Breaking Stones

By Kruno Čudina

The phenomenon of human potential is never beyond our sight.

An opportunity is always offered to people. Sometimes in a mysterious way. Whoever ignores or rejects it will never truly experience life’s journey. Staying on the same path is to constantly relive the same day. That’s why exploration embodies mankind’s natural need to deal with the secrets below the surface. Although the facts about us as human beings speak in an understandable language, this doesn’t mean we’re not an enigma to ourselves. Understanding oneself is a very demanding process, similar to an autopsy. Not a physical autopsy, but a spiritual one. Discovering the anatomy of one’s soul cannot be done abruptly. Moments of inspiration will make the realization of whether we are controlled by our consciousness or our subconsciousness easier. Hiding behind a heavy veil until the very end is not truly living.

 

Sometimes a mere piece of paper under a windshield wiper with just three words and a phone number can change your life instantly.

The hero of this novel who only refers to himself as “The Recorder” dared to call a number left on a piece of paper beneath his windscreen wiper. He sensed an opportunity. A few weeks later, a telegram arrived:

IT’S TIME. IT’S YOUR TURN NOW. MOVE NOW!

A trip to an unknown estate marks the beginning of an adventure, and he begins writing the history of his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398404304

Kruno Čudina

Kruno Čudina was born on May, 19, 1979, in Zagreb. He studied philosophy, French and Spanish language and literature at Zagreb University. He doesn't view life as something black and white but as a potential to develop our mental faculties and elevate the level of our own intelligence. He has a lot of experience in working with the media, as the editor, host of TV shows, a columnist for Croatia’s leading newspaper. He is the author of 4 published novels. These books were published in Croatia. What motivates me is the gnosis that what was yesterday will change its meaning tomorrow.

Book preview

Breaking Stones

Kruno Čudina

Austin Macauley Publishers

Breaking Stones

About the Author

Copyright Information ©

About the Author

Kruno Čudina was born on May, 19, 1979, in Zagreb. He studied philosophy, French and Spanish language and literature at Zagreb University. He doesn't view life as something black and white but as a potential to develop our mental faculties and elevate the level of our own intelligence. He has a lot of experience in working with the media, as the editor, host of TV shows, a columnist for Croatia’s leading newspaper. He is the author of 4 published novels. These books were published in Croatia. What motivates me is the gnosis that what was yesterday will change its meaning tomorrow.

