Innocence; or, Murder on Steep Street
Page 5
And why should she? If I could get by without Karel, I could do without Růžena too. Of course, then I really didn’t have anyone left to talk to. The two of us had been friends for as long as I could remember. Heck, we went to high school together. Skating on the patch of ice out in back of school, then at the rink on Štvanice Island. School dances. Couples trips on weekends, hiking in the mountains . . . those beautiful nights stirring the goulash over the fire while the boys set up the tents. Nothing left to do now but cry my eyes out. Mrs. Comrade Marek Štancl was no longer a part of my life. Maybe she’d cave in and get back in touch. No. There was no use kidding myself. Unless I wanted to ruin my nights waiting at home for the phone to ring. Only time it ever rang anymore was by mistake. Might as well have the thing disconnected. What was the point of a phone that didn’t ring? A friend who never had time? A life where nothing ever happened?
What a silly goose I am. Here my husband is in jail and I’m carrying on over a friend. Over the fact that I’m now completely, utterly alone.
Being alone wasn’t that bad, though. It was just a matter of habit. There were all kinds of things I could do. I could go wherever I wanted. Cafés, art galleries, concerts. Not like the Jews during the war. They weren’t allowed to go anywhere. Now that was being alone. I could stroll around the city, or go out of town for the weekend. See the horse races in Chuchle. Take a steamboat down the Vltava . . .
Dammit, I didn’t do anything wrong, and if people avoided me that was their loss—and voilà, right back where I started. The bottom line was I could stand anything, as long as I knew I was innocent. But did it actually matter? If they executed an innocent man, was he any less dead for it? Was dying any easier for him than for the man who could say, “I may’ve gone wrong, but I own up to what I did. I deserve my punishment”? Wasn’t it better to pay a price, however outrageous, for a reason than to suffer for no reason at all?
Enough. When thoughts like that started to come over me, it was time to pull up anchor before I drowned in the sea of my own stupidity. I would walk to work and try to think about something truly important, like how to cut the fabric for that indigo-print skirt so I’d still have enough left over for pockets.
–
Matinees tended to be half full at best. Most of the audience was school-age kids who weren’t allowed to go to evening screenings or, on the other hand, old folks who didn’t like to go out at night. Five minutes into the show, Helena ushered a limping elderly lady to the twelfth row, tucked her flashlight back in her pocket, and exited to the lobby. For the next two hours she was more or less free. She decided to head to the office to write up a report for the manager. As she passed the concession stand, she heard another latecomer walking down the stairs. Mechanically she spun around, strode back to the theater entrance, and held out her hand for the ticket. The man reached gingerly into his upper jacket pocket, lifted out a crumpled bouquet of violets, and laid them in Helena’s outstretched palm. She looked up at him in surprise, then immediately frowned.
“Mr. Šípek, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”
“You mean, why would I come to see such a corny film? I swear, I wouldn’t dream of it. I came to see you.”
“How did you know I worked here?”
“I’ll tell you if you promise not to be mad. Will you be mad?”
Helena shook her head.
“Well, the truth is, I did a little investigating à la Sherlock Holmes. Your neighbor was overjoyed that your cousin from Bechyně had come to visit, and directed me straight here. Of course now you’re going to get angry and send me packing. This is the biggest risk I’ve ever taken in my life. Look, my knees are shaking. Would you mind if we sat down somewhere?”
Helena looked around uncertainly.
“Here, come into the smoking lounge, but just for a minute. We can’t let my boss see us. She runs a tight ship.”
They went into the corner of the smoking lounge, where they couldn’t be seen from the hallway, and sat there in silence for several minutes. Finally, Helena said sternly:
“Look, Mr. Šípek, I think the best way to get rid of you is to level with you about my situation. Then you’ll leave me alone and we’ll both be better off for it. You see, I’m not your average case. Any law-abiding citizen who cares about his reputation wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.”
“Now wait a minute. First let me speak my piece. And for God’s sake, don’t get upset. You see, once I found out what your name was and where you worked, it wasn’t hard to get the rest. I know about your husband. Not every detail, of course—just the overall situation. I have to admit, when I first saw you on Sunday, like any man I thought you were one fine girl and I’d be crazy if I didn’t at least try to get to know you. I’m not going to lie about how shaken I was when I found out what had happened. It made me think about certain things—including myself—for the first time in my life.”
He paused a moment.
“Look, plain and simple, I came to ask if you might need—well, a friend. A kindred spirit, nothing more. Really. Instead of wandering the streets we could take a trip on Sunday. I’ve got an old clunker, a real museum piece, but it still runs. Or we could go see a play. Whatever you want.”
Helena turned the crumpled bouquet in her fingers.
“I promise to be on my best behavior. Just so you know I mean it, I won’t come by again. I’ll leave you my phone number, and you can call if you want to see me. Here’s my number at home. I also have an office at the zoo—just a shack, really, that I share with one of my coworkers. At night we like to sit around and drink tea with rum—it’s delicious. If you ever feel like dropping by, I can introduce you to the lion. Here’s that number.”
