Vendyš squeezed his fingers so hard the microphone almost popped out of his hand. The blood drained from Marie’s face and tiny drops of sweat broke out on her upper lip. The woman in bed paused briefly, then went on, her breathing labored but her voice calm and deliberate.
“After Nedoma told me Novák was dead, I didn’t hear from him for a couple of weeks. Then that Friday morning he called and told me not to go to work . . . said he’d stop by for me later. He came over . . . and told me we had to keep going, we couldn’t just give up because of a single mishap . . . by which he meant Novák’s death . . . He said the job wasn’t finished . . . in fact he was getting it up and running again . . . He said he’d also called you, Marie . . . said he’d decided to bring you on board and was going to meet you on Steep Street at eight . . . Hrůza would straighten Helena out, I’d get new instructions . . .”
Mrs. Kouřimská put the oxygen mask on her mouth and closed her eyes. The dot of light on-screen fluttered like a panicked butterfly, before settling back down again, bounding up and down along its crooked path. Hang on, Marie begged the dot in her mind. Just hang on long enough for her to finish!
Mrs. Kouřimská continued again in her calm, emotionless voice: “I said fine . . . He always drank beer when he came over . . . I dropped a pill in his glass in the kitchen, one of those ones the doctor prescribed to help me sleep . . . I put a sharp new knife in my handbag . . . asked if he could give me a lift to work, since he was heading there anyway . . . It was getting late . . . He started nodding off at the wheel on the way over . . . For a while I hoped we would just crash and the whole thing would be over . . . for both of us . . . but we made it . . . As soon as he stopped the car he fell asleep. I just sat there a while, feeling faint . . . The street was deserted . . . I took out the knife . . . looked around . . . not a soul . . . Suddenly it all became clear . . . I used to work in a hospital . . . I knew what to do . . .”
The woman lay still again, breathing in and out through her oxygen mask. The dot on-screen slowed to a limp. The instruments hummed and bubbled like an artificial stream.
“I didn’t panic till afterwards . . . I jumped out of the car and ran in the other direction . . . that’s where I got lucky . . . I had to walk all the way around the block to get into the Horizon . . . but at least I didn’t have to go past the snack bar . . . so Božena couldn’t see me through that glass wall of hers . . . and she didn’t spot me when I came in the lobby, either. It was too crowded . . .
“Then at the top of the stairs I got an idea . . . I turned and went back to the snack bar . . . and told Božena to give me a pack of cigarettes, quick, I’d just finished mine . . . of course she assumed I just popped up from downstairs . . . I never dreamed I’d get away with it . . . If anyone had mentioned I wasn’t at work that afternoon . . . but nobody said a thing . . . it was a miracle . . .”
She barely gasped out the last few words, then took a long break. When she finally started up again, Marie had to lean in close to make out what she was saying.
“I had blood on my gloves. I remembered I’d found a handbag in the auditorium recently that somebody had left there with a pair of scissors inside . . . I’d put it in the manager’s office for safekeeping . . . I waited for her to step out, found the bag, took the scissors . . . I cut up the gloves and flushed them down the toilet . . . but meanwhile the manager went home and locked the office . . . I couldn’t put the scissors back, so I wiped them off and stuck them behind the mirror in the ladies’ room . . . I didn’t want to get caught with them on me . . .”
She was wheezing now. Marie felt like telling her, Enough, you’ve said enough already, but couldn’t bring herself to utter a word. Mrs. Kouřimská lay perfectly still, eyes closed, mask over her mouth. At length she started up again.
“Nobody suspected me . . . except for Hrůza . . . I don’t know if he saw me, or whether he figured it out . . . but he knew, and he knew I was dangerous and had to get rid of me . . .”
She paused a moment, then added, “It must have been a shock for Marie here when she came and saw what happened.”
Marie got up, walked to the faucet, and poured herself a glass of water. She took a deep drink, then managed to rasp, “I saw it as soon as I got to the car. The knife, the blood . . . First I was terrified, then I thought I’d better come up with an alibi, quick. So I ran over to the pub. They know me there, so I hoped maybe that would get me out of it.”
