by Ivan Klíma
He felt like resting his head on the desk top and having a nap. They had reached Magdalena’s home at two o’clock in the morning. Her husband had turned out to be a bald, tubby fifty-year-old, who walked around the flat in baggy trousers and a shirt with a threadbare collar and patched elbows – a fact that Adam found surprisingly gratifying. One only needed to look at the man to see that he would be the last person to take part in subversive activity. To persecute him on political grounds was clearly an act of pure vindictiveness.
Having no wish to be present while the two discussed it, he told them he would like a short rest.
They had left him alone in the room. It was lit by a standard lamp with a familiar lampshade (except that the green had faded to a sort of dirty yellow). Beneath his feet there was a carpet with a familiar pattern and in a corner he was astonished to recognise one of the Chinese vases. Only at that moment did it come home to him that she had really been alive throughout the last thirteen years, continuing her existence somewhere, surrounded by her things.
Then they had come back in to tell him they had decided to sell the old books and if necessary the Chinese vase, and he had rashly offered to help them.
During the body search the following property was impounded:
1. 1 pocket-sized address-book with 20 pages, red covers
2. 1 wallet containing nine hundred and thirty crowns and vouchers for the canteen in Krč Hospital
3. 5 photographs 4x4 cms. showing the faces of a woman and child
4. 1 dagger with a horn handle inscribed To thine own self be true
5.1 postcard of a pornographic nature showing intercourse between a man and a woman
6. 1 Premium Savings Book No. 3286540 issued by the Czechoslovak State Savings Bank in the name of Marie Obensdorfová and registering a balance of 1250 crowns
7. 1 key-ring with four keys
The pornographic postcard was an amateur copy of an original that had obviously been many times reproduced. A fat woman was spreading her mighty thighs in a repulsive fashion. On two of the photographs he recognised the pregnant woman who had visited him a few days before. In the others, a little girl was smiling, her features nondescript. He spent a few moments flipping through the savings book. The first deposit had been made fifteen years ago. Several further deposits followed. Since March 1967, however, there had been only withdrawals, usually four or five hundred crowns once a year before Christmas. On the final occasion someone had taken out two hundred and fifty crowns at the beginning of last December. During those fifteen years, inevitably, no premiums had been won on the book, and at least three thousand crowns in unpaid interest had thereby accrued to the State.
Was it possible that two people had been killed for twelve hundred crowns, when for the mere promise that someone might keep his (essentially paltry) job a sum more than ten times greater was being demanded? In this world anything was possible, but it was more likely that the money was a side issue. But no one could ever prove it. And in fact it would be immaterial, as it did not render the deed any less dreadful.
Having been advised of her right not to take the stand in view of her relationship with the defendant, by whom she was expecting a child, Alžběta Körnerová made the following statement:
I met Karel Kozlik a year ago at Krč Hospital where we both worked. He always behaved decently towards me and often talked about the books he had read. He didn’t say anything about his past and I didn’t know he had a record. On 3rd April, we both went to the evening show at a cinema in Žižkov. I cannot remember either the name of the cinema or the film. It was a colour film about somebody called Mrs Cambálová. After the show I went straight home as my parents insisted. The next day when I was still in bed as I was on the afternoon shift, Karel Kozlík came and asked me to lend him some money because he had the chance of a bargain. I lent him six hundred crowns, not having any more on me. He did not tell me he had done anything. He may have said something to me before about his landlady, but I cannot remember anything definite, except that sometimes she used to take out his light bulbs and did not allow me to visit him. He never told me anything about his friends.
Hana Obensdorfová testified that she had brought her daughter Lucie at around 18:00 on 3rd April to her mother-in-law, as she and her husband had cinema tickets for that evening and didn’t want to leave the child alone at home. She often used to leave her at her mother-in-law’s without any mishap. Concerning the saucepan of water discovered on the stove, she said that to her knowledge, her mother-in-law never made tea or coffee in the evening, as she was afraid of not being able to sleep. When she left her mother-in-law’s flat everything was all right. As far as Karel Kozlík was concerned, she had happened to meet him on about two occasions when visiting her mother-in-law. He had behaved politely towards her.
He picked up the phone and called Oldřich.
Oldřich did not seem surprised that he should want another favour. He said he knew several people who collected old books. If it was urgent he probably wouldn’t have time to contact them, but he’d tell his wife and she could take Adam to see them.
The prospect of her acting as the go-between cheered him.
4
Alexandra wanted him to wait for her at the Malá Strana end of the Charles Bridge. He arrived ten minutes early and half an hour passed before he caught sight of her in a crowd of pedestrians among the scaffolding on the bridge. At first she looked to him like a foreigner. Her imported clothes were in eye-catchingly bright colours; she wore a leather belt with metal trinkets dangling from it. ‘Your clothes are fantastic!’
She rewarded him with a smile. ‘Where have you got the books?’
She walked at his side and he became aware of the artificial scent that emanated from her. He had left the books in his car, along with a bottle of cognac for Oldřich and a bunch of gladioli for her.
