by Karel Čapek
“That’s strange,” Dr. Hubka declared.
“I ask you, gentlemen,” said Bondy, “what is there strange about having twelve boilers? For a huge group of factories like this . . .”
“Of course, of course,” came from several quarters.
Dr. Hubka smiled ironically.
“And why the fifteen kilometres of railway line?”
“For the transport of coal and raw materials. We are reckoning on a daily consumption of eight truckloads of coal until we have things properly under way. I don’t know what Dr. Hubka’s objection to our getting coal in can be.”
“I’ll give you my objection,” cried Dr. Hubka, leaping up. “It’s that the whole business looks highly suspicious. Yes, gentlemen, extremely suspicious. Mr. Bondy has forced us to erect a factory for Karburators. The Karburator, he assured us, is the only power-supply of the future. The Karburator, as he expressly stated, can develop a thousand horse-power from a single bucket of coal. And now he is talking about twelve boiler furnaces and whole truckloads of coal for them. Gentlemen, I ask you, why then shouldn’t a single bucket of coal give sufficient power for our whole factory? Why are we erecting boiler furnaces when we’ve got atomic motors? Gentlemen, if the Karburator is not an utter swindle, I don’t see why our Chairman did not arrange for our own new factory to be equipped to be run by Karburator power. I don’t see it, and no one else will see it. Why hasn’t our Chairman sufficient confidence in these Karburators of his to install them in our establishment? Gentlemen, it’s shockingly bad advertisement for our Karburators if their manufacturer himself will not or cannot use them. I beg you, gentlemen, to ask Mr. Bondy to give us his reasons. For my part, I have formed my own opinion. That is all I have to say, gentlemen.”
Thereupon Dr. Hubka sat down resolutely, and victoriously blew his nose.
The members of the Board of Directors remained silent and dejected. Dr. Hubka’s indictment was all too clear. Bondy did not raise his eyes from his papers; not a muscle of his face moved.
“M—m no,” growled old Rosenthal, anxious for peace. “Our Chairman will explain. Yes, yes, it can all be explained, gentlemen, I think, m—m—er, yes—very satisfactorily. Dr. Hubka is surely mm—hm—hm—yes, yes—with regard to what he has told us.”
The Chairman at last raised his eyes. “Gentlemen,” he said quietly, “I have read you the expert report of our engineers on the Karburator. The facts are precisely as there stated. The Karburator is no swindle. We have already built ten of them for testing purposes. They all work perfectly. Here are the proofs. Karburator No. 1 drives the suction pump on the Sazava River, and has been running without attention for fourteen days. No. 2, the dredge on the Upper Vltava, is working splendidly. No. 3 is in the testing laboratory of the Brno Technical Institute. No. 4 was damaged in transport. No. 5 is supplying the city of Hradec Králové with light. That is the ten-kilo pattern. The five-kilo pattern, No. 6, is running a mill at Slany. No. 7 has been installed to provide central heating for a block of buildings in the New Town. Mr. Machat, the proprietor of that block, is with us to-day. Would you mind, Mr. Machat?”
The elderly gentleman of that name awoke as from a dream. “I beg your pardon?”
“We were asking how your new central-heating system is working.”
“What? What heating do you mean?”
“In your new block of buildings,” said Bondy gently.
“What block of buildings?”
“In your new houses.”
“In my houses? I haven’t any houses.”
“Come, come, come!” Mr. Rosenthal exclaimed. “You put them up only last year.”
“I did?” said Machat in tones of surprise. “Oh, yes, you’re right, so I did. But, you see, I have given those houses away, now. I gave them all away.”
Bondy looked at him very attentively. “And to whom did you give them, Mr. Machat?”
Machat flushed slightly. “Well, to poor people. I’ve let poor families occupy them. You see, I . . . I came to the conclusion that . . . well, in short, poor people have got them now, I mean.”
Mr. Bondy kept his eyes on Machat like an examining magistrate. “Why, Mr. Machat?”
“I . . . I couldn’t help it,” Machat stammered. “It took me like that. Our lives should be holy, I mean.”
The Chairman drummed nervously on the table. “And what about your family?”
