“Then leave!” he said. “Who’s holding you? ‘
“Joseph!” Lida cried out. “And what’ll become of us? You were not in the country when the Nazis were here. I was. Never again! I tell you, never again!”
“For Christ’s sake, drop it!” Joseph raised his hands.
Dolezhal took a small sip and closed his eyes philosophically. “You’re so right, Mrs. Benda. A pest air is sweeping in on this country, and it’s affecting all of us. Your husband will feel better once he’s outside.”
“So I’ll feel better outside,” said Joseph. “And when and how are we going to get back in?”
“I can’t give you a timetable!” Dolezhal’s tone, though still level, showed his annoyance. “It never was just a question of a small country and its insignificant parties and their moves and countermoves. But now it has definitely become a European question, a world question. We’ll come back when the whole question is being settled.”
“You mean war?”
“Do you think the men who took over from us will vacate their seats as lightly as we did? They’ll have to be blasted out of them!”
Lida shook Joseph’s shoulder. “I’ve always told you: Don’t make concessions, don’t let them have anything. They’ll keep it. They’ll never give it up—”
“They will, they will!” said Dolezhal. “But I’d like all three of us to be alive and well when that time comes.”
“War...” Joseph stared at the naked flesh of his feet. He saw the thin veins and the blood coursing in them, and he hid his feet under the chair. “What do you know of war? You sat in an office in London, and when the bombs came you went down into a shelter so deep that even the biggest couldn’t reach it. But I saw the dead that were brought back to my base, and the ones that couldn’t be brought back. I saw—”
“You want your Works back, don’t you? You want to live, don’t you?”
“I saw my planes go out. I was a coward, too, you know? I even had the nerve to pray to my God and thank Him that I could stay on the ground.”
“But you can fly a plane?”
Joseph looked up, uncomprehendingly. “Yes, naturally.”
Dolezhal’s hand cut through the air. “The borders have been closed. On Friday noon, the regular passenger plane from Prague to Bratislava will have as co-pilot the son of a friend of mine who wants to get out, too. Nice boy, the co-pilot, but I understand he’s new in the business and not so good at taking off and landing. I don’t know how co-operative the captain of the plane will be, and as I said, I’d like all three of us to be alive for the day when we come back.”
All three of us, thought Joseph. What touching concern for Lida and me!
“Can you be ready?” said Dolezhal.
Lida laughed softly. “I’ve been packed for weeks. All we’ve got left in the world, all that’s worth anything.”
Dolezhal smiled at her. “Madame, the more I know you, the higher you rise in my estimation. You see how it is—taking this plane will eliminate asking for passports and arousing the attention of my former colleague, the Minister of the Interior. I know him well, he gets suspicious easily. But we’re just taking a routine trip to Bratislava and say we’ll go on from there to the Tatra Mountains. We’ve all had a strenuous time, we all can do with a little rest cure....” His face was content and smooth, his mustache twitched, and he added, “You’ll like Mrs. Dolezhal, madame. And I’m sure Margot will like you.”
Joseph poured another drink and downed it. He got up and walked over to his guest and laid his big hands on Dolezhal’s wrists before the ex-Minister could again let loose with one of his eloquent jabs.
“Now you listen, Dolezhal. You may be in a spot that makes you want to get out quickly. I, however, have a wife and a child—”
“But we’re coming along!” Lida protested.
“A wife and a child and a home, and I’m not going to risk them, not for you, not for anybody, not in any crazy adventure that has as much chance as all your big plans. You understand that, don’t you? Lida, if you’ll bring Mr. Dolezhal’s hat and coat...”
Not a muscle moved on Dolezhal’s placid face. He waited until Joseph let go of his wrists. Rubbing them a little, he said, “I understand. I’ve never had many illusions about you. But you do not understand. Perhaps it is my fault. I drove for three and a half hours and became pretty tired and so omitted to give you some information which might matter to you. I have it on the best authority that General Duchinsky was ordered to report to the Minister of National Defense tomorrow—no, today, it’s already Thursday—at four in the afternoon. You know Duchinsky better than I do. Do you give him more than twenty-four hours until he opens up and begins to blab like an old woman?”
