The flagellant Saturday ritual of cleaning up was going full blast, Lenka with five things at once and already gray with exhaustion, “If only you wouldn’t keep getting in the way—”
A 28-year-old pretty intell. off. worker with an interest in culture and nature and with own 1st-cat. apart., forget that pudding, which we won’t eat anyway, come and stab me instead with the scissors, it’ll give both of us infinite relief, don’t buy me new shirts I don’t feel like wearing but buy yourself a case of that cheap Georgian cognac you like so much and invite over all your friends it wouldn’t occur to you to invite without some reason, give me a pretext, bring someone you’d like to have home for the night, neglect me, get drunk, deck me out with horns, beat me, lose your mind, desert me or kick me out, and if you still love me then out of love be the cause of what I must commit, I WANT IT TO BE AGAINST MY WILL, the inability to make an end, to change, to begin, and the desperate desire for an end, a change, a beginning, we do everything for change except change itself and only out of failure can we rise to the top, SOMEONE HURL A BOMB, we thirst for the sweetness of the whip of necessity, at least throw a firecracker, then let me begin to throttle you, I HAVE PUT EVERYTHING IN A STATE OF READINESS, I ONLY AWAIT THE SIGNAL, on the catapult the last bolts are getting their final twists and the flight path is being synchronized, I am taking my seat in the flight chair, WHICH CAPTAIN FAILURE WILL NOW FIRE OFF—send him a car and driver.
THE SECOND HALF OF THE GAME
All roads lead to paradise if we follow them long enough. —Henry Miller
Part IV — Beginnings — fourteen
The driver braked hard and turned to the left, the springs of the limousine undulated, through an open bronze gate they drove into the château park, Jacek let go of Anna Bromova’s warm fingers and gravel drummed against the bottom of the car.
Outside their windows stretched a row of gray statues of saints and on the court behind it a rather tan young man dressed only in white shorts was playing tennis with a charming black girl, “Now the backhand, look—” he called to her, laughing, and the ball flew past the golden arrows projecting from St. Sebastian’s body.
Behind twelve-foot glass doors a red runner went up marble stairs to the second floor and on a white tablecloth a forest of bottles, “Have some Campari,” Anna advised Jacek in a whisper, “and some of that red caviar before they gobble it up—,” and on the way to the table Jacek was introduced to twenty-three big shots, any of whose visits to Cottex would have forced them to interrupt production and press whole work shifts into clean-up and decorating activities.
The young tennis player came to lunch promptly at one in a consummate suit of dark-gray natural silk, he shook his head no to an aperitif and gave Jacek a friendly smile:
“Physicist?”
“Chemist,” Jacek said with a friendly smile.
“Isotopes?”
“Cotton.”
“Please excuse me,” said the young man (as if Jacek were suddenly dead as far as he was concerned), and while a waitress served sirloin steak (real sirloin in real cream) and poured out some white Melnik wine, the young man silently, carefully, and rapidly ate his bouillon with raw egg, cold smoked mackerel with three carrots, and a pint of warm milk (“He’s on a high-protein diet—” Anna whispered as she heaped on Jacek’s plate a second helping of dumplings Esterhazy with bits of bacon, boiled in a napkin, sprinkled with sautéed breadcrumbs and chopped parsley, and drowned in butter), he looked at his watch and left at once (“Now he’ll sleep for ninety minutes—he wants to keep up full efficiency for another fifty years…” “But who is he?” “An atomic physicist. A leading one.” “No, no more dumplings, please.”).
Jacek followed Anna down a path between hazel bushes and toward a vine-covered wall, Anna leaned her back against it and drew him to her, “I love you because you don’t close your eyes when you kiss…,” and she stepped onto a rock in order to be closer to his level. From behind a giant treetrunk in the middle of almost a half-mile of lawn a black-and-red figure emerged, skipping strangely and jerking its arms and head it aimed straight toward the lovers, suddenly it performed a series of somersaults and again that crazy rhythm, “Anci—” Jacek whispered uneasily, “there’s something coming this way…” “But that’s only Jozef… the atomic physicist.”