Machat began to smile beatifically. “Oh, we’re all of the same mind in that matter. Those poor people are such saints. Some of them are ill. My daughter is looking after them, you know. We’ve all changed so tremendously.”
G. H. Bondy dropped his eyes. Machat’s daughter Ellen, the fair-haired Ellen, with her seventy millions, tending the sick! Ellen, who was ready to be, who ought to be, who had half consented to be, Mrs. Bondy! Bondy bit his lip; things had turned out nicely!
“Mr. Machat,” he began, in subdued tones, “I only wanted to know how the new Karburator was doing the heating on your premises.”
“Oh, splendidly! It’s so beautifully warm in every one of the houses! Just as though they were being warmed with eternal love! Do you know,” said Machat rapturously, wiping his eyes, “whoever enters there becomes at one stroke a changed man. It is like Paradise there. We are all living as if we were in Heaven. Oh, come and join us!”
“You see, gentlemen,” said Bondy, controlling himself with an effort, “that the Karburators work exactly as I promised you they would. I ask you to waive any further questions.”
“We only want to know,” cried Dr. Hubka pugnaciously, “why, in that case, you don’t arrange for our new works to be run by Karburator power? Why should we use expensive coal for heating when we’re supplying atomic energy to other people? Is Mr. Bondy disposed to let us have his reasons?”
“By no means,” Bondy declared. “Our heating will be done with coal. For reasons known to myself, the Karburator system will not suit our purposes. Let that suffice, gentlemen. I regard the whole affair as a question of confidence in me.”
Machat made himself heard. “If you only knew how wonderful it feels to be in a state of holiness! Gentlemen, take my sincere advice. Give away all that you possess! Become poor and holy! Deliver yourselves from Mammon, and glorify the one God!”
“Come, come,” Mr. Rosenthal tried to calm him down. “We know you for a kind and upright man, Mr. Machat—yes, yes, extremely so. And I have every confidence in you, Mr. Bondy, you know. I tell you what, send me one of those Karburators for my own heating apparatus! I’ll give it a trial, gentlemen. What’s the use of all this talking? What about it, Mr. Bondy?”
“We are all brothers in God’s sight!” continued the radiant Machat. “Gentlemen, let us give the factory to the poor! I move that we change the M.E.C. into a religious community of ‘The Humble of Heart.’ Let us be the seed from which the tree of God shall spring. The Kingdom of God on earth!”
“I demand a hearing,” shouted Dr. Hubka.
“Come, now, Mr. Bondy,” pleaded old Rosenthal in mollifying tones. “You see I am on your side! Lend me one of those Karburators, Mr. Bondy!”
“For God Himself is descending upon the earth,” Machat continued in great excitement. “Hearken to His message: Be ye holy and simple; open your hearts to the infinite; let your love be unbounded. Let me tell you, gentlemen——”
“I demand the floor,” yelled Dr. Hubka hoarsely.
“Silence!” shouted Bondy, pale and with gleaming eyes, as he rose with the whole authority of his massive frame. “Gentlemen, if the factory for Karburators does not suit your fancy, I will take it over under my own personal charge. I will compensate you to the last penny for all the expenditure so far incurred. I resign my position, gentlemen. I beg to take my leave.”
Dr. Hubka darted forward. “But, gentlemen, I protest! We all protest! We will not part with the manufacture of Karburators! A spendid line like that, gentlemen! No, thank you, we are not to be hoodwinked into handing over a valuable business. With your pe
rmission, gentlemen——”
Bondy rang the bell. “Friends,” he said gloomily, “we will leave this for the time being. It seems to me that our friend Machat is . . . er . . . slightly indisposed. As far as the Karburator is concerned, gentlemen, I guarantee you a dividend of one hundred and fifty percent. I move that the discussion be now closed.”
Dr. Hubka took the floor. “I move, gentlemen, that every member of the Board of Directors shall receive one Karburator for testing purposes, so to speak.”
Bondy looked at all present. His features twitched. He tried to say something, but he only shrugged his shoulders and hissed between his teeth, “As you please.”
CHAPTER VII
DEVELOPMENTS
“ HOW do we stand in London?”
“M.E.C. shares were quoted at 1470 yesterday. The day before yesterday they were 750.”
“Good!”
