‘Yes. Who is it?’ The voice sounded tinny, but I could tell it was a woman’s, and I leaned up close to the mouthpiece and answered, ‘Smiricky. May I speak with the lady of the house, please?’
‘Just a moment.’ I stepped back from the mouthpiece and we waited again. I looked at the yellow path that led to the sunporch. A couple of birds were hopping along it. I could hear them chirping and there was also a soft rustling sound in the air, like wind blowing through a forest, but then I realized that it was a fountain. Everything was quiet here. I looked around at my Englishmen again. They were standing there with their knapsacks on their backs and when I turned they all stared at me. Then for the first time I noticed how wrinkled and torn and dusty their khaki uniforms were, how dirty their shoes were. The sergeant took off his cap. His head was shiny in the sun. He took out a red handkerchief, mopped his forehead and smiled at me.
‘Hot,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I said with a smile. ‘Awfully hot.’ Then I nodded towards Heiser’s house and said, ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’
‘That it is,’ he said and put on his cap again.
The speaker crackled, ‘Come right in, Mr Smiricky,’ and the door buzzer sounded. I opened the gate and stepped into the garden. The Englishmen remained standing where they were.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You can wait for me in the garden,’
One by one they came through the gate and we all started off towards the mansion. Their heavy shoes crunched in the sand. The door to the sun porch opened and there stood Mitzi, the maid, in a short black dress with a white apron and little white cap.
‘Good morning,’ I said to her.
‘Good morning,’ she said and her voice, which sounded like metal over the speaker, sounded very nice in the flesh. The white bib of her apron was loosely pinned over her well-rounded breasts. All I could do for a minute was stare.
‘May I speak with Mrs Heiserova?’ I asked.
‘Come in, please,’ she said with a smile, and stepped a bit to one side.
‘Wait for me here,’ I said to the Englishmen, and started up the stairs to the veranda. I’d been in the big entrance hall before. It was full of potted palms and dark green rubber plants and paintings by Spala and Rabas hung from the walls. Mitzi went ahead and opened the door to the salon.
‘Please go in,’ she said to me with that professional smile of hers, except I was sure it wasn’t just professional. The skirt she had on was awfully short and she was wearing silk stockings and high heels.
‘Thank you,’ I said and passed by so close I could nearly feel the warmth of her body coming out through her dress. I entered the salon. It was full of highly polished sideboards and china cupboards and alabaster figurines and Persian rugs and the sunshine poured through the big window and, filtered through an immense aquarium, fell on the wife of the general director, Mrs Heiserova who, stuffed into a silk dress with a string of pearls stretched across her balloon-shaped bosom, was sitting in an armchair next to the silver smoking-stand. Mrs Kramperova, widow of a Lewith Mill attorney, sat across from her, a cigarette dangling between her fingers. Both ladies stared up at me, dumbly. I knew what they’d probably been talking about. And that they were both scared – Mrs Heiserova, because she was always scared of something; Mrs Kramperova, because of Krobe. Looking at her now, I couldn’t figure out what Krobe had seen in her anyway. Krobe had been the chief German plant supervisor at the Messerschmidt plant, one of those blond, elegant, fanatical Nazis; during the war he had boarded and roomed with Mrs Kramperova. And obviously bedded with her, too. They always used to go around together – Krobe in his leather coat with a swastika in his buttonhole, and that tubby little widow on his arm. I came across them in the woods a couple of times and was always surprised at Krobe. So now the widow was probably scared on account of that and had come over to console herself with her best friend. Her bosom friend. The English expression occurred to me and, looking at their bosoms on display behind all that flowered silk, all sorts of wild and dirty thoughts ran through my head.
‘I kiss your hand,’ I said.
Both ladies inclined their heads.
‘Mrs Heiserova, I have a request to make,’ I said smoothly.
‘Go right ahead,’ said the general director’s wife, and suddenly a mean bit of strategy crossed my mind.
‘I’m in charge of a group of escaped prisoners of war,’ I said. ‘They’ve escaped from a camp in Upper Silesia and I’d like to place them somewhere for a few days until they can get a train to Prague.’