The atomic physicist Jozef, in a black sweatsuit with red pleats, danced the letkis across the lawn snapping his fingers, when he reached the wall he looked at his watch and trotted back, disappearing into the hazel bushes.
“Clown!” Jacek gave vent to his feelings.
“Not really. He pulled off a couple of terrific thermo- nuclear stunts.”
“But they only do that in Russia and America…”
“He just flew back from America and now he’s going to spend half a year in Dubno, outside Moscow.”
“Is he really that good?”
“He is.”
“Good God, how old can that kid be?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Ouch… That’s the age when you’ve got to do something. Or else die.”
In the sitting and the assembly rooms of Academy House the furniture looked like something out of a museum, Anna explained to Jacek what Empire, Baroque, and Rococo were, “…but that’s all rubbish compared with a Florentine chest in the little Yellow Salon, come—” The “little” Yellow Salon was big enough for a proper bleaching-room with a kettle for pressure boiling the skeins, along the back wall were two billiard tables, one the usual barroom size and a giant one for experts, between them, against a background of gold brocade, Jozef in a striped T-shirt and blue jeans making caroms at both tables in turn (Anna was trying to drag Jacek off to one of the windows), on the ordinary one with powerful blows of the cue the quick movement of individual balls all over the table, on the big one with fine pecks pushing all three balls close together along the cushion, which he was using to advantage, so they play in country inns and so in championship matches, a carom every time, Jozef never even waited for them, he shot a ball on one table and then started toward the other, behind his back a carom every time, “Look at this workmanship—” Anna said, now kneeling, and piously she touched the medieval bands and bolts.
“Excuse me,” said Jozef as he bent over the small table, “but do you know if there’s a cellulose yet with carbon 14?”
“I believe… they’re working on it somewhere…”
The crack of balls on the small table and a carom, “Please excuse me, in five minutes I’ll score three hundred and give up both tables.” A fine peck on the big one, behind Jozef’s back the balls caromed and assumed position for another one.
“But you aren’t even looking at it—” said Anna, and she stood up.
“Yes, it’s very beautiful—” said Jacek, crawling around the chest on his knees.
Along the row of saints wrought-iron lamps lit up and Anna led Jacek further, behind the slender junipers a sheet of water sparkled like the one behind the cypresses, “It’s like an evening at the seashore…,” he whispered, “Let’s go to the seashore together…,” she whispered. On the facade of the château dark windows yawned, in the game room only the TV flickering, in the dining room the light of the chandeliers, and on the top floor a desk lamp by a window. “Of course,” said Anna, “that’s his room. I wish I could start life again at thirty-three—”
Jacek stroked the head on his shoulder and suddenly felt a fine pricking, he touched Anna’s hairpin, passed his fingers over it, and then pulled it out, “Give it to me, Anci—I’ll keep it in my wallet…” “And give me in exchange…,” and Jacek gave, took, took and gave in that gift of a château park.
Later, on the 4:45 to Berlin, he carefully stuck Anna’s hairpin into the dirty clothes in his satchel so that Lenka would find it, and in silence he looked at the river along the track, rising beyond Lovosice are the wavy hills of Stredohori, Varhost, then Ostry, then the thermal swimming pool, then the locks and the Strekov Castle, the Germans call it Schrec
kenstein, but the Czech name doesn’t imply any sort of horror, the final time it will all go by in reverse order—
“It’s thoughtful of you to bring me back my hairpin,” Lenka said over the open black satchel, “you can’t get them in the stores now and Lenicka needs more and more. But you forgot the white plush again…”
“Tomorrow I’m going to Brno, please pack two shirts in the satchel, and no lunch.”
R 30 was given permission to leave Prague Main Station only eleven minutes late, but on the plains beyond Kolin it made a fine showing and arrived in Pardubice at exactly 10:34, by the railing in the sun Hanicka Kohoutkova was smiling, she wiped her right palm on her skirt and stepped out to meet him, 192 mins. free.
“Were you good all week?”
“I was, on my honor.”
“You didn’t upset your father?”
“Yes. On Tuesday instead of doing my German I was staring out the window, and when he tested me I didn’t know the second person plural.”
“What is the second person plural?”
“Ihr habet or habt, ihr seid, ihr lernet or lernt.”
