Innocence; or, Murder on Steep Street

by Heda Margolius Kovály

  Hrůza was older than Karel, just the right amount of gray at the temples, suntanned and fit—in short, he looked fabulous, almost too much so. Luckily my one fancy dress still maintained a touch of flair in spite of its age. Good old faithful, I thought. You’re going to need a trip to the cleaners soon if you’re going to last.

  It was packed at Barrandov Terraces, but Hrůza had a table reserved, naturally. An orchestra creaked out the usual assortment of light classical and operetta pieces that serve as accompaniment to good food, producing a gentle hypnotic effect on the feasting crowds. At first it seemed as if all the forks, knives, and jaws were moving in time to the melody. But as we made our way down the aisle between the tables, a head or two rose from their plates, turning to look, and some of the utensils fell out of step.

  I wondered if he noticed—but how could he not, I said to myself, my mood lifting by one ever so slight but noticeable notch.

  I settled into my chair as picturesquely as possible and gazed out over the railing at the river and the candlestick trunks of the black poplars beyond. How many times had I sat in this same spot with Karel—I quickly turned and smiled at the man sitting across from me now, and could tell he knew exactly what was going on with me. I hadn’t even mentioned Karel yet, but all of a sudden I felt like he was sitting there at the table with us, patiently waiting his turn to talk. It took an hour and a half and three glasses of wine before I got up the courage to mention my husband. I expected it to be excruciatingly difficult, requiring the most delicate language in order not to insult Hrůza or make him angry, but as it turned out, I was completely off the mark. Bathed in sweat, I had barely stammered out the first few words when Hrůza himself started asking me questions, and the next thing I knew I had spilled the beans—not only what I wanted from him, but our whole life story, Karel’s and mine, all my worries, hopes, and problems, it was like a dam had burst. At one point I suddenly stopped, wondering how I could sit there telling this absolute stranger my innermost thoughts. I began to stutter and apologize again, but Hrůza just smiled soothingly and reassured me he was interested in everything I had to say, and the way he said it I believed him.

  I went on talking long after it had gotten dark. It was a magical night of opening caves and springs gushing from rocks. Never before in my life had I felt I could trust someone so fully, rely on him so completely. The protective shell I had built up over the past few months had suddenly cracked open and I felt free again. Life began to move forward, gathering speed.

  By ten o’clock, Hrůza knew all there was to know about Karel, every detail I could bring myself to remember. Hrůza himself spoke very little, but what he said sounded solid: no promises or hints of connections on high. “I’ll do what I can,” was all he said, but that was enough for me. I knew he meant it honestly.

  Afterwards, as we wound our way down the serpentine, through the black trees and back toward the city, Hrůza said it was still early, how about a glass of wine, we hadn’t had that much to drink. But no sooner had we sat down at our cozy candlelit table for two and the waiter filled our glasses than he said: “Forget it. Let’s go. I want to kiss you. Right now,” and tossed some cash on the table.

  We found ourselves back outside, under a huge summer moon so bright it outshone the streetlamps, wandering a city surreal as a dream, kissing in deserted streets, in the middle of intersections, on bridges and squares, not a soul around but us, the sole characters in some fantastical black-and-white romance.

  When Hrůza unlocked the door to a beautiful old building in a lane that ran perpendicular to the river, suddenly the night turned cold and I felt a chill run through me. But then a big tabby cat came padding up to me, rubbing its head and warm bushy spine against my ankle with a meow. Sometimes Marie slept with guys and didn’t even know their name. He opened the door to the entryway, but didn’t switch on the light. At least I knew his name. As I stepped over the threshold I said to myself: Vojta, Vojta Hrůza.

  The living room window was wide open, letting in the cold air, and I could see the silvery trees lining the embankment. Vojta turned on the radio, the green eye glowing from the console like a cat’s. It was almost midnight and they were ending the broadcast for the night. As he placed his hand on the back of my neck to unzip my dress, the national anthem began to play.

  Monday morning was the kind of morning that seemed inevitable after such a magical night. Barely had the day begun than I was back in the park on Žofín. Not for long. I couldn’t stand the peace and quiet; the dew-covered grass, the fat, self-satisfied pigeons, and the smell of the river turned my stomach.

  As the sun crept out, an elderly pensioner appeared in a blue cotton-sheen jacket probably inherited from his father. He shuffled up to the bench next to me, spread the morning paper across the damp boards, sat down, folded his hands over the handle of his cane, and peered over the top of his glasses at the blossoming chestnuts, molting sadly onto the lawn. Soon another grandfatherly type appeared at the other end of the path, identical to the first, except without a newspaper. One copy of the broadsheet more than sufficed for their two skinny bottoms. The retiree on the bench cheerfully lifted his cane in greeting.

  I stood up and went back to the streets, to the lonely bustle and din, the restlessness and anxiety: that was the air I knew how to breathe.