‘Yes,’ said the general director’s wife in a neutral tone.
‘Could you possibly put a few of them up for maybe two or three days?’
‘You mean house them?’ said the general director’s wife cautiously, her face clouding over a bit. She was obviously already having visions of hordes of hairy Mongolians clomping around on her rugs in muddy boots and of her precious silverware vanishing piece by piece.
‘I would be delighted to help you, but I don’t quite see how I can at the moment,’ she said slowly. ‘You see, Mr Smiricky, I have guests. My brother-in-law is here from Ostrava, and then, too, we already have some refugees staying with us – my brother from Brno and his family.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I understand completely. I just thought that the primitive conditions in the emergency barracks might not be so pleasant for these Englishmen.’
‘Oh, they’re English?’ the general director’s wife asked, clearly interested now.
‘Yes. Prisoners of war from Dunkirk.’
‘Oh, I see. Soldiers!’ she cried as though the idea had just then crossed her mind. ‘Well, that’s different, isn’t it? I could make room for one or two of them in the back room upstairs.’
‘Fine,’ I said in a respectful tone.
‘As I say, I’d be delighted to help out.’
‘Certainly. Well, if you could I’d be very much obliged to you.’
‘Don’t mention it. You’re entirely welcome. How many would you want me to take?’
‘That depends entirely on you, Mrs Heiserova.’
‘Well, would two be enough? Two would be no trouble at all.’
‘Twos would be fine. And, once again, many thanks.’
‘Not at all, not at all. It’s our duty, after all. And how’s your father, Mr Smiricky?’
‘Well, you know … with the way things are these days …’
‘Yes, well,’ she broke in, ‘the main thing is we’re rid of Hitler at last.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
‘Please give my regards to your father and mother.’
‘I shall. Of course. And, once again, many …’
‘You’re very welcome,’ she said and lifted a hand.
She had pudgy little fingers and I kissed them between two large rings. One of them bumped into my lip. The hand smelled good. I turned and bowed to Mrs Kramperova.
‘Mr Smiricky?’ she said to me.
‘Ma’am?’
‘I might be in a position to take in one of your Englishmen, too, if you …’
‘Oh, I’d be very grateful,’ I said quickly, and right away I knew which one I’d give her – that bearded giant, the farmer from Australia.
‘But, Mr Smiricky …’
‘Yes?’
‘If you please … I would prefer someone with manners.’
‘Of course.’
‘Not just any … well, but I’m sure you know what I mean.’
‘I assure you, ma’am – you can depend on me,’ The one I’d picked had manners all right. Among other things, anyway. Mrs Kramperova would be satisfied. I could see his broad shoulders and narrow hips as he climbed out of the pool and I thought, you needn’t worry, Mrs Kramperova, you’ll be satisfied. But then I looked at her and wondered how satisfied the Australian was going to be, but at least he’d be glad to have a place to stay for a while and maybe gratitude would make him overlook a few defects.
‘Shall I bring him over to your hou
se, ma’am?’
‘Oh, you needn’t bother. I was just about to leave,’ said Mrs Kramperova, rising from her chair.
‘Oh, won’t you stay on a bit, Olga?’ said the general director’s wife.
‘I really must be running along, Rosa. And then Mr Smiricky would have to go to all the trouble of walking all the way over to …’
‘No trouble at all, ma’am.’
‘No, no. I’m sure you have enough to do as it is, Mr Smiricky. And I really must be going.’
‘When will I see you again, Olga?’ said the general director’s wife.
‘As soon as I have a moment, Rosa. Don’t worry, I won’t forget you.’
‘That would be nice – forgetting your oldest friend. You see, Mr Smiricky, we played together as children.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. And we’ve been friends ever since.’
‘That’s wonderful.’
‘Yes, and now that everything’s going to be so much more pleasant again, you have to come over more often, Olga.’
‘I will, Rosa, I will. Just as soon as things have settled down a bit.’
