Work Text:
11 am, Galeri Istiklal Nev, Tyan Ulma
Bulletin: March 2023
Ul Qoma to bare all for Spencer Tunick!
In what promises to be the most exciting artistic venture in our city for decades, the renowned American photographer Spencer Tunick will visit Ul Qoma in early July for one of his landmark naked photoshoots in our city. Tunick, perhaps the best known of modern photographers, has staged naked installations in cities across the globe, including Melbourne, Barcelona and Amsterdam, and now, in collaboration with Galeri Istiklal Nev, he will bring his striking vision to our city.
The event will produce a series of images celebrating Tunick’s unique vision of the human form, set against the backdrop of our modern cityscape. No art fan will want to miss the opportunity to be a part of this historic installation: registration for volunteer models will open soon on this website. Mark the date for Spencer Tunick in Ul Qoma!
--
7 pm, KunigStrász, Kyezov
‘Spencer Tunick in Ul Qoma?’ Sarya held out her phone. ‘I think they’re serious. Can you believe that?’
Petrus glanced at it – obviously one of the art websites she followed. ‘Why, is he some kind of big zsír?’
‘Well, yeah, he is.’ Sarya looked at him pityingly, like a junior Besz policzai ought to have the time to be up on the latest art news. ‘Maybe you haven’t come across his work.’ Her mouth twitched as she tapped a link and offered the phone again. ‘This is what he does.’
At first Petrus thought he was looking at a landscape, rounded rock formations in shades of beige and brown beside a river, then with a shock he realised. ‘Those are people?’
‘Naked people,’ Sariska agreed. ‘He gets a crowd of volunteers to strip off and model for him. He’s done it everywhere.’ She leaned over to scroll through the images and sure enough, every picture showed naked humans, standing, crouching, lying or artfully stacked one on top of each other, all against recognisable city backgrounds. ‘Apparently some Ul Qoman gallery has persuaded him to come to celebrate the end of the embargo.’
‘Public nudity in Ul Qoma? Their government are allowing it?’ Besźel’s topolganger, as far as Petrus knew, wasn’t famous for its freespirited exuberance.
Sarya looked surprised. ‘Of course they are – an international figure like Tunick will put Ul Qoma on the artistic map.’
‘But will anyone actually volunteer?’ Petrus looked at the photo again, frowning; he couldn’t imagine the citizens of Beszel shedding their lumpy clothes to caper about in front of the Roman ruins in Yozhef Park.
‘Of course they will.’ Sarya took the phone back. ‘He got seven thousand volunteers in Buenos Aires. I’d go if I could get a pass.’
‘You would?’ Art for art's sake, Petrus supposed. ‘So you reckon thousands of Ul Qomans are going to frolic naked in Bol Yean or along the waterfront?’
‘I didn’t think you were such a square,’ Sarya teased. ‘And anyway, it’s not happening there.’ She peered at the press release again. 'They’re going down Ul Maidin Avenue, to use the Temple of Inevitable Light and the gasrooms as background.’
‘Ul Maidin Avenue?’ Petrus stared at her, aghast. ‘That’s crosshatch with KarnStrácz, all of it.’
‘So?’ Sariska’s expression changed. ‘You’re thinking like a policzai, aren’t you?’
Petrus sighed. ‘Sweetheart, we’re the thin purple line between order and chaos, and if you want a definition of chaos, three thousand naked Ul Qomans parading down KarnStrácz in broad daylight is it.’
--
9am, Policzai HQ, Via Camir
‘Three thousand naked Ul Qomans parading down KarnStrácz in broad daylight?’ Inspector Vasinic scanned round the crowded briefing room, playing it for laughs. ‘Don’t you think we’ve got enough real problems?’
‘Someone’s been winding you up, Baranyi,’ agreed Nemaczek, always glad to see Petrus discomfited.
Petrus, prepared for this, passed round his sheaf of pictures from Tunick’s other installations. ‘It’s what this guy does, apparently he’s world famous. It’s a feather in the gallery’s cap to get him to come to their city.’
