DOOM 94 Read online

  — If I find a bottle, I’m gonna shove it up your ass!

  Everyone was helping everyone else empty their bottles before reaching the entrance, and then heading in feeling great. We followed suit. I had finally made it to the Robinson. The legendary fortresses had surrendered to me one by one, and now it was the Robinson’s turn. Though at that time I doubt Black Friday was really much of a legend. But I knew it was the biggest thing we had, and it wasn’t that the world didn’t know anything about us, no. It was we who didn’t know anything about the world.

  The place was packed. Even before we made it all the way in we could see tens of stages and bands. Now it was especially rare to see flannel shirts or patterned sweaters, but there were more famous people around. Over there was a young guy who went by Peksis. No-one knew who he was, yet, but he was sitting there, leaning forward and repeating:

  — What’re you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen a punk before? What’re you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen a punk before?

  Next to him was Morbid with his crooked, black beard. An unfamiliar, pretty girl stood behind him. Next to her was Sinister.

  Death and I rolled up our sleeves and raced to say hello to our acquaintances. But I soon felt I was losing momentum. Then I noticed that one guy who’s always having nightmares about the Middle Ages and was supposedly going to play bass guitar in Sinister’s band. I went up to him and held out my hand. He accepted it, shook it, everything was good, he even smiled. I asked:

  — How’re things going with the swords?

  Because he was always talking about swords and axes. But this time he stared at me like he had no idea what I was talking about. No idea at all. He started explaining in English that his name was Pauļus, he was from Kauna. But he looked exactly like the sword guy. The same long hair and ridiculous beard. He was here to see Nahash. In 1993, the Lithuania’s leading black metal band had split to form two separate groups: Nahash and Pocculus (a ridiculous name, I said in Latvian). Both bands played some amazing black metal. I should come inside to join the others.

  It was a lot darker further inside, the Lithuanian knew where he was going. I thought he would maybe introduce me to the band, or to all three of them, but no. People had formed a cosy nest on the floor next to a column — of leather jackets, beer, and a smiling girl. Her name was Živile. A ridiculous name, I said in Latvian. Pauļus asked me to keep an eye on the beer and the girl, while he went off in some unknown direction.

  And so I found myself sitting on the ground with Živile. I drank their beer, and she smoked my cigarettes to keep things fair. I was especially moved when, before finishing each cigarette, she’d show me the stub and ask if I accepted its disposal. I’ve never again met someone with such refined manners. She was an all-around nice person, and we talked about important things, using a mish-mash of languages.

  — Have you ever seen Nahash before?

  — A little.

  — They’re amazing, she said, seeing through my lie effortlessly and without calling me out on it. They sing about witches. Is the beer good?

  — It’s good.

  I decided it was my turn to ask.

  But I failed at conversation. She took back the lead.

  — Do you play in a band?

  — Yup.

  — Black metal?

  — Mhmm. Kind of avant-garde.

  — What’s it called?

  — Terrier Bitch.

  — Ooh! Awesome.

  My wildest dreams had come true in a single moment. Even if I really had a band, This is exactly how I would have told an unfamiliar girl about it. It was exactly like I had dreamed. I was dumbstruck by this sudden, phenomenal realisation. I sat and stared at Živile’s lower lip.

  Then Pauļus reappeared, and I gave him my seat and left. Živile half laughed, half smiled, and tossed her head in my direction, saying to Pauļus in their language:

  — Metalo viltis!

  Something was starting on stage, so I wandered in that direction. It was Heaven Grey, easy to recognise because they had a cello.