‘But they’ll wilt!’ She insisted that he find a rag (the one for cleaning the windows was all he had) and go with her to soak it in the river. ‘Since when have you been dealing in books?’
‘It’s not for me.’
‘How sweet, you’re doing a good deed. I never guessed you were such a charitable soul.’
‘It’s for an old woman friend.’
‘Old? I don’t care if she’s a hag or a teenybopper. We’ll look in at the Tom Cat. Are you at all clued up about books?’
‘Not in the least. Not long ago I was supposed to try some receivers of stolen goods, but happily they took me off it. Anyway they dealt in pictures.’
‘Old pictures are in now, even the silliest ones, even things daubed by some house-painter in a workshop in Florence or Venice. Anything so long as it’s got patina.’ While she was wrapping the flower stems with the rag, which dripped dirty water, he unwrapped the books.
‘They’re very fine. How much does she want for them, your friend?’
‘At least ten thousand.’
‘You can get her her ten thousand and still return half of them. Mark my words: you’ll be very popular.’ She selected just a few volumes and gave them him to carry.
They entered the pub and she surveyed the tables that were occupied. A man called out to her and she gave him a wave. Then they walked through into the back room and at the furthest table three long-haired young men with their female companions shuffled their chairs together to make room for them. She tried to introduce them to him but their names slipped away immediately.
‘How are you, Alex?’
‘I’m looking for Tobruk. I’ve got something to flog him.’
‘He hasn’t shown yet today.’
‘What’ll you have?’
‘Here, have a sip from mine or you’ll die of thirst waiting.’
‘But I need to find him.’
‘Hey, Freak, any idea where Tobruk could be?’
‘Got something for him?’
‘He’s not been in the last three days. He’s got a new sweetie.’
‘Is that your new sweetie, Alex? Sh
ow us. Let’s see the size of you, smooth guy. Cheer up: you look like an ad for the Cremation Society. Have a drink instead.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Don’t say thank you, say yes!’
‘I can’t, I’m driving.’
‘Hear that, Alex? He’s driving. What’s your angle, you creep? Ooh, I bet he’s runs a ministry. Come on, confess: you start your day the natural way with fresh, hygienic yoghurt, don’t you. Where did you find him?’
‘Look, I’ve got to find Tobruk.’
‘He’s broke anyhow. Go and see Yogi; he’s just sold out for mucho moolah. Didn’t you see that hit of his on the box?’
‘Hey, Alex, you’re not going? Oh, come on! With him? He’s gaping at the natives like Dr Livingstone or something.’
Adam was surprised to find it was still light outside. He felt as if in the space of those few minutes he had been kidnapped in the smoke, bloated and yellowed, and cut a pretty poor figure by staying silent. He’d sooner pack it in and retreat home. But he was the one who needed to sell the books, not her.
They climbed the Castle Steps.
She seemed to sense his mood, because when they reached the house where the lad lived who might buy their books she suggested that he wait outside. He sat down on the stone parapet and watched as the first windows lit up. Then the invisible spotlights were switched on and the Castle glowed.
She suddenly reappeared at his side. ‘Why do you think they light up the Castle, seeing they’re sitting inside it?’ She opened her handbag and took out a wad of bank notes. ‘Five thousand,’ she announced. ‘That was all he had on him. He bitched about the Mathioli being a second edition, as if it made any difference to him. A year ago he didn’t even know when printing was invented. He’ll have the rest tomorrow. He’ll bring it to you at the courthouse. I gave him your address. It doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘No, of course not. Its awfully kind of you.’
‘But it isn’t for you anyway.’
‘No, but you did it for me.’
‘Maybe you’ll return me the favour. When I apply for a divorce, you can see they don’t take my little girl away.’
‘Are you intending to get divorced, then?’
‘Everyone gets divorced in the end. Or are you the exception?’
They were making their way back to the car. ‘He kept on trying to make me stay. He had some genuine Scotch,’ she added with regret. ‘But I didn’t want to keep you hanging around here.’
‘If you’ve the time, we could go and have a drink somewhere. I’ll try and make it up to you.’
‘I’ve always got the time for that.’ And it was she who led the way to a little wine bar where naturally he had never been before, and they managed to find a free table.
As soon as the wine arrived she gulped it greedily. ‘I had an awful thirst. Aren’t you even going to have a second sip?’
He took the glass from her and sipped from it. At the next table sat a fellow in an immaculately tailored suit; the girl with him had something in common with Alexandra, or at least her blouse was just as bright. But she was a stranger and he recognised no one at any of the other tables either, and that made him feel easier in his mind.
‘You’re casing the place as if you’d been lured into an opium den. When were you last in a pub?’
He couldn’t recall.
‘Maybe you’ll start making up for it now. What do you do with your evenings? Work?’
‘Quite often.’
‘You enjoy sending people to gaol?’
‘Enjoy isn’t the right word.’
‘So what is the right word?’
‘Satisfaction, perhaps,’ he suggested.
‘It gives you satisfaction?’
‘Sometimes. When I feel we’ve made the right decision.’
‘You don’t strike me as very well suited to the job.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘You look too passionate.’ She stared at him as if to assure herself she wasn’t wrong.
