Read Online Solo by Rana Dasgupta - Free Book Online

heroic offensive against the fascists – better late thannever! – so they planned this bomb, which any fool could have seen was pure suicide. Now the government is purging the entire country. When they can’t find the person they’re looking for, they just destroy whole towns. Remember Petar, the one in your class who played football? Shot down yesterday in the street while he was out with his mother. Just like that.’
    Boris’s fingers moved as he talked, but his body remained still. He was in complete command of his words, which lay at rest until needed, then formed themselves into deadly beams of coherence. Ulrich realised he would now go to great lengths to avoid an argument with him.
    ‘On top of all this, the Macedonian revolutionaries are going crazy. Assassinations every week. We all sympathise with their cause but they’re making things much worse.’
    On the wall was a framed sketch of Boris. The artist had drawn only one continuous line, but in its charcoal loops and zigzags it captured exactly the way he looked. There were a number of photographs of Boris and friends in theatrical make-up.
    ‘You saw this?’ said Boris, noticing his gaze. He passed the photograph down to Ulrich. ‘That’s me playing a Balkan shepherd. I was acting in this theatre group until it became too dangerous. Geo Milev designed the stage set full of skyscrapers. The shepherd wanders in among the colossal geometry with his stubble and his flute, and the sky is the only thing he can recognise.’
    In another part of the house, Magdalena began to play the piano.
    ‘The prime minister has told the British, French and Americans that the whole problem is caused by communist terrorists, which is just what they want to hear. They’ve given him seven thousand extra troops to murder us with. I suppose we should be flattered, eh, Georgi? You see what firepower they need to defeat the thoughts in our heads?’
    Georgi said, with a thin-lipped smile that Ulrich found condescending,
    ‘How is it you don’t know all this, Ulrich?’
    ‘He’s been in Berlin for three years,’ said Boris. ‘Studying chemistry. He doesn’t like politics.’
    ‘Chemistry?’ said Georgi. ‘Do you know how to make bombs?’
    Boris glared.
    ‘I said he doesn’t like politics.’
    Georgi said, not looking at Ulrich,
    ‘Your friend doesn’t have that choice any more. There is no life outside politics now. There’s not space enough for the toes of one foot. People like him will be mad in the streets one day, talking to themselves.’
    In the other room, Magdalena paused in her music. Boris said,
    ‘She’s playing for you, Ulrich. Ever since she heard you were back she’s been asking me when you are coming to see us. We’ve talked about you often, these years.’
    Ulrich considered Boris’s face. He felt it had acquired new expressions since he last saw him, and at times it could look entirely unfamiliar.
    Boris said,
    ‘Georgi and I have been involved in several operations. He’s a forger. He makes visas for people going abroad. They go to Paris to learn how to make bombs and they come back having learned only how to write poetry, which they think is more explosive. I write for some of the underground newspapers. I’ll show you some of my articles some day. You’d be proud of me. Many important people have made it known that they admire my analyses!’
    He laughed.
    ‘But the imbalance of forces is too great at present. Everything is aligned against us. At this point, the greatest service I can render to the world is to stay alive. My parents are suffering with all this, and Magda too. It’s time to get out and let someone else deal with these bastards.’
    He drained his vodka.
    ‘By the way – you’ll like this story – my father sold an invention to your Germans. Have you heard of a company called BASF? They bought a compound he invented. You’ll have to ask him – he loves talking about it.’
    ‘What was it?’
    ‘Some kind of