by Karel Čapek
‘And what tonnage was your ship?’
‘Twelve thousand tons, young man.’
‘So you were quite a big captain, what?’
‘Sure. A big captain,’ the captain said with dignity. ‘Got any money, boys?’
The two gentlemen looked at each other a little uncertainly. ‘Yes, but not a lot. You in need of money, captain?’
‘Yes. I could do with some.’
‘Well then. You tell us a nice lot and we’ll write it up for the paper and then you’ll get some money for it.’
‘How much?’
‘Could be as much as … a thousand or so,’ Mr Golombek said generously.
‘Pounds sterling?’
‘No, only Czech Crowns.’
Captain van Toch shook his head. ‘That’s no use. That much I’ve got myself, young man.’ He fished out a fat bundle of bank-notes from his trouser pocket. ‘See?’ Then he planted his elbows on the table and leaned across to the two gentlemen. ‘Gentlemen, I could let you in on a big Geschäft. How d’you say that?’
‘A big deal.’
‘Sure. A big deal. But for that you’d have to give me fifteen … wait a minute, fifteen, sixteen million Crowns. How about it?’
Again the two gentlemen looked at each other uncertainly. Every journalist has had his experience of the oddest kind of lunatic, con man and inventor.
‘Hold it,’ said the captain. ‘Got something to show you.’ He fished with his fat fingers in his waistcoat pocket, pulled something out and placed it on the table. There were five pale pink pearls the size of cherry stones. ‘Know anything about pearls?’
‘How much are they worth?’ Mr Valenta gasped.
‘Plenty, my boy. But I’m carrying these around with me merely … as samples, you know. Now then, feel like coming in with me?’ he asked, extending his massive hand across the table.
Mr Golombek sighed.’Mr Vantoch, that kind of money - ’
‘Stop,’ the captain interrupted him. ‘I know you don’t know me - but ask about Captain van Toch in Surabaya, in Batavia, in Padang or anywhere you like. Go and ask, and everybody will tell you: sure, Captain van Toch is as good as his word.’
‘Mr Vantoch, we believe you,’ protested Mr Golombek. ‘It’s just—’
‘Wait,’ the captain commanded. ‘I realise you don’t want to throw your good money away just like that - I respect you for that, my boy. But you’d put it in a boat, d’you see? You’d buy that boat, you’d be the owner of that ship and would come along. Sure, so you could watch me running things. And the money we’d make there, that would be fifty-fifty. That’s an honest deal, isn’t it?’
‘But Mr Vantoch,’ Mr Golombek at last groaned, a little unhappily, ‘we just don’t have that sort of money!’
‘Well, that’s different,’ said the captain. ‘Sorry. But in that case I don’t see why you looked me up.’
‘So you could give us a story, captain. You must have had a lot of adventures - ’
‘That I have, my boy. Damned adventures I’ve had.’
‘Ever been shipwrecked?’
‘What’s that? Shipwrecked? Oh no. What do you mean? Give me a good ship and nothing can happen to her. Go and ask around Amsterdam for my references. You go and ask.’
‘What about natives? Meet any natives there?’
Captain van Toch shook his head. ‘That’s not a subject for educated people. I’m not going to talk about that.’
‘Tell us something else then.’
‘Yeah, tell,’ the captain growled mistrustfully. ‘So you can go and sell it to some company which will then send in its own ships. Let me tell you, my lad, people are great crooks. And the greatest crooks are those bankers in Colombo.’
‘Have you often been to Colombo?’
‘Sure. Often. And to Bangkok too, and to Manilla. Boys,’ he said suddenly; ‘there’s a ship I know about. A very handy ship, and cheap at the price. Lying in Rotterdam. Come and look her over with me. Rotterdam, that’s only just round the corner,’ he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Ships are dirt cheap at present, boys. Like old iron. She’s only six years old and runs on diesel. Would you like to look her over?’
‘We can’t, Mr Vantoch.’
‘A queer lot you two are,’ the captain sighed. Then he blew his nose noisily into a sky-blue handkerchief. ‘And you wouldn’t know of anybody who’d like to buy a ship?’
‘Here, in jevíško?’
‘Sure, here or hereabouts. I’d like this big deal to be clinched here, in my own country.’
‘That’s very nice of you, captain - ’
‘Sure. The others are all such big crooks. And they’ve got no money. You, being journalists and such, must surely know the big shots here - you know, bankers and shipowners and, how do you say, ship-makers, right?’
