Angel Of The Seventh Day

Chapter 2

In the faces of the other workers he sees similar pleas beneath the false equanimity. He had long since learned to read faces. But in this group he sees no greed; he sees only a little lie in the man. They have not made a good bargain, it is impossible with the old miser Cvetković. A few small things go unnoticed. He didn't seem to notice the much bigger things he sold for his own pocket. Working on Saturdays and occasionally on Sundays, contrary to the employment contract, demanded compensation. His sudden decision to build a wall around the property instilled a worm of suspicion in him and commanded caution in future dealings for his penny.

The guys are his age, in their early forties, and as far as he understood, they were all family men. It is difficult to live next to the various Cvetkovićs, so it is easy for him to satisfy them.

"I'm going to get something to eat and see if the old man's gone. If so, that's where the tools are," he points to the work table under the eaves, "so take what you need. Only, don't overdo it!"

People spread grateful smiles and finish their beers.

Despite the ban, he enters the restaurant and takes a seat at a table. The grey overalls he wears, smeared with motor oil, stand out against the quiet ambience of the restaurant. He knows that the boss is usually in the dining room, keeping tabs on his employees. The clatter of cutlery and the low murmur of diners are absent, the restaurant is empty and the old man is not present.

Maria, the landlady, looks at him frowning:

"Are you normal, do you want the old man to see you? Go to the back and eat!"

Their noise makes the chef peek behind the counter. What Milan suspected became fact. The old man is gone.

"Please, don't lecture me and bring me something to eat. And don't bring me the leftovers from the guests this time. What are you staring at?"

"You i***t!" she replies. He has no doubt that at the first opportunity she will tell the boss about it. The snake just can't help himself, but he knows that Cvetković will look through his fingers. He's a good mechanic who has put himself through humiliating working conditions, and it wouldn't be the first time he's been pardoned. The other employees of the complex cannot understand his behavior, including his need to work alone in the scrap, and he will not satisfy them with an explanation of his motives.

Milan watches her irritably walk towards the counter that separates the kitchen from the dining room. Milan pulls the cell phone out of his pocket and sends the mason the message "everything OK".

After a half-smoked cigarette, she brings the food. He pays her tribute; she's a master of her craft, no matter how grumpy she is. Deftly, he carries a plate and two platters in one hand. Her steps are measured and professional, and the service is on a par with much more elite eateries than this highway inn, the sanctuary of long-distance drivers and cheap call girls.

"And the beer?" he can't suppress the urge to be provocative. Instead of a reply, he only gets an icy stare .Chef George, leaning against the counter and rolling a cigarette in his mouth, smiles. Further proof that the boss is gone, staff are not allowed to smoke outside of breaks. Clearly he too senses the blackness beneath Maria's beautiful surface, so he enjoys the provocation.

"What are you laughing at?" Maria is furious when she sees through the conspiracy. She angrily leaves the restaurant to chat with the gas station attendant and Yelena from the store.

The chef winks at him, stubs out his cigarette, and gets to work.

The mobile phone rings. He takes it out of his pocket, sees the name "Cvetković "on the display and answers sharply "Yes!" Thinking how little it cost Maria to rat him out.

"You stay longer, the truck with the car parts has just passed Belgrade, it will arrive in two or three hours. Did you fix the starter?"

He suddenly loses his appetite. Three hours of extra work and the unloading of the truck.

Without hiding his anger, he replies "he'll be ready when the truck arrives".

The connection is broken. He swallows the rest of the dish in large bites. The place is, uncharacteristically for this time of day, still empty and without customers. Maria, returning from the gas station, calls George from the kitchen. She pays no attention to him, so he gets up to go back to work.

George appears from behind the counter:

"What's the matter?"

"There's been no one around for hours, that's what!"

"So what?"

"Man, not a single vehicle has passed by in hours!"

Milan stops at the door, turns around and asks:

"The bricklayers, have they left already?"

"Yes, while you were eating!" her impatience comes out. It does not remain hidden from her:

"And your aspirin-sized brain didn't catch that there may have been an accident and the highway is closed?"

When she opens her mouth to answer him, Milan sees traces of fear beneath her anger and a wave of pity overcomes him. He continues in a milder tone:

"It must have been a nasty accident if traffic has been blocked for that long."

Quick as a flash, she realizes she exaggerated and lowers her tone as well:

"Colleague, there is no traffic in either direction What is the likelihood of accidents in both lanes at the same time?"

"But it must be something mundane, maybe a street job. Well, it's not the end of the world."

He leaves the pub and makes his way to Stefan, the gas station attendant. Jelena is standing next to him, gesticulating and explaining something. Milan rarely had the opportunity to talk to her, she bothered him in a special way, so he avoided her.

