9
Twenty minutes later we pull up in a short queue of freight at the custom’s zone. You don’t see many private cars anymore. Of course there was a period after the tip when it was backed up for several kilometres, but not anymore – not since our neighbours dug in their heels and the restrictions on emigration kicked in.

Pretty soon Kaspars approaches hunched up inside his bright orange jacket. I wind down the window, and he passes me a yellow docket.

“Gents,” he says, pushing the hood of his coat a little off his head “What it is is that our noble colleagues over there (he wipes his damp greying fringe and nods over the river) might be after asking you a few questions on your load, especially if you are without the cartridge.”
“We’re empty.”
“No lads. You don’t understand. On the way back as well.”
“What for?”
“Oh, you know – there is another new way of doing things – something to do with the new currency. From now on all Merchants are supposed to have the cartridge, as you know.”

“My dear man,” says Nuchi, clearing his throat, “Let’s assume, you know, that we don’t know have any idea what you are on about.”
“Now then, will you lot not be knowing a fecking thing? The virgin birth, I swear it.”

Our silence confirms it, so he continues. “The cartridge, lads, as you ought to know sweeps up all the barcode data of goods in the vehicle. We just stick it our sweeper, and hey fecking presto. All merchants were supposed to get them installed so as our fellow followers of the dawn can be recording all the loads. So bearing in mind the great loss to science should your trips be forced to cease, Jana says that you will need to be showing them this here form if they suffer from any of the curiosity on your return.”

I take a look at the document which he passes me. Printed across the top are the words

Cross-Border Charitable Donations Customs Declaration.

I scan a little lower and see the name of the organisation upon whose legal entity we will be operating.

“‘Keeping the Needy Healthy‘?
“Yes lads,” says Kaspars, now leaning in towards the cab while resting his forearms on the wound-down window, “there it is. We thought about ‘keeping the healthy needy’, but …”

I pass the form over to Vannuchi, and while he peruses it I turn to Kaspars.

“So, we’re a charity as of now?”
“There it is, gents. Yes, you are! And I’m sure your first charitable drop will be as generous as those big hearts of yours see fit, I’m sure.”
“This is Jana’s idea?”
“Sweet Plotniks on the cross, fellas. I will have it back if there’s any more of these questions.”
“Okay, just asking, right. So, with this, we don’t need a cartridge. I get it. Nuchi. I get it. It’s fine. Let’s go.”

Nuchi just snorts, turning the form over in his hands. “Seriously! I mean what a name. Who thought of this?”

Kaspars smirks, takes a quick look behind us at an approaching HGV, and says, “There was a committee, lads.”

“What about ‘Save the Needy‘?” says Nuchi, passing me back the form.
“Save em for what, lads? Later?”
“Just save them from… you know…”
“From do gooders such as your new selves?”

I take another look at the form: there are columns for quantity, type, and – worryingly – signatures.

“Listen, Kaspars, this is a made-up charity, right?”
“Its official status is made up very thoroughly, yes. But it is registered in a book of charities.”
“A book?”
“Yes, the book is a book.”
“An official book?”
“Give the fecking thing back! Give it!”
“Kaspar, it’s okay. We’ll use it. Just asking.”
“ ‘An official book’! May Plotniks piss on the leg of his dog. If you’re going to start throwing adjectives around in such a churlish fashion, I really will take it back. Look it, it is well on the way to beginning the due process of going through the preliminary stages necessary to approach the final stage of registration into the aforementioned book of charities, so there it is: nothing to worry about, is there? And anyway, as I am beginning to tire of inferring, without this, you yourselves will be finding yourselves in need.”
“Then” says Vannuchi, “there is still time for a change of name.”

Kapars stares at him with a touch of mock menace.

“You, yourself, are not on any naming committee, but I promise I would forward any suggestion you may have were I to be arsed.”

“Thank you,“ says Vannuchi, and starts to scratch his chin. “I thought something something more upbeat, like… like ‘Keep the People Healthy’.’”

“So“ says Kaspars, warming to the theme, “you are after eradicating the needy?“
“Yes.”
“With the people? It’s a plan, but it sounds awful like politics.”
“An awful lot.” I correct him.

“They are, are they not, those deputies sat on their fat arses.” he concedes.

“And, I thought” continues Vanuchi, now lost a little in the act of composing, “something stoic but also western, you know to attract good tough sympathy. Some kind of motto, some kind of mission statement – something like ‘Help us help them make the best of it!’.”

“Genius“ nods Kapsars, “If only I gave a shit.”

“The best of it?” I ask.

“Being better than all the rest.” adds Kaspars.

“That’s stoic?” I ask.

“Perfectly, as I think your man there would be implying that it’s not really possible to do much at all about the it, is it? So there it is. It is what it is, and if it weren’t, it’d be something else, which would still be your ‘it’. That’s ancient philosophy, that is: fuck all you can do about it.”

He starts rooting around in his jacket pocket, “Now, gents – you’ll need some stamps and signatures if you can get them, and on your return you’ll be needing to provide the needy guardians of the gate with twice as much of it as you have been doing.”

He then takes out his glasses of his coat pocket, looks down his nose in an effort to focus, and says “Passcodes”.

We hand them over, he scans them and then heads off to the next in line, leaving us to recommence our low-key illegal activity in a more formal fashion.