“Good. And why were you staring out the window on Tuesday?”
“I was looking forward to your visit.”
On the other side of the lazy Elbe a vaporous blue glow quivered above the yellowing wheat, and along the country road the red of the poppies cried out, Hanicka stuck one in her mouth, stood with arms akimbo, pulled her belly in, and “Now don’t I look like Bizet’s Carmen?”
“Not in the least, you lamb. These cornflowers are more your style…”
“That’s a bit insulting. I’d like to be like Carmen and dance wildly on tables in some cheap bar, just like her.”
“I’d be afraid for you and jealous of the barflies.”
“Don’t be afraid, anyway I wouldn’t be happy. I’m only saying that. I like the mazurka best. It must have been wonderful to be a Polish noblewoman!”
“Is that what you tell the children in school?”
“I should say not, that would really do me in! There was a great oppression in those days and the collective farmer had to pull wooden plows with his family.”
“Good.”
“While the great landowners and later the city manu-facturers went from feast to feast. I’d like to have been named Jadwiga.”
“And I Tadeusz.”
“Hey, that would be just like Mr. Kutil from Rosice! No, wait, I thought up a name for you long ago—Jastrun.”
“What do you mean long ago?”
“When I was still a girl, before I got to know you…,” and she ran off into the grass, Jacek after her, they chased each other and frolicked until they were out of breath, then they sat down on the warm grass, Hanicka picked flowers and braided two garlands, she put the larger one on Jacek’s head and, thus crowned, Jacek glanced at the timetable, Mojmira can’t make it today and it’s too hot to travel, it isn’t so important anyway and a no-show would be a blessing, so he squandered 242 minutes with Hanicka and left at 2:46 on the R 7 for Prague.
No, it isn’t so important anyway and a disaster would be a salvation, Jacek was coming back on his usual express from Brno to Usti without actually having been to Brno at all, but at Cottex they’d swallow anything now, their confidence in Jacek was limitless, the director and his deputies had called the factory guard to deal with that crazy shipping clerk come to announce that there was a whole carload of ethyl acetate waiting on our siding, they were convinced that the shipping clerk was soaked to the gills again, but there was the car and two more were confirmed for arrival from Brno, Cottex couldn’t use up that lake of ethyl acetate in five years and it couldn’t be stored, so it would be traded to Chemopharma for roofing, oxygen, and three hundred porcelain cups for the plant cafeteria, instead of inevitable shortage a gratuitous prosperity, careworn Jacek gazed out of the train at the Elbe, today we’re coming home from our trip a day early but next time a day late, Lenka’s no longer surprised at anything, so I have to reach for a higher caliber, you compel me to do it, my love—
Darling: This evening it’s raining, I’d like to crawl in beside you and watch the rain with you.
one from Anna or from Tina
Expect you definitely 11:00 P.M. Something’s come up. Arrange it at home so you can stay till morning
or best of all both, in the Lovosice station Jacek decided on the 4:45 to Berlin and he stuck both letters in with the dirty clothes in his satchel so that Lenka could not avoid finding them, the world is calling for us and at home it’s always the same old thing, how many years do we want to consume going out to meet that call, how long will that call persist without an answer—
“About the sad pwince!” Lenicka wanted a fairy tale, Jacek stood nervously over her bed, why is it that today Lenka hasn’t opened his satchel yet—
“…and he was vewy sad, because he awways had to wide the twain…”
“…train, trrrain…”
“…and in the tunnel they wasn’t no wight and out of the woods cwop-cwop-cwop came the auwochs…”
“…aurochs, little one, you say auwochs, aurrrochs…”
“…a gweat gweat big cow and he said, pwince, here is your pwincess and don’t cwy, and pwince went boom! And now they was wight in the tunnel and the pwincess gave the pwince a gweat big kiss wike…”
“…great great big like this. And now beddie-bye, darling.”
“Daddy don’t go way—”
“What’s this you’ve got here…,” Lenka said from outside. “Some sort of letters…”
Jacek waited in the dusk of Lenicka’s room, her little fist in his hand, and held his breath, the pwince went boom! And now they was wight in the tunnel—
“Why these are great—whose are they?” Lenka said from the other room.