“Mr. Marek has been made an honorary member of ten learned societies, and is certain to be awarded the Nobel Prize.”
“Good!”
“There’s a rush of orders from Germany. Over five thousand Karburators wanted.”
“Aha!”
“Nine hundred orders from Japan, too.”
“Look at that now!”
“Czechoslovakia doesn’t show much interest. Three fresh inquiries.”
“Hm. That’s all one might expect. A wretched state of affairs here, you know.”
“The Russian Government wants two hundred immediately.”
“Good! What’s the total?”
“Thirteen thousand orders.”
“Good! How far have we got with the buildings?”
“The division for atomic motor-cars has got the roof on. The section for atomic flying-machines will begin work during the week. We are laying the foundations for the atomic locomotive works. One wing of the department for ships’ engines is already in operation.”
“Wait a minute. You should start calling them automobiles, atomotors and atomotives, you know. How is Krolmus getting along with the atomic cannon?”
“He’s already constructing a model at Pilsen. Our atomic cyclecar is doing its thirty thousandth kilometre on the Brussels racing-track. It has done two hundred and seventy kilometres an hour. We have had seventeen thousand orders for our half-kilo atomotors in the last two days.”
“A minute ago you told me that the total was thirteen thousand.”
“Thirteen thousand stationary atomic boilers. Eight thousand of the central-heating apparatus. Nearly ten thousand atomobiles. Sixty hundred and twenty atoplanes. Our A.7 has flown from Prague to Melbourne, Australia, without a stop; all on board safe and sound. Here is the telegram.”
Bondy drew himself up. “Why, my young friend, that’s splendid!”
“The agricultural machinery department has five thousand orders in. In the section for small power-engines, twenty-two thousand. One hundred and fifty atomic pumps. Three atomic presses. Twelve atomic blast furnaces. Seventy-five atomic wireless stations. One hundred and ten atomic locomotives, all for Russia. We have established general agencies in forty-eight different capitals. The American Steel Trust, the Berlin General Electric Company, the Italian Fiat, Mannesmann, Creusot, and the Swedish steel-works are all making us offers of amalgamation. Krupp’s are paying any price for our shares.”
“What about the new issue?”
“Thirty-five times over-subscribed. The financial papers predict a super-dividend of two hundred percent. The other papers are talking of nothing but this business; politics, sport, technology, science, everything’s Karburator. We’ve had seven tons of newspaper cuttings from our agent in Germany, four hundredweight from France, and a truckload from England. The scientific and technical literature dealing with atomotors, to be published this year, is estimated at sixty tons. The Anglo-Japanese war has been broken off owing to the lack of public interest. In England alone there are nine hundred thousand coal-miners out of work. There has been a rising in the Belgian coalfields; about four thousand killed. More than half the mines in the world have ceased working. The surplus petroleum in Pennsylvania has set the oil-fields ablaze. The fire’s still raging.”
“The fire’s still raging,” repeated Bondy, as though in a dream. “The fire’s still raging. My God, then, we have won!”
“The Chairman of the Mining and Smelting Company has shot himself. The Stock Exchange has simply gone mad. We stand at 8,000 to-day in Berlin. The Cabinet is in permanent sitting, and want to proclaim a state of siege. This isn’t an invention, Chief, it’s a revolution!”
The Chairman and the General Manager of the M.E.C. looked at each other in silence. Neither of them was a poet, but in that moment their very souls were singing.
The manager drew his chair closer and said in a low voice, “Chief, Rosenthal has gone crazy.”
“Rosenthal!” exclaimed G. H. Bondy.
The manager nodded mournfully. “He has become an orthodox Jew, and he’s gone in for Talmudic mysticism and Cabalism. He has given ten millions to the cause of Zionism. Not long ago he had a terrible quarrel with Dr. Hubka. You’ve surely heard that Hubka has joined the Bohemian Brethren.”
“What, has Hubka got it too?”
“Yes, I think the Board of Directors must have caught it from Machat. You were not present at the last meeting, Chief. It was terrible; they talked religion until morning. Hubka moved that we hand over our establishments to the workers. Luckily, they forgot to take a vote on it. They were like men possessed.”
Bondy gnawed at his fingers. “What on earth am I to do with them?”