‘That’s the first time anyone’s said that about me.’
‘Maybe you chose this dignified vocation so you could pretend to be disinterested. You were afraid of leaving yourself too open to temptation otherwise.’
‘I didn’t choose at all; it’s more that I just came out this way, against my wishes.’
‘You probably didn’t: make your wishes felt very much, then, did you?’
He shook his head doubtfully.
‘There’s no need to defend yourself, I like passionate people. My dad was the same way and he was ashamed of it too. That’s why he joined the police: so he could treat people coolly. When in fact he’d be seething inside. This is good wine. Sure you won’t have another drop?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve had enough.’
‘There you are – you’re even afraid to have a drink. You’re afraid of losing control, is that it? Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I promise. I’ll take you home in a taxi and hand you over unsullied to your wife.’
‘She’s not home.’
‘So I’ll tuck you in myself. You wouldn’t be the first.’ She had come to life, her eyes were gleaming. ‘I don’t mind people getting drunk when they haven’t the strength to stay sober. The type who are happy with their lot are far worse; they don’t even need to get drunk.’
‘Do you think I’m one of them?’
‘I’ve already told you you’re not. But the guys that I hate most of all are the ones that are totally cold inside. All they want is for the woman to warm them up. As if anyone could warm them. And when they get up in the morning they start to snivel. They say they think life is avoiding them; they never guess it’s only death they’re missing out on, death that’s scared to come too close.’
‘Death doesn’t avoid passionate people?’
‘I can’t say. How am I supposed to know? It spent months sitting around at our place when Dad was dying. It scared me. Now I meet it sometimes when I’m coming home in the early hours.’
‘What does it look like?’
‘Like a horrible, fat old man in a grey suit carrying a briefcase. And no eyes. So far we only pass each other by, but one day he’ll throttle me; I won’t have the time to squeal. You’ve never seen him?’
‘Yes, but he was dressed differently.’
‘In a uniform?’
‘That’s right, in a uniform.’ All of a sudden she seemed close. As if they’d just discovered they had a mutual friend.
‘I’m a dreadful chatterbox, aren’t I? It’s because you’re saying nothing, and just asking clever questions.’
‘You can ask questions too.’ Death didn’t have to be a bad omen, surely. There was no life without death, or death without life, for that matter. And if one was not prepared to die, one was not prepared to live either. The temptation was to remain in a state of immobility between life and death, as he himself did. How long had it been now, how much longer would it last?
‘I don’t enjoy asking questions. I like people who tell me things of their own accord. You haven’t even told me about your time in America.’
‘Oh, it’s a long time ago.’
‘It might well be a long time ago, and you might well have talked about it loads of times, but not to me you haven’t.’
So once more he landed at New York airport, once more he hiked along the Huron where no Indian riders had cantered in ages, looked out of the window over the cemetery wall where students were playing football among the graves, then smoked marijuana with them, while others made love behind a screen in the same drug-ridden room, crossed the Rio Grande in a punt and drove his Chevrolet along Route 385 through scenic wilderness. Perhaps he caught her imagination or even attracted her because she came and sat next to him, riding alongside into the frontier desert, following the track up the side of the Casa Grande, inhaling the spicy scent of sage, walking among the tall yucca and the sumac bushes, beneath the flowers of the agave trees right up to the level places beneath the sum
mit, from where so many ranges of waterless, desolate mountains could be seen that she became dizzy. And increasingly he felt he was making contact with her, noticed that every moment they went on sitting here together he was drawing closer to her, they were drawing closer to each other, while her image began to fill him: silhouetted against the blue sky, her face with its back-combed hair, long straight nose and short upper lip became frozen into a sculptural stillness that he knew from somewhere:
Remote and trackless, over rough hillsides
Of ruined woods he reached the Gorgon’s land,
And everywhere in fields and by the road
He saw the shapes of men and beasts, all changed
To stone by glancing at Medusa’s face.
(Ovid: Metamorphoses)
It was just before midnight when he paid the bill. She got up and made her way stiffly between the tables. Outside she linked her arm in his. ‘I’m a bit tight. You’re not cross with me, are you? I’ve no sense of moderation in anything.’ She snuggled up to him and he could feel the warmth of her body through two layers of clothing. ‘Will you take me with you?’ She didn’t even ask where to. He could take her home to her place or to his own empty flat. They could make love in his temporarily empty flat.
He opened the car door and she climbed in. He leaned across and held her to him. Her breath was tinged with wine and sage and she was drawing air in hard as if they had just climbed to the very summit of the Casa Grande. ‘Aren’t we going?’ she asked, drawing back into her own seat.
He switched on the lights, and at that moment caught sight of him, trapped in the headlights: a yellow clown leaping up and down on the opposite pavement, his huge white mouth spread in a grin. He froze in mid-movement, doffed his clown’s hat, the colour of the flowering sage, gave a deep bow, his white-gloved hands held out on either side. Where had he sprung from and what message was he trying to deliver?
It was only a few minutes’ drive to her home. Before getting out, she leaned towards him and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks for the wine. Call me again some time.’
5
