PLAYTHINK PRESS - Stories - Hoarfrost: A Slovenian Solstice

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Books Stories Gallery Mail Art Performance	Hoarfrost: A Slovenian Solstice (2)
	As we approach Semi the villages grow smaller, the roads become narrower, more twisted and more snow covered until we get to the town we are looking for. This is Semi.. One little church. A tavern. A grocery. A few dozen houses. Snow. A young man on a cell phone. An old man with a package. We enter a tavern. It is smoky and warm and bright with sunlight, oompahpah music plays on the radio. Posters of proud Slovene accordion bands announce a concert for New Years. The customers and bar keep stare at us as if we were aliens. As American citizens in the boondocks of Slovenia, we really are aliens. “Hi, I’m from America and I’m looking for my relatives. Do you know where I might find a Kambitsch?” The folks in the tavern don’t speak English. And I don’t speak Slovene, or German, or Croatian, or any other of the half dozen languages these people speak. I only speak English. The barkeep looks frightened, but I smile my big Slovene smile and he puts me on the phone. A woman says hello. “Hi, my name is Pat Kambitsch and I’m from America and I’m looking for my relatives. Do you know any Kambitsches?” “Kambitsch, what is this Kambitsch? I don’t understand.” “I am a Kambitsch, that is my name. I am looking for family.” “There is an Anton Kambi. He has a laboratory. Come over across the street to the next tavern and ask for Milan. He can show you.” We leave the tavern. I don’t see anything that looks like another bar. So we go to the grocery. It looks and smells like Amon’s, the grocery we used to have back home when we were kids. The woman behind the counter gives us that startled, “you must be an alien look” when I ask her if she might know where Milan is. She says something regretfully in Slovene. “I’m looking for Milan, he works in a bar.” “Bar, Bar!” she smiles and points to the tavern we just came from. Some words are universal.	“We just came from there, is there another? . . . Bar? Bar?” “Bar. Bar.” She points again at the tavern. We smile and say thank you and look for another bar. We find the young man on the steps speaking into his cell phone. He laughs and says something about what sounded like the name “Kambitsch.” I figure this must be Milan. He’s waiting for us. I say “Kambitsch? Kambitsch?” He laughs and continues talking into his phone. I soon learn that just about every other word in the Slovene language sounds like the word Kambitsch. This must not be Milan, maybe he’s inside. I enter the building. This is the other bar, smaller, tighter, smokier than the other. The customers look wide eyed and disturbed by the aliens. I ask for Milan. I ask for Kambitsch. They mumble in Slovene. No luck. We give up. A few pictures of Semi would be good enough. The family back home would be impressed that we made it even this far. We don’t need to bother these poor folks any more. A few snapshots of the church and of the bar would do. We drive around, ready to head off toward the spa for some electro-hydro-therapy with a soak in the steam bath and a roll in a snow bank. Then Peter says, “Patty! Look! Look!” And there, in front of the car, a little factory sits surrounded by snow, barbed wire fence, and electronic security. On the front of the building is a sign that says “Kambi”. Page 3
	Bar in Semic