The Cowards

by Josef Skvorecky

  ‘Well, let’s pack up,’ Prema’s voice came out of the darkness; it sounded tired and sad. We walked silently into the bushes towards the machine gun. Prema unfastened the ammunition belt and we dragged the machine gun into the meadow. The spring sky glittered gloriously overhead and suddenly I felt I had to have some kind of hope, something to live for, and from somewhere out of the night and the stars that strange girl emerged, the one I hadn’t met yet and who’d be more wonderful than all the Irenas and Veras and Lucies put together and she was kind and sweet to me and I strained all my muscles and Prema and I lifted the steel gun into the sidecar and the springs twanged under it. We went back for the boxes of ammunition, then got on the motor-cycle, and Prema tramped on the starter and the cylinders of the 500 exploded into the nocturnal stillness. Prema turned on the blackout headlight and drove carefully down the path to the highway. The motor-cycle bounced over the bumps and the cone of pale light danced over the rough ground. There ahead of us we saw a dead SS man lying on his stomach, a submachine gun slung across his back. Prema stopped and got off the motor-cycle.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, and went over to the SS man. He raised him up and slipped the gun off his shoulder. The man’s arms swung limply in their colour-splotched sleeves. Prema slung the submachine gun over his back, then took the SS man’s pistol, too. He stuck the pistol into his own belt as he walked back towards the motor-cycle’s headlight. His face, with its high cheekbones, looked thin and gangsterish. He sat in the saddle in front of me and we started out onto the highway, our headlight cutting across the silenced cooling wreck of the German tank. Going by, you could still feel the heat and smell and the smoke and oil and burned rubber. Then we left all that behind and we went on down the hill and into town between the rows of darkened houses, our motor blasting away and echoing back, past Pozner’s factory and the high school and down Miller Street to Skocdopole’s warehouse. Prema turned off the motor and we got off the motor-cycle and he went over to the overhead door and it was still up just the way we’d left it. He turned on the light inside and came back.

  ‘Well, let’s put it back again,’ he said.

  ‘Under the crate?’

  ‘Yeah.’ We lifted the machine gun out and dragged it through the doorway and into the warehouse. We set it by the wall, then tipped the crate back over it. ‘There. Maybe it’ll come in handy again.’

  I looked at him and Prema looked at me. Under his Masaryk cap with the tricolour badge, his face looked grave. I didn’t say anything. So maybe this wasn’t the end yet. Or peace either. I didn’t say anything. Prema straightened up and swung his submachine gun around under his arm.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  I didn’t say anything. Silently we went outside. Prema turned off the light and pulled down the overhead door. I stood there waiting.

  ‘Give me a hand with this motor-cycle,’ he said. I leaned against the sidecar and we pushed the 500 around the corner into the shed. Prema locked the shed.

  ‘Want to go over to the brewery?’ I said.

  ‘Sure,’ said Prema. We cut across the vacant lot to the foot bridge.

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you scared they’ll lock you up again?’

  Prema laughed.

  ‘What was it like down in the cellar?’ I said.

  ‘I was bored stiff,’ said Prema. ‘What was going on in the meantime anyway?’

  ‘You mean since Sunday?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You didn’t hear anything at all?’

  ‘Not a thing. They didn’t just lock me up – those clowns forgot all about me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I swear to God. It was a good thing I had enough food with me to hold out for two days. And I shit their cellar full for ’em.’

  I laughed.

  ‘So you don’t know old Cemelik’s dead?’

  ‘He is? What happened? He get shot?’

  ‘No. He had a stroke.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Prema. ‘Well, at least that takes care of him. How about the other guys?’

  ‘I don’t know what’s happened to them. It was a real mess though. You never saw anything like it.’

  We crossed the foot bridge and went past the Czech Brethren Church. The path was absolutely deserted.

  ‘What was all that shooting this afternoon?’ said Prema.

  ‘Out by the customs house. Hrob got killed out there.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The short redhead. From grade school – remember?’

  ‘Oh, him. Hell, that’s a shame.’

  ‘And Dr Vasak’s wife got killed.’

