While his anger froze (or did it grow and become more productive), Jakub picked up the two hundred-notes and in his other hand he grabbed his Foreign Legion dagger (purloined by his father and ceremonially turned over to Jakub on his eighteenth birthday) and went to settle matters right in the lair of the gang leader.
The key was sticking out of the door of room No. 2, just the way Sonya had left it after cleaning, Jakub unlocked the door (the room was empty, Ziki always drove to the swimming pool before breakfast) and without hesitation he opened the wardrobe, a pile of elegant shirts of chocolate-colored silk smiled out at him provocatively, Jakub fastidiously swept a short, painfully yellow whip off the top of the pile, picked the first shirt up by its collar to his eye-level—for a whole fifth of a second he admired the softness and marvelous texture of perfect Japanese weave (he was a textile engineer)—pierced it through the shoulder blades, and then with a vigorous cut he slit it all the way down, threw it on the floor, and then reached for another, pierced and slit, and then a third, a fourth, and finally the fifth and final one.
Then he stepped over the pile of rags (the Japanese really know how to make silk!) in order to place the two hundred-notes on Ziki’s table. But there was already something on Ziki’s table.
On Ziki’s table there was a large matchbox (so-called family size), on its yellow label a red crab stretched its claws toward the English words, THE RED CRAB. Inside the box, under a swatch of silver-grey tussah silk, on top of another swatch of acetate silk dyed Victoriablau 2 or 3 G was a doll of the kind village children make from wild poppy flowers — it was Tarzan Mach’s matchbox.
The entire hotel in the hands of Ziki’s gang, and Tarzan Mach (that game with the pistol in the bar on Wednesday evening was nothing but camouflage) is another of Ziki’s gorillas, specially hired for use against Sonya, GANG AGAINST SONYA, and I alone must defend her—
But engineers are special people (as when they reached the moon), Jakub looked at his steel stopwatch and began a comprehensive examination of room No. 2 (he was a technician).
Wonderfully refreshed, Ruda Mach came back on Friday evening straight from the swimming pool, his hair still wet, to his room, No. 5, and on his table found a letter (in this hotel everyone had gone nuts):
Dear Mr. Mach!
The strings on your guitar could only have been slashed by Mrs. Berta Zahnova, who’s been living in our kitchen. She works for Mr. Z. Holy of room No. 2 and I know that she’s now following me into all the hotel rooms.
Yours,
Sonya Cechova
Ruda Mach looked at his guitar, its strings hung on the wall like intestines (but the world’s full of new guitars), he threw Sonya’s crumpled letter into the wastebasket and went to have dinner in the bar.
Behind the bar, Volrab had a poker face, Ziki was looking as if nothing in the world could interest him so much as his soup, Jagr eyed me as if I’d just been released on parole, that fellow Metelka poured champagne into himself like water, and from all the tables the stares of bigwigs and high livers from that stinking Usti (where I wouldn’t even spend an hour), only Sonya smiles at me prettily — what’s up?
It’s Sonya. That kind and beautiful girl, whom they treat here like a goat at the annual market fair. But she deserves far better treatment. Something should be done for her (and when Ruda Mach comes to the conclusion that something should be done, he does it, at the latest the next second).
The next second, Ruda Mach walked straight over to Sonya, took her head in both his hands (and Sonya raised her face to him), and gave her a nice kiss on the forehead and—so that everyone would know that she’ll be mine—he kissed her beautifully on the lips.
By popular demand of the guests and the hon. public OUR SECOND FLORICULTURAL EVENING
HOTEL HUBERTUS
MUSIC - SONG - RAFFLE WITH FLOWERS Starring the ever-popular Sonya Cechova
ADMISSION 6 CROWNS BEGINS AT 8:00 P.M. 20 CROWN MINIMUM
On Sunday evening Volrab read the poster up on the gate of his hotel again and again, Sonya had really done a good job with it, in five colors yet, only the admission fee could easily have been 8 crowns and the minimum at least 25 … we know how to raise prices, and when customers pay money, the show will sure be funny!