  I made my way to the front row and thought about what Death had said. The Lithuanians are our brothers, we should be able to understand their language. ‘Metalo’ could mean metal, in some declination. ‘Viltis’… Maybe ‘vilks’, our word for ‘wolf’? Wolf! A metal wolf, that’s what I am in the eyes of our Lithuanian brothers. Jānis of Jelgava, known in Lithuania as the metal wolf. It’s a little lame, but what can you do. But maybe it’s not wolf? Maybe they had something entirely different in mind? Like ‘viltnieks’ — trickster? I didn’t like how that sounded, but my intuition said I’d hit closer to the right meaning. Metal faker? Metal liar? My heart ached. I must truly be abnormal. But what do I care if some Lithuanians had unmasked me? No-one could take away all I’d gone through. But I hadn’t really gone through anything, and probably wouldn’t. It was all just in my head, all tricky and lies. The strongest were made of steel. I had imagined all of it. I was just pretending. Even now, I was pretending I was some kind of spy with a secret mission, looking for a hidden agenda. Whatever.

  Heaven Grey started their set. The audience pushed me against the stage. No-one here was indifferent, everyone went all in from the first chords, letting loose some hard-core head-banging. I placed my hands on the edge of the stage for support and joined them. Now I was like everyone else. My hair was probably even long enough to hit the people next to me in the eyes. They don’t know me. I could just as well be a genius. Or a murderer. Or a werewolf. It didn’t matter. Maybe someone next time was a werewolf. Maybe everyone around me is pretending. But none of that mattered, metal.

  I stepped over to the side for a minute. I was dizzy. I should find my friends. Wherever they were. But then Venom came up to me and said:

  — Why hello and blessed be, so to speak!

  — Is Dark Reign playing tonight too? I asked, even though I knew full well they weren’t. Venom confirmed my suspicion, and his face clouded over.

  I asked:

  — How come?

  Venom grew even more sullen. Then he looked me in the eyes.

  — I think they’re trying to force me out of the band.

  — What do you mean?

  — Apparently I’m a little too abrasive. Invoke Satan too much.

  He looked even deeper into my eyes.

  — I made them, all of them. And they’re just going to betray me. I can feel it.

  I didn’t say anything. Apparently my silence was somewhat commiserating, because he passed me his beer. I took a long drink, and thanked him.

  — Don’t read into it too much. No-one said metal was easy.

  — Yeah, we’ll see what’s what, Venom sniffed and left.

  Right after, someone wandered up to me and said:

  — Remember me?

  — Of course I do!

  I had no idea who this person was.

  — I crashed at your place one night.

  It was the guy with the encyclopaedia of metal! The one who had run away from home. Before I managed to say anything, he asked:

  — Are you wasted?

  — No.

  — I am.

  I should’ve said I was in the beginning. I hurried to correct myself:

  — I mean I am, yes.

  — Then why did you say that you weren’t?

  — Like I have any clue what I’m saying. I’m wasted.

  The reply satisfied him. We stood facing one another saying nothing. Misery started to play, a pretty decent group, Carcassy.

  — Why did you turn me in?

  I literally jumped:

  — What? How did I turn you in?

  — Well you wanted to!

  — What d’you even mean? When?

  Now we both looked confused.

  — Well. You answered the phone, and you didn’t say anything because I was there, right?

  — Y-yeah.

  — It was someone calling to ask if I was there, right?

  — N-no. />
  He scratched his cheek.

  — Didn’t it seem weird to you that I was just gone the next morning?

  I didn’t really remember. I hadn’t been paying much attention.

  — I thought you’d just left.

  — I ran away.

  — Is that all you do?

  — What do you want?

  It was an unexpected question. I knew the answer, had a lot of answers to it, but didn’t know which one to say first. He took a drink of his beer and asked:

  — So you weren’t going to turn me in?

  — No!

  — Okay, good.

  He offered me another sip of his beer, and then took back the little that remained.

  — Later!

  And he left. But I got the feeling that it hadn’t been beer in his cup, but something strange. I suddenly felt ill. Not from all the alcohol, but from all that information. I needed to find my friends. It was like some statistical anomaly — I kept finding myself in conversation with all these strangers, but I couldn’t find my friends even if I systematically tried to. I tried to just wander around to run into them, but that didn’t work either. What’s more I could barely see anything anymore. I had gone back to the stage to where I had been during the next group, Dzels Vilks, and my glasses had gone flying off my face. I felt all fours to look for them, but it was dark, filled with stomping boots, broken bottles, and I was half blind. I stood up and rub my face. It was so easy to rub my face with my glasses gone. I was free. I was never going to find anyone. I couldn’t go back home either, those glasses were expensive. Tonight I would run away, go on a grand adventure. Like him. Yes, yes.