"It must be something trivial, maybe the army is doing their stuff." he catches her guess.

"I don't believe it." Stefan answers and adds,

"I've been working here for ten years and it's never happened, besides, I think they would inform us. Forty kilometers in both directions, there is nothing until the tollbooths, only the field!"

Milan pulls out cigarettes, offers Stefan one, and pockets one. Jelena frowns:

"If the old man sees us smoking next to the gas pumps, we'll get fired."

"The old man is not there and there is no one to rat us out." Milan replies to her.

"You're wrong!" Stevan adds, pointing to Maria, who approaches them and lights a cigarette. Milan gives Stevan a confused look. It is obvious that fear has entered her, driving the malice out of her.

"The masons are gone. I have the phone number of one, now I'll call him and ask what the hell is going on in the highway."

"Do it, but it doesn't bode well for me." Maria interjects, eagerly swallowing the cigarette smoke.

He takes the phone out of his hand and calls. After ten seconds he puts the device back in his pocket:

"No one answering. I'll try later. The shift should be in an hour. I'm going to go and finish the damn starter."

Milan moves away from his colleagues and feels their gazes on his back.

He doesn't pay attention to the time. The brushes from the third removed starter finally fit, otherwise he would have given up on it, he's had enough of lying under the wrecks. Stevan interrupts his work for a moment to ask about the binoculars. He doesn't ask him why he needs the thing and sends him to the trailer, explaining that it's hanging on the wall by the back window. Finally, he finishes the job. Tomorrow the buyer will come, who he will charge for this chicanery.

"Master, good afternoon, or evening!" he suddenly hears and quickly turns around. Two middle-aged men are standing in front of him. Both are dressed similarly, in jeans, a white sweatshirt and leather jackets. The first has blond hair, the second black, long hair tied in a braid. After the initial surprise, he suspects they came for the starter. In his mind he forms the price and how much he will set aside for his bag. Excessive harassment should be charged, but he holds back on that, her eyes radiating confidence. He is astonished at this, he has never seen people with nothing on their faces. He decides to pay special attention to them.

"Good afternoon, boys. Did you come for the starter?"

"No," replies the blond-haired man.

"Then how can I help?" His uncharacteristic friendliness awakens, caused by a certain calm and bliss that those present radiate. He thinks that he has finally met honest and fair people, but he quickly dismisses that thought from his mind. He lost faith in humanity a long time ago.

"We came to warn you to be careful in the coming days." Replies the black-haired man. Milan is taken aback. There is no trace of threat in his voice, his posture does not give him the slightest hint of aggression.

"I don't understand, I paid the debt with interest. Go and tell the donkey that we finished three months ago!" In the depths of his being he knows that they didn't come for that either, but it's not out of place to provoke them and thus put a mask on them, a mask he would like to read.

"That's not what we're here for, and we don't care, but we're glad you solved some problems."

Surprise after surprise catches up with him. It is inconceivable to him that this is happening, that he cannot grasp these people and their unexpected behavior.

"Why are you here?"

"Like we said, to warn you. You have a gift, use it. Pay attention and take responsibility!"

Losing his self-control is something he rarely allows himself to do, and now he does it with pleasure:

"Well, you idiots, are you a couple of jokers or what? Who sent you here, or do you regularly take people for a ride?"

"No. We're here to tell you what we said. And one more thing. Stop cursing God like you did in the trailer this morning. See you later."

How could they know what was going on that morning when he took apart the catalytic converter in the trailer to separate the platinum, so he clumsily hurt himself with a screwdriver and cursed God?

The two leave, leaving him dumbfounded and pensive. He would love to run after them and demand an explanation, but his whole being resists, for he knows he will see them again. This realization is too strong to dismiss as an insignificant feeling.

As they round the corner of the restaurant, he hears the blond-haired man answer the black-haired man a question he didn't understand "so our father said to do what needs to be done!" After which they disappear from his sight.

He shakes his head in disbelief and plunges into assembling the starter.

Dusk has crept in unnoticed and the shift has surely come, but not to him. Only he rules this junkyard realm. He decides to have a beer and wait for the truck. He doesn't attach any importance to what's happening on the highway, the traffic has safely settled in. Still, he doesn't hear the roar of speeding vehicles. He has been here for three years, these sounds, with constant humming in his ears have become a daily and imperceptible companion for him. The silence that he experiences for the first time spreads throughout the site.

He walks around the building and enters the restaurant. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the store where customers pay for fuel is locked. There aren't even any lights on; the old man would raise hell if he were here, and no doubt he's watching his darkened domain through the installed cameras. Inside the establishment, he finds his colleagues at the table. Clouds of trepidation hang over the staff, who stare pensively at their phones.