  ‘The blonde?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  We turned towards the bridge and for a while neither of us said anything. Dark figures drifted out of the brewery and disappeared in the dark. Over the woods the stars glittered and in their pale light I saw corpses lying sprawled on the bridge. As we walked across it, we had to sidestep our way around dead German soldiers. The left railing of the bridge had been blown out near the middle by Prema’s grenade and there was a big hole in the sidewalk. Down below, the river flowed on as calm as before; it was black and mirrored the stars. The lantern over the brewery gate was on. Underneath it stood a reinforced guard detail. They were in uniform and armed with submachine guns. One of the guards brought his gun up to stop us but let us in when he recognized us. There was another lantern on by the icehouse. We walked along the path to the main building. A silent bunch of figures was sitting on the ground in front of it, huddled close together; two armed men were strolling back and forth in front of them. A broadening band of light fell on the ground from the warehouse and you could hear voices. We headed over. Kramm the butcher and Mr Panozka were standing under the light staring at a wildly gesticulating German. A small crowd had gathered around – men with rifles. We could hear them swearing. We moved up behind them.

  ‘Ich bin kein SS-mann, ich schwöre Ihnen, ich bin kein SS-man!’ the German was saying in a terrified voice.

  Kramm the butcher just glared at him.

  ‘Take off his clothes!’ he said. Two guys grabbed hold of the German and started pulling his jacket off. The German struggled as hard as he could. One of the guys gave him a hard slap across the face. Through the V of his open shirt you could see white skin and tufts of red hair. The two guys were trying to pull the German’s shirt down off his shoulders but he fought back until suddenly there was a rip and his arm was bare. Kramm leaned over to look.

  ‘So!’ he said mockingly. ‘Du nicht SS, nich wahr? Und was ist das?’ He pointed at something on the German’s arm. The German turned pale and he was trembling and when he tried to talk he could only stutter and all you could hear was ‘Nein, nein.’

  ‘Take a look for yourselves at the bastard,’ said Kramm. People crowded around the German. I looked too. Two tattooed S’s like two lightning bolts, stood out against the white skin.

  ‘Take him away,’ said Kramm and the two guys yanked the German towards the door. They dragged him out to the silent huddle in the yard. Then one of them gave him a shove and the other kicked him and the German sprawled on the ground and then quickly got up and crawled over to the others. The two guys started back to the warehouse.

  ‘Prisoners?’ I asked the guy standing next to me.

  ‘SS men,’ he said. ‘They’re just waiting around for morning,’ There was an odd undertone of irony in his voice.

  ‘For morning?’

  ‘Yeah. We’re going to finish ’em off in the morning.’

  My stomach clenched.

  ‘Look,’ the guy said and turned his flashlight into a corner of the room. There, on a bunch of rags, lay two bodies with their noses and ears cut off and their eyes gouged out. Their crotches were a mass of blood. I felt sick.

  ‘Who is it?’ said Prema hoarsely.

  ‘They’re brothers … or they were,’ the guy said. ‘It was bastards like those over there that did that to them,’ he said, jerking his head towa
rds the SS men out in the yard. I thought I was going to vomit. ‘Come on,’ I said to Prema, and we left the warehouse. The Germans sat hunched over on the ground under the lantern, waiting. One of them raised his head, looked around, then let his head fall back on his drawn-up knees. Most of them were sitting like that – their knees drawn up, their arms around their legs, their heads on their knees – and they had neither helmets nor weapons.

  ‘They’re going to kill ’em tomorrow,’ I said.

  Prema looked at me. ‘What say we get out of here?’

  ‘Come on,’ I said. We went past the SS men towards the back of the brewery yard. As we passed them, one looked up at me. Our eyes met. His eyes were grave but alert in the dark of the night. He looked down almost immediately. He leaned his head against one shoulder and his blond hair shone in the lantern light and against the light the hunched-over backs of the men, their heads bent towards the ground, stood out very clearly. They sat in silence. The only noise was the sound of their guards’ boots on the cobblestones. I looked away. People appeared on the path leading over to the main building.

  ‘We could go through the warehouse,’ said Prema.

  ‘We’ll go over the fence,’ I said. ‘I know a good place.’

  We went along the side of the main building, then back behind the woodshed to the place where Benno and Haryk and I had crawled over Sunday. It wasn’t so dark this time. I shinnied up and over the fence and jumped down onto the other side and suddenly, as I came down on all fours, I felt the full load of that whole day. Now that it was all over, I was exhausted. Prema jumped down after me. We came out onto the path.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ I said.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Prema. ‘I’m starved.’

  We walked fast, leaving the path and going down through the dark pine woods to the river. Dead branches cracked under our feet and the wet underbrush felt cold as I pushed through. We finally made it down to the river bank and then headed towards the bridge. We stopped underneath it. You could hear people’s footsteps up above; a black band of shadow lay across the river under the bridge.

  ‘Well, good night,’ said Prema. ‘I’ll go on down this way.’

  ‘You going to go over to the brewery tomorrow?’

  ‘Me?’ said Prema. ‘They can stuff their brewery.’

  ‘Right. Well,’ I said, ‘so long then.’ I went up the bank to the bridge and looked down and saw Prema hurrying along the river towards the weir. I turned and stumbled over a helmet lying on the sidewalk. Irena’s window was blacked out; only a crack of light showed through. I wished I knew whether Irena was there or just her parents waiting up for her. But I was tired and Irena probably had her hands full down at the Red Cross place. As I went along the path towards the station, I tried to imagine her giving injections to the wounded and smiling that sweet smile of hers at them, but even that didn’t help much. I was tired, but it wasn’t only that. Irena just wasn’t the centre of my world any more. I turned on to Jirasek Boulevard and hurried towards our house. The stars shone warmly above the canyon of the street. I unlocked the street door and started up the stairs. My footsteps echoed up the silent stairway; a door squeaked. Then I heard Mother’s worried voice call, ‘Danny?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ I said. She stood in the open doorway and the light shone into the hall from behind her so all I could see was a dark shadow.

  ‘Danny, Danny, my dear, thank heavens! You’re all right, aren’t you?’ she cried. She threw her arms around me and kissed me. ‘Thank God, you’re home. But you’re all wet,’ she said. ‘Where were you during all that shooting? What have you been doing? And what’s that on your back?’ She touched the gun.

  ‘It’s nothing, Mother. Nothing to worry about,’ I said, and I kissed her and swung off my submachine gun. ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘Get out of those wet clothes right away, dear, and I’ll make you some tea.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. I looked around. Father was standing in the hall.

  ‘I’m glad to see you home again,’ he said. ‘You were out there in all that shooting?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow but right now I’m completely worn out.’

  ‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘you go right to bed.’

  I took off my jacket. ‘I’ll just wash first,’ I said.

  ‘Wait, Danny, I’ll make a fire so you can have hot water,’ said Mother quickly.

  ‘No, please. Don’t bother.’

  ‘It’ll only take a minute,’ she said and ran off to the bathroom. You could hear her raking the ashes out of the water-heater. I stayed there with my father in the kitchen. He sat down on the bench next to the stove.

  ‘A costly day,’ he said.

  ‘Many people get killed?’ I asked.

  He smiled nervously. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘Very. And the saddest thing is that none of these deaths were really necessary.’

  ‘Maybe. It’s hard to say,’ I said.

  We sat there in silence.

  ‘You heard that Mrs Vasakova was killed?’ he asked. His voice trembled.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I knew he’d always had a soft spot for her. Everybody liked her. Why did it have to happen to her? We fell silent for a while.

  ‘Where are the Englishmen?’ I asked.

  ‘The younger one came back this morning but they both left when the shooting began.’

  ‘They’ll be back tomorrow,’ I said.

  ‘Probably.’

  Mother came into the kitchen. ‘Your water’ll be ready in a minute.’ She went over to the table and took off the tea kettle and said, ‘Where’ve you been all this time? We were so worried, wondering if you’d been wounded.’

  ‘Me? No. I took good care of myself.’

  ‘Yes. You’re a sensible boy, Danny,’ she said.

  ‘Well, tell us all about it tomorrow,’ said Father, and he got up and went out of the kitchen and into the bathroom and you could hear him tapping the hot-water tank.

  ‘Another minute or two and it should be all right. Good night.’

  ‘Good night, Father,’ I said. I heard him shuffling off to the bedroom. Then Mother went into the bathroom again and called out, ‘You can come in now, Danny, dear,’ and I got up and took my pyjamas and when I got to the bathroom Mother was standing in the doorway.

  ‘Good night, Mother,’ I said. ‘You ought to get some sleep now.’ I kissed her.

  ‘Good night, dear. Is there anything else you need?’

  ‘No. Good night.’

