‘Damn,’ he said.
‘Shall we go?’ I said.
‘Just a second,’ said Haryk, and he got up from the table and went over to the wardrobe. I looked over at his bed. It was still unmade and he had a big picture of Lucie on his bedside table. That reminded me to show him the picture of me with my submachine gun. I got out my wallet and took out one of the snapshots.
‘Look,’ I said to Pedro, and handed it to him. Pedro took it, looked at it, and said, ‘Oho!’ Then he turned and called over to Haryk.
‘Haryk!’
‘What?’
‘A portrait of Partisan Smiricky. Want to take a look?’
Haryk came over to the couch and Lucie noticed and stopped playing.
‘Lord!’ said Haryk. ‘I’d sure hate to meet you on a dark night.’
‘Let’s see,’ said Lucie. She got up and sat down next to me.
‘Lord!’ she said, just like Haryk. ‘Very impressive, Danny!’ She laid it on very thick.
‘You think so?’ I said, taking the picture and sticking it back in my wallet.
‘Why didn’t you have your picture taken too, Haryk?’ Lucie said.
‘We should have,’ Haryk said to Pedro. ‘We were stupid not to.’
‘We missed our big chance, all right,’ said Pedro.
‘Okay, let’s go,’ I said. ‘You can still get your pictures. People are taking the Germans’ guns away from them all over the place.’
‘Really?’ said Haryk.
‘That’s right. Let’s go.’
‘Better take along something to eat, Haryk,’ said Pedro.
‘Not a bad idea.’
Haryk went into the kitchen and Pedro got up off the couch. He went out in the hall and I heard him go into the john. I stayed there alone with Lucie. She stretched out, one leg dangling over the side and the other on the couch. I felt like flirting with her like I always do when I’m alone with a pretty girl. Maybe it was a fresh thing to do but I’ve never known one of them to object. So I started right in.
‘Lucie.’
‘Hmm?’
‘You’re beautiful.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘You’re the most beautiful girl in all Kostelec.’
‘How about Irena?’
‘Compared to you? Nothing.’
‘She ought to hear that!’
‘Let her. It wouldn’t make any difference to me.’
‘Oh, no?’
‘I mean it, Lucie.’
‘Oh, I believe you, Danny.’
‘Honest. When I’m with you. I don’t even think about her.’
‘Some love!’
I smiled cryptically.
‘Well?’ said Lucie.
‘Lucie,’ I said quietly. ‘If there’s anybody I’m in love with, it’s you.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘Lucie,’ I said, ‘you’re a wonderful girl.’
‘I’m surprised at you!’ said Lucie. ‘Boy, I sure wouldn’t like to be in Irena’s shoes.’
‘Why not? You mean you wouldn’t like me to be in love with you?’
‘Well, not that so much, but I mean I’d rather have nobody than somebody like you,’ said Lucie ‘All right, you just said you love me, didn’t you?’
‘I do, Lucie.’
‘As faithfully as you love Irena?’
‘Much more,’ I said, and slid closer over to her. She put her hand on my arm so she could push me away just in case.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘And that’s saying a lot, isn’t it?’
Just then Haryk’s voice boomed out from the hall. ‘Let’s go!’
His voice startled me and I jumped, but when I saw nobody was looking in through the door I turned to Lucie again. She’d pulled back a bit but when she saw nobody was coming she laughed and her eyes sparkled and she got up off the couch, and as she did she ran her hand with those red fingernails of hers up along my arm and the side of my face and into my hair and then she tugged it.
‘You stinker,’ she said and went to the door. I got up, too, stumbling after her as if I was drugged, and at the door ran my hand gently over her rump. She grabbed my hand and pushed me away. ‘Cut that out!’ she whispered, and then ran up to Haryk, took the lunch bag out of his hand and, pretending to be awfully interested all of a sudden, said, ‘Let’s see what you took!’ She looked and then she said, ‘That’s not going to be enough!’