  Karel was locked up with common criminals and murderers, and here I was whoring around with a man I’d never even met until the day before yesterday. But what if he really could help Karel? Wouldn’t that make it worth it? After all, was it more important for me to sit around protecting my reputation like a saint, or for Karel to get through his sentence as soon as he could and come home? If I wanted to help him—and God only knew what he must be going through every day—what was I supposed to do? I didn’t have any choice, this was the only way. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, maybe it would even bring me closer to Karel if we both sank into the muck together, each in our own way. Once he came back, we could put it all behind us and forget it ever happened, but at least I’d know I wasn’t too proud to do what I could. Maybe there was once a time when everything was clear and unambiguous and a person could go through life without ever having to step in shit. And if you didn’t like the way the world worked, you could just go off in a corner and sulk. But that was over now. There was nowhere to hide. The world had moved into our flat and brought all the muck and crap along with it, and it didn’t matter what we thought or felt, the only question was whether we knew how to fight back.

  I wasn’t betraying Karel. It would only be a betrayal if he didn’t matter to me anymore, if I stopped caring what happened to him. I had a chance to help him and I couldn’t back out of it now. I just hoped it wasn’t in vain. If Vojta had as much influence as I thought he did and he could make things better for Karel, I wouldn’t regret a single minute of it.

  I barely managed to crawl into work. My head was pounding and I looked like I’d been tortured, which of course didn’t escape the attention of my colleagues, especially Marie. Luckily we were showing a popular comedy, so all of the screenings were crowded and my shift was practically over before I knew it.

  I walked home, dawdling as much as I could, but it was no use. As soon as I unlocked the door to my flat, I could hear the phone ringing.

  Two weeks later, I received a letter from Karel:

  You can’t even imagine, my dearest, my love, how much everything has changed for me in the past few days. Now at last I can confess how utterly dejected and hopeless I’ve been at times, and the only thing that has always managed to shake me out of it is the thought of you and the endless beauty of the times we’ve spent together. When I think of how many times I told you I loved you without being fully aware of what I was saying. Only during these awful months have I come to realize that my entire life is wrapped up in our love. Everything else is extraneous and incidental. As long as you love me, nothing is lost forever. We’ll be together agai
n, my darling. We just have to hold on.

  Now listen: I’ve been getting the papers for four days now, I’ve got permission to borrow books from the local library, and they even promised to get me some scholarly literature and a typewriter so I can continue my work—which is fantastic, although I realize I can hardly produce anything under these conditions. The main thing, however, is that my situation is clearly taking a turn for the better and I can have hope again, so don’t worry, my love! Be well and be patient. I’m counting on you.

  It was the first real letter I had received from Karel. All of the ones before it had read as if they’d been copied from a template: cold and impersonal, not a word about what he was thinking or what was going on with him. They weren’t letters so much as monthly reports that he was still alive. Even the fact that he had been allowed to write such a letter proved that Vojta had had an impact, and a substantial one at that.

  I spent a while carrying on like a madwoman, cheering and crying for joy. I even managed to dig an old bottle of slivovice out of the cupboard with a few drops left at the bottom and downed them in celebration of my first piece of good news, my first happy moment after months of misery, and who knew, maybe the first sign our godawful luck had finally broken.

  As soon as I had recovered a bit, I gave Vojta a call and thanked him in the silkiest voice that I could muster. Of course he denied any credit for it, and I understood. It wasn’t just his natural modesty and refined moral sense. One simply didn’t discuss such matters. He couldn’t explain anything and in fact there was no need. It was clear from my husband’s letter that Vojta was serious in his intention to help, and above all that he was actually capable of doing so. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Nothing in this world was certain. But, on the other hand, anything was possible.

  I agreed to meet Vojta that night after I got out of work. Lately we had been seeing each other pretty often, and even though I still had bouts of deep depression, on the whole our relationship had stabilized surprisingly quickly. Vojta knew I was only going out with him because of Karel; I knew that he knew; and we both knew that the whole thing was only temporary. And yet, something strange happened: From the moment we met, Vojta was so closely connected to Karel for me that he soon started to seem like Karel’s stand-in, like someone Karel himself had sent me to take his place—almost like his double, his other self. And since Vojta didn’t expect me to pretend anything or lie to him, some of the initial tension had faded away and I was beginning to feel more relaxed around him.

  So maybe I had done the right thing after all. Karel’s situation had improved so much, and I—well, at least I wasn’t on my own all the time anymore . . .

  9

  The door knocker clinked three times.

  The woman got up and quickly crossed the bedroom to the entryway. Her body was cold all over and her hands twitched like there was an electric current running through them.

  I’m going to get a shock when I touch the door handle, she thought.

  Two girls stood in the doorway. Renata, sixteen, held the hand of Zdenka, three years her junior. The older girl smiled gently.

  “Karla, this is Zdenka. The one you wanted to meet.”

  “Please, come in,” said the woman.

  The younger girl stepped over the threshold and stood in the entryway.

  “Renata, why don’t you take Zdenka into the living room and I’ll bring you two a treat.”

  The woman went into the kitchen and picked up a tray she had prepared with glasses and open-faced sandwiches. Renata slipped in behind her and closed the door.