With delight, Volrab read the whole poster two more times, all the way from “By popular demand…” to “20-crown Minimum” and now he was hurrying to look over the bar for the last time before the great soirée, all the tables were still empty (today we don’t open until 8:00 P.M.) and the hall was festively adorned: between the chandeliers were festoons of crepe paper left over from the firemen’s ball (at a loss of 200 crowns, since around midnight Ranger Sames had dragged in eight more pickled forest rangers, who brawled like bulls), on the walls three clusters of brown-glass Christmas ornaments left over from the Cottex 08 Christmas party (at a loss of 300 crowns, since the kids gobbled up everything without paying a crown, and eventually they tipped the Christmas tree over onto the billiard table), and two Chinese lanterns left over from our First Formal Dance (at a loss of 400 crowns, since except for the musicians—they were paid the 400 crowns—only three customers bothered to come, and between them they ordered all of five beers and headed home), on every table a clean white tablecloth and napkins even, and on each table a white sign RESERVÈ…
Volrab sighed with happiness, drew himself a beer, and mulled over the strategy to be employed in the upcoming match: by the door the Baladas from No. 3, that wretch of a clerk who orders a small beer in the bar and then enjoys a bottle of co-op rum in his room — I’ll show you, you riff-raff, by 9:30 you’ll have gobbled up two skewers of meat with veggies and then at least two ice creams at 4 crowns apiece, I’ll show you what you’ve got to order when you go to a soirée!
For young Mr. Metelka it will be Parisian bubbly, Parisian almonds again, of course, and our top special appetizer, Parisian rolled anchovies (from that can of herring) … nothing but Paris for your bare ass, dearie!
Postmaster Hudlicky won’t be coming tonight, who would have believed what a champion of diet food he is — but then how he twitched when I hinted that we wouldn’t be counting on him to come this time … That’s it, fellow, don’t come here at all, when you haven’t got the wherewithal!
Veterinarian Srol has a lot of class, his table RESERVÈ right by the piano to give him a good view, and right off he’ll cut into a double portion of pork on a spit with lots of veggies and his Egyptian white wine.
For Dr. Pav and the other two gentlemen from Jilemnice bubbly on the table before they realize where they’re at, and then the menu right away, they’re big shots and the crème de la crème of our soirée — next to them the smith from Cottex won’t look so hot, he’s an expendable customer, but he knows his liquor, while the gentlemen from the district capital like it best when they can swill and soak for free…
Ranger Sames—what a customer he is! If just once he’d send over a brace of pheasants or a side of venison — and a bucket of cranberries … mmm! But he better not pinch Sonya so much on the cheeks tonight, or the girl’s capital value might wear out too quickly.
Vagabond laborer Mach—nothing but trouble! He can’t be reasoned with, he’s likely to belt someone … But bear in mind, you tramp—you won’t sit here till midnight sipping just two beers!
Ph.Dr. Berka and Ph.Dr. Berkova, they hardly eat a thing, but they do like to drink, so no problem. And next to them Engineer Holy from No. 2 has already ordered his dinner, only real Italian vermouth will serve his needs (he’d know another kind right off, yes he would), and for him I give up my own Spanish sardines Mallorca … we’ll work it all out on the monthly bill, Engineer!
Engineer Jagr, that hooligan and blithering idiot, is an extremely unattractive customer … but to keep him away from dinner would be ill-advised, for he would again threaten to go to the district authorities. So let him peek—perhaps through a magnifying glass—at our honest hospitality, but he better not lay a finger on Sonya!
&n
bsp; And one chair in the corner (and the Bridal Suite!) were reserved by telephone from Prague — could it be the one who sat here last time through the entire gala? — Yeah, it’s all getting to be a pretty big deal.
Flushed with creative effort, Volrabka was in the kitchen circling about her original creations: a hazelnut cake made with Sana (the own dear sister to butter!) and peanuts (it was cut a little crooked, so the slices that could be served were called Turkish Hazelnut Delight), a whipped-cream cake made with eggwhites (it had risen beautifully, and the leftover beaten eggwhites were tossed onto last year’s cookies moistened with drops of vinegary apple juice and presto! a tray of Baden Slices), and an Omelette ‘Surprise’ (batter made from powdered eggs, filled with strawberries preserved in liqueur, and then browned until it becomes a little crumbly), beaten eggwhites, chopped peanuts, and—what no one could have expected—dried prunes soaked in French Alpa, which does wonders to refresh your feet).