‘You must come too, Mr Smiricky. And your parents. It’s been ages since we’ve last seen you.’
‘Thank you. We’ll look forward to coming over, as soon as things have straightened themselves out,’ I said.
‘Of course, of course,’ said the general director’s wife.
‘Well, good-bye now, Rosa, and remember me to your husband,’ said Mrs Kramperova. The two ladies embraced.
‘I kiss your hand and thank you again, Mrs Heiserova,’ I said and bowed. The general director’s wife smiled graciously.
‘You’re very welcome, Mr Smiricky. Do come again.’
I bowed and turned and followed Mrs Kramperova. We went out into the hall where Mitzi was waiting with her nice little smile. She opened the door that led out to the garden.
‘I kiss your hand,’ she said, curtsying gracefully.
‘Good-bye, Mitzi,’ said Mrs Kramperova in a completely different tone of voice than the one she’d used in the salon, and then stepped out into the sunlight. Now it was my turn to go by Mitzi’s electrifying body again and suddenly I got this idea, though God knows where it came from – probably out of some movie or one of those novels – but there she stood with her breasts bulging out over that starched apron in the middle of all that luxury, so on my way out I slipped my right arm around her waist and tried to kiss her. She pulled away. I could feel her warm, supple back bending against my hand, and then I let go. I was awfully embarrassed, because actually I hadn’t meant to try anything like that, it seemed the dumb kind of thing millionaires play around at, and I was scared stiff wondering how she would take it and awfully relieved when she pretended to frown but just laughed softly and whispered ‘Shh!’ So I gave her a friendly wink and said, ‘Good-bye.’
‘Good-bye, Mr Smiricky,’ she said and closed the door right in front of my nose. I felt tremendously grateful to her. Though why, I wasn’t quite sure. I had the feeling Mitzi wouldn’t spoil anybody’s fun. And that she understood me. That she’d be able to understand what there was in me to understand. The fact that I didn’t have any prejudices. That I longed to love somebody, somebody pretty like Mitzi or Irena, and that I simply went crazy when I wasn’t given a chance to. Or when I bungled things badly. Right then, anyway, I was sure I could fall in love with Mitzi. That I was in love with her already. It seemed to me I loved her even more than Irena. And I realized how easy it was for me to fall in love with somebody else than Irena, that all it took was for me to be with a pretty girl, and I decided I’d give Mitzi a try as soon as possible. Mitzi was nice and she lived in nice surroundings, had a little room at the back of the Heisers’s villa, curtains on the windows and a view of the castle and a moon between the turreted towers and the fragrant rustling of the woods at night outside the window – all this flashed through my mind as I plodded down the yellow path behind Mrs Kramperova and stopped beside my silent, dusty Englishmen.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘you go with this lady,’ I told the guy in the Australian hat.
‘Very well, sir,’ he said respectfully and took off his hat. His wavy chestnut hair shone in the sunshine. Mrs Kramperova smiled at him.
‘You can speak German with him, ma’am,’ I said and felt like a madam in a whore house.
‘Yes? Wonderful! Thank you, Mr Smiricky.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I said.
‘Bitte, kommen Sie mit mir,’ she said to the Australian with an irritating smile.
‘Danke, gnädige Frau,’ said the Australian, then turned to me and said, ‘Thank you, sir.’ He loped off beside Mrs Kramperova towards the garden gate. The sun shone down on them, he put on his hat again, and Mrs Kramperova’s pink slip glimmered through her thin dress. She’ll have a good time, I thought to myself, and thought maybe the Australian would, too. If even a beast like Krobe had. I turned to the sergeant and asked him to select two men.
‘Burke and Harris,’ said the sergeant, and the two men moved forward. That left me with only four now – the sergeant, the tall redhead with the gaunt face, then a pockmarked runt, and finally a big fat guy wearing a checkered shirt under his battledress and a funny peaked cap with a little pinned-on Union Jack. His cleanshaven face glistened with sweat. I turned to the two who’d been picked to stay at the Heisers’s.