  “I told her two hundred. Are we good?” she asked.

  “That’s fine. But where’s little Vera? I thought she was—”

  “She can’t come. Her parents made up and now they’re home every night, so she can’t get out. She isn’t happy about it either. She liked you, and the money came in handy.”

  “What a shame. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

  “Well, only if her mom and dad start fighting again—there’s always a chance. But doesn’t look like it for now.”

  She took the tray out of the woman’s hand and put it back on the table next to a dish of cake and chocolates.

  “Look, Karla, you know I’d walk through fire for you. I don’t do this for money. But it’s not exactly easy rounding up girls and organizing all this. So do you mind if we settle up first? Three hundred for me and two for Zdenka, like we agreed.”

  The woman opened the table drawer, took out a sealed envelope, and handed it to Renata. The girl tore it open and laid the bills on the table, riffling through them like a veteran cashier.

  “Great. Thanks a mil.” The reflection of the money disappeared from her eyes, but she lingered another moment out of conscientiousness. “You can count on me, you know. If one can’t make it, there’s always another.”

  “I really thought little Vera was . . .”

  Renata stuck the envelope in her jeans’ back pocket and smiled. The pink cheeks on her round, chubby face grew even rounder.

  “Look, Zdenka might be even better. And it doesn’t look like her folks’ll be making up anytime soon. She’s free whenever—we just have to call. This could be a lasting relationship. You always said that’s what you wanted, right? Course you got one with me, but I’m gettin’ too old for you, aren’t I? You like ’em young, I know you! But you don’t stand a chance without me, honey. What would you do without me, huh?”

  She reached for the sash on the woman’s pink brocade robe.

  The woman shrank back.

  “Wait, we don’t want to frighten the little one!”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. She knows why she’s here. I explained everything. She may be young and stupid, but she’s eager to learn. She can hardly wait.”

  Renata picked up the dish of cake and walked out of the kitchen.

  The woman in the pink robe stood stiffly holding the tray. The expression on her face was calm, almost stern.

  That filthy slut. It’s terrible, it’s awful. I’d like to boot her right out the window. And jump out after her. God, my God, have mercy, help me, give me the strength not to do this. I’ve given up everything else as I’ve gotten older, but it seems like there’s no end to this.

  The woman stood not moving, almost not breathing, waiting for the wave of disgust and hatred to pass. A gaping emptiness slowly spread through her head. The pulse in her neck throbbed. She could feel herself tremble as the blood rushed through her veins.

  I’m the wind, the waves, the flood. I sweep away whatever I touch.

  She opened the door to the living room. The glasses clinked thinly on the tray. The teenaged Zdenka squeezed the chair’s armrests with both hands and lifted her head.

  10

  This time the man tossed the yellow envelope onto the table before he picked up the glass of beer the woman had poured for him. He looked tired and grouchy. The woman watched him tensely, waiting for him to speak. The man pointed to the envelope: “Go ahead, you earned it, even if it didn’t all go quite the way we planned.”

  “What do you mean, I—”

  “Oh, it’s not your fault. Sometimes things just don’t work out, not much you can do. Lot of risks in this line of work. All kinds.”

  “So tell me, what happened? I’m knee-deep in it too, after all. At least I should know what I’m doing.”

  “Actually it’s none of your business. That’s not our arrangement, that I’m the one who reports to you, but just for your information, Šípek is probably our man. We gave him a little going-over, just a preliminary thing. He’s holdin’ out of course—as you’d expect—but it looks promising. And it makes sense. Knows all sorts of languages, subscribes to foreign journals—hey, these zoologists, it’s an international field. You got guys comin’ in from the West all the time. Just recently there was some congress and Šípek was showi
n’ people around, socializing and whatnot. Ideally placed for espionage. We need to put him through the wringer. So my compliments, you did a great job, and to show our appreciation your envelope’s fatter today. Bonus.”

  The woman pinched her lips but said nothing.

  The man raised his empty glass. The woman stood up, went to the kitchen, and brought a new bottle back from the fridge.

  “So all this’d be fine.” The man opened the bottle, poured the beer into the glass, and waited, bottle in hand, for the foam to settle. He filled the glass the rest of the way and set the bottle down on the table.

  “Except. The other thing didn’t work out like it was supposed to, goddam job. It isn’t your fault Hrůza screwed up. He questioned Novák for months. Zilch, not a thing. So he figured he’d try a sneak attack. Guy in jail like that, his doll back home’s all he can think of. Or the kids, depending. Even the toughest egg’ll soften up when he finds out his ladylove has thrown him to the wolves. And that’s what Hrůza was counting on.”

  The man paused, resting his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward, head down. He was quiet so long the woman was afraid he had fallen asleep. Finally he sat back upright.

  “Yeah, so as you know, he worked on Helena Nováková a bit, then took her to a hotel one weekend. When she fell asleep, he took some pictures. Real artworks. First just her, then the two of ’em together in bed, with a timer. Gorgeous shots. Guy’s a real pro, yep. Then he showed ’em to Novák.”