‘Shipbuilders. No, Mr Vantoch, we don’t know such people.’
‘That’s a pity,’ the captain grew gloomy.
Mr Golombek remembered something. ‘You don’t by any chance know Mr Bondy?’
‘Bondy? Bondy?’ Captain van Toch reflected. ‘Wait a minute, I should know that name. There’s a Bond Street in London and only very rich people live there. Has he got some business in Bond Street, that Mr Bondy?’
‘No, he lives in Prague, but I rather think he was born here, in Jevíčko.’
‘Hell, yes,’ the captain exclaimed happily; ‘you’re right, my boy! Had a draper’s shop in the Market Place! Sure, Bondy - now what was his name? Max. Max Bondy. So he’s got a business in Prague now?’
‘No, that must have been his father. This man Bondy is called G. H. Bondy. President G. H. Bondy, captain.’
‘G. H.,’ the captain shook his head. ‘No, there was no G. H. here. Unless, of course, he was Gussie Bondy. But he was no president. Gussie was a pimply little Jew. Can’t be him.’
‘That’ll be him all right, Mr Vantoch. After all, it must be a good many years since you last saw him.’
‘Well, that’s true. A good many years,’ the captain agreed. ‘Forty years, my boy. Gussie could be a big man now. And what is he?’
‘He’s Chairman of the Board of ME AS - you know, a big company making boilers and suchlike - as well as president of some twenty companies and cartels. A very big man, Mr Vantoch. They call him a captain of industry.’
‘A captain?’ mused Captain van Toch. ‘So I’m not the only captain from Jevicko after all! Hell, that boy Gus is a captain too! I really ought to meet him. And has he got money?’
‘What do you think? Piles of it, Mr Vantoch. Sure to have several hundred million. Richest man in the country.’
Captain van Toch turned profoundly serious. ‘And a captain as well. I’m most grateful to you, my boy. I’ll set course for that man Bondy straight away. Such a little Jew he used to be. And now he’s Captain G. H. Bondy. Ah well, time does fly,’ he sighed melancholically.
‘Captain, we’ll have to leave now or we’ll miss the evening train - ’
‘I’ll see you down to the harbour,’ said the captain and began to weigh anchor. ‘Jolly glad you hove to, gentlemen. I know an editor chap in Surabaya, a very sound lad and a good friend of mine. Frightful old soak. I could find you jobs on that Surabaya paper, if you’d like me to, boys. No? Just as you like.’
When the train pulled out Captain van Toch slowly and ceremoniously waved his huge blue handkerchief. As he did so a large irregular pearl dropped into the sand. A pearl nobody ever found.
3
G. H. Bondy and His Fellow Countryman
It is a well-known fact that the greater a man is the less he has on his door-plate. An old chap like Max Bondy in jevíčko had to have large letters painted above his shop, on both sides of the door and on the windows, that this was the place of Max Bondy, merchant of all types of drapery, brides’ trousseaux, canvas, towels, napery and household linen, printed cotton and flannel, top-quality cloth, silk, curtains, pelmets, braids and all kinds of sewing material. Founded 1885. His s
on, G. H. Bondy, a captain of industry, President of MEAS Incorporated, Commercial Counsellor, Stock Exchange Consultant, Vice-Chairman of the Federation of Industries, Consulato de la República Ecuador, member of numerous boards of directors, etc. etc., had on his house only a small black-glass plate with the gilt lettering
BONDY
Nothing more. Just Bondy. Let others write on their doors Julius Bondy, General Motors Representative; or Dr Med. Ervin Bondy; or S. Bondy & Co. - but there was just one Bondy who was simply Bondy without further particulars. (I believe that the Pope, on his front door, has simply the word Pius, without any title or numeral. And God has no shingle at all, on earth or in heaven. It’s up to you to find out that He lives here. But this is all beside the point and mentioned only in passing.)
It was in front of that glass plate that on a scorching day a gentleman in a white sailor’s cap stopped and with a blue handkerchief mopped the massive nape of his neck. A damned superior house, he was thinking to himself, and a little uncertainly tugged the brass bell-pull.
In the door appeared the doorman, Povondra: with his eyes he sized up the fat gentleman from his boots all the way to the gold braid on his cap and inquired with reserve: ‘Yes?’
‘I say, boy,’ boomed the gentleman; ‘does a Mr Bondy live here?’