  I’d sit for just a minute before I left. I drag myself over to a wall and sat down among broken glass, my back against the brick. Much better. I tried to make out who was playing just done. Still Misery? Or Paradoxx? Or Terrier Bitch? I fell asleep without figuring it out. Like a tired child, or as if someone had hit me over the head.

  Meanwhile, the concert — my dream concert — went on at full force. Dzels Vilks finished out their set; they played well, back then it was real music, none of this wind-wailing-through-socks-hung-to-dry sound they have now. Dies Irae, Infrogress and Apēdājs also played. But I wasn’t analysing or naming genres, I was sleeping, and all this metal lulled me further into my dreams.

  And while I slept, Death and Zombie were living the dream. They watched as Skyforger took the stage. It was a significant turning point in Latvian metal history. Pēteris, after the incident with the ghost-rifleman that time in Jelgava, had abandoned all thoughts of foreign warriors and had turned to Latvia’s fallen riflemen. Grindmaster Dead had been disbanded, and Skyforger formed in its place, which played black metal and sang only about Latvian themes. In a heartbeat they had filled this niche that everyone else wanted to fill, and had become number one.

  Pēteris had a real sword on stage; he swung it around wildly, the blade hacking into the low ceiling, raining down bits of plaster. His voice was like the sword, a deep, grating falsetto, like a stream flowing out of the throat of a stone golem, a sound that broke and ground you up in to the stream, carrying you away to who knows where, to spit you out here, to have the noble and heavy sound of the guitars crash down on you. Now and then you could make out some of the lyrics, like ‘black’ and ‘clouds’ and ‘sacred’; it was how a concert should sound — gritty and real — and then the clearly-sung refrain: ‘Symbols carved in stone!’ It’s amazing that it really exists, this hidden world they don’t tell you about in school, don’t write about in books.

  That was how Skyforger introduced themselves. They would eventually become the most world-famous Latvian band of all time. And I didn’t see it or hear it. I became a die-hard fan later, of course, and told everyone and myself about this, their first ever concert. What I didn’t tell anyone was that, during their set, I’d actually been drooling and grinning like an idiot in my sleep, dreaming about twenty santims, the neighbour’s old dog and a girl with Milēdija’s body, Mele’s friend’s hair and Mele’s unreadable expression.

  Death found me during the last song. He shook me and said:

  — Wake up! Skyforger is playing!

  But I didn’t get up. He said again:

  — Please! Wake up! Please?

  That touched me, and I answered:

  — It’s all good.

  But I still didn’t get up. I was so comfortable here, by the wall, among the cigarette butts and broken bottles. I understood that the concert was more important and that I should get up, but it was right over there, one step, one second, one blink away, I could do it whenever, so why not just stay here for one more second and maybe another. And so I sat until the very end of the last song, until the band left the stage to the sounds of a standing ovation. Then I opened my eyes and ears and said to Death:

  — Hey! What’s up?

  After that came Apēdājs, I think. But everyone went into the corridor and talked about Skyforger.

  — They’re a bit like Immoral, no?

  I nodded in agreement and even Zombie, who didn’t really particularly like music, looked inspired.

  — That was fantastic! Mele exclaimed. When did she get here? Her eyes glistened with tears, which was wild, but she could still see:

  — Where’re your glasses?

  And then I remembered that my life was over and the world was a blur. Maybe Mele didn’t have tears in her eyes; I couldn’t see anything, after all. But then someone else joined our conversation.

  — My band will be better!

  I turned to face the cocky speaker, as did the rest of our group. I knew him, but couldn’t make out who it was. The silhouette was definitely familiar, though. Someone asked:

  — You’re starting a band?