He rose from his seat and looked down at Helena’s bowed head. Halfway to the door, he stopped and turned around: “One more thing. Don’t think I’m trying to help you. I need you to help me. By coming by every once in a while to sit and have a chat.”
Helena stared dully at the door as it swung on its hinges, trying to remember what she had been doing before he arrived. She stood up, walked into the office, and tucked the violets in with the bouquet of primroses poking out of the vase on the manager’s desk.
“I found them. Somebody threw them out,” she said as the manager looked up in bewilderment.
“Hey, Helena,” Marie said as the two of them walked upstairs after the night’s last screening. “Instead of heading straight home, what do you say we go grab a coffee over at Slavia?”
Helena was stunned. None of her coworkers had ever shown any interest in personal conversation with her. That made the second person today who was willing to waste their time on her. A downright mob compared to the usual.
She eyed Marie suspiciously, but then nodded. “All right. But not for too long. I’m pretty worn out.”
As they stepped into the café, Marie headed straight for a small table for two, half-hidden behind a column. She isn’t exactly thrilled to be seen with me, Helena sighed to herself.
As usual at that time of night, Slavia served as a quiet haven for refugees from empty homes. A few elderly men stared doggedly into their newspapers, as if by sheer force of will they could conjure up something worth reading, while three or four women sat scattered around the café, alone at their tables, desperately bored yet refusing to call it quits, write off another day, and return home to their private, unaccompanied solitude.
“Damn, it’s really hoppin’ tonight,” said Marie. “Place is about as lively as an undertakers’ convention. At least those girls over there look like they’re havin’ fun.”
In the middle of the coffeehouse, seated around four tables pushed together, was a gathering of women who looked to be in their thirties, dolled up like fashion models in sparkling dresses, with accessories in matching colors. Any woman who couldn’t make the grade had clearly stayed at home. Easily outshining them all, though,
was a sunny blonde with dimpled cheeks and a plain black sweater with a seemingly bottomless neckline, expertly designed to display her dazzling cleavage. Hunched on the chair next to her, by contrast, was a bony brunette with a bad complexion and squinty eyes, dressed in a radiant bright-beige suit and a silk blouse, which she kept unbuttoning and buttoning to ensure the blazer’s perfect cut was employed to maximum effect. The group of ladies chattered away excitedly, every now and then bursting into a fit of giggles.
“College reunion,” Helena said. “Bragging about how far they’ve come in the past ten years.”
“And showin’ the world they’re still as young and stupid as ever,” sneered Marie.
A ginger-haired waitress shuffled unsteadily up to their table and thunked two cups of thick white porcelain down in front of them. Marie rescued two soggy lumps of sugar from the puddle of coffee in her saucer, dropped them in the cup, and stirred her spoon distractedly.
“So, Helena,” she said, laying her spoon back on the marble tabletop. “I hope you don’t think I’m tryin’ to butt into your personal business.”
She thought a moment, resettled herself in her chair, and started over.
“No, that’s not it. What I mean is: I am tryin’ to butt into your personal business, but I hope it won’t upset you.”
Helena stared back at her, but didn’t reply.
“Now look,” Marie went on. “One thing: Next time you wanna have a chat with someone in the smoking lounge, sit about two chairs farther down to the right. Otherwise, from the cloakroom we can hear every word. I donno if there’s a hole in the partition or what, but seriously, it’s like you’re talkin’ into a megaphone. So obviously we all went runnin’ in today to hear lover boy there try to woo you. Ládinka practically started bawlin’ she was so moved. I just thought you should know, so maybe next time you can watch out for it. So that’s number one. Do you mind? If you do, just say so. Or can I go on?”
“Why, of course,” Helena said with some hesitation. “I’m very grateful. It’s kind of you to bring it to my attention.”
“Well, we’ll see if you’re still grateful when you hear what I have to say next.” Marie smiled and lit a cigarette. “You know, I’ve been watchin’ you a long time, Helena, and sometimes it makes my head spin. You call that a life? You hardly talk to anyone. It’s like you’re a nun or something.”
“Try to understand, Marie. What am I supposed to do? I have no way to help my husband . . .”
“Exactly. If you can’t help him, why not at least help yourself? Look, Helena, don’t think I don’t get it. You’re in a tough spot, so you made up your mind you gotta do everything perfect from now on. It’s like a superstition: As long as I’m a good girl, everything’ll turn out all right. I know what that’s like.”
Marie wrinkled her forehead and nodded knowingly.
“But you wanna be happy too, don’t you? What’s the point of life otherwise? Am I right?” Marie said, leaning across the table.
“Look, Marie,” Helena said. “Until Karel comes home, the only thing that can make me happy is to renounce all happiness without regret. I’ve made my peace with that.”
“All right,” Marie said with a note of disgust. “You wanna play the martyr, burning at the stake? That’s a way to be happy too, I guess.”
“Well, I’m far from being a martyr, I think.”