“What’s this about Duchinsky?” Lida asked hastily. “You never tell me anything, Joseph! Why is your face so white? Mr. Dolezhal, what has he bungled now?...”
Joseph sat down. His hands dangled between his knees. “Why did you want to ruin me?” he said helplessly. “What did I ever do to you? Why did you get me into this?”
“I’ll be getting you out of it, too, won’t I?” said Dolezhal.
Even a few days’ emptiness can deprive a house of the quality of being lived in; the closed windows have made the air stale, the chairs stand futile, the pillows on the couch have gathered dust.
Thomas set down his suitcase and Kitty’s in the hall and went to his study. Kitty had been in it—the papers on his work table had been sorted and piled, the pencils were sharpened, his reference books placed in order. A dead orderliness, a love grown fallow...He walked to the mirror and scrutinized his face. A sallow-complexioned man was staring at him, with dreary eyes and pouting lips and a nose grown too large for his chin. A bankrupt man thrown on charity, financial, intellectual, moral.
Those pills of Karel’s had been a boon. He had slept almost throughout the whole ride to Rodnik, his head on Kitty’s lap. Not that he had put it there; they apparently considered him ill, and that’s how they treated him.
It was nice to be ill, though. People took care of you, and it was legitimate that they should. In a sense, he had always been taken care of, ill or not, and what was happening now was that he sank deeper and deeper into the mattress. If you stayed in bed long enough, you couldn’t get up any more. The muscles of your legs grew weak and became useless, bedsores appeared, you were given massages and rubbed down with alcohol and baby oil, you slept away more and more of your time until, in the end, sleep overtook you completely.
Kitty came to the door. She had changed into a house dress and carried a tray with tea and toast.
He said, “Come in, come in....”
“Why don’t you lie down?” she asked.
He did.
The couch was soft with age, giving. Kitty fluffed up a couple of pillows and, raising his head, gently shoved them underneath it. Then she sat down at the edge of the couch, balancing the tray on her knees, and held out cup and saucer to him.
He drank some tea and nibbled at the toast and closed his eyes. He heard the jingle of the dishes as she set the tray on the table. He felt her again taking her place on the couch. She must be leaning over him; he could sense the warmth of her body; her finger tips were stroking softly along his forehead, relaxingly. For a while, she continued in a systematic, efficient way; she probably had perfected this touch long ago, as a nurse. When she thought him asleep, she eased herself away from his side and returned to spread a blanket over him. Then she opened the window.
He threw off the blanket and sat up. He laughed as she turned in surprise. “I just wanted to see how long you’d carry this on, Kitty. Or should I have waited a week or a month to give your sense of duty a chance to exhaust itself?”
“Sense of duty!” she exclaimed. She had known how difficult the job ahead of her would be, and now it was beginning. “Can’t we postpone this, Thomas, until you’re well?”
“Or perhaps you are one of those people who take pleasure in flagellating themselves. That
’s really barbarous and medieval. Look at yourself, Kitty—a husky, Czech country wench, still in her best years, still able to foal half a dozen times—not children from me, I wouldn’t dare put another Benda into the world, we’re rotten and decadent—we’ve played our hand, we bluffed our way through, but when it came to putting the cards on the table, we couldn’t take a trick. So why the pity? You should get out and run while you still can....”
Involuntarily, Kitty stepped back. He wasn’t play-acting. He was a man with his insides bared, like a surrealist painting. She wanted to cover up the open wound crawling with self-destruction, as she had covered him with the blanket.
“It is hard to explain,” she said; “but don’t you feel that we still belong together?”
“Belong together?” he asked, looking straight at her. “From the day I met you, from the day I came fleeing to you, did we ever belong together? I’ve been using you, Kitty, as I’m using the walls of this house to keep out the cold and the wind and threats and upsets. You know it, and it’s spoiled your life. For years, I felt this kind of thing was only just and proper. I was entitled to it, I felt, as I was entitled to my dividend payments from the Benda Works. I was entitled to it—as an artist, as a spokesman, as a man. And now all this has broken down. My art is no good any more, I’m ridiculous as a spokesman, and a failure as a man.”