  — Already have one. Just have to clear the ranks a bit. Kick someone out.

  — What do you play?

  — Black metal, obviously. But one-of-a-kind.

  He had no shame, this unrecognizable acquaintance. I stepped closer to him, very close. I definitely knew him! Because of my confusion and total near-sightedness I came so close to him that he, and everyone else, fell silent. It probably looked strange, me stopping half a step away from him while scrutinizing his face.

  My hair didn’t stand on end only because it was so long. He was me. I was staring into my own face. I saw long hair, glasses and a perturbed expression. Those glasses — they were mine! That’s why all the confusion! But beneath the glasses it was him — the pretentious guy from Riga, the one who I’d first met at the Stocks. He was dressed meticulously per usual, in his long, black, high-collared coat and shiny accessories I couldn’t quite make out. He had obviously put on my glasses because they fit in with his getup. Maybe he’d found them on the floor, but maybe the pretty girl standing next to him had found them, or maybe one of the others form his entourage, who were all now glaring at me. I said:

  — Those are my glasses!

  I hadn’t said anything funny, but his friends all burst out laughing. I didn’t know why, but I knew it was at me. I felt the world turn back a lifetime, and I was once again a stupid little four-eyes.

  The pretentious guy and his entourage turned to leave, but Ēriks was waiting behind them, leaning against the wall. He also had glasses, and not only knew everything and understood everything, but also had the prestige of an older metalhead. He took pity on me:

  — Give him the glasses back.

  The pretentious guy thought it over, then gave me the glasses. He became a warrior, while I grovelled. And he still didn’t let up. He asked:

  — Do you have a band?

  I gave him the answer he was expecting:

  — No.

  And I put my glasses back on. He continued:

  — But you’re going to?

  — No.

  — But you want to?

  I wanted to tell him: ‘Do you have any idea what I’ve done to be in a band? That is, what I haven’t yet, but would do? Could you become a t
raitor to be in a band? Could you betray a friend? Or maybe you’ve already done that? Do you think I’m just like you?’ But all I said was:

  — No, we don’t.

  Zombie brought the conversation to a close in his typical style:

  — The only group activity we like is orgies!

  And we trickled outside, where it was pitch dark, stumbling and bumping into one another. There were more of us know; some girls had joined our group. They even gave us money to buy alcohol from a lone kiosk, and then we headed back to the dorms. We had to get past the door man — in this case door woman, who was nicknamed the Terminator — so we stopped to collect ourselves so we’d appear nice and legal. One of the girls have me a scrunchie to get my tangled hair under control. We walked past the Terminator, all of us holding our breaths, avoiding eye-contact, and the scrunchie smelled like shampoo. As soon as we reached the stairs, we bolted up them like mad, again shoving and bumping into one another, and Mele’s friend dropped her matches. She bent down to grab them, but I shoved her along. Death dropped his keys multiple times, but we finally made it in. We fell around the table, laughing. I’m not sure about what, exactly, but we laughed whole-heartedly.

  Death started to drum on the table. He was a drummer, after all. Despite everything, he truly was a drummer. We started drumming, too, not really in rhythm with him, but we drummed so hard that the table lamp tipped over and broke. The room went dark, but Zombie had a solution: he lit his hair on fire and started to shake his head. The flame went out; he poured vodka over his head and tried again. It burned a little better, but reeked.

  The door opened, and there was the Terminator. She illustrated her unwavering nature by ignoring everything around and simply asking:

  — Did all the visitors leave me their IDs downstairs?

  — Yes!

  We all answered simultaneously. But she said:

  — I don’t have anything from any of you!

  She paused for effect, and then turned around and left.

  What did that mean? What were we supposed to do? Wait to be arrested? Either way, it got us to quiet down. But it was dark, because the hair had gone out, the lamp was broken and there was no overhead light. The conversation turned darker, too. Not too long passed before Mele whispered: