by Karel Čapek
“Ach you,” Polana burst out, almost choking, her eyes filling with tears as she rushed out of the room. Well, Polana, what is it?
“Thank you very much mister.” Manya bowed, showing all his teeth, and gave his hand to Juraj. Eh, you, what strong hands you’ve got! It would be worth while to take you on. Well, praise be to God, sighed Hordubal with relief, that’s over.
“Show me the knife, uncle,” begged Hafia.
“Look,” said Stepan boasting, “this knife has come all the way from America. I will carve an American doll for you with it. Would you like it?”
“Yes, uncle,” cried Hafia, “but you will, won’t you?”
Juraj smiled broadly and happily.
CHAPTER VI
BUT it wasn’t all over yet. Juraj knew what was expected of him. When a man returns from America he must show himself in the pub, meet the neighbours, and stand them drinks. Let them all see that he’s not come back empty handed, and in disgrace. Hi, landlord! drinks all round, and look sharp; what, you’ve forgotten Hordubal, and aren’t I the miner from America ? Let them know all over the village that Hordubal’s come back. Eh, let’s go and have a look at Hordubal, hi, missus, my coat, and my hat—
“I shall be back soon, Polana, go to bed, and don’t sit up for me,” urged Juraj, and he tramped ostentatiously through the dark village towards the public house. What different smells a village has: wood, cows, straw, hay, here’s the smell of geese, and there it stinks of mayweed and nettles. In the pub old Salo Berkovic was no longer there, a red-haired Jew got up from the table and inquired suspiciously: “And what would you like, sir ?”
Someone was sitting in the corner: who could it be ? It might be Pjosa, yes, it was—Andrej Pjosa, called Husar, stared at Juraj as if he wanted to shout: Is that you, Juraj? Oh, yes, it’s me, Andrej Husar, you see it’s me.—Well, Pjosa didn’t shout, he sat and gazed; and Hordubal, to show that he belonged to the place, said: “Is old Berkovic still alive?”
The freckled Jew placed a glass of brandy on the table. “It’s six years ago since he was buried.” Six years? eh, Pjosa, that’s a long time; what’s left of a man after six years—and what after eight ? Eight years, I haven’t drunk brandy for eight years: my God, I should have liked to drink it sometimes—to drown my sorrow, to spit at the strangeness, you know; but they wouldn’t let them make brandy in America. At any rate, I sent more dollars to Polana; and, see, she bought horses and sold some land. All stones, they say. And you, Husar, you haven’t sold any land? Well it’s clear that you haven’t been in America.
The Jew stood at the bar, and stared at Juraj. Shall I begin a conversation with him ? the Jew wondered. He’s not talkative it seems, he looks so, so, better not interfere; what fellow from the district can it be ? Matey Pagurko has got a son somewhere, maybe it’s Matey’s son; or it might be Hordubal, Polana Hordubal’s husband, who was in America—
Juraj blinked his eyes. The Jew turned away and busied himself arranging the glasses on the counter; and what about you, Pjosa, why do you keep your eyes down? Am I to speak to you by name ? That’s it, Andrej Pjosa: you get out of the habit of talking, your mouth turns wooden, but—well, even a horse, even a cow wants to hear a human voice. It’s true Polana was always quiet, and eight years don’t make you talk, loneliness doesn’t teach you to talk: I don’t know where to begin myself: she doesn’t ask—I don’t speak, she doesn’t talk—I don’t want to ask. Eh, what, Stepan is a good workman, he even does the talking for her. She sold the fields and bought a pusta in the plain, and there you are.
Hordubal sipped his brandy and nodded his head. This stuff burns, but you get used to it. Stepan—seems to be a good chap, apparently; he understands horses, and he likes Hafia; and as for Polana—a woman gets used to things, and what is to come will come by itself. Eh, Pjosa, and what about your wife—is she strange sometimes? Well, you beat her, but Polana is—like a lady, Andrej. That’s it. She’s sensible, hard-working, and clean—praise be to God. She is strange, certainly; and she carries herself like no other woman in the village. I don’t know how to manage her, Husar. I ought to have rushed into the house like the wind, and danced her round until she was out of breath. That’s how its done, Andrej. But I—you see, I couldn’t do that. She was scared, as if I were a ghost. Even Hafia is frightened somehow. And you, Pjosa. Well, here I am, what am I to do ? If the twig doesn’t break it will bend. Good health, Andrej! Andrej Pojsa called Husar got up, and went towards the door as if he hadn’t noticed anything. At the door he turned, glanced back, and burst out: “Back safe, Juraj!” You are a queer bird, Husar; as if you couldn’t sit down with me—don’t think that I’ve come back like a beggar: I’ve a nice couple of hundred dollars, even Polana doesn’t know of it yet. Well, you see, Pjosa did recognize me; well, look here, that came by itself, the other will come by itself, too. Hordubal felt happier. “Hi, Landlord, bring me another one!”
The door flew open, and a fellow elbowed his way through it, he filled the room at once.—Why, it’s Vasil Geric Vasilov, my best pal; with only a glance he was already at the table, Vasil! Juraj! The embrace of a fellow like that is rough, and smells of tobacco, but it’s good, eh, you Vasil! “Welcome, Juraj!” he cried, looking worried, “and what brings you here ?” “And why not, you camel, did you want me to die there ?” laughed Hordubal. “Well,” said Geric evasively, “it’s not a good time for farmers now. You’re all right, aren’t you ? Praise to God at least for that.” You are queer, Vasil, you only sit on the edge of the chair, and you empty your glass at one gulp. “What’s the news ?” “Well, the old Kekercuk’s dead, a week after Christmas, may he rest in peace; and on Sunday young Horolenko married Michalcuk’s girl; last year the devil brought us foot-and-mouth disease—Ach, Juraj, they’ve made me mayor here, I’m an official, you know, it’s only a nuisance—” The conversation fell to pieces, Vasil Vasilov somehow didn’t know what to say, he rose and gave his hand to Juraj: “Good luck, Juraj; I must go.”
Juraj smiled, and turned his glass round with heavy fingers. Vasil is no more what he used to be, ah, God in Heaven, how he knew how to drink until the windows rattled; but he came to me, and embraced—pal. Good luck, Juraj; why did you behave like that, is it written on my face that my homecoming wasn’t a success ? Ah, it wasn’t, but that will come yet; slowly, slowly, I shall come back; every day, bit by bit, and look, soon I shall be at home. I’ve got money, Vasil; I could even buy land if I wanted, or cows, twelve cows if I like; I shall take them out to graze on the meadows myself, perhaps as far as Volov Chrbat; in the evening I shall return, with twelve bells ringing, and Polana will run swiftly to open the gate, like a young girl—
Silence reigned in the public house, the Jew drowsed behind the bar; yes, loneliness is good for a man; his head keeps on turning, turning, but in that way, my friend, he gets his ideas straightened out. To return step by step, and slowly like the cows; but what if I dash in like a team, charge into the yard, and make the sparks fly—stand up, hold the reins high, and jump down—here I am, Polana, and now I shall not let you go; I shall carry you in my arms into the house, and I shall hold you to me and squeeze the breath out of you. You are soft, Polana. Eight years, for eight years I’ve been thinking of you; and only now shall I go to you. Hordubal bit his teeth together until the muscles bulged out in his cheeks. Hi, wild horses, hi! Let Polana see—her knees will tremble with fright and pleasure, let her see: her man is coming back.
CHAPTER VII
IN the moonlight Hordubal returned, drunk because he was unused to brandy, and unused to such thoughts, for he was going to a woman. Why do you make me feel so cold, moon—aren’t I going so silently and lightly that I don’t even shake the dew from off the grass ? Hi, you dogs, all over the village, it’s Juraj Hordubal going home, after eight years the chap’s come back, feeling his arms curve to hold a woman. Yes, now I have you in my arms, and even that’s not enough, I should like to press you to my mouth, and feel you with my fingers, Polana, Polana! And why
do you make me feel so cold, you ? Yes, I am drunk, because I need courage, because I want to dash headlong home; close my eyes, wave my arms, and jump head first—Here you have me, Polana, here, and here, and here, everywhere, where are your hands, your legs, your mouth; eh, how big you are, how much there is of you, from head to toe, when shall I hold you all.
Hordubal went on through the moonlight night, quivering in every part of his body. You wouldn’t shout, you wouldn’t say a word in the moonlight night, you wouldn’t break into its smooth surface: silence, silence, that light shadow is you, don’t call to me by name, it’s me; I hold you as silently as a tree grows, and I shan’t break into this smooth surface, I shan’t say a word, I shan’t breathe; ah, Polana, you could hear a star fall.
But no, the moon doesn’t shine on us, to us it doesn’t seem so chill, it shines over the dark wood, and with us it’s dark, a darkness that seems alive; you must feel with your hands in the dark, and you find your wife, she sleeps—no, she’s not asleep, you can’t see her, but there she is, she laughs quiedy at you, and makes room for you; what a space for such long limbs, there’s no room for you, you must squeeze yourself into her arms; and she whispers into your ear, you don’t know what it is—the words are cold, but the whisper is warm, and dark, in a moment the darkness has become thicker, so dense and heavy, that you can feel it, and it is the woman, her hair, her shoulders; and she breathes, she draws in her breath between her teeth, she breathes darkly into your face—eh, Polana, Hordubal burst out, ah, you!
Silently Juraj unlatched the little gate leading into the yard, and trembled. Polana was sitting on the doorstep in the moonlight, waiting. “You, Polana,” he murmured, and his spirit fell. “Why aren’t you asleep ?”
Polana shivered with cold. “I’m waiting for you. I wanted to ask you. Last year we sold a pair of horses for seven thousand; so what you—what do you think ?”
“Y-Yes,” said Hordubal, hesitating. “That’s good, well, we’ll talk about it to-morrow—”
“I want to do it now,” said Polana harshly. “That’s why I’ve waited for you. I don’t want to look after cows any longer … drudge in the fields … well, I don’t want to!”
“You won’t,” said Hordubal, glancing at her hands, shining white in the moonlight, “now I’m here to do the work.”
“And what about Stepan?”
Juraj was silent, he sighed. Why talk about it now? “Well,” he murmured, “there’ll not be work enough for two.”
“And what about the horses?” interposed Polana quickly. “Somebody must look after the horses, and you don’t understand them—”
“That’s true,” he said evasively, “but we’ll manage somehow.”
“I want to know!” urged Polana, clenching her fists. Eh, how quick you are! “Just as you like, Polana, just as you like,” Juraj heard himself say. “Stepan can stay, my sweet; … I must tell you, I’ve brought some money with me…. I will do everything for you.”
“Stepan understands horses, you won’t find another like him. He’s worked for me for five years.” Polana rose, strange and pale in the moonlight. “Good night; don’t make a noise; Hafia is asleep.”
“What—what you—where are you going?” exclaimed Hordubal, taken aback.
“Up in the loft. You sleep in the room, you are master here.” In Polana’s face there was something hard, something evil. “Stepan sleeps in the stable.”
Hordubal sat motionless on the doorstep, and looked at the moonlight night. So, so. I don’t want to think, my head has become wooden: and what is it that sticks in my throat so that I can’t swallow it ? You sleep in the room, you are master here. That’s it.
Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, a cow rattled her chain in the stall. You sleep in the room. Eh, stupid head! You turn it, and nothing, nothing—it only throbs. Master, she said. All this is yours, master, these white walls, yard, everything. What a master you are. You have the whole room for yourself. You alone will roll on the bed—well master ? And what if I can’t get up. My head is so heavy—perhaps it’s the brandy, the wood spirit the red-haired Jew gave me, but didn’t I come from the pub as if I were dancing. Yes, that’s it, in the room, Polana wants to honour her master, he shall sleep like a guest. A great weariness came over Hordubal. Well, yes, she wants me to rest, to be comfortable after the journey; yes, I can’t even get up, it’s silly to have legs like jelly. And the moon has already hidden herself behind the roof.
“Eleven o’clock has struck, every creature praise the L-O-R-D.” That’s the night watchman calling—they don’t call like that in America—it’s strange in America. He mustn’t see me here, that would be a shame. Hordubal grew frightened, and silently, like a thief, he stole into the room. He took off his coat, and heard a faint breathing. God be praised, Polana was only joking, she’s asleep here. Ah, what a stupid! And I like a log in the yard! Juraj stole silently, silently, up to the bed and groped with his hands: here some hair, there a small thin arm—Hafia. The child whimpered, and buried her face in the pillow. Yes, it’s Hafia. Juraj sat down silently on the side of the bed. I’ll cover her tiny legs. Oh, God, how can I get into bed ? I shall only wake the child. Perhaps Polana wanted her to get accustomed to her father. That’s it, father and child in the room, and she in the loft.
An idea struck Juraj—and, well, it wouldn’t let him rest. She said: I’m going to sleep in the loft. Perhaps she said it on purpose: you silly, you can come after me, you know where I am: I’m going to sleep in the loft. There’s no Hafia in the loft. Hordubal stood up in the darkness, like a pillar, and his heart beat fast. Polana is proud, she wouldn’t say: here you have me: you must go after her as if she were a girl, you must feel about in the darkness, and she will laugh quietly; ah, Juraj, you silly, for eight years I’ve been thinking of you.
Silently, silently, Juraj crawled up into the loft. Ah, how dark it is, Polana, where are you, I can heart your hear beating. “Polana, Polana,” whispered Hordubal, groping in the darkness. “Go, go away,” came a dithering groan from the darkness. “I don’t want you! Please, please, please.” “I… nothing, Polana,” murmured Hordubal, deeply confused, “I only … to ask you if you are comfortable here—” “Please, go away, go,” came a terrified groan from the darkness.
“I only wanted to tell you,” stammered Hordubal… “My dear, everything shall be just as you want… you can even buy land in the plain …”
“Go, go away,” cried Polana, at her wits’ end—and Juraj never knew how he got down, somehow, as if he were falling headlong into an abyss. But no, he didn’t fall, he sat on the bottom step, and felt as if he were falling into an abyss. So far, Jesus Christ, to fall so far! And who’s wheezing here? It’s me, it’s me. I’m not grunting, I’m only trying to get my breath, and it’s not my fault if I groan, again and again! Well, grunt; you are at home now, you are master here.
Hordubal halted, he sat on the step, and peered into the darkness. You sleep in the room, she said, you are master here. So that’s what’s wrong with you, Polana: You’ve been your own mistress for eight years, and now you’re angry because you’ll have a master over you. Eh, my sweet! look what a master! He sits on the step, and whimpers. You’d like to wipe his nose with your apron. Hordubal felt his face move. He touched it. My God, it’s a smile! Hordubal smiled into the darkness: What a master, farm worker! Mistress, a farm worker has come to look after your cows, and you, Polana, shall be like a lady. Well, you see, everything can be set right; horses and cows, Stepan and Juraj. I shall breed cattle for you, Polana, a pleasure to look at—and sheep; you shall have everything, you shall be mistress over everything.
So now, it was already easier to breathe, and he didn’t groan any more, be began to breathe deeply, like a pair of bellows. What do you think, ma’rm, a farm worker doesn’t sleep in the room; he should go and sleep with the cows, that’s his place. At any rate, it’s not so lonely, you can hear something breathing; perhaps he says something aloud, and then gets frightened, b
ut you can talk to a cow: she turns her head, and listens. You sleep well in a cowshed.
Silently, quiedy, Juraj stole into the cowshed; the warm smell of cattle greeted his nostrils, a chain jingled against the stanchion. Heta, you cows, heta, it’s me; thank God, there’s straw enough for a man.
“Midnight has struck, every creature praise the L-O-R-D, and Jesus Christ His Son.” No, it’s not like this in America. “Take care that light and fire do no harm to anyone—”
Tu-tu-tu went the night watchman’s horn, as if a cow had lowed.
CHAPTER VIII
STEPAN was hitching the horses to the wagon. “Good morning, mister,” he called, “don’t you want to have a look round the meadows ?”
Juraj frowned slightly: Am I a bailiff to drive about in a carriage and look round the fields ? Eh, well, there’s nothing to do, there’s nowhere to take a scythe to the corn, why shouldn’t I have a look at Polana’s farming?
Stepan wore wide linen trousers and a blue apron—it was clear that he was from the plain, and he was as dark as a gipsy. “C-c,” he clicked to the horses, and with a rattle and clatter off they flew. Juraj had to hold fast to the wagon, but Stepan stood erect, his tiny hat perched at the back of his head, the reins held high, and he played with the whip over the horses’ backs. Well, well, slowly, there’s no hurry.
“But, my lad,” said Juraj, somewhat discontented, “why are you pulling at the horses’ mouths ? You see how they chafe, it hurts them.”
Stepan turned and showed his teeth. “It has to be like that,” he said, “so that they carry their heads high.”
“And what for?” objected Hordubal. “Let them carry their heads as they grew.”
“It pays very well, mister,” Stepan explained. “Every buyer looks whether a horse carries his head high. Look, look now they’re going very well: on their hind legs, with their front ones they only just scratch the ground. C-c.”