Three Novels: Hordubal, Meteor, an Ordinary Life

by Karel Čapek

  “That window, Biegl,” repeated Gelnaj. “That’s something for you.”

  Biegl turned towards the window. It was shut, only one pane was broken. “Ah, look here,” he said with interest. “Well, this way—but nobody could crawl through this hole, Gelnaj. And, here on the glass are scratches made by a diamond, but on the inside! That’s queer!”

  Geric tiptoed up to the bed. Eh, poor devil, how your nose sticks out! And your eyes are closed as if you were asleep—

  Biegl cautiously opened the window and looked out. “That’s as one would expect,” he announced with satisfaction. “The bits are outside, Gelnaj.”

  Gelnaj snorted. “So you think, mayor,” he said with deliberation, “it’s a family affair, what? And I haven’t seen Stepan Manya here.”

  “He may be at home, in Rybary,” the mayor suggested uncertainly.

  Biegl nosed round everywhere. “Nothing’s been disturbed, nothing broken—”

  “I don’t like it, Charley,” said Gelnaj.

  Biegl showed his teeth. “Very stupid, isn’t it?” But wait, it will all work out nicely. I like straightforward cases, Gelnaj.”

  Gelnaj rolled out into the yard, fat and respectable. “Come here, Hordubalova. Who was in the house last night?”

  “Only me—and Hafia here, my daughter.”

  “Where did you sleep ?”

  “In the room, with Hafia.”

  “This door leading into the yard was locked, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was locked.”

  “And in the morning it was still locked? Who opened it?”

  “I did—when it got light.”

  “And who found the corpse first?”

  Polana kept her lips closed tightly, and gave no answer.

  “Where is your workman?” inquired Biegl suddenly.

  “At home, in Rybary.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well-I only think—”

  “I’m not asking you what you think. How do you know that he’s in Rybary?”

  “—I don’t.”

  “When was he here last ?”

  “Ten days ago. He got the sack.”

  “When did you see him last?”

  “Ten days ago.”

  “You’re lying,” said Biegl, making a random shot. “You were with him yesterday. We know that.”

  “It’s not true,” cried Polana in terror.

  “Confess, Hordubalova,” Gelnaj advised her.

  “No—yes. He saw me yesterday—”

  “Where?” demanded Biegl.

  “Out there.”

  “Where, out there?”

  Polana glanced quickly here and there. “Behind the village.”

  “What were you doing there? What? Answer me quick!” Polana said nothing.

  “You had an appointment with him, hadn’t you?” Gelnaj began again.

  “No, God is my witness! We met by accident—”

  “Where?” demanded Biegl again.

  Polana turned her hunted eyes to Gelnaj. “We met by accident. He only asked me when he could come for his things. He has some clothes still here, there in the stable.”

  “Aha, your husband sacked him on the spot, didn’t he ? Will you please tell me why?”

  “They had a quarrel.”

  “And when was he to have come for his things ?”

  ‘ To-day—this morning.”

  ‘ And did he?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Because he came last night,” interrupted Biegl.

  “No, he hasn’t been here! He was at home!”

  “How do you know that?”

  Polana bit her Hp. “I don’t.”

  “Come, Hordubalova,” said Biegl sharply. “When you see the victim you’ll tell us some more.”

  Polana staggered.

  “Let her be,” growled Geric Vasil Vasilov. “She’s going to have a baby.”

  CHAPTER II

  GELNAJ sat in the yard, and let Biegl pry round all the farm buildings. He sniffed and sniffed, and his eyes shone with zeal. He poked about in the stables and cowshed, he went round everything and then he began to search about in the loft; he grew livelier, he enjoyed it so much. What a job! thought Gelnaj to himself; gipsies are enough for me, and to keep order-Well, let Charley enjoy himself.

  From the parlour the doctor emerged, and went to wash his hands at the pump. Biegl was already on the spot, and inquired impatiendy: “Well, what, what was it?”

  “That will come out at the post-mortem,” replied the doctor. “But I should say that it was probably a nail, or something. Only two, three drops of blood—queer.”

  Polana brought him a towel.

  “Thank you, marm. And tell me, was your husband ill in any way?”