There was another moment of silence, then Mrs. Kouřimská said, “That’s all I have to tell you, Lieutenant . . . That’s everything . . . Now, if you don’t mind . . . I’d like a moment . . . with Marie . . .”
Vendyš started as if waking from a trance. He pressed the stop button on the tape recorder, then just sat staring blankly at the ground. Mrs. Kouřimská didn’t stir, but Marie said impatiently, “Did you hear what she said, Mr. Vendyš? We’d like a moment alone. It is her right, isn’t it? So please go now.” She gestured with her head toward the bed.
Vendyš stood up and shoved the tape recorder into his black briefcase, which was lying on the floor next to his chair. “Miss Vránová, stop by my office around six. I’ll need you to sign the protocol.” He hesitated a moment, taking in the ghostly face on the pillow.
“Good-bye, Mrs. Kouřimská,” he said softly, then turned and left the room.
Marie got up, opened the door, and looked down the corridor. She walked back over to the bed and tried to smile. “You know I had no idea you were spying on us. I never would’ve guessed.”
Mrs. Kouřimská opened her eyes but didn’t look at Marie. She was probably too weak to turn her head. She stared up at the ceiling, breathing wheezily. Then her white hand stirred again and the tired butterfly fluttered.
“Marie,” she said almost too softly to hear, breathing deeply in and out. “I knew . . . from the very start . . . about you . . . and the fat man . . . with the glasses . . . But I didn’t tell . . . Nedoma . . . I would never . . . have done that . . .”
Marie’s eyes widened and her mouth went dry again.
“Nothing got past me,” Mrs. Kouřimská wheezed. “You wouldn’t believe . . . I guess I had a born talent for snooping . . .” The shadows suddenly lifted from the corners of her mouth, which almost made it look like she was smiling.
As the white hand lifted, the butterfly skipped and pranced, but the hand failed to reach the face, sinking back onto the covers in exhaustion. The woman in bed coughed weakly. Marie glanced up at the monitor but the butterfly had disappeared and in its place a straight line of light extended across the black screen.
6
The day of the funeral was like a leap back in time to Indian summer. The cemetery paths had dried in the sun and the late-blooming asters had opened their blossoms on the graves. The last brown leaves sprinkled onto the lawn, which was still thick and green. The rich fall colors blended tastefully, just the way Mrs. Kouřimská used to like it, giving the cemetery a warm, cozy feel. It’s peaceful here, the manager thought. It has everything she needs.
The funeral was at noon, so everyone on the Horizon staff turned out for it, including the box office girl, the accountant, and the cleaning ladies. Even the projectionist showed up, a quiet bald little man of unassuming appearance, whose existence almost no one except the manager was aware of. He kept his distance from the others, restlessly shuffling his feet and staring at the ground. The women stood in a circle around the coffin, which was adorned with three huge bronze-colored chrysanthemums, thinking of the deceased, or rather the idea of her they had formed during her lifetime. Each of them was so different from the others that if anyone had been able to see into their thoughts, they never would have guessed that they represented the same person. As is true for all of us, Mrs. Kouřimská’s innermost self was cut into a thousand facets, and everyone who knew her found at least one of them that reflected what they were looking for, based on their own personalities.
There was a sharp smell of damp earth as the priest’s voice scattered in the autumn acoustics. The ceremony was nearly over when there was a crackling of dry leaves and a pudgy young girl in grubby jeans and torn sneakers shuffled up to the grave. She had straight hair cut short and round red cheeks, and she worked a piece of chewing gum in her mouth. She came to a stop at the edge of the grave and propped her hands on her hips, slouching slightly at the waist. Chewing intently, she stared down into the open grave with such a peculiar look on her face that some of the women were afraid she was going to spit her gum onto the coffin. But the girl just stood there a moment or two, then turned and waded away through the brown layer of leaves.
Ládinka wiped away her tears and leaned over to Líba. “Please, where does a girl like that get off showin’ her face here! Mrs. Kouřimská was a lady.”