“Hm, nothing whatever. It’s a nervous disease of the age. Something of the sort crops up now and again in the papers, too, but they’re so full of the Karburators that they haven’t space for anything else. There’s an appalling number of cases of religious mania. It’s a physicial epidemic or something. The other day I saw Dr. Hubka preaching to a crowd of people in front of the Industrial Bank about seeking the inward light and making straight the path for God. Fearfully incoherent stuff. He wound up by performing miracles. Forst is at it too. Rosenthal is nothing short of insane. Miller, Homola and Kolator came out with a proposal for voluntary poverty. We can’t possibly have another board-meeting. It’s a regular madhouse, Chief. You’ll have to take the whole idiotic business in hand.”
“But, man, this is simply awful,” groaned G. H. Bondy.
“It is indeed. Did you hear about the Sugar Bank? All the officials there were seized with it at one fell swoop. They opened the safes and gave away the money to anyone who came. They finished by burning bundles of banknotes on a bonfire in the main hall. Religious Bolshevism, I should call it.”
“In the Sugar Bank? . . . Hasn’t the Sugar Bank one of our Karburators?”
“Yes. For central heating. The Sugar Bank was the first to install one. Now the police have closed the Bank. Even the confidential clerks and the directors were affected.”
“Send word round that the sale of Karburators to banks is forbidden.”
“But why?”
“I forbid it, and that’s enough! Let them do their heating with coal!”
“It’s a bit too late. All the banks are already putting in our heating system. It’s being installed in the Houses of Parliament and in all the Government departments. The central Karburator at Stvanice, which is to light the whole of Prague, is finished. It is a fifty-kilo monster, a magnificent machine. It is to be ceremoniously set in motion at six o’clock the day after to-morrow, in the presence of the President, the Burgomaster, the City Council, and the representatives of the M. E. C. You must be present. You of all people!”
“God forbid!” Mr. Bondy shouted, horror-stricken. “No, no, Heaven defend me from that! I will not go!”
“But, Chief, you must. We can’t send Rosenthal or Hubka there. Why, they’re raving mad. They would make dreadful speeches. It’s the honour of the firm that’s at stake. The Burgomaster of Prague has prepared a speech in our honour. The representa
tives of foreign Governments and the foreign Press will be there. It’s to be a great occasion. As soon as the street lamps light up, military bands are going to play salutes and fanfares in the streets, the Male Voice Choirs and the other Choral Societies will sing, there’ll be fireworks and a salute of a hundred and one guns, the Castle will be illuminated, and I don’t know what. Chief, you simply must be there.”
G. H. Bondy arose in great torment of spirit. “God! oh God!” he whispered, “if it be possible, remove this cup. . . .”
“Will you be there?” repeated the manager inexorably.
“God! oh God! why hast Thou forsaken me?”
CHAPTER VIII
THE DREDGE
THE dredge M. E. 28 stood motionless in the evening twilight above Stechovice. The Paternoster shovel had long since ceased heaving up the cold sand from the bed of the Vltava River. The evening was mild and calm, fragrant with new-mown hay and the breath of the woodlands. A tender orange glow still lingered in the north-west. Here and there a wave glittered with unearthly splendour amid the reflections of the sky—gleamed, murmured and blent itself with the shining surface of the stream. A skiff was coming towards the dredge from Stechovice. It made slow progress against the rapid current, and stood out upon the glowing river like a black water-beetle.
“Someone is coming over to see us,” Kuzenda, the skipper, said quietly, from his seat in the rear of the dredge.
“Two of ’em,” said Brych, the stoker, after a pause.
“Yes, and I know who it is, too,” said Kuzenda.
“The sweethearts from Stechovice,” said Brych.
“I’d better make them some coffee,” Kuzenda decided, and went below.
“Now then, youngsters,” Brych shouted to the boat. “To the left! Left! Give us your hand, lass. There we are. Up she comes!”
“Me and Joe,” the girl announced on reaching the deck, “we—we’d like to——”
“Good evening,” said the young workman who climbed up after her. “Where is Mr. Kuzenda?”
“Mr. Kuzenda is making coffee,” said the stoker. “Take a seat. Look, there’s someone else coming across. Is that you, baker?”