  “He was in bed yesterday, he had some kind of fever.”

  “Aha. And you’re going to have a baby, aren’t you?”

  Polana blushed. “Not till spring, sir.”

  “It won’t be in the spring, mother. Some time early in the new year.”

  As Polana went away Biegl winked with pleasure. “So then we have a motive, Gelnaj. Hordubal only came back from America in July.”

  Gelnaj snorted. “Hordubalova thinks that it was somebody from outside. Some time ago her husband had a fight in the pub, she says, and badly mauled Fedeles Gejza. He knocked him on the head. Gejza is a ruffian. It may be vengeance, she says. There’s another nice motive for you there, Charley.”

  The doctor also glanced after Polana, and said, absent-mindedly: “It’s a pity that you will lock her up, and I like maternity cases. I get nothing to do with births here, women have children like cats. With this woman it’s likely to be a more difficult delivery.”

  “Why?”

  “Old and thin. About forty, isn’t she ?”

  “Oh, no,” said Gelnaj. “Hardly thirty. And so Hordubal was ill ? How can you tell then when a man’s dead ?”

  “A medical secret, Gelnaj, but I’ll tell you. Under the bed there was a full pot.”

  “I hadn’t noticed that,” said Biegl enviously.

  “So good-bye, gentlemen,” said the doctor, swaying as he marched away on his stumpy legs. “And you’ll let me know about the inquest, won’t you?”

  “I shall have another look round the house yet,” mumbled Biegl, “and then we could go to Rybary.”

  “And what do you keep on looking for, Charley? Another motive?”

  “Clues,” said Biegl drily. “And the instrument.”

  “Aha. I wish you well.”

  Gelnaj strolled to the fence, and began a conversation with a neighbour; he teased her until she gave him a slap with her dish-cloth and a bunch of flowers. In a corner near the shed Hafia was crouching, terrified. Gelnaj made faces at her, and grinned so fiercely that she was frightened at first, and then began to mimic him. When after a long time Biegl came out of the barn, Hafia was sitting on Gelnaj’s knee, telling him that she was going to have a rabbit-hutch.

  “I’ve not found anything more,” said Biegl irritably. “But I shall come back here again. It would be strange if I— Did you tell Geric to get a cart for us to go to Rybary?”

  “It’s waiting already,” said Gelnaj, dismissing Hafia with a pat on her seat.

  “Well, what, Gelnaj, what do you think of it?”

  “I’ll tell you what, Biegl,” growled Gelnaj thoughtfully. “I shan’t think anything about it at all. After twenty-five years I’ve had enough of it. I don’t like it.”

  “Well, a murder isn’t a trivial thing,” said Biegl experdy.

  “Oh, not that so much, Charley,” said Gelnaj, shaking his head. “Only, you know, a murder in a village musn’t be taken like that. You’re a townee, you don’t see the point. If it were robbery with violence, I should damned well nose about like you. But a murder in the family—And I’ll tell you, I’m not surprised that they killed Hordubal.”

  “Why?”

  “—He was unlucky by nature. He had it written on h
is face, my boy.”

  Biegl grinned. “The devil had it written on his face. A young farm hand slept in the house, that’s the whole case. Gelnaj, man, it’s such a simple case—”

  “Oh, no, cases in a family are never simple,” growled Gelnaj. “But you’ll see, Charley. To murder for money, that’s simple, it can be done in two ticks; but think, for days and weeks to have it inside you, for days and nights to brood on it—in that case, Biegl, it’s as if you poked your nose into hell. It’s clear to you because you’re new to the place; but I knew them all, Charley, all three. But what’s the good of talking ? let’s go to Rybary.”

  CHAPTER III

  “Is Stepan at home ?”

  “No, he’s gone to the town.”

  Biegl pushed Michal Manya out of his way, and rushed into the house. Gelnaj in the meantime began to talk to old Manya and Michal about the weather, hares, and that the sewage was running out on to the road.

  Biegl returned, followed by Stepan, pale and rebellious, with bits of hay sticking to his clothes.

  “So why did you say that he wasn’t at home?” demanded Biegl of Michal.

  “In the morning he said that he was going to the town,” mumbled Michal. “Is it my job to watch him?”