“You think?” Líba said softly, watching the girl’s wide, swaying hips disappear down the path through the graves.
They slowly made their way toward the cemetery exit in the slightly exhilarated mood typical of people who have just buried someone they aren’t too close to. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the cemetery, the one peaceful place in a big city. Maybe it was the relief of having such a depressing experience behind them. Maybe being so close to death intensified the feeling of being alive. Who knows? But whatever the case, all the participants in Mrs. Kouřimská’s funeral, including the tearful Ládinka, had to consciously restrain themselves from talking too loudly and work to maintain a suitable level of decorum.
Even Helena loosened up a little. She attached herself to Marie, and at one point, when Marie bent down to pick up some red and yellow maple leaves, Helena stopped alongside her a few steps behind the others, so Marie decided to take advantage of the opportunity. “So, Helena, don’t you think it’s time you started lookin’ for another job? I mean, Líba’s leavin’ in a couple days and Ládinka won’t last long without her. She already said she’s goin’ to see if she can find a better spot. I’m probably takin’ off too. I don’t like the looks of that new gal they sent to replace Kouřimská. She’s gonna suck our blood dry, mark my words. Anyways, I’m sick of the whole cinema and workin’ nights all the time. Soon as something turns up, I quit. What about you? You can’t stay there forever. What did you ever get out of that job except trouble, huh? Tell me that.”
Helena bowed her head. “You’re right, Marie. The place is like a toxic dump, and without you there it’ll be even worse. But I can’t. I don’t care where I am or what I do. I know you don’t understand, but I don’t want anything else. Nothing’s going to change for me, no matter what happens.”
Marie nodded. “You might be surprised, but I think I understand. It’s like fallin’ off a moving train. Suddenly everything’s just flyin’ by and there’s no way to get back on. But give it some time. It’ll change. Always does. And there’s always another train coming.”
“I know. It’s just I don’t think I could even get on if it stopped right in front of me.”
They reached the cemetery gate, where everyone else was waiting for them. Nobody felt like going back to the noise and stress of the outside world. The manager looked at her watch. “Well, it can’t be helped, we have to go,” she said apologetically. “It’s that time.”
All thoughts of Mrs. Kouřimská vanished from their minds.
“That was nice,” Ládinka said as the ushers descended the stairs back at the Horizon. “I didn’t expect to have such a good time.”
By nighttime the temperature had plummeted. Helena shivered walking home in her thin coat. It wasn’t that much warmer in her studio than on the street.
She lit the gas in the oven and collapsed, fully dressed, onto the couch. The flat warmed up pretty quickly, but Helena just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. I can’t, she said in her head, then in a whisper, and finally out loud. I can’t, I can’t do it anymore. If only I had a child at least. Anything at all. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t get up every morning and struggle my way through the day just to fall into bed like a zombie at night and get up and do it all over again in the morning. I can’t and I don’t want to. What happened to me? What happened to Karel? Tell me, Karel, what awful thing happened to make you forget about me? Why, Karel? For God’s sake, how could you abandon me? If only you had at least left me some kind of message, a word, a sentence . . . I can’t, I can’t go on living in this incomprehensible world.
All of a sudden the heat in her flat became unbearable. She tried to get up from the couch, but her legs gave way beneath her, as if even her own weight was too much to bear. I’ve got a stone in my heart. Forever. As long as I live.
She dragged herself to the stove and turned off the gas. Leaning against the hot metal with both her hands, she stood a while thinking. Then she turned the gas on again, but didn’t light it. She took off her coat and lay back down on the couch. She closed her eyes, listening to the soft hiss of the gas. Her head began to spin. Just this one thing and after that, I’ll never have to do anything . . . ever again . . .
The telephone rang. Helena didn’t move. It kept ringing. There was no reason for anything, there was no point. It didn’t matter if she picked up the phone or not. It wouldn’t change a thing. Nothing could. The phone rang again. She reached out and lifted the receiver.