‘All right, all right,’ Haryk said impatiently, and took back his lunch bag. ‘Let’s go.’
‘I won’t be hungry,’ Lucie said.
‘I’m sure you won’t,’ said Haryk, and steered her out into the hall. Pedro was already standing on the stairs. Haryk locked the door. We walked along Jirasek Boulevard but had to wait a while before crossing over towards the side street where the movie theatre was. The German Army, on bikes and on the double, was just making its way down the main street of Kostelec. Those on foot were mostly unarmed, had no helmets, and were being herded along by a handful of scowling Krauts, helmeted and armed with submachine guns, who were trying to carry out some sort of organized retreat. You could hear a steady crossfire of swearing and see the few diehard fanatical Nazis dragging their feet, marching slowly, still refusing to admit they were retreating. They stood out from the rest – their lips thin, their faces so full of fury their helmets looked like they were going to lift right off, like lids on top of steaming pots.
‘I’ll bet they’ve really gone through hell,’ said Pedro gravely.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, just think who’s coming after them.’
Pedro was a regular little Goebbels. But even I had a funny feeling in my stomach. I remembered the communist leaflet Prema had showed that winter – about how the uprising against the Germans would have to be transformed into a social revolution that would bring down the bourgeoisie and give the power to the workers, and so on. It had been printed in Rohnice and Prema showed it to me with that grim gangster face of his, looking like something out of a Blok poem somebody had loaned me in my sophomore year and that had stuck in my mind somehow – about men with cigarettes between tight lips, caps pulled down at an angle, jail staring out of their eyes – only now they were getting closer and God only knew what would happen next. Which was silly, too. If I was worried it was because all I knew about what could happen was what Goebbels had dinned into us and what Mr Prudivy had told us ominously one night when he and his wife came over to our place and what Mr Skocdopole had said. He’d been in Russia with the Czech Legion and he hadn’t just filled us up with horror stories either. He’d simply said that ‘the poor people supported the Bolsheviks’. The poor. That was the whole thing in a nutshell and that was just the trouble. We weren’t poor. But then we weren’t millionaires by a long shot either. My father hadn’t even been able to save up enough to buy a car. Call that rich? Well, in any case, the best thing to do was to see the whole thing as a big adventure. Let the people who owned a lot of real estate worry. I didn’t own anything. Just my saxophone, which I wouldn’t want them to take, but why should they? So what the hell. For now anyway, the best thing to do was just take in this big, mixed-up, shabby parade – all those men and cars and guns and pistols and the end of their splendour.
We crossed the street, passed the movie theatre and went through the arcade to the patch of lawn in front of the Czech Brethren Church. Refugees in concentration camp rags or Allied uniforms were straggling across the lawn and here and there you could spot a grey German uniform. They were fleeing across the green grass under the hot sun. We crossed the lawn with Lucie in her flowered dress which stood out bright against the grass, but the fleeing people didn’t even notice her. I was the only one who was looking at her. Her skin was a delicate, almost creamy white – the kind a few girls have and which you can hardly believe is real and that makes you want to touch it to find out – and her lips were rosy with lipstick and her blonde hair looked great and her skirt was long like in a fashion magazine she’d dug up somewhere th
at said women would be wearing clothes like that after the war. She dodged her way between the pack-bearing, heavy-booted men who trudged past in silence, their mouths hanging open from exhaustion. We crossed the little bridge over the creek and headed towards the Czech Brethren Church. It was surrounded by trees covered with white blossoms. We were just going by the front of the church when suddenly a coatless and unarmed German soldier came running towards us. Reverend Houba and Mr Rebarbora, the Sunday school teacher, were right on his heels – Houba holding a rifle, Rebarbora a German Army coat. Then, without slowing up, Reverend Houba dropped the rifle and made a beautiful flying tackle, just like an American football player, and brought the German down. They both made perfect belly-landings, flat out.