‘Your business?’ Mr Povondra asked icily.
‘Tell him that Captain van Toch from Surabaya wishes to speak to him. Oh yes,’ he remembered. ‘Here is my card.’ And he handed Mr Povondra a visiting card which bore an embossed anchor and the printed name:
Mr Povondra inclined his head and hesitated. Should he tell him Mr Bondy was not at home? Or that, most regrettably, Mr Bondy was in an important conference? There are those visitors who had to be announced and others which a competent doorman dealt with himself. Mr Povondra experienced an embarrassing failure of the instinct which normally guided him on such occasions: somehow the fat gentleman did not fit into any of the customary categories of unannounced callers, he did not look either like a commercial traveller or like an official of some charitable organisation. Meanwhile, Captain van Toch was puffing and mopping his bald head with his handkerchief; at the same time he was guilelessly blinking his pale blue eyes. Mr Povondra abruptly decided to assume entire responsibility. ‘Come in please,’ he said. ‘I’ll announce you to the Counsellor.’
Captain van Toch was mopping his face with the blue handkerchief and looking around the hall. Hell, that Gussie had done all right for himself: why, it was just like the saloons on the ships which sailed between Rotterdam and Batavia. Must have cost a packet. And such a pimply little Jew he used to be, the captain thought in wonderment.
Meanwhile, in his study G. H. Bondy was thoughtfully examining the captain’s visiting card. ‘What does he want?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Mr Povondra mumbled respectfully.
Mr Bondy was still fingering the visiting card. An embossed ship’s anchor. Captain van Toch, Surabaya. Where the hell was Surabaya, anyway? Wasn’t it somewhere on Java? Mr Bondy felt a breath of distant parts engulfing him. Kandong Bandoeng - sounds like a gong being struck. Surabaya. And today was just that kind of tropical day. Surabaya. ‘Well, show him in,’ decided Mr. Bondy.
In the doorway stood a massive man with a captain’s cap, saluting. G. H. Bondy walked over to meet him. ‘Very glad to meet you, Captain. Please come in,’ he said in English.
‘Hi! Hi, Mr Bondy,’ the captain cheerfully exclaimed in Czech.
‘You’re Czech?’ Mr Bondy was amazed.
‘Sure. Czech. But we know each other, Mr Bondy. From Jevicko. Vantoch the grocer, remember?
‘Of course, of course,’ G. H. Bondy loudly expressed delight but inwardly felt something approaching disappointment. (So he’s not a Dutchman after all!) ‘Vantoch the grocer in the Market Place, right? Haven’t changed at all, Mr Vantoch. Always the same! And how’s the grocery business going?’
‘Thank you,’ the captain said politely. ‘Dad’s been gone a long time - how do you say it - ?’
‘Dead? Well, what do you know? Of course, you must be his son … Mr Bondy’s eyes suddenly lit up in reminiscence. ‘Good heavens, you must be the Vantoch who used to fight with me in Jevicko when we were boys?’
‘Sure, that’ll have been me, Mr Bondy,’ the captain agreed in all seriousness. ‘That’s why I was sent away from home to Moravská Ostrava.’
‘We used to fight a lot. But you were always stronger than me,’ Mr Bondy sportingly conceded.
‘That I was. Of course, you were such a weak little Jew, Mr Bondy. And you got a lot of kicks up your arse. A lot.’
‘Too right,’ G. H. Bondy reminisced with emotion. ‘Sit down, sit down, fellow countryman! Good of you to remember me. Where have you sprung from?’
Captain van Toch sat down in a dignified manner in a leather armchair and put his cap on the floor. ‘I’m here on leave, Mr Bondy. That’s it. Yes.’
‘Do you remember,’ Mr Bondy delved deeper into his memories, ‘how you used to shout after me: Jew, Jew, the devil take you?’
‘Sure,’ said the captain with feeling and blew into his blue handkerchief. ‘Ah yes. Those were great days, oh boy! It’s no use, time flies. Now we’re both old men and both of us captains - ’
‘Of course, you’re a captain,’ Mr Bondy reminded himself. ‘Who’d have thought it! Captain of Long Distances - is that how you say it?’
‘Yes, sir. A High Sea captain. East India and Pacific Lines, sir.’
‘A splendid profession,’ Mr Bondy sighed. ‘Change places with you any day, captain. You’ll have to tell me about yourself.’