‘Come on,’ I said and headed back towards the house. I went up the steps to the front door and rang the bell. After a minute the click of high heels came closer and Mitzi opened the door.
‘Well! Have you forgotten something, Mr Smiricky?’ she said. I felt like letting everything else go to hell and just taking her off to her room. But those two Englishmen were standing right behind me.
‘I think, miss, you’ve forgotten you’ve got visitors.’
‘What?’
‘Here. I’ve brought you two guests for a couple of days.’
‘Who are they?’ said Mitzi, peering suspiciously at the dusty Englishmen. Two little parallel wrinkles formed above her nose.
‘Englishmen. It’s all been arranged with Mrs Heiserova. Could you show them in to her, please?’
‘Goodness,’ said Mitzi. ‘We’ve got so many people staying here already, Mr Smiricky.’
‘I know,’ I said quickly, and didn’t move an inch. Neither did Mitzi. We stood there face to face and eye to eye, but all I could see were Mitzi’s breasts under that white apron.
‘Well … then …’ she said slowly.
‘Mitzi …’ I said in a low voice.
‘Yes?’
‘Would you have any time this evening?’
She grinned. ‘Well, I don’t know, Mr Smiricky.’
‘Please, Mitzi. There’s so much I’ve got to tell you.’
‘Yes? About what?’
‘About how crazy I am about you.’
‘Oh, go on. Since when, Mr Smiricky?’ she said in a slightly sarcastic but still pleasant way.
‘For a long time. Ever since we came here for a visit the first time.’
‘Mitzi!’ a voice called out from the salon. Mitzi stiffened, glanced around, then turned to me and quickly slipped her hand into mine.
‘At the edge of the woods at eight – all right?’ I said.
‘Behind the house?’
‘Yes. Will you be there?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe,’ she said with a look that made my head spin.
‘Well, good-bye now,’ I said and Mitzi squeezed my hand and looked away. I was lucky. Like always. I was lucky with most women. Except with Irena. Jesus, it’d been going on like that for years already.
‘Kommen Sie herein,’ Mitzi said to the Englishmen. They went in. Mitzi winked at me and closed the door.
I stood there staring into the big mahogany door and then turned and looked out over springtime Kostelec. I could see the grey factory buildings down below and the backs of the apartment houses in town, the river, the railroad embankment, and then
the little houses strung out at the foot of Black Mountain and the woods and the hills and the blue sky above them and over to the left and the red roofs of the new residential section beyond the slums, and the air was clean and wonderfully fresh. Then suddenly, from a long way off, came a hard, low, steady coughing sound interrupted by louder repeated booms. The front – machine guns and artillery – and spring had come and the Protectorate was over. The remaining four Tommies stood there on the path, looking at me. The fat one was sitting on his knapsack, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, his cap in his hand. He had a crew cut. I walked down the stairs and over to them.
‘Shall we go?’ I said, and we started off down the path towards the garden gate. I looked back at the mansion. Against all those green plants and shrubs it loomed up white and shining, with bits of mica glinting in the stucco and the windows bright with the sun, and in the garden the fountain spouted its plumes of spray into the air. I dragged myself away from the sight and strode along with the Englishmen, the white fence flickering by on the side. My destination was the Vevodas, where I planned to commit my last act of malice. The sidewalk dropped sharply down towards the creek, then went through Shanty Town and on up towards the new residential section beyond the factory-workers’ district. Shanty Town was just a colony of old freightcars jacked up on to concrete blocks. Goats grazed and snotnosed kids were playing in the grass; blankets and bed linen lay draped over racks to air out. We crossed the creek above the weir and clambered up towards the newer houses. I told the Englishmen to wait at the corner for me and then headed for the building with the lion’s head over the door. That was where District Attorney Vevoda lived with his sour, dumb shrew of a wife. I rang the doorbell. Nothing happened for a long time. Then I heard a faint noise as somebody first opened the peephole. They opened the door just a crack. I could only see a sliver of Mrs Vevodova’s face.
The Cowards Page 24