“I sure hope so. But how can you actually tell what’s the right thing to do? Who decides that? People who don’t have a clue what you’re goin’ through? God in Heaven? Look, I’m not the most religious gal. The only time I normally set foot in church is when I’m up the creek, but basically I believe there has to be a God, since I can’t do without Him, just like I can’t do without food. But I don’t really think He meant all those commandments literally. I mean, there’s no way God could want me to honor the father that He gave me in all his grace and mercy. There must’ve been some misunderstanding. And there’s lots of things like that. So do I think we can count on Him a hundred percent? No. We each gotta figure it out for ourselves, and of course we’re gonna screw up all sorts of things along the way.”
Marie crushed out her cigarette and poked the butt around in the ashtray a while. Then she rummaged through her bag, pulled out another one, lit it up, and frowned earnestly.
“You know,” she said, “if you ask me, it’s a mistake to try to be perfect. People are human and that’s how they gotta live. Not like devils, but not like angels either. The only place an angel can make it’s in Heaven.”
“You’re quite the philosopher,” Helena said in amazement. “I never would’ve guessed . . .”
“. . . that I could keep more than one thing in my head at a time? See, that’s just it. Nobody can keep their mind on one thing. This life we got is complicated. The world’s full of hate and dirty tricks, and tryin’ to be some innocent saint isn’t gonna save you. I know I’m just a simple working girl compared to you. I never went to college. But I bet I could teach you a thing or two about life.”
Marie wearily propped her elbows on the table and sighed. “I know I don’t know how to say things like I’d like to. But what I’m tryin’ to get at is this: Those people that live like saints usually make their lives into hell. But the worst part is, they also screw it up for everyone else, since they’re so saintly and innocent they don’t know how to deal with the world. Sometimes I think if it wasn’t for them it wouldn’t be so easy for the actual bad guys. Are you listenin’ to me, Helena? Do you understand? C’mon, say something!”
“I’m listening,” said Helena. “And I think I understand. But it isn’t so easy for me. I can’t just change my skin like a reptile.”
“Yeah, I know that. But open up your eyes a little. I’d hate to see you go off the deep end tryin’ to do the right thing.”
“The truth is, lately I’ve had the feeling . . .” Helena began, but she was interrupted by an outburst of laughter. The women at the reunion were cackling so loudly that the elderly man at the neighboring table lifted his head from his newspaper and peered at them admonishingly over his glasses. The pretty blonde, catching his look, gave a boisterous yelp and, without turning her head, elbowed her neighbor who was just lifting a full glass of Bikavér from the table. Traveling in a high arc, the red wine landed on the precious fabric of the woman’s beige suit and bled into a stain shaped like a giant red octopus. The whole table froze as the blonde covered her gaping mouth with a tanned hand. The woman in the suit sat motionless, her hand suspended halfway between the table and her face. Then, slowly and deliberately, almost triumphantly, she tipped the glass upside down, emptying the rest of the wine onto her skirt. Then she turned her head, her icy gray eyes drilling into the blonde’s face, set the glass on the table, stood up, lifted her handbag from the back of her chair, and strode stiffly toward the door.
“Did you see how worn-down her heels were?” Marie whispered to Helena. “I bet she forked out so much for that suit she didn’t have any leftover for shoes. Who knows how long she scrimped and saved to be able to show that blonde bitch.”
The waiter appeared at the women’s table. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, shook it open, pressed the tip of his pencil to his notepad, and made a face so earnest his eyebrows blended into the shock of hair combed over his forehead. One by one the women opened their purses, paid, and rose from the table as quickly and quietly as possible. They filed out of the café like geese. None of them said a word. Life wasn’t such a laugh anymore. In fact it wasn’t even worth talking about.
“Some party,” Marie said as the door closed behind them. “Camaraderie’s a beautiful thing. Are you as worn-out as I am?” she said with a loud yawn. “I’m flat as a five-day-old beer. Tell me, though. Do you mind my preachin’ to you like that? Still friends? Cross your heart?”
“Of course,” said Helena. “I really appreciate your being so concerned about me.”
The waiter was already on his way to their table. From up close, his face looked puffy and debauched, and his beautifully groomed quiff of hair was run through with gray.
7
Shortly after noon the doorbell rang. Marie removed the three curlers over her forehead, threw on her robe, and opened the door to a stout middle-aged woman in a gray dress suit.
“Hello, I’m Mrs. Nedomová,” the woman said with a pleasant smile. Marie unwittingly backed away. The woman stepped in the door and walked through the entryway into the living room. She paused a moment to survey the scene, then made straight for Marie’s prize armchair. She lifted a bra hanging off the arm by its strap, picked up a lone stocking from the floor, looked around the room again, and laid them both on the couch. Then she settled into the armchair, opened her handbag, and took out a pack of cigarettes.
“Please, Miss Vránová, won’t you have a seat?” the woman said, still with the same pleasant smile. “Smoke?” She offered her cigarettes.
Marie slumped dully onto the couch.
“I’ve been planning to visit for quite some time, you know. I wanted to ask how you’re hitting it off with my husband. You’ve been seeing each other a few months now. Don’t you think it’s time you tied the knot?” Mrs. Nedomová stood up and removed the ashtray full of butts from the pile of junk on the night table. “He really shouldn’t smoke so much,” she noted drily. She rested the ashtray on the arm of the chair and sat back down.