Three Novels: Hordubal, Meteor, an Ordinary Life

by Karel Čapek

  Hordubal sat on a stump, and blinked his eyes. Try it, why not? A fellow is young as long as he begins something new. And if not that, well, in a different way. For instance, buy the rock below Mencul—stone like marble, and cart the blocks to town; Good Lord, have they any stone in the plain? Only mud and dust, the sky is dusty, too. And perhaps break the stone oneself—didn’t I break a bit of stone in America ? And dynamite, my friend, I can manage. You make a hole, put the cartridge in—all clear, bang—and crash! Well, Polana, that’s a man’s job, what? What’s catching a little stallion compared with it? And with a red flag in your hand—look out, they’re firing the charge. I should make glorious bangs, and you other one—you catch horses in the field. Oh, there are still things here to be found out. What have you got in the plain? Nothing, the plain. But here—near Kysla Voda there’s iron, the water is all brown with rust. Under Tataruka some kind of glistening stone like pitch. Old women say that there are treasures in the mountains. Walk about the hills as far as beyond Durny there, beyond Cernyvrch, beyond Tatinska, beyond Tupa—who knows what might be found. Oh, my friend, in these days they search even below the ground. At home nothing, not a word. To-morrow, Polana, I’m going to Prague, to talk with some gentlemen about something—and stop. And then experts will come, and straight to Hordubal’s: Good day, is Mr. Hordubal at home? And Mr. Hordubal here, Mr. Hordubal there; you have found a treasure, a mineral that we’ve been looking for for fifty years.—Well, why not? All stone, they say—ah, do you know what that stone is made of ? You don’t, so don’t talk.

  Hordubal felt rather ashamed. Perhaps these are silly ideas; but the stone below Mencul—isn’t silly. For that I must have oxen, a pair, two pairs of oxen—say those from Podoli, grey ones, with horns like arms, ah, what animals! And with a load of stone into the plain—to walk in front of the oxen, and only hi up, hazza! And you with your horses—make way for the oxen, to the other side of the ditch! And whose oxen are they? Hordubal’s, nobody in the country has such animals.

  Hordubal took the little bag from under his shirt and counted his money over. Seven hundred dollars, that’s over twenty thousand; very nice, Polana! With that we can begin a new life. But you will see yourself what a champion Juraj is. And that wisdom is strength. A horse like that which carries its head high is worth a lot, but look at an ox: he nods his head, he carries the yoke on his back, but he does more work.

  Juraj nodded, and strolled into the yard. In the yard Polana was shelling green peas; she just raised her eyebrows, swept the empty pods from her lap, and turned into the house.

  CHAPTER XIII

  HORDUBAL sat in the pub, and felt happy. Praise be to God, to-day it’s noisy here: Michalcuk’s here, and Varvarin, Mechajl’s Poderejcuk, Herpak called Kobyla, Fedeles Michal, and Fedeles Gejza, Feduk, Hryc, Alexa, Hryhorij, and Dodja the ranger, all neighbours, and to shoot wild boars, they say, they do a lot of damage in the fields. Hryhorij owns the rock below Mencul, it would be a good thing to talk with him, to begin at the thin end, and cautiously: for instance, that the road into the fields ought to be mended with stone. Eh, thought Juraj in annoyance, but I haven’t any fields now. Pjosa has them, he sits there and frowns. I’ve got no fields, what do I care about the wild brutes ? Let them chase them away themselves; what I—I don’t belong here. Hordubal felt gloomy; let them look after their own troubles, I’ve got mine.

  In the meantime the men discussed what and how, when to begin, and from which side. Juraj slowly sipped his beer, and thought of his own worries. She just raised her eyebrows, and into the house. Well, Polana; sometime perhaps you would like to begin, and then, Juraj, what about this and what about that; and I shall just raise my eyebrows, and go to the pub. So that you may also know how it feels. What, have I a mangy snout, what, do my eyes run, or have I a dreadful mug like the tramp Laslo? Yes, I’m old, and everywhere coal has eaten into me; I’m all gristle, nothing else is left of me; all back because I crawled on all fours in the mine; all paws, and all knees—if you only knew in what tight places I had to hack the coal! Even now, when I cough, I spit black, Polana. Well, there’s not much of me that you can like; but I can work, my dear, and you will see—

  “Hi, American,” grinned Fedeles Gejza, “you haven’t shown yourself yet. Well, have you come to treat your countrymen?”