  ‘Get a good long rest,’ she said, and then she closed the door behind her and I was alone in the bathroom. The light shone down from the ceiling into the white tub. I pulled off my wet pants and stepped naked into the tub. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the wall. I was really filthy but the way the light fell on me from above I thought I looked pretty handsome with those sharp Grecian mouldings and angles around my hips and pelvis. In fact, I liked my looks so much I went on staring at myself in the mirror and then I turned on the shower. A thin stream of warm water started pouring down on me and dripping off my body. My skin glistened in the mirror. I turned the shower off and soaped the wash cloth and started scrubbing myself all over, and as I moved the body in the mirror moved, too, and I watched its hips move when I raised my arms and its arm muscles bulged when I leaned over and I started thinking about Irena, about her body, and how we could be together. I was young. Or at least that body in the mirror was, and so was Irena, and it was a damn shame that here was my handsome body just going to waste, doing nobody else any good. I’d love her. Or at least my body would. Since, after all, that was what love was all about – my body with those great classical Greek angles around my pelvis and Irena’s smooth, wet, white skin, and nothing more, nothing, nothing … But what if Lucie and Evka Manesova and Helena and Mitzi had bodies just as nice and if it was just the same with them as with her and if that was all there was to it? It was crazy. And as soon as I thought about Irena again, I suddenly sa
w her in the middle of that mob down by the barricade and then the way she walked across the square from the post office as the sun set and then I wanted her again and only her. It was crazy. I rubbed myself with the towel, put on my pyjamas, turned off the bathroom light and went out. I picked up my tea, put in lots of sugar and crawled in under the quilt on the couch in the kitchen and turned off the light and, looking out the window, started to drink my tea in the dark. A few lights still shone on the hillside; everything was quiet. I looked over towards the brewery and thought of the SS men sitting there by the drive, waiting for morning. I drank my tea and it warmed me up. I thought back over the day, about the tank coming up through the underpass, about the truck and how it went over into the ditch, about Hrob with his rockets and Prema with his machine gun, and about the revolution and what would come of it, but after a while my thoughts turned back all by themselves to Irena and to Prague and then to that girl I was going to meet there. I finished my tea, set down the cup on the table beside me and lay down. The stars were still shining. I looked for Betelgeuse and, when I found it, thought about the girl. I thought about how I’d meet her and how elegant and beautiful she’d be and a café came into it and comfort and pleasure and pleasantness and dreams – and so I went on thinking about her and drowsily started saying my prayers but she kept interfering with my prayers and I spoke English to her because she was American, a girl out of some movie or other, somebody absolutely different from everybody else and then I started in again, ‘Hail Mary, full of grace,’ and thought about that girl and she turned into Irena and I said something to her and she said something to me and I felt very comfy and tired and drowsing off and then I feel asleep and didn’t even know how I’d done it, how I’d fallen asleep, and I slept a deep dreamless sleep.

  Thursday, May 10, 1945

  Next morning Irena’s window overlooking the river was open and a bouquet of red flowers stood behind the green window guard. I stopped on the bridge and looked up at the window. I could see the glass chandelier hanging from the painted ceiling in her room and imagined her sleeping under it in her crumpled pyjamas. It was all over now but she was still there. I went on. When I’d gone through the brewery gate, I stopped short. Terrible screams were coming from somewhere, like Mrs Vasakova’s screams yesterday. A chill ran down my spine. I stopped thinking about Irena. People on the path turned to listen, too. Sounds came from the warehouse, then more screams. All at once I knew what was going on, and had an odd urge to look, to see it. I hurried over. The SS men weren’t sitting in the yard any more. The place where they’d been sitting was empty except for their rucksacks and other stuff which they’d left behind. I was almost up to the door when I heard more screams. I opened the door and went in. The lights were on inside the warehouse and a bunch of men were standing around something lying in the middle of the floor. You could hear thuds and groans and sobs. I stepped forward and then saw what was happening. Several naked bodies lay on the ground. Mr Mozol, the time-study man at the Messerschmidt plant, was swearing and beating one of the Germans with a cane decorated with hiking badges. The German lay on his stomach, his back covered with blood. He no longer moved. ‘You German swine,’ Mr Mozol kept yelling. ‘There’s another for you,’ and so on, hitting him hard with his cane. I knew he had good reason. I shuddered. Some of the others in the crowd were yelling and swearing too; a few, though, just stood there. There was a funny smell in the air; the place was stuffy. Then I noticed a few more SS men still standing off in a corner. They were still wearing their uniforms and were tied up. I turned. I wanted to get out of there. And then I saw Rosta’s pale face a little way off.