The Cowards Read online

  ‘What’ve you got against Sabata, anyway? What makes you so sure he’s so yellow?’ said Vahar.

  ‘What makes you think he isn’t?’

  ‘All I know is that he got my dad out of a concentration camp,’ said Vahar.

  ‘That’s right, he did,’ said Benda.

  ‘But how?’ said Perlik.

  ‘The fact is, he did it,’ said Benda.

  ‘Sure. By spending a lot of time drinking with the Gestapo down at headquarters.’

  ‘Well, he got him out, didn’t he? And that wasn’t the only case.’

  ‘All right now. Let’s decide what we’re going to do,’ said Prema.

  ‘I’m for going over to the brewery,’ said Benda.

  ‘Me, too,’ said Vahar.

  ‘Me, too,’ said Jerry.

  ‘All right,’ said Prema and looked at the others. Vasek, Vostal and Prochazka were silent.

  ‘How about it, you guys?’

  ‘Oh, well, okay, let’s go then,’ said Vostal.

  ‘What about you?’ Prema said to Prochazka.

  ‘Sure, I guess so,’ Prochazka said.

  ‘I’d rather not,’ said Kocandrle.

  ‘What about you?’ Prema said to me. I was kind of surprised he was already counting me in. Also, I knew Perlik was right. But I wanted to go to the brewery anyway. I wanted to see the circus over there. The washing away of Protectorate sins. And besides, maybe Perlik was wrong after all. There’d be a lot of bloodthirsty guys over at the brewery, and once things got started not even Dr Sabata could hold them back. I knew a lot of them personally. They didn’t belong to any organization but they were crazy to have an uprising. Even at the brewery those pleasures would be provided for. And I wanted to see the others, too. I didn’t want to miss Mr Mozol. Or Mr Moutelik either. I looked at Prema.

  ‘I suppose we’d better go over to the brewery,’ I said. ‘If we don’t like it, we can always clear out.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Benda.

  ‘You guys are as dumb as they come,’ said Perlik.

  ‘Shut up. The majority’s for the brewery,’ said Benda.

  ‘Because you’re dumb.’

  ‘Quit arguing,’ said Prema. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Right,’ said Benda, and they all got up.

  ‘Morons,’ said Perlik.

  Benda turned sharply on him. ‘Look, if you don’t like it you don’t have to come along!’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Perlik and got up too. I waited until they’d filed out of the warehouse and then went over to Prema.

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Come on,’ said Prema. We went out.

  In front of the warehouse stood a wagon whose load was covered up with a tarpaulin. The boys stood around it, silent, huddled in a circle in the rain, holding or shouldering their submachine guns and rifles. Vahar held the flag furled around its staff. Prema flipped back the tarpaulin and pulled a polished submachine gun out by its barrel.

  ‘You know how to work this?’ he said to me.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, look. This is how you remove the safety. Here’s where you load it and then this snaps down.’ Prema shoved the magazine into the barrel. The bullet heads shone through the holes. ‘Try it.’ said Prema.

  I took out the magazine and then I put it in again. It worked fine.

  ‘And when you shoot, press the butt up against your shoulder.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Prema turned back to the wagon and pulled four clips of ammunition out from under the tarpaulin.

  ‘Put these in your pocket.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I stick the clips in my coat pocket. They just fit.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Jerry.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Prema.

  Jerry grabbed the wagon shaft and Prochazka and Kocandrle pushed from behind. I stood on one side and helped them push. Vahar unfurled the flag and we started off. The wheels of the little wagon squeaked. We went slowly over the foot bridge, past the Czech Brethren Church and past the Social Democrat Workers Sports Club towards the brewery. I knew how we must look. Pretty fine. We all walked along without saying a word. We acted very casual. People in hiking knickers with tricolours on their berets stared at us. You could tell they admired us. It was great.

  We got to the bridge. I looked up at Irena’s window and hoped she was watching, but she wasn’t. Naturally. She should see me now. But no such luck. I could already imagine fighting the Germans off in the woods and Irena hiding down in the cellar or somewhere. The whole thing lost all its charm if Irena couldn’t see me. Why in hell was I letting myself in for this? A bunch of people were heading along the path from the bridge towards the brewery. Like going to the cemetery on All Saints’ Day. A big Czechoslovak flag was flying from the brewery tower. I noticed that some of the guys in the crowd had Czechoslovak Army service rifles over their shoulders. And some were wearing old army uniforms and puttees. They looked quaint. I’d already forgotten there was such a thing as puttees any more. Nobody wore them in this war. Silently we pushed our wagon slowly along with the crowd. People looked at us. You could tell some of them admired us, too. Or else they were just scared. There were a lot of them who didn’t enjoy looking at a real honest-to-goodness gun. Probably deep down they’d hoped everything would blow over nice and quiet. But nevertheless they were going to the brewery. They were all patriots. And heroes. Mr Lobel was ahead of us. He used to be our landlord; he was Jewish but his wife was Aryan so he hadn’t been sent to a concentration camp. He was carrying a shotgun over his shoulder. He’d always been a big hunter. I kind of expected to see his hunting dog, Bonza, trotting alongside. Bonza would have been glad to come along, I knew. We steered the wagon through the gate. Mr Moutelik, wearing knickers and a ski cap, appeared with Berty beside him, his Leica on his chest. He beamed at me.

  ‘Hi, Danny,’ Berty said.

  ‘Hi. Going to take some pictures?’ I said.

  ‘You bet.’