Vasinic waited until the pictures worked their way round to him and gave them a cursory scan. ‘So? Is it our problem, if a bunch of Illitan-speaking degenerates want to let it all hang out for the camera?’
Sarya was right, Petrus thought wearily, we Besź really are squares. ‘Think about it,’ he urged. ‘The decent inhabitants of the Old Town going about their daily business, then bam! Thousands of naked people who they’re not supposed to see come marching along the street. It’ll be havoc.’
‘What if they’re driving?’ Halmi at least cottoned on fast. ‘You’d have pileups from here to the river.’
‘People Breaching right, left and centre,’ agreed Petrus. ‘And that’s just in the street – the blocks are all flats above. How would you react if you heard a noise, opened your shutters and saw three thousand faszok waving about in the breeze? We’re all trained in unseeing, but there’s a limit to human abilities.’
‘And three thousand Ul Qoman faszok is that limit,’ agreed Vasinic, finally grasping the big picture.
‘Can’t we keep people indoors?’ suggested Nemeczek, obviously keen to make up ground for himself. ‘Close the road?’
‘Without a reason?’ Vasinic shook his head. ‘We’d be treading close to Breach ourselves.’
‘Could we at least warn people about what’s going to happen?’ Halmi looked dubious and Petrus didn’t blame her.
‘Warn them?’ Vasinic thumped his desk. ‘If we tell people that three thousand Ul Qoman faszok are going to be on view, we won’t be able to control the crowds.’
--
10am, Erkel-Ferenc Gimnazium, Juslavsja
‘Three thousand Ul Qoman faszok? Who’d want to see that? I mean, not that we could,’ added Tomek quickly. The four of them were in class early, huddling in their usual corner.
‘No one said we’re interested in faszok, dickweed.’ Pavel was perched on a desk, the phone which should have been in his locker held up for them to see. ‘They’re asking for female volunteers too, and that means czöcs. There could be hundreds of women, thousands even, showing off their bare czöcs. When are we going to get another chance to see that?’
A brief awed silence fell as his friends contemplated the idea, then Jaro shrugged. ‘It’s not like we’ll get to see them this time, though, is it? They’ll stage the whole thing in Tya Ulma or Mossud, somewhere total so we won’t even get near.’
‘You think?’ Pavel waved the phone. ‘They’re going down Ul Maidin Avenue, it says so here, right along to the Temple of Inevitable Light. All we have to do is hang out at some little café in the old town and the naked czöcs will walk right past us. And we, y’know, unsee them,’ he added scrupulously.
‘Like anyone will believe us,’ objected Ilya.
‘Of course they will,’ explained Pavel patiently, ‘because when the czöcs appear the last place they'll be looking at is us.’
‘Fair.’ Jaro looked over to Ilya. 'You've got to admit it's foolproof.'
Ilya held out his hand for a high five. ‘OK, dude, we’re in.’
‘What if I pop a boner, though?’ asked Tomek suddenly.
‘What?’ snapped Pavel.
‘Well, looking – you’re not supposed to, but if you’re subtle about it Breach can’t tell. But if I pop a boner, and with a thousand czocs it’s got to be a risk’ – he looked round the group earnestly – ‘then Breach will know I’m looking, and...’ He clicked his fingers.
‘You could be popping a boner at random, though,’ suggested Ilya.
‘Pavel pops boners all the time,’ agreed Jaro, and Pavel slid off the desk to shove him.
As they scuffled, psst, hissed Tomek urgently; Lektor Ohli was regarding them wearily from the doorway. ‘Palos, Antal, Imre, sit down, books out. And you, Feder, put that phone in your locker right now and we’ll say I didn’t see it.’ As Pavel hurried past Ohli squinted disapprovingly at the screen. ‘Looking at porn, were we?’
‘It’s not porn, sir.’ Pavel put on his most injured look. ‘It’s art.’