She started to say something, but he waved her off.
“Don’t you think I’d like your services? Don’t you know I love to be taken care of and nursed? But I’m broke, flat broke, I can’t pay you, and in this new society that was ushered in yesterday, you’ve got to give for what you receive. So kindly let me stand on my own two feet and let me go, wherever I have to go, by myself.”
In a way, he was right. But she could not admit it. He was giving her her freedom, and she could not accept it.
“I don’t trade love,” she said sadly. “That wasn’t our life as I understood it. I’m not asking you for anything....”
“Just the little bit of pride I’ve got left in me. You want to catch me when I fall—and each time you do, I’ll have to say Thank You. You want to scratch me when I itch—and each time you do, I’ll slide deeper into my debt.”
And why not? he suddenly thought. He wasn’t asking her to offer herself, she was doing it on her own, entirely on her own. In a few days, she’d be able to reweave for herself the net of her illusions and be quite happy—the kind of happiness she hankered after. And he would be able to go on living as he always had, warm and comfortably wrapped up in her love and care.
“Damn you, Kitty—you do not love me! I slept with Elinor, I swear I did. And I would have slept with Vlasta if she had let me! And I would have to pick up the nearest whore just to show myself that I’m me, Thomas Benda, still good for something. How can you love me? Don’t pretend. In God’s name, don’t pretend now—do you love me?”
He glared at her viciously, his arms stretched out, his thin wrists protruding from his cuffs, as if he were holding out to her the wretched bowl filled with the bitter mess of his defeats.
She was silent.
“Ah!” he said, “I knew it! Whom do you love? Karel? He’s a Benda, but he’s the best of us. Something good may yet come out of him—”
“I do love you.”
“You don’t say it right. I have a fine ear for nuances. Go to Karel. Tell him I sent you. Tell him you’re free.”
“You’re just worried I’ll leave you as everyone else has,” she said kindly. “I won’t, though. Lie down, now. We’ve talked much too much, and little sense.” She came to the couch to cover him again.
He stood up. He felt shaky, but wonderfully light in his head and his heart.
“All right,” he said, “have it your way. You’ll stay. I make this your house. All that’s in it is yours.”
He went to the door.
The finality of everything closed in on her. She had read books and seen movies and plays where people came to such partings. She had often wondered what it really felt like. It felt numbing, like the sheet of lead they laid on you before X-raying.
“Where are you going?” she called.
“My suitcase is still packed,” he answered from outside the study. “There are a few more things I want to put in it.”
She hurried after him. “You have no place where you can go, Thomas, I’ll go.”
He put his arm around her and let his lips brush her forehead and eyes. Then he went to the phone and gave the operator Karel’s number.
“Karel?—I’ve just told Kitty to leave my house. Will you stay home until she gets there?...Yes?...Thank you.”
He hung up and heard her behind him, weeping softly.
“Don’t sniffle!” he said irritably. “All your life you’ve been romantic. Grow up!”
Joseph drove to the garage and surrendered his entire supply of ration coupons. He was fortunate. As Deputy he had been getting a generous gasoline ration, and he had been able to save some of it for an emergency. He had the tank filled to the brim.
“You’ve still got some coming,” said the attendant, comparing the figure on the pump with the number of tickets in his hand.
“I thought so,” Joseph said. “Glad there are some honest people left in this country.” He climbed out of his car and unlocked the baggage compartment. Dragging out two empty spare cans, he asked, “Have you got enough for these, too?”
The attendant wiped his hands on his overalls. “Sure!” He led the nozzle of his hose to the opening of the first can, pressed the release, and over the splashing said, “Where are you going, Mr. Benda?”
“Tatra Mountains! There’s a small place I know near Pistany, just a few houses, and a lot of peace. Maybe I’ll stay there for a while. My nerves are shot to pieces. I even had to see my brother, the doctor, about it.”
The man had filled the cans and put on the lids. “That’s too bad. But after what happened....” He screwed the lids tight.