“Helena, it’s me, Vojta,” said the soft voice on the other end. “Listen, I know how you feel . . . It’s torturing me . . . I tried, you know that . . . Helena, do you hear me? Can I ever see you again? Just as friends?”
Helena laid the phone down on the table. Vojta . . . Karel’s shadow . . . I wish he had disappeared along with him . . . Karel’s envoy . . . She took a deep breath.
A spark went off in her darkened brain: Karel’s envoy . . . what if he really is Karel’s envoy, what if Karel . . . what if it means that Karel doesn’t want me to . . .
She slid off the couch onto the floor and crawled on all fours to the window. With one hand she gripped the windowsill while with the other she reached for the handle. She flung the window open wide and curled up on the floor underneath it, shaking with cold and exhaustion, as the air from outside swept through the room. Finally, after a long time, she stood, walked unsteadily to the stove, and shut off the gas. She put her coat back on and laid the phone in the cradle. She stretched out on the couch for a while again, no longer shaking, despite the bitter cold. Finally she got up, walked to the window, and stared out into the black sky.
The humidity had risen slightly and the temperature had dropped. As tiny drops of moisture condensed in the air, a splendidly shaped, perfectly symmetrical star split off from a low-hanging cloud, the first snowflake of the year, drifting slowly down through the night. Helena reached her hand out the window and caught the chilly flake in her palm. Instantly it began to melt. Helena gasped. “Karel,” she said out loud. “Karel, are you with me? Are you the stone in my heart? Stay! Stay with me and I’ll gladly bear it. I can. I must.”
She closed the window and lay back down on the couch. Slowly the room began to warm up. The telephone started to ring again, but this time Helena didn’t pick up.
I’m not going to talk to him now . . . I don’t care if he understands . . . I’m not letting anyone else’s voice in here now . . . Maybe later, sometime . . . a long time from now . . .
She fell asleep in her clothes on the couch, with one hand under her head. All night long, drops slid from the pools in her eyes onto the coarse cloth of the upholstery, but gradually the deep lines around her mouth faded.
The snow outside the window thickened, lofting up with the wind, the flakes dancing and swirling in all their sparkling glory, until finally they fell to the ground and transformed into mud.
But every now and then one of them got caught on a tree branch or in a crack between the centuries-old tiles of the Malá Strana rooftops, so even though the snowfall lasted just a while, some glittering touches of wh
ite remained tucked away till morning, when the people began to emerge from their homes into the new day, into the same old aimless wandering.
7
It was a small square room, the walls painted dirty gray floor to ceiling, with a stack of filing cabinets along one of them painted a gray two shades darker. A desk, bare except for an open folder of documents, a rack holding a row of pipes, and a battered ashtray. On the wall facing it, the plain black rectangle of a window reflected the room’s interior like a blind mirror. There was nothing else in the room except two comfortable chairs with two men seated in them: one fat, the other even fatter. The fat man with glasses sat on the chair for visitors, by the window, trying to sound rational and coherent. But in the pressure cooker of the overheated, smoke-filled room, his fatigue ran rampant, his head buzzing and colors flickering before his eyes. He yawned till his ears popped. That helped wake him up a little.
The hard lines of exhaustion seemed out of place on his plump-cheeked face, inclined by nature to a kindhearted smile. He looked like Mr. Pickwick being stretched on the rack as the fatter man silently fixed him with a stare.
“Listen,” the fat man said at last. “I already told you the gist of it. The rest can wait till tomorrow, can’t it? I’ve hardly slept in three nights and I’m not thinking too straight . . .”
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“I hope you realize,” the fatter man said officiously, laying his pipe in the ashtray for emphasis, “that you came back almost one month late, in gross violation . . . So, back to the murder on Steep Street!”
“All right, fine, fine,” the fat man said with a sigh. “I’ll do my best. But be patient with me.”
He slumped another bit lower in his chair and stretched out his legs in front of him. Then he took off his glasses and swung them in his fingers, eyes fixed to the ceiling.
Innocence; or, Murder on Steep Street Page 14