--
2pm, Copula Hall
‘It’s art, Councillor.’ Rakazin had finally got hold of the publicist from Galeri Istiklal Nev, an aggressively well-groomed blonde woman, on a video call: the screen was annoyingly fuzzy, but her politely unbending manner was clear enough. ‘Hosting Mr Tunick is a significant cultural event for Ul Qoma.’ She spoke good Besź, no doubt as a power move.
‘Can I ask whether your bosses have considered the public order implications of an event like this?’ Rakazin enquired.
The idea that she had bosses made the publicist bridle, tossing her looped-up plaits. ‘I think we’re all a little more sophisticated than we used to be, don’t you?’
Rakazin shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware of his own staid formality. ‘It would be easier for all concerned if the event could be held somewhere less central,’ he ploughed on. ‘Minimising the areas of crosshatch to avoid … accidents.’
The publicist pursed her lips. ‘Spencer prefers to use Ul Maidin as a showcase for our urban architecture.’ So much more impressive than your dingy Old Town lingered unspoken in the air. ‘The photoshoot will be appropriately stewarded, and it’ll all happen early in the morning so no one need be inconvenienced.’ She smiled insincerely, nails tapping on the desk. ‘I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Councillor.’
‘Try to see it from our point of view.’ Rakazin glanced down at the map in front of him. ‘Shift workers will be going home. Shopkeepers opening up. Tram drivers will be on their routes. Hell, people will look out of their windows.’
‘Perhaps you could declare National Sit-Indoors-With-the-Shutters-Closed Day?’ suggested the publicist sweetly.
Rude cow, thought Rakazin. ‘Perhaps we should make it National Throw-Boiling-Potato-Soup-Out-Of-the-Window-Day,’ he retorted before before he could stop himself.
The publicist gave him a condescending smile. 'Will that be all?’
‘We haven’t spoken about the political implications.’ Rakazin knew this was a lost cause, but he had to be able to say he'd tried every angle. ‘You don’t think Breach will to have an opinion on this?’
‘Oh, really, Councillor.’ Her tone suggested he’d made a regrettable faux pas. ‘There’s nothing political about a photoshoot.’
‘Seriously?’ Rakazin pressed. ‘Because from where I’m sitting it looks like a gift to the unificationists.’
--
6pm, BudapestStrász, Bundalia
‘This is a gift! Don’t you see? It’s unification handed to us on a plate!’ Malgorza was pacing the cramped office, haranguing them with her customary fervour.
‘It is?’ Yorg exchanged glances with Karim. ‘How is a bunch of Ul Qomans stripping off going to help the cause?’
‘Look.’ Malgorza slapped the map on the wall. ‘They’re going down Ul Maidin, and that’s crosshatch with KarnStrász. We can be there ready, plant ourselves in a house, maybe, then slide out when the nude crowd comes by and join them.’
‘Join them?’ Drostin licked his lips. ‘You want us to get naked?’
‘Of course.’ Malgorza spread her hands, alight with enthusiasm. ‘All that shit about what you wear and what language you speak, the stuff that’s supposed to mark us out – it'll show that none of that matters. It makes a lie out of the whole ‘two cities’ thing– strip us bare and we’re all humans together.’
‘Yeah, but we’d be naked. In front of everyone.’ Yorg was pleased to see that the others looked as reluctant as he felt.
‘In front of each other, too,’ added Karim nervously.
‘What, ashamed to get your faszok out and put one over on Breach?’ Malgorza grinned at them. ‘Come on, it’ll be the biggest coup when we get into the pictures, standing next to our fellow citizens.’
‘Who’ll see them, though? Drostin objected. 'They'll just be in some gallery in Ul Qoma.'
'And on the internet. The whole world will see us.'
'The world?' yelped Karim. ''Why does unification mean that I have to be naked in front of the whole world?'
‘Look, this is fine in theory’ – is it? thought Yorg – ‘but what about Breach? They’ll try to stop us, you can count on that.’ Drostin seemed uncharacteristically happy at the prospect.