Joseph joked, “I’ve always wanted a good long vacation and never could afford to take it. Now I can. Now I’ve got time.”
The attendant laughed. “You’re lucky then, I guess. They say we’re going to get vacations, too, four weeks every year, every workingman. But I’d like to see it first.”
“Maybe you’ll get them,” grinned Joseph. “It’s a worker’s government now, and maybe it’ll end up with everybody having twelve months’ vacation per year. You never can tell!” He helped the man to reload the cans into the rear of his car and carefully locked the compartment.
“Taking the family along?” the attendant asked.
“Naturally! I’m a family man—or didn’t you know?” Joseph peeled off a few bills, pressed them into the attendant’s hand and closed the fellow’s fingers over them.
“Well!” said the attendant, feeling the size of the bills. “Then I hope you have a fine trip and get better soon. Nothing but health counts!”
“Nothing but health!” said Joseph and backed out of the garage. He drove with a straight face, but his lips were compressed grimly. Nosy person. Everybody spying on everybody else. But the talk had been just what he wanted. There were a few more things in this line he had to do: Put through a long-distance call to the Cedok Travel Service in Prague and reserve seats on tomorrow noon’s plane to Bratislava and inquire about train connections further on; ask the travel bureau about the best hotels in the Tatras and pick one of them, the one that sounded nicest; wire the hotel for reservations and leave its name as a forwarding address with the Rodnik post office. Perhaps he should even go to the plant and leave the address with Kravat, just in case mail still came to the Benda Works—no, better not; the less Kravat knew, the less he would think; Kravat’s thoughts were liable to run in undesirable directions.
Joseph had driven almost back to his house when he stopped the car. For a minute or so he sat behind the wheel, fondling the knob of his gear shift, his hat shoved off his forehead. There was still another matter to be taken care of. It h
ad been in the lower reaches of his mind throughout the sleepless small hours of the morning. He had not talked to Lida about it because his thoughts had been too hazy; but now they were resolving themselves and he knew that he would have to take a stab at the matter—more, that if he didn’t succeed, the whole venture into which Dolezhal had forced him would end abysmally even if he should get across the borders without mishap.
He turned the car around, toward the valley and over the bridge spanning the Suska River. To the left rose the smokestack of the Benda Works; but he steered right and took the ascent to St. Nepomuk. The curving road flowed away easily under him; the Usti Kreisleiter’s old car was still in excellent condition, and it was a shame to have to leave it, forever, at the Prague airport. Well—better a car than your liberty.
He waited a long time at Thomas’s door, pressing his gloved finger on the bell. When, despondently, he had half made up his mind to give up, he heard steps, and the door was opened for him.
“You, Thomas?” he said. “Are you alone? Kitty gone out?”
“Get inside! It’s cold!” Thomas, shuddering, buttoned his old fleece jacket. He drew Joseph into the house and took him to the stove in the living room. He had a fire going. In front of the stove lay the burnt matches and strips of paper and wood shavings that showed the trouble he had had in making it work. His hands were dirty, a smudge ran along his cheek, and on a small table stood a bottle and a half-filled glass.
“Settle down for a good long stay!” Thomas invited. “I understand you were relieved of Lida’s property, too. So you’ve got nothing serious to do, and I can use visitors. Kitty’s gone. Don’t stare at me! She’s gone for good. I kept the house because she said I had no place to go to, and I haven’t, that’s the truth. Drink?”
He rummaged around for a glass, found it, wiped it out with his thumb, and filled it with the yellowish Slivovice.
It took Joseph some time to adjust himself to the new facts. Then he saw that the long overdue break had played into his hands. It would be much simpler, now. There were no more ties to hold Thomas to Rodnik, to the country. He would pick Thomas up, as you pick up a waif, and carry him along. He even could talk openly about it with him; they were back where they had started—the young brother who would give expression to the thoughts and efforts of the older, the team which had produced the Liberator Appeals. Even better: With Thomas along, the flight abroad ceased being an escape to avoid prosecution for something which had been no crime when it was done; flight became meaningful, a new beginning, the first step to triumphant return.
Stefan Heym Page 54