‘Wow!’ said Haryk. The Sunday school teacher ran to the preacher’s aid and they both started clobbering the German. Then Houba tried to pull off his jackboots and, though the German kicked like mad, finally got them off, too. It was a weird sight – Rebarbora straddling the guy’s back and thumping away at his head, Houba pulling the guy’s pants off including his belt with its revolver and hooked-on hand grenades.
‘There! Du Verdamntes deutsches Schwein!’ Reverend Houba said in good high-school German and then let go of the guy. Rebarbora stood up, too. The German got up and started running. His long white underpants flashed in the sunlight as he sprinted across the lawn, heading west.
‘Good morning,’ I said to Reverend Houba.
‘Good morning,’ he said, gazing after the fleeing German. ‘The scoundrel!’
‘What happened?’ I said.
‘He wanted to hide in the church!’ the preacher said indignantly.
‘Really?’
‘We caught him just in time.’
‘Well, you certainly got rid of him,’ I said.
‘May it be a lesson to him – the barbarian,’ the preacher said. He looked around. ‘Where’s his gun?’
‘Here,’ said Mr Rebarbora, picking the rifle up. It was a handsome though obviously battle-worn German rifle. The preacher took it, looked it over, and said, ‘God only knows how many lives this thing has on its conscience.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Do you know how to use it?’
‘Know how to use it?’ said the preacher as if I’d insulted him. ‘I’ll have you know I was a Czech Legionnaire. I’ve had plenty of experience with toys like these in my time.’
‘Maybe this one’s different, though.’
The preacher scowled and pulled back the bolt. The bullets flew out of the gun on to the grass.
‘No different,’ he said.
‘Well, then, that’s fine,’ I said. ‘Are you going over to the brewery also?’
‘No, I’m staying right here. I’d just like to see somebody else try to hide out in my church!’
‘I’d hardly recommend it,’ said Haryk.
‘I guess not,’ said the preacher with a grin.
‘Not unless somebody’s eager to walk around in his underwear.’
‘Well, good-bye, Reverend,’ I said.
‘Good-bye,’ said the preacher, and everybody mumbled their good-byes and the preacher and his Sunday school teacher went back into the church and we went on our way. After a while Lucie said, ‘Haryk, are you sure you’re all going to be all right?’ she said.
‘What’s there to worry about?’ said Haryk. ‘You can see for yourself the Krauts are on the run, can’t you?’
‘Well, sure. I just hope the SS won’t come through.’
‘Oh, no. Don’t worry,’ said Haryk. We went along the path by the river till we got to the brewery. Others were headed there too – most of them wearing armbands. The brewery was completely hidden behind fragrant blossoming trees. Some women were standing around in front of the gate. Men and boys, their faces set in patriotic expressions, were saying good-bye to them. A few of the women were bawling. We stopped and Lucie said, ‘Well, take care of yourselves.’
‘Good-bye, Lucie,’ I said and held out my hand. She squeezed it and smiled at me. I gave her a meaningful smile. Then she shook hands with Pedro and said good-bye to him, too.
‘See you,’ said Pedro. I watched to see whether Lucie and Haryk would kiss. They held hands and looked at each other.
‘Well, ’bye, Lucie,’ Haryk said.
‘ ’Bye,’ said Lucie. Then she put on one of those vaguely distant expressions girls get when they’re with their boyfriends, even when there are other people around. Haryk kind of grinned. I stared at them and knew I was staring and knew I shouldn’t be staring but went right on staring anyway. Then Haryk leaned over and kissed her.
‘Good-bye,’ sighed Lucie and pulled away from him and then she said good-bye to us all again and we all said so long and then she turned and hurried off. I went in through the gate. The first people I bumped into were Benda and Vahar. They were standing around at the edge of the crowd, looking disgusted. Benda was still doggedly wearing his black fireman’s helmet. I said hello but they didn’t bother to answer.
‘What’s new with Prema?’
‘Still locked up,’ said Benda.
‘You mean old Cemelik hasn’t let him out yet?’ asked Haryk.
‘Hell, no.’