  “And all the time he was hiding in the hay! What were you hiding there for, you?”

  “I wasn’t,” scowled Stepan. “Why should I? I was asleep.”

  “Perhaps that’s because you didn’t sleep enough last night, eh?”

  “Yes, I did. Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Well, why were you asleep when we came ?”

  “Because I’ve got nothing to do here. I had enough to do when I was at work.”

  “He worked yesterday, if you please; he was ploughing all day,” put in old Manya quickly.

  “I didn’t ask you,” snapped Biegl. “Get off into the house, and Michal as well.”

  “Oh ah,” sighed Gelnaj. “And what have you got to say, Stepan, to what’s happened to Hordubal?”

  “I haven’t done anything to him,” burst out Stepan.

  “So you already knew that someone had killed him?” began Biegl victoriously. “And who told you about it?”

  “—Nobody. But when you see policemen—you can guess that something’s wrong with Hordubal.”

  “And why with Hordubal?”

  “Because—because we had a quarrel,” said Stepan, clenching his teeth and fists. “He threw me out, the dog!”

  Biegl was rather disconcerted. “Take care, Manya. So you admit that you parted with Hordubal in anger?”

  Stepan was vexed and showed his teeth. “Everybody knows that, don’t they ?”

  “And did you want to revenge yourself on him?”

  Stepan snorted. “If I had met him—I don’t know what I should have done.”

  Biegl stood thinking for a short time: Stepan wasn’t going to give in easily.

  “Where were you last night?” he asked pointedly.

  “I was at home, here, I was asleep.”

  “That remains to be seen. Is there anyone who can prove it?”

  “Yes. Michal—Dula—our old man. Ask them.”

  “It’s not your business to give me advice,” rapped out Biegl. “You talked with Hordubalova yesterday afternoon. What about?”

  “I didn’t talk with her,” replied Stepan harshly and deliberately. “I didn’t see her at all.”

  “You’re lying! She told me herself that she had an appointment with you—that you asked her when you ought to come for your things—”

  “I haven’t seen her for ten days,” insisted Stepan. “Since I stopped work, I haven’t been in Kriva, and I haven’t seen her.”

  “Be careful,” stormed Biegl. “I’ll teach you to talk sense! Get a move on, and show me where you slept last night.”

  Stepan shrugged his shoulders, and led Biegl into the house. Gelnaj knocked at the window: “Hi, you old fellow, come here!”

  Old Manya shuffled out, and blinked his eyes suspiciously. “Beg your pardon, what’s happened?”

  Gelnaj waved his hand. “Someone had a go at Hordubal last night, he got a whack on the head. Listen, my friend, didn’t Stepan do it?”

  The old man shook his head. “Oh, not that, I tell you, Stepan couldn’t have done that. He was at home, he was asleep. Hi, Michal, come here! Tell us where Stepan was last night.”

  Michal thought for a bit, and then said, slowly: “Well, where could he be? He was asleep upstairs with Dula and me.”

  “I see,” nodded Gelnaj, “I knew it straight away. And Hordubal isn’t popular in the village. You know, a rich American, and he doesn’t even entertain his neighbours.”

  Old Manya lifted his arms. “I say, rich! Under his shirt he carries a bag with nothing but dollars—”

  “Have you seen them?”

  “Yes, I have, for he came here to buy our farm, and he showed me the money. More than seven hundred dollars, I tell you. Unpopular in the village, that may be; a proud man has no friends.”

  Gelnaj nodded thoughtfully. “And what have you got here, Manya, this splintered door?”

  “That’s done by sticking the basket needle into it. It’s there the whole year round.”

  “Show me what it looks like,” asked Gelnaj, becoming interested. “I didn’t know that baskets were made with a needle.”

  “Oh, the stems are plaited with the needle—like this,” said Manya, showing him with his finger. “It was still here yesterday,” he grumbled. “Don’t you know where it’s gone, Michal?”

  “Don’t worry,” murmured Gelnaj indifferently. “When I’m going past some time, I’ll look in. But you oughtn’t to let that sewage, Manya, run out on to the road. It’s not your road.”

  “When we begin to manure the field, the heap will be carted away—”

  “You ought to have a proper cistern, one made of concrete. You need some money in the farm, eh?”