Volrab “deigned to create in meat” and fabricated such specialties as Garnished Platter Grand Hubertus (circles of sausage with scraps of smoked ham, tomatoes, mustard, and chopped peanuts), Chef’s Secret (beef rolls filled with circles of sausage and chopped peanuts), and Hamburg Pilot Fish (circles of sausage with onions, peppers, chopped peanuts, and vinegar, and for a spicy effect on the palate a little of the hydrochloric acid used in the bathroom).
“And now put paprika, pepper, and salt on everything!” Volrab eagerly ordered.
“But Uncle, it’s already so black with pepper, as if I’d emptied a whole ashtray on it,” said Sonya.
“You can never have too much pepper,” said Volrab, “but you have to work it in underneath, like this—” and with his fat fingers he turned over the circles of sausage, powdered their tummies with pepper the way you powder a chafing infant, and thus galvanized he turned them over again.
“Are there enough flowers?”
“I think there are, Uncle, see—”
Sticking out of six metal buckets under the kitchen window were bundles and sheaves of carnations, irises, and gladiolus, in all more than half a flower wagon.
“And now, Sonya, pour hot water into the basin and take off all your clothes!” Volrabka commanded, and he began to prepare the main course. She soaped and scrubbed Sonya, who stood naked in the basin of water on the floor, until Berta Zahnova climbed out of her corner behind the stove and nimbly gave her a hand.
The women raised Sonya’s arms and legs and scoured them all over with a washcloth, a sponge, and a brush, then they rinsed her with the entire contents of a garden pail, rubbed her with a towel until she turned red, perfumed under the armpits, on the breasts, and behind the ears, dressed her in the new white gown, combed her, sprinkled her with cologne from Volrabka’s wedding silver-and-crystal flagon, massaged the cheeks until they were rosy, a drop of vinegar in each eye to make them sparkle (“a pity we don’t have any atropine,” Volrabka sighed), and on the lips they rubbed white machine oil (“It would be a waste of good lipstick, since it would be gone right away,” Volrabka explained).
Sonya took the skirt in her fingers and in front of the kitchen window, enchanted, she whirled about in the most beautiful dress she had ever worn in her life.
Volrabka’s eyes filled with tears and, touched, she whispered: “She’s like a little bride, our girl is…”
And Volrab, moved to the point of blowing his nose, said with feeling: “It’s as if we were marrying off our own daughter…”
Madelon, pour me some wine,
Let’s be very merry,
Germany’s in decline,
Now we have them to bury.
sang Sonya, wearing her white dress and playing the piano in the bar, on her lips the repulsive taste of machine oil, intended to prolong my kissability, and under my eyelids the vinegar burns so my eyes’ll sparkle — all so the gentlemen will buy plenty of tickets, which Uncle is now preparing at the bar … with what pleasure he uses his thick, fat hands to count those tickets to my lips … How much longer must I be grateful to him?—
“After a delightful musical overture we will go on to our first drawing — there will be more drawings and each of you will get your share in this the floricultural lottery of our second floricultural soirée!” Uncle Volrab announced, and he came out carrying the tickets (pages from last year’s calendar). “Each ticket is a mere five crowns, and with each ticket the management gives gratis a charming flower and, as a special favor, the administration throws in, entirely free, a kiss from our beautiful Sonya—Sonya, come here and let the gentlemen see—for a mere five crowns three favors right off and every ticket a winner—”
Sonya got up on the piano (that increases the gentlemen’s willingness to buy, but I have no desire to smile at them, even if they all buy tickets of admission to my favors, even those given gratis. Dr. Pav and the two other gentlemen from Jilemnice, Mr. Beda Balada from No. 3 and Ranger Sames, the unknown man in the tuxedo who had reserved a table and the Bridal Suite by telephone from Prague … isn’t he buying any? But then why did he come — Mr. Mach is buying a ticket and the smith from Cottex is impatiently waving a five-crown note.
Why then am I hanging around like a gingerbread heart at a fair, waiting to be bought? — do I really want to know? Or do I get a kick out of the men in the bar? Is it fun for me? Or do I merely consider it part of my vocation and my job?