‘How, though?’ Malgorza stabbed her finger triumphantly. ‘They won’t be able to tell us apart. It’s not as though any of us is born with a B or a U tattooed on our forehead.’
--
10pm, between the cities, SusurStrász and Modrass Street
‘It’s not as though any of us is born with a B or a U tattooed on our forehead.’
Gosharian glowered at Asmir. 'That's hardly an appropriate sentiment for an officer of Breach, but unfortunately you're right.' She swept a glance around the carefully anonymous room. 'We're facing a completely unprecedented situation.'
‘If it goes ahead half of Besźel will end up in Breach and we can’t arrest them all.’ Valya was fidgety, probably overdue a cigarette. ‘I still don't understand why we haven't banned it.’
'We can't.' Gosharian shook her head, half-admiringly. ‘You’ve got to hand it to the gallery, they know exactly what they’re doing. This is a test of citydom – if we can’t cope with an event like this then we’re not fit for the modern world.’
‘Can’t we apply some pressure? Make them relocate it somewhere total?’ Sirse asked.
‘Where? The airport, the slums? It’s not an unworthy ambition to want to sell Ul Qoma on the world stage.’ Gosharian drew herself up, bracing for what was coming. ‘Breach discussed it in full this morning, and under the circumstances there’s only one possible approach which will give us the leeway we need. We tell the Besź policzai to treat it as…’
She tailed off at Sirse's muffled giggle. ‘A protuberance.’
‘A very large one,’ agreed Valya, straight-faced.
‘Enormous,’ snickered Asmir. ‘Biggest one the city’s ever seen.’
Gosharian closed her eyes: it had been a long day. ‘Are you all done?’ She shoved her chair back. ‘Light be praised, at least we’re never likely to have to do this again.’
--
10am, Policzai HQ, Via Camir
‘Look on the bright side.’ Halmi, slumped in her chair, looked as tired as Petrus felt. ‘At least we’re never likely to have to do that again.’
As their colleagues straggled into the briefing room in ones and twos Halmi eyed the coffees they were carrying longingly. 'I don't even know why we're here,' she complained. 'Wasn't that enough for one day?'
Petrus had no answer, but eventually Vasinic lumbered in and settled himself behind the desk. 'A good day's work, officers,' he greeted them. Why does he look so cheerful? Petrus wondered.
Vasinic produced a newspaper, the early edition of Iy Deurnem, and shook it out. 'We faced a taxing situation today, but I think we can say we acquitted ourselves well.'
For a certain value of well - Petrus could see the headlines:
Unexpected road closures in Old Town cause city gridlock.
Five-car pileup at ErmannStrász junction: three seriously injured.
Twelve arrested for public indecency in Besz Old Town: ‘This is a political act’, ringleader insists.
Man saved by passers-by after fall from ladder in KarnStrász.
Twin conflagrations in Old Town apartment block traced to unattended fryers..
'Let's just hope that our culturally-inclined neighbours aren't going to develop a taste for this kind of degenerate behaviour.' Nemaczek glanced round the room for approval.
Vasinic smiled. ‘I wanted to draw your attention to a particular item of artistic news from abroad.' Petrus and Halmi exchanged glances: since when was their boss interested in art?
Vasinic turned over a few pages and read solemnly.
Renowned American photographer Spencer Tunick has expressed his interest in staging one of his famous nude photoshoots in Besźel. Speaking in Ul Qoma yesterday, Tunick revealed his ambition to stage an event in Besźel Old Town as soon as he can find a partner gallery to sponsor the event. While some may wonder whether our citizens are ready to embrace such an avant-garde event, several leading Besź art institutions have already indicated their interest in hosting this exciting international venture.
He folded the paper and favoured them with an expression of delight which Petrus could only describe as evil. 'Exciting news, I'm sure you'll agree. New for us, but we have to step forward into the modern age, don't we? An event like that will really put Besźel on the international map.’ He beamed round at the assembled officers. 'Extraordinary leave will be available for anyone who wishes to participate.' His grin widened. ‘You know, I might even think about volunteering myself.’