‘That’s just it,’ the captain came to life. ‘I’d like to tell you about something, Mr Bondy. A most interesting matter, old chap.’ Captain van Toch looked around nervously.
‘You looking for something, captain?’
‘Yes. You wouldn’t have any beer, Mr Bondy? I’ve worked up a huge thirst on the way up from Surabaya.’ The captain began scrabbling in his copious trouser pocket and produced the blue handkerchief, a linen bag with something in it, a tobacco pouch, a knife, a compass and a bundle of banknotes. ‘I’d like to send someone for some beer. Maybe that steward who brought me to your cabin.’
Mr Bondy rang a bell. ‘Leave it, captain. Why don’t you take a cigar in the meantime - ?’
The captain took a cigar with a red and gold band and smelled it. ‘This tobacco comes from Lombok. They’re frightful crooks there, believe me.’ Whereupon, to Mr Bondy’s horror, he squashed the precious cigar in his massive fist and crammed the tobacco into his pipe. ‘Yes, Lombok. Or Sumba.’
Meanwhile, Mr Povondra had soundlessly appeared in the door.
‘Bring some beer,’ Mr Bondy ordered.
Mr Povondra raised his eyebrows: ‘Beer? And how much?’
‘A gallon,’ growled the captain and ground a burnt match into the carpet. ‘Boy, was it hot in Aden. But I’ve got some real news for you, Mr Bondy. From the Sunda Islands, see? There you could do a terrific Geschäft. A big deal. But I’d have to tell you the whole - how do you say - tale?’
‘Story.’
‘Sure. And what a story, sir. Wait.’ The captain turned his forget-me-not-blue eyes to the ceiling. ‘Hardly know where to start.’
(Another business deal, G. H. Bondy thought to himself. God, what a bore! He’ll be telling me he could ship sewing machines to Tasmania or steam boilers and pins to Fiji. Terrific deal, I know. That’s all I’m good to you for. To hell, I’m no shopkeeper. I’m a visionary. I’m a poet in my way. Tell me, Sindbad the sailor, about Surabaya or the Phoenix Islands. Have you not been drawn off course by the Magnetic Mountain? Have you never been carried off by the bird Roc? And are you not returning home with a cargo of pearls, cinnamon and bezoar? OK, man, let’s have your lies!)
‘Maybe I’ll start with that scorpion,’ the captain announced.
‘What scorpion?’ Commercial Counsellor Bondy wondered.
; ‘That is, I probably mean lizard. You do say lizards, don’t you?’
‘Lizards?’
‘Hell, yes, lizards. You should see those lizards out there, Mr Bondy.’
‘Where?’
‘On an island. Can’t tell you its name, old boy. That’s a great secret. Worth millions.’ Captain van Toch mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. ‘Damn it, where’s that beer?’
‘Be here in a minute, captain.’
‘Yes. Very well then. Let me tell you, Mr Bondy, they are very nice and good animals, those lizards. I know them, old boy.’ The captain brought his hand down sharply on the table. ‘To say they’re devils is a lie. A damned lie, sir. You’d sooner be a devil and I’d sooner be a devil - yes, I, Captain van Toch, sir. You may believe me.’
G. H. Bondy began to be alarmed. Delirious, he thought. Where the devil was Povondra?
‘There are several thousands of them there, those lizards I mean, but a lot of them have been eaten by - hell, what do you call them?’
‘Sharks?’
‘That’s it, sharks. That’s why those lizards are so rare, sir, and why they are only found in that bay whose name I can’t tell you.’
‘So these lizards live in the sea?’
‘Sure. In the sea. They only come ashore at night, but after a while they’ve got to go back into the water.’
‘And what do they look like?’ (Mr Bondy was playing for time pending that damned Povondra’s return.)
‘Well, about the size of seals, but when they’s strutting on their hindlegs they’re as tall as this,’ the captain demonstrated. ‘Can’t say they’re exactly pretty. But they’ve got no flakes on them.’
‘Scales?’
‘Sure, scales. They’re entirely naked, Mr Bondy, like some kind of frog or those salamanders. And those front paws of theirs, they’re just like children’s hands, except that they have only four fingers. Poor little things,’ the captain added compassionately. ‘But extremely clever and nice animals, Mr Bondy.’ The captain squatted on his heels and in this position began to shuffle along with a swaying motion. ‘That’s how they waddle, those lizards.’