  “Oh, that, yes, we do,” simpered the old man. “To build a new barn—but Michal here is a ne’er-do-well. Stepan has more sense for farming. Stepan, he would make a farmer.”

  Dula returned from the fields, bringing on the wagon a small cock of hay, but he drove along in great style.

  “Come here, boy,” shouted Gelnaj in a fatherly manner, “I only want to get things straightened out. Where was Stepan last night?”

  Dula opened his mouth, and looked questioningly at his father and at Michal; no one made the slightest sign. “He was here,” mumbled Dula. “With me and Michal, he slept in the loft.”

  “Well, you’ve said it,” said Gelnaj approvingly. “And what, shall you join the cavalry?”

  The youngster’s teeth glistened. “Of course I shall.”

  From the house Biegl emerged, silent and irritated. “Come here, Gelnaj. I’ve given Stepan several on the jaw; and now I’ve locked him in the parlour.”

  “You oughtn’t to have done that,” said Gelnaj. “Infringement of personal freedom, and so on.”

  Biegl grinned disrespectfully. “What do I care ? The worst is that I haven’t found anything. And what about you?”

  “Alibi as plain as a pikestaff, Charley. The whole night long he slept in the hay like a good boy.”

  “They’re telling lies,” burst out Biegl impatiendy.

  “Of course. It’s in their blood, my friend.”

  “But at the court they’ll change their tune,” promised Biegl.

  “And that’s because you don’t know them. They’ll either refuse to give evidence or they’ll all perjure themselves wholesale. In a village, Charley, it’s like a national custom.”

  “Well, what am I to do?” frowned Biegl. “What do you think, Gelnaj, ought we to arrest Stepan now? You can bet your life that he did it.”

  Gelnaj nodded. “I know. Only—look out, Biegl,” he began to say, but did not finish; for just then there was a slight clatter, and Biegl roared: “Stop him!” and off he dashed round the corner of the building. Gelnaj slowly followed. There were
two men on the ground, but Biegl was on top. “I’ll hold him for you, Charley,” offered Gelnaj.

  Biegl got up, and by twisting Stepan’s arm he made him get up too.

  “Up you get,” he puffed breathlessly. “I’ll give you something for trying to run away.”

  Stepan hissed through his teeth, and his face was screwed up with pain. “Let go,” he growled. “I—I only wanted to go to Kriva—to get my things—”

  Dula forced his way between the two policemen. “Let him go,” he shouted, “let him go, or—”

  Gelnaj put his hand on his shoulder. “Slowly, boy. And you, Michal, don’t you try to interfere. Stepan Manya, I arrest you in the name of Law. And now come quietly, you camel!”

  They drove Stepan Manya to the town. He didn’t ride behind the little stallion with his head up, and yet people stopped and looked back. On each side sat a policeman with a rifle between his knees; Stepan was between them; his little hat was not stuck at the back of his head, and he didn’t look round at the plain. There—the river, and here horses grazing, a swamp glistened between the rushes; but Stepan only gazed at the tawny back of some horseman—

  Gelnaj unbuttoned his uniform, and began to talk. He talked familiarly with Stepan, but said not a word about Hordubal; only about farming, about his home at Rybary, about horses—Stepan at first would hardly open his mouth, but later his tongue became loose. Yes, that little stallion; the master got a bad price for him, who knows who he sold him to, and for how much; he could have had eight thousand for him, he ought to go to a stud farm, but first put that black filly to him—eh, sir, I should like to see what would come of it! Manya’s eyes lit up. And he sold a horse like that! It’s a sin. He ought to have sold the gelding, or the mare with the foal—but that little stallion- Stepan became so moved that he began to foam at the corners of his mouth; and Biegl was upset and thought that one ought not to talk with the culprit, except in an official capacity.

  “Eh, sir,” said Stepan, almost to himself, “if that stallion were in the shafts, I’d take the reins myself—it would be a ride!”

  CHAPTER IV

  “LOOK here, Gelnaj,” explained Biegl in the evening. “Someone in the house did it; he broke the window from inside to make it look like a burglary. He couldn’t get in by the door because it was bolted. So he was either in the house already in the evening—”