Copyright Information ©

Kruno Čudina 2023

The right of Kruno Čudina to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528996242 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398404304 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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One can think more than that, yes. But I probably couldn’t have lived more than that. I only thought I needed to, I felt the urge for more. It went beyond all boundaries, this personal, inner gravitation of mine; it was what made me fill out my days and nights with a gradually rising amount of worthlessness. I didn’t have to do anything. Those days were long gone. Never existed, in fact. I could’ve continued living, simply continue living like before, and I never even thought about it. I lived. I only thought that I could maybe make a drastic change in my life, which is something that gave me plenty to think about, such as breaking up with that woman. It was an unhealthy, deceptive, disgustingly cold, shifty, outright fraudulent, damaging relationship in which we kept taking advantage of one another. It had no future, it was doomed from the start, they all were, but this one was by far the worst. It fell apart before it had even begun. So how could I still be decaying in it when there were so many reasons to end it? I thought about that frequently and quite seriously for a while at the time. In fact, I was thinking about it the whole time. It must’ve been a very simple thing that was preventing it from collapsing: how do you end something so meaningless, so invisible that it seems almost non-existent as time passes by? You don’t. It’s unnecessary. I thought about other things too, did other things, detached myself from the relationship, remained hidden from it and from her, there’s always room for that. I thought about changing my job too, no matter if I had one or not, I was always doing something. That’s right, I used to work until I collapsed, and then I wouldn’t work for a few months at a time. In any case, there was room for change, but I don’t want to dwell on those turbulent, deceptive times for my business. It wasn’t like I was creating a career then, of course not. Besides, I could’ve bought myself a cat, and I planned it too, almost bought one, which vividly shows with how much passion I approached the potential transaction. It would’ve been a big change in my life, a real, grand change because everybody knows cats extract the negative energy out of humans. I read that somewhere, so it’s true, it can’t be denied, it can’t be branded as false information, and I believe my motives are crystal-clear. I wanted to provide a home for a mother from Vietnam, Cambodia or Bhutan too, why not? Maybe two sisters from China, let them bring all their kids over so that we can have a single home. We’d somehow fit in my apartment, our apartment, we’d sleep where there’d be room for it, and kids could practice kung-fu in the garden, both boys and girls so that the neighbours and other tenants can see them. They’d all be afraid of them and no one would dare to fuck with our skilful and compact community protected by small assassins while I walk in the middle of them with a bamboo cane in my hand, acting like some kind of wise teacher. Although they could beat the shit out of me quite easily, especially if there’d be a lot of them, I’d have my cane, and their mothers would, in accordance with Chinese practicality, instil in their little heads who’s the boss in that garden. All in all, it would be wonderful to create a loyal warrior family full of love and ancient spirit. I thought about moving away from the people I knew at the time, from all the people I ever knew superficially. I thought about all those people I never cared about but still hung out with, with no real need, all because I had an ill-defined need to waste, as it turned out, my too precious time just so that I have something to do. All those meetings and parties… What a waste of words they were, how much physical clumsiness they included. And those deep looks, hundreds of faces under your chest, beneath your eyes and forehead, on your shadow. You watch them in their shabby joy, how they live for lust and yearning, all the while hiding a ruthless plan behind their backs, a plan that is supposed to lead them to some illusion of security. How many broken homes were produced by those plans? And yet, all you can see are hundreds of red eyes with a blank stare. All taken care of. Taken care of while they were still very young. Lucky them. I was never taken care of, I was messed up. And because of that, I was able to actually think about all those potential turns and changes, which I can’t say I didn’t do, I can’t say I didn’t try to enforce those changes, but I’m perfectly aware that I didn’t think enough about it, that my thinking was too rigid, not flexible enough to get me to the moment in which I could make a radical, true change. All things considered, my desire and endeavours lacked determination and, as a friend from Damask once told me: You can’t trick life. This was a time when I was doing the complete opposite – I was doing my best to trick life, I was trying to cheat on it whenever I could, relentlessly, but in reality, I was only cheating myself. All that effort wore me out, and I eventually became completely exhausted; Samir’s words were simple and correct, and I had finally put myself in the position that forced me to try a different kind of trick, one that took place in completely different conditions. I had to try to cheat death. Well, that’s what the whole thing was about, but what does that mean, exactly? What does that encompass? One thing’s for certain, I’d never dream of trying to cheat the real death, the one that represents the end of existing in this place. I’ve never worried too much about it, and I’m still waiting for it. And it will come. I am completely at peace now, I’m living a better life, my way of life has managed to strike a balance, doesn’t go to extremes, it’s closer to me than ever before. A change. It began to unravel, but I still couldn’t notice it, only feel it. Of course, in order to follow its footsteps, it is necessary to put things in their place. I knew that this also meant I had to find a place for myself, too. Only then would everything around you, and this is no miracle, magically align. Help is always welcome, something that will draw you in, literally drag you away, if necessary, from your constant daily routine that is so unfathomably difficult and incomprehensible, the routine in the confines of your mind. It is all death that dies with and within you, permeating that whole playful, tempting life of yours. It is a different kind of death, this death I’m dealing with. You carry it within you, it’s always stuck somewhere in your throat only to be swallowed with your last ounce of strength. Nevertheless, the weight of its cheap but overwhelming presence is always upon you, you experience agony through it, with no end to it in sight. But I managed to get to the end. This new life is a proof of that, my proof, fresh because it is still being born, it’s still taking shape, but I no longer feel the need to cheat on it. Besides, I managed to cheat death that resides within it. That’s the thing. Yes, that’s the thing. It’s about a sudden, unknown moment, about an impulse that puts you in the position where you stand in front of death and finally, drained of all your colourful ideas concerning who you are, turn your back on it and leave. You get away from it all, from everyone who so carefully nurture it deep within themselves. It’s the only way.

There is no difference. Because there is no difference. One woman, she was the one who guided me to a complete change. Ms Isabella Moone put me in my place, showed me my place. The only thing I had to do was to come to her. It was by no means easy, although a person with no knowledge and no skill in these things, a person who never experienced the weight of anticipation, might think otherwise. It wasn’t easy to wait, it never is, not when the time waiting is completely consumed by the anticipation of the event that needs to happen. A fool, unaware of how much his whole waking presence is embroidered by waiting, can never know anything about that tension nor anything about the exhaustion that appears and overwhelms a person and does not leave them. It gradually becomes heavier, worse than insomnia because it is so natural. But the fool in question also cannot understand the sweetness, the exhilaration that washes over a person who waits, precisely because they wait. And then came a nauseating ending. That’s how it goes, there’s no exception to it. A telegram was delivered to me. The envelope was marked for the attention of me. I had been notified, the invitation had been extended, so I signed for the envelope and went back into the house, my whole body shaking profusely. I stood petrified in the hallway, still shaking, as the nauseating end to my waiting was turning into a new beginning. Because there is no difference. There simply isn’t. But that was enough for me to keep moving with the change. And so I walked, with slow steps that were beginning to feel immensely heavy, I dragged my feet across the floor towards the kitchen. I sat at the table. The fateful piece of paper. The second one I had received. I was completely crushed, depleted. It took too long, all of that just took too long. Yes, you can get rid of that burden, cast it into oblivion, but never completely. That feeling always finds a way to return when you least expect it. I just sat there with a blank stare on my face for a while. You can’t really do any less thinking than that. I’m sure it was this state of mind that caused me to finally move, as contradictory as it may sound. You can’ think. So I finally opened the telegram. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea how much time had passed before I made that decision. I opened the envelope, carefully. You can’t think. It said:

IT’S TIME. IT’S YOUR TURN NOW. MOVE NOW!

I felt a huge relief. My strength started coming back to me: all that weariness, the weakness, the feeling of being completely broken, they all started leaving my body as a pleasant sense of complete relaxation was taking over. My strength was now restored, I was as strong as an ox, healthy as a horse, tough as nails, but still in a state of bliss. I’m feeling the urge to start laughing; what an incredible feeling, what brutal strength! It has to be said, and anyone with a shred of decency in them will agree, that this was one incredibly quick and successful regeneration, but I still can’t stop laughing despite the thing that happened next. Or maybe it was precisely because of it. An explosion! It went off! It was an explosion, a powerful explosion! It went off in me, lightning-fast, and spread through my whole body. Everything started tingling within me. Briefly. What that was, I couldn’t have known. Many things come to one’s mind, but I don’t remember many things coming to mine if any had come at all. There was nothing good nor bad in my head. Everything just happened. I wasn’t worried, I wasn’t even rattled much by that flash of discomfort, not at all. Oh, you’ll see how wrong you are, you smug bastard. You think it’s nothing, you’re a rock, indestructible, you are so damn persistent, stable and relentless, fucking unbreakable, and just a few minutes ago you were grovelling like a worm. You thought you could continue as if nothing happened, you idiot! You even forgot that your goal was NOT to keep doing the same thing. Now, that’s really pathetic, and there’s a name for people who do that – fools. It’s not like your head is cracked, it’s not like your spine broke, it’s not like you’ve lost an eye or your nose, like you’ve broken your arms and legs, it’s not like you have a broken heart. I got up from the table and went to lie down for a bit. Like an ox, like a horse, tough. I needed to get some rest. Move now! Yeah right, like I was going to spring into action in a blink of an eye. I’ll move, I will, after I get some four to seven hours of sleep. Nobody will take my right to sleep, nobody will guarantee, let alone take my human rights. Although, trust me, had I wanted to, had I needed to make a point, I could’ve been ready in a few minutes and drive the whole day, even night if necessary. Mule, you’re dumb as a mule. But you’ve paid a hefty price for that. Everything will come to light. Or it won’t.