  Hordubal nodded: “I have, I have, but to treat them in the American fashion. Jew, bring Gejza a glass of water! And if it’s not enough for you, Gejza, a whole pail, at least you can wash your mug in it.”

  “And is my mug any concern of yours,” laughed Gejza, “if my wife likes it?”

  Juraj’s face darkened. What does your wife matter to me? Look at him, to treat him! And what, I would; ah, God, neighbours, I would gladly drink with you, hold shoulders with you, and sing, sing till my eyes closed. But I’ve got my dollars for other things; I’ve got an idea, a good one, an American one. But wait till I begin to blow the stone up. Good Lord, Hordubal, has he gone mad ? Aren’t there enough stones here ? And after a while—see, the American, he can skim cream even from a rock.

  Fedeles Michal began to sing, the others joined in. Ah, it’s good to be among the lads. How long is it since I heard—how long ago now-Juraj half closed his eyes, and in a subdued voice he joined in—taida—taida—taida, and suddenly—the deuce knows what made him begin to crow—he sang, sang, sang at the top of his voice, until his whole body swayed with the tune.

  “Hi, you,” shouted Fedeles Gejza. “A fellow who won’t drink with us ought not to sing with us. Sing at home, Hordubal!”

  “Or bring Stepan here,” said Jura Feduk, joining in. “They say he knows how to sing better than you.”

  Hordubal got up, there was no end to him, he almost reached to the ceiling. “You sing, Gejza,” he said mildly. “I was ready to go home in any case.”

  “And what should you do at home ?” grinned Fedeles Michal. “You’ve got a workman there.”

  “He’s a big farmer,” Gejza hinted. “He pays a man to work for his wife.”

  Hordubal turned sharply. “Gejza,” he muttered between his teeth, “who do you mean?”

  Gejza rocked spitefully on his feet. “Who ? There’s only one farmer like that.”

  The men began to get up. “Let him be, Gejza,” Varvarin begged; somebody took Juraj gently by the shoulders, and led him away. Hordubal tore himself free, and went up to Fedeles, it was a wonder that he didn’t touch him with his nose.

  “Who?” he said hoarsely.

  “There’s only one so daft,” said Fedeles Gejza, very distinctly, and then suddenly, as if he lashed out: “But whores like Polana are common enough.”

  “Come out,” cried Hordubal hoarsely, making his way out of the pub, between the shoulders of the other fellows. Gejza followed him behind, he opened the clasp-knife in his pocket. Mind, Hordubal, mind your back! But Hordubal paid no heed, he forced his way out, with Gejza behind him, the clasp-knife in his hand held so tighdy that his palm sweated.

  They all crowded out of the pub. Juraj turned to Fedeles: “You,” he muttered. “Well, come!”

  Gejza had his hand with the clasp-knife behind his back, he grunted deeply, ready to spring; but Hordubal, with arms like a windlass for a well, caught him by the hips, hands or no hands, he lifted him, spun round, and threw him to the ground. Gejza fell on his feet, hissing with rage. Again Hordubal lifted him high, and threw him to the ground, up high, and to the ground, as if he wanted to beat the floor with him; suddenly Gejza’s knees gave way beneath him, and he dropped to the ground, with his arms spread out, and crash! his head banged against a bucket, and he lay as if he were only a heap of clothes.

  Hordubal breathed heavily, looking round at the men with bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t know,” he murmured apologetically, “that there was a bucket there.”

  At that moment he received a whack on his head, and another, and another. Two, three, four men silently struck Hordubal on the head till it rattled. “Get off,” he roared, waving his arms in t
he darkness; he struck somebody’s nose, sank to the ground, and tried to get up. “They’re fighting,” yelled someone; Hordubal tried to get up, he couldn’t, he tried to get up under the blows, and groaned, Oh—oh, and still he tried to get up—

  “What, you here!” cried a quick and breathless voice, and crashed with a horse-whip into the gasping heap. And on their heads! Somebody howled with rage, look out for the knives! Vasil Geric Vasilov breathed heavily, and brought the horse-whip in jerks across Hordubal’s body. Juraj tried to get up. “Clear off, you,” the mayor thundered, lashing with his whip. Ah, if you weren’t an official, and what an official! But Vasil Geric Vasilov is a famous fighter. And then even the women came cautiously into the road, with their hands folded, looking in the direction of the pub.