‘Are they going to let us in to see him, at least?’
‘No.’
‘Boy, I sure don’t envy him. Two days sitting around in that cellar,’ said Haryk. I looked around. The squad leaders were standing out in front of the main building, dressed in their hiking outfits, waiting. They were chatting together. They looked kind of pale. Major Weiss stood up by the door with Lieutenant Rubes and Captain Kuratko. All three were in uniform.
‘Well, what’re we going to do?’ I said.
‘Some uprising,’ said Haryk.
‘Three cheers for the Republic,’ I said.
‘Bottoms up,’ said Pedro.
‘Good morning, men,’ somebody said behind us. It was Benno with Fonda and Lexa.
‘Hi,’ I said.
‘Well, are you all steeled in your devotion to the holy cause of freedom?’ asked Lexa. ‘You hear Sabata’s speech?’
‘No. When?’ I said.
‘Last night over the public address system.’
‘I didn’t hear it,’ I said. ‘What crap did he come out with this time?’ I asked, and thought back to what I’d been doing then.
‘Oh, about devotion to the holy cause of freedom,’ Lexa said. ‘About how everybody should be prepared to sacrifice everything for their country if necessary.’
‘And especially about how everybody should obey orders so they won’t have to sacrifice anything,’ said Haryk.
A bugle blew. The bugler disappeared from the window of the main building and Major Weiss took his place. Major Weiss was holding a sheet of paper. It was getting hot as hell. The Major’s voice reached us clearly even though he was a long way off.
‘Order number twelve,’ he read. ‘All those who have not yet undergone military training are to report immediately behind the icehouse where they will be given basic instruction in military technique. Signed, Colonel Cemelik.’ Then Major Weiss held up another paper. ‘I will now read the names of those to whom this order applies, compiled on the basis of the induction forms,’ he said and started reading off names.
Boy, they’ve certainly got things running efficiently now, I thought, and then I remembered Prema and his naïve Robin-Hood notions of how to stage an uprising. This was the real thing, all right. With lists of names and everything. And the basic training in military technique. I watched the guys start off after their names had been called out, heading for the other side of the brewery yard. I saw Hrob’s red head, then Benda, Prochazka, and Vahar, then that little squirt Dobrman, who was hardly five feet tall, trotting eagerly across the yard. Then Weiss read off Zdenek’s name and I saw him in his mountain-climbing pants and his jacket with leather-patched elbows and left shoulder, wearing a Tyrolean hat with a knapsack on his back. He elbowed his way through the crowd towards the icehouse, his leg muscle
s bulging under his woollen knee socks. I still couldn’t see what Irena saw in him. And at the same time I wished she could see the same thing in me and wondered what it was that makes girls like Irena fall in love with somebody. When I heard my name called, I straightened up and went over to the icehouse, too. The untrained forces were sitting on the grassy bank that sloped up to the fence at the edge of the woods. Most of them had taken their jackets off and were loafing around in the grass in the shade of the loading ramp trestle. The shadows of the trestle fell like a checkerboard across the men and the grass. Zdenek was sitting up next to the fence, already settling down to eat. He was just squatting there with his knees spread apart and his pants stretched tight across his thighs. He peered out at me from under his Tyrolean hat and I thought that with those big thighs crammed into those mountain-climber pants and with all those black hairs crawling out from under his sleeves and with that big suntanned mug of his he looked pretty repulsive. In fact, everything about him was repulsive. He was eating with his mouth open, gnawing away at some bread or whatever it was and I could hear him smacking his lips as I got closer. And this was the guy Irena had picked out. I couldn’t understand it. I would have loved to sock him in that big munching jaw and I didn’t have a doubt in the world but that I was better than he was and that Irena would be better off with me, but then it struck me maybe I really wasn’t all that much better than he was and when it came to what really counted with girls maybe he was better than I was, and just better in general since, after all, Irena was so wild about him and so I went up and said hello and sat down beside him.
The Cowards Page 30