This and that and this and that. Actually, I am four persons: besides the ordinary Sonya I am also Sonya-Marie (quiet, gentle, defenseless, and happily subservient), next Sonya-Marikka (provocative, bold, risk-taking, wild), and then Antisonya (she always tells the unpleasant part of the truth). And those four girls quarrel and fight inside me and it’s always the one who is on top at the moment who pushes me in some direction, usually where I don’t even want very much to be…
“So smile prettily, Sonya, and we’ll begin the first drawing!” Uncle Volrab called to me, he handed me the covered basket containing the tickets and applauded loudly.
I reach under the cloth, pull a piece of paper out of the basket, and hand it to Uncle.
“The first winner is No. 6!” Uncle calls out. “Let the lucky winner come up promptly—Sonya, come closer—”
The first lucky winner is Mr. Beda Balada from room No. 3, he hands Uncle his coupon, receives a pink carnation, and now he’s standing right in front of me. I can’t avoid kissing him, but it’s hardly something to rejoice about— (“It’s your job—” whispered S.-Marie. “Get it over with, there’s a lot more of that waiting for you,” grinned Antisonya) —so in my job as Sonya I kiss him very modestly on the forehead.
In the second drawing, the hunchbacked smith from Cottex wins my favor, and after him comes Jakub Jagr, holding No. 8 … a really good-looking jock of a boy, with hair like yellow silk, sincere blue eyes, and the well-scrubbed, rosy skin of a young girl… “You’ll like our house,” he had said to me day before yesterday. “It’s all white and we’ll have the whole second floor to ourselves, in front is a garden with beds of gladiolus—BUT THAT’S WHAT I BRING MR. RUDA—and roses and through the gate overgrown with roses is the way to our apple and cherry orchard … At the end is a bench which I painted green last spring, but which I’ll now paint white, for you. . .”It isn’t a little thing Jakub is offering me (it’s what a 100% S.-Marie would deserve) —why doesn’t Mr. Ruda Mach offer me a white house in a green valley…
“Sonya, if suddenly something should happen, say all of a sudden the lights should go out, sirens should sound, and something like snowflakes started flying about—don’t be afraid—I’ll manage things for you—” Jakub whispered hurriedly, “but the best thing would be if you would go inconspicuously out into the corridor, I’ll be waiting for you down at the foot of the staircase, the last train leaves at 10:16 P.M., it connects with the express R 93, and then I’ll bring you home by taxi—”
“How wonderfully good you are to me…” S.-Marie smiles at Jakub for me.
But Uncle is applauding me impatiently,
he wants to sell me so many times today — and so the ordinary Sonya at once reaches into the basket for a ticket, in my haste I draw out three at once, they’re all crumpled together, Uncle gives me a nasty look but he’s already announcing:
“The next winners are numbers 10, 11, and 12, please come up, lucky gentlemen—Sonya, come closer—”
The lucky gentlemen are Dr. Pav and his two friends from Jilemnice, to correct my faux-pas (that’s all the French I know, except for Bonjour, Je vous aime, and Merci — and of course l’amour) as the fiery S.-Marikka I kiss all three heads in a row.
The holder of No. 3 (horse doctor Srol) deserves Antisonya, but that contrary girl is always hiding at the rare moments when I would like to be her.
And with ticket No. 5 Mr. Ruda Mach rises from his table, HOORAY! (all four Sonyas in me called this out together), and now he’s coming up for his kiss, tall, frank, everything about him is brown, his thick dark hair and his good dark tan. Handsome…
And a real man among all these rabbits, he fears nothing and no one, not even Mr. Ziki’s brown revolver. The first person here who ever stood up for me. And he can be tender as well … that pretty doll he made me out of a wild poppy—how could I ever have lost it? And when, on Friday evening, he kissed me in front of everyone here (like nobody ever!), it was not only beautiful (like nothing ever!), it was in front of everyone, that’s the most beautiful part of it and so terribly important.
At his table now, Jakub is covering his face with his hands, so Jakub is suffering, Jakub, who offers me a white house, a wedding, and a whole life together … what does Mr. Mach have at his disposal? How easily and quickly he parted from his girls forever, after all the happiness they’d had together — and how many of those girls has he brought here … Could a mere four Sonyas suffice him for the rest of his life? Which of the four would he put up with the longest — and which would he need the most? Does he need any of them at all?
Four Sonyas Page 10