  Juraj Hordubal tried to get up, his head was on Vasil’s knee, and someone was washing his face, it was Pjosa. “That wasn’t a fair fight, Vasil,” the American groaned. “They struck me from behind, and two to one—”

  Ach, Juraj, there were six of them, the bastards, and they all had sticks from the fence. Your head must be made of oak, or it would have cracked. “And what about Gejza?” the battered one inquired anxiously.

  “Gejza has had enough, they’ve taken him away,” the mayor explained.

  Juraj sighed with satisfaction. “He’ll keep his mouth shut now, the swine,” he murmured, trying to get up; praise be to God, he felt better already, he stood and held his head. “Why did they go for me like that?” he wondered. “Come and have a drink, Vasil. They wouldn’t let me sing, the dirty devils.”

  “Go home, Juraj,” the mayor advised him. “I’ll go with you, they may be waiting for you somewhere.”

  “As if I were afraid of them,” said Hordubal gaining courage, and he staggered home. No, I’m not drunk, Polana, but they beat me at the pub. Why did they do it? Only for fun, my dear, for a lark, I tried my strength with Fedeles Gejza.

  “And do you know, Vasil,” explained Juraj, somehow exhilarated, “I had a fight in America, lad, a miner went for me with a hammer, a German or something, but the others—they took the hammer away from him, and made a ring, and then we fought; but only with our bare fists. Eh, Vasil, I got a whack on my mouth, but the German went to the ground. And nobody interfered.”

  “You, Juraj,” advised Geric seriously. “Don’t go into the pub again, or there’ll be another fight.”

  “And why?” exclaimed Hordubal in astonishment. “I didn’t do anything to them, did I?”

  “Well,” said the mayor evasively, “they’ve got to fight with somebody. Go to sleep, Juraj; and to-morrow—send that workman away.”

  Hordubal darkened. “What do you say, Geric? Are you going to meddle with my affairs too ?”

  “Why have a stranger in your home?” said Vasil evasively. “Go, go to bed. Eh, Juraj, Polana isn’t worth fighting for.”

  Hordubal stood still like a pillar, and blinked. “So, even you are as mean—as the others,” he at last was able to say. “You don’t know, Polana, you— Only I know her, and you—don’t you dare—”

  Vasil put his hand on his shoulder. “Juraj, for eight years we’ve had her under our eyes—”

  Hordubal quickly tore himself away: “Go, go, or—Geric, as long as I live, as God is above me, I don’t know you, and you were my best pal.”

  Hordubal didn’t turn round again, and he staggered home. Geric only gave a snort, and long and silently he swore in the darkness.

  CHAPTER XIV

  IN the morning Stepan harnessed the horses to the wagon, he was going down into the plain. Hordubal came out from the cowshed, he looked queer, swollen, and with bloodshot eyes. “I’m coming with you, Stepan,” he said shortly.

  C-c, the wagon flew through the village, but Juraj didn’t look at the people or the horses. And a bit behind the village, “Stop,” he ordered, “and get down from the wagon, I want to tell you something.”

  With insolent and flashing eyes Stepan scrutinized the battered face of his master. “Well, what?”

  “Listen, Manya,” began Hordubal in a faltering voice. “There are vile rumours about Polana—and you. I know they’re lies—but we must stop them. Do you understand?”

  Stepan shrugged his shoulders. “No, I don’t.”

  “You must leave us, Stepan. It’s—because of Polana. To shut people’s mouths. It has to be, do you understand?”

  Stepan fixed insolent eyes on the evasive ones of his master. “I do.”

  Juraj waved his hand. “And now, be off with you.”

  Manya stood still, clenched his fists, and looked as if he wanted to fight.

  “You’ve got your work to do, Stepan,” murmured Hordubal.

  “Very well,” hissed Stepan; he swung himself up into the wagon, turned round with the whip, and crash! he struck the horses over the head.

  The horses backed, reared, and broke into a wild gallop; the wagon flew and rattled as if it would break into a thousand pieces.

  Hordubal stood on the road, enveloped in dust; then he slowly made his way back to the village, walking home with lowered head. Eh, Juraj, that’s how the old people go.

