almost drunk. So much had happened tonight. It wasn’t comfortable carrying the two coats. I dropped them on the ground and sat on them. I found a pack of cigarettes in Sīnis’ coat pocket. I sat there, smoking, trying to make sense of the night’s events. And couldn’t. All I could think was that I had to do something, something big and extraordinary had to happen. But the street, the buildings, the fence and even the trees seemed indifferent to what I was feeling — it seemed impossible that the trees branches weren’t transmitting some kind of code to make the fence open up to another dimension. I tilted my head back to look at the sky, to blow smoke into it, and saw the Moon. I’d hoped for it, and there it was. The Moon was a sign of security, it was so round and bright, it couldn’t just be Earth’s fourhundred- thousand-kilometres-away satellite; it was clearly a sign for lonely metalheads. And what this sign say? I didn’t ask, but just stared right up at the Moon.

  13

  One weekend I went on a picturesque trip with my two thug friends. Hanging out with the metalheads always required mental effort, stress and attention. It was easier with the thugs. I’d already accepted that they weren’t going to beat me up. I could unwind around them.