“Ohh—they’re someone’s, a pal’s.”
“I can see they’re not yours.”
“What’s that?” said Jacek to the lighted glass panel of the door.
“You’d hardly have stuck them in here so stupidly. Watch the rain with you, but when it’s raining, Jacek, you just start to yawn, you pull down the blind and go to sleep right where you are—”
“Huh— and what do you make of the other one?”
“There’s another one here?— How many women does your pal keep up a correspondence with?”
“Let’s see… with seven.”
“And it amuses him?”
“Tremendously!”
“Today I’m celebrating,” Mojmira called as she stood at the counter of the Brno Main Station cafeteria, from a cellophane bag she poured the remainder of the potato chips into her mouth, finished her beer, and as if it were a handkerchief stuck the crumpled cellophane bag into Jacek’s jacket pocket, “after less than seven months they sent me my check! Let’s go.”
At the Petrov lunch counter they ate two grilled Moravian sausages with their fingers and Jacek clasped his black satchel between his legs, “Today I’m celebrating, they sent me my check!” Mojmira cried across two counters to a young fellow in white-rimmed sunglasses, “Buy me a beer?” the young fellow called, “Make it three,” and he got the five crowns change for carfare.
By the time they reached the milk bar on Freedom Square they’d added a freckly archeology student from the Low Tatra Mountains, and Mojmira paid for four strawberry cocktails, “I got it for my translation!” she cried, crossing the square toward a motorcyclist in leather pants and suspenders, the driver stepped on the gas, drove around the square, and held the door open for them at The Four Ruffians, during the goulash soup a bearded radio technician joined them and all six of them went on to The Noblewomen, at a long table fourteen people were sitting and talking quietly, in their midst, like a priest, the poet Oldrich Mikulasek was stroking the edge of his wineglass, “We just heard you’re celebrating,” a pretty blonde on his right told Mojmira, “I got it for that Spanish story,” Mojmira confirmed happily, and she ordered two bottles of Mikulov Sauvignon, the procession of
some eleven people now went to the seafood restaurant on Jakub Square, at their head the motorcyclist in leather pants and bringing up the rear Jacek with Mojmira and the large black satchel, at a necktie store they were joined by a long-haired unisex creature, “The fellows at the Slavie Café said you got paid for that `Executioner’s Afternoon’—” “Here—” said Mojmira, thrusting a crumpled three-crown note into his (her) proffered hand, and (s)he joined the group, from St. Jakub’s on a gray-haired woman limped along on crutches, “I got paid today—” Mojmira called after her. “I heard,” the old woman rejoiced, “For that Alvarez translation!” and she hobbled after them, in the Typos Arcade a fellow in a black waterproof hat was pissing into a grate, “Vitek,” Mojmira called after him, “today—” “I heard,” he muttered, and he joined the gang, by the portal of the Viceregent’s Palace Pavel Vrbka stood with an Admira movie camera around his neck, “Mojmira got paid today—” Jacek called after him, “I can see,” said Pavel Vrbka, already in formation, and at the M Club there were almost thirty of us.
“Ten days I worked on it like a mule till late at night,” Mojmira cried, kicking a trashcan down the stairs into the Vegetable Market. “I played with it as I would with poetry and I made a hundred and eighty crowns, I’ve found a job in a dairy, I’ll handle butter with a sterilized coal shovel, fifty-five crowns a day, I have to supply my own rolls…”
“We hear you’re looking for a job in Brno,” wheezed the man in the waterproof hat as he trotted beside Jacek along the rounded cobblestones and down the hill after Mojmira. “I would like something—” Jacek wheezed back, fending off the jolting satchel with his knee, “We could take you onto the editorial staff of the Technical News—” “But I—” “We know all that, I’ve already sent up the proposal—” each of them caught up the trashcan at his side, swung it, and threw it over the edge of the fountain, it wasn’t on so Jacek stepped into it and climbed up the possibly Baroque stonework, the Vegetable Market turned upside down, the lights above and the dark below, “I greet you, Brno—” Jacek cried, and to the shouting of fifty throats he stretched out his arms like the pope for Urbi et orbi.
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