  CHAPTER XV

  IN a week Hordubal grew thin, like a skeleton. And why not, I ask you ? Is it a small thing to get things straight in the morning, feed the pigs, curry-comb the horses, take the cows to the pasture, clean the cowshed, and get the child off to school; then go with the horses down to the plain, the maize is ready for harvest; home at midday, cook something for the child’s dinner, water the horses, feed the hens; and again go to the plain for a bit of work, then in the evening come home quickly, get supper ready, look after the catde, with clumsy fingers even mend Hafia’s little skirt; well, a child must play, how soon she tears her frock. It’s difficult to be in so many places at once, it’s hard not to forget one for the other. In the evening he sank into the straw like a log of wood, and still he could not fall asleep because of worries, whether he had forgotten something. Ah, God, he had, he hadn’t watered the geraniums in the window; and Hordubal got up wearily to water the geraniums.

  And Polana—as if she didn’t exist; she locked herself in the room and sulked. What to do, thought Hordubal, greatly embarrassed; the wife is angry, because I didn’t ask her advice. What do you think, Polana, I want to send the workman away. Eh, woman, have sense after all: could I have told you, Polana, such and such rumours as there are about you ? And what am I to tell you; well, I sent the workman away, be angry; I shan’t drive you to work with a stick. Oh, Lord, Polana’s hands are wanted here; only a week, and it’s as if everything had got into a mess; who would have thought how much work a woman like that does—a man doesn’t even do half as much. But she will see it herself, her temper will go, and she will laugh. What a camel is Juraj, he doesn’t know how to put things straight, or cook—well, what do you expect from a man!

  Once—he caught sight of her; he came back for something, and she was standing at the door. Like a shadow. Rings round her eyes, and a perpendicular furrow on her forehead. Hordubal turned away—I nothing, my dear, I haven’t seen you. And she vanished—like a shadow. At night when Hordubal crawled into the straw, he heard a door open silently somewhere. That’s Polana. She goes out into the yard, and stands, stands—And Juraj, with his hands under his head, blinked in the darkness, and shuddered.

  Cows, horses, Hafia, hens, pigs, field, flowers—Lord, that’s bad enough, but the worst job is to keep up appearances. So that wagging tongues won’t be able to say that at Hordubal’s so and so. I have a married sister, she could help, she could cook, but no, thank you nicely, we don’t need her. The neighbour looks over the fence: Hordubal, send Hafia over to me for the day, I’ll look after her. Thank you very much, neighbour, much obliged, but please don’t bother yourself; Polana’s not very well, she has to He down a bit, I like to do her work. What, let you push your nose-! I meet Geric, he looks at me, a word of greeting is in his mouth. You go your own way, I don’t know you. And Hafia is frightened; she
looks at me, with open eyes—well, she misses Stepan. What was I to do, child? there were such rumours, put it to the peoples’ account.

  Cows, horses, maize, pigs—yes, clean out the pig-sty, and water the cows. And here, see, I must clean the ditch out so that the slush can get away. Hordubal set to work, he snorted with eagerness. For a time the only thing in the world was the pig-sty; you wait, Polana, you’ll be astonished when you come here—a pig-sty like a parlour. Now some clean water. And Hordubal went with the bucket to the well.

  In the yard, on the shaft of the wagon, Manya was sitting; he played with Hafia on his knee, and talked to her about something.

  Juraj set the bucket down on the ground, and with his hands in his pockets he went straight up to Stepan.

  With one hand Manya moved Hafia away, and the other he put in his pocket; he sat still, with eyes as narrow as caraway seed, and something was sticking out of his hand and pointing at Hordubal’s belly.

  Hordubal grinned. Old boy, I know from America how to use a revolver. Here you are, he took from his pocket a clasp-knife and threw it on the ground. Manya put his hand in his pocket and kept his eyes fixed on his master.

  Hordubal leant forwards with the hand on the wagon and looked down at Manya. What am I to do with you here, he thought. Lord, how am I to begin with him ?

  And Hafia didn’t know either how it would end, and with gaping mouth she looked from her father to Stepan, and from Stepan to her father.

  “Well, Hafia,” murmured Hordubal. “Are you glad that Stepan has come back to you ?”

  The little girl said nothing, she only turned her eyes towards Manya.