I woke up. I had slept for less than an hour. Good. For a moment there I thought I had slept for much longer. It was because of all the dreams that filled out my sleep. Terrible things, engulfing terror, too much to remember anything except that it was horrifying. I never had such terrifying dreams before. It was still day outside. The clothes were already on me, I was ready. I drank two large cups of coffee. My things were waiting, they were ready too, one small travel bag hidden beneath the stairs. More than enough for the place I was going to visit. All those things that happened before my sleep, all those shocks which I was very well aware of, all that tension, the explosion, it was all hazy to me, it was all far away from me. I simply had no need to think about it, to remember any of it, it was all dissipating from me, and I had to go, I had to start my journey. This whole house, all those people, me, all of that was just a bunch of nothing, too much of it, in fact. That’s what I was leaving. I took my bag, threw my jacket over my shoulder and stepped out. Wind, cold and humid, hit my face. It was still winter. It’s still winter here too, unrelenting cold, but it will all come to an end. I couldn’t care less, all that is irrelevant here – the weather, the seasons, all that timekeeping, these things mean nothing here, they represent nothing. I sat in my car and threw away my jacket and my bag on the passenger seat and started driving. I knew exactly where I was heading, although I had never been there before. I had the whole route laid out in front of me in my mind. I just kept driving without really knowing anything. The route guided both me and the car as we made turns, traversed long straight pieces of the road without me having any kind of map. We kept heading northwest, and I didn’t find anything special, anything unusual or out of the ordinary in that journey. I let myself go, I let the car do its thing, let things go for the first time in my life. I’d even say I lost myself in something for the first time. In that sense, I lost my virginity, my innocence, but then the narrow winding roads started going up and down steep cliffs. This went on for about two hours, if not more, and by then the city was far behind me. After a while, I lost all those thoughts and ideas about me and about everything else from before. The trip went smoothly, there’s no denying that. In fact, nothing there could be denied, not really, not the fact that I went through a small town if it could even be called a town, as far as I can remember, and I passed by a church outside of the town on the steepest of all hills on my journey, the last climb before I saw the secluded estate. Its gate was already beginning to open as the car approached, driven by me, who else? Who else could’ve been driving, let’s be honest? I turned right, carefully drove through the gate and parked my car on the grass under a tree. Walnut. Later I realized that the estate was located on a clearing that cascaded down, with each cascade being at least ten meters in length and the drop ending in a vast valley. The estate also, I was horrified to discover, overlooked a steep cliff that had a deep forest at the bottom. The third side was pretty much the same, another cliff ending in a thick forest, whereas on the fourth side there was a henhouse and some kind of a shed next to it. You could see a hill behind them stretching upwards, but all in all, this was nothing to write home about. It’s not smart to underestimate your environment at first glance like that, you know? It can hide secrets that are invisible to the human eye, at least at first. I used to love forests, everyone loves them up to a certain point, exploring them and whatnot, but when it came to this forest, it was something completely unknown to me, I couldn’t even make a guess who lived there. I wasn’t worried about the animals. What worried me was the possibility that one day, possibly even in the middle of the night, a human will walk out of it. Maybe even with a gun in their hands, maybe with a basket full of mushrooms or berries? Suffice to say – a human. And I wasn’t completely off the mark. In fact, many people came out from that forest, some of them came from the road, as I did, and a few just briefly appeared in our kitchen, in our living room. Oh yes, there were all kinds of people there, something that I should’ve expected. But I didn’t. It’s hard to explain, but my new life had consumed me so much. The view from the estate, from the clearing, was something immensely beautiful, something almost unimaginable to anyone who hasn’t seen it. At least for a few times each day, I would allow myself the luxury of gazing over the cascades and into the valley. I never went down there, though. I never left the estate again, except that one time, but that wasn’t so long ago, that doesn’t count. I count on nothing anymore, not that I did before; it’s bad for your health. I do not await the day when I will leave this place, it will come. But where would we even go, and why? That’s overthinking it. That’s stupid. There’s no place you can go to, none. Just a little more, just a little more, I used to tell myself. But I stopped doing such stupid things long ago. I’ve been here for more than four years, a few months more than that, but it’s not like I’ve been keeping time since my arrival. I can just feel it, it sounds about right. My occasional glances at the kitchen clock have become much less frequent, so much so that I even forgot the kitchen even has a clock. Yes, back then, I thought I’d stay for a month or two, I never really thought about it much, but like I said, my new life consumed me very quickly.

So I’m standing there on the lawn with my bag in my hand. A newcomer, a compatriot. Nothing is happening, only the night is slowly falling. I take a look at the violet sky, all its stains, ellipses, lines, all those violet shapes on a fading, darkening blue, and this sky is piercing my eyes. I wait, I soak it in, I stay quiet, I can barely breathe from all this surreal beauty. I treasure these moments, for they are unforgettable. They are even worse than any form of waiting. They daze you, create a whirlpool in your mind, the cursed beauty is inside you, the beauty of the whole sky, and you know that nobody’s walking it, that it’s completely empty. Damn, that’s moving. No matter how you look at it. I heard her piercing voice that calmly said:

Come into the house. Feel free to enter the house in front of you. Come on! Come in, the door is unlocked. I wanted to turn my head left, to look back towards a much bigger house, but her voice stopped me:

Enter the house, lock the door, leave the key in the lock. From the hallway, go through the first door on the right and stay there. I did as I was told. That was our first encounter. I never even saw her. Isabella Moone. It was her, no doubt about that, there never was any doubt.

She put me in grandpa’s room. I still don’t know whether that man, if he ever even existed, was anyone’s grandfather. All Isabella told me was that a grandpa lived there before me. I never mentioned him again, at least not to her. I had moments when I felt like a grandpa myself, like I was him. I felt strange. Lost in the middle of the day, an old bachelor who left his room, his apartment on the middle storey of a house, but I shook that feeling after a while. I never forgot it, though, I couldn’t forget it because I was in the man’s room. It wasn’t easy at all to get to it. This whole place wasn’t easy to get to. The room was ice-cold during the first night. You could feel the staleness, the staleness of the space around me, the porousness of time, my determined but fragile and exhausted heart. It too was stale, along with me, the room and the house – all porous.