  Better do it fast, I thought to myself. As we came through the gate, I noticed Mr Mozol with a policeman’s sabre standing with a bunch of people from the Messerschmidt factory. They even stuck together here. They had it in their blood, the Messerschmidt people. Jerks! They stood in a bunch, chatting. Just three days ago, Mr Mozol was crawling around, licking Uippelt’s boots. Everybody knew that. And now he was scared again. He was always scared of something. And he always had good reason to be scared. He stood there, pale and silly looking and scared. We turned towards the main building. A long queue stood on the steps leading to the open doors. They were waiting to sign up. An army first has to be enlisted. I saw Mr Stybl the barber, Dr Bohadlo, Mr Frinta the lawyer, the clerk from our bank, Mr Jungwirth from the loan association, and others. They stood there waiting their turn. Mr Jungwirth was eating a sandwich. We stopped the wagon. Prema turned.

  ‘Wait here, fellows. I’m going to find Sabata.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Benda.

  Prema went up the stairs and you could see how he was telling the guys at the door to let him through. I saw one guy at the door turn on him angrily, take one look at Prema’s gun and grenades, then slip aside fast. Sure. We didn’t have to waste our time like all the rest of those people lined up there. Their eyes were full of envy because we were somebody, we had weapons. I held my gun by the muzzle and set it on the ground. The steel felt cool and good.

  ‘Danny,’ I heard from behind me. There stood Berty with his Leica up to his eye.

  ‘Stand over there and I’ll take your picture.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. I didn’t have any objection. I thought about Irena and how I’d show her my picture. I flashed my Gable smile and picked up my submachine gun so you couldn’t miss it. Berty squinted at me through the finder and took two steps backward. I hoped Zdenek wasn’t going to get a gun like mine. Or at least that nobody’d take Zdenek’s picture with it. The camera clicked.

  ‘Thanks. When can I get one, Berty?’ I said.

  ‘I’ll develop i
t tonight.’

  ‘Can you make a few extras?’

  ‘Sure. How many copies can I make up for you?’ said Berty. He’d learned those expressions from his father. Berty was a businessman. His father was, too. They were both businessmen and they owned an apartment house. Berty’s hobby was photography. He was always awfully obliging about taking pictures, but he never did anything for nothing. He was always taking pictures, at high school, at the A. C. Kostelec Athletic Club, at little-theatre performances, and afterwards he sold each snapshot at cost, plus a small fee. I still remembered how in high school he used to have a list of how much people owed him and he always kept after us about paying up. When it came to getting paid he didn’t have any friends. Only customers.

  ‘Oh, about six,’ I said, because I wanted to have plenty of copies. And I knew Mother would send one to Grandmother and another to Prague and another to my uncle in America, as soon as she could again.

  ‘Can you save the negative, too?’ I added as an afterthought.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Berty.

  ‘Well, thanks.’

  ‘You’re quite welcome.’ Berty smiled broadly and moved on along the line with his camera all wound and ready for action again. He was pleased I’d let him take my picture. And after the revolution, he’d display the pictures in their show window with stupid captions. ‘Valiantly into the Fray,’ he’d write under my picture. But that’d be fine with me. That kind of nonsense didn’t bother Irena the way it did me. I was the only one sensitive about things like that. And the group in the band, too, of course. It’d be a big laugh. I could just see the people crowding around Moutelik’s show window and bragging about the pictures. And I’d be there, too. I remembered Mr Machacek. Of course. Berty would contribute the photographic illustrations. ‘Photographs graciously donated by Mr Albert Moutelik, Jr’ it would say somewhere at the back of the book. And there would be one coloured reproduction of an oil painting by Mr Leitner, ‘May 6th in Kostelec.’ I was already looking forward to that book. My picture would be in there, too. Mr Machacek would put it in as a favour to Father. So I’d be immortalized. Immortalized for all eternity in Kostelec. I glanced around at the crowd. More people kept coming in through the gate and the line moved slowly. Jirka Vit came out of the icehouse, carrying two rifles over each shoulder. Behind him came Mr Weiss in a major’s uniform and behind him a bunch of fellows in Czech Army uniforms. One of them went up the steps of the main building and put up a sign next to the door. On it was written in black paint:

  Order No. 1

  ALL FIREARMS AND EXPLOSIVES ARE TO BE TURNED IN AT THE STOREROOM.

  Col. Cemelik,

  Commander

  I immediately thought of Perlik. I turned to him. He was standing behind me, looking at the sign. Then he drew down his mouth and grimaced angrily.

  ‘Well, isn’t that nice,’ he said in an icy voice.

  ‘That’s really crazy,’ said Benda.

  ‘So long, buddies,’ said Perlik and turned.

  ‘Where’re you going?’ said Benda, but Perlik said nothing and hurried through the crowd towards the gate. I lost sight of him a couple of times as he pushed his way through the people with his submachine gun slung over his back, and then he disappeared.

  ‘That’s nonsense. We’ll hang on to our guns,’ said Benda.

  ‘Sure. Let everybody find his own,’ said Prochazka.

  ‘We’ll only turn in what’s left over. That’ll be enough for them anyway.’

  ‘You bet. Who else can give ’em so many?’

  ‘So let’s go to the storehouse and turn ’em in,’ said Vahar.

  ‘Wait a minute, we’d better wait till they come for ’em,’ said Jerry.

  ‘No, we’d better hand them in ourselves. They won’t be able to hold it against us anyway.’

  ‘That’s right. They won’t scold us,’ said Benda. I could tell he was embarrassed now that he had seen in black and white that Perlik had probably been right all along.

  ‘Aw, nuts, let’s turn ’em in. That’ll be better,’ said Vahar nervously.

  ‘Think so?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Wait, let’s wait for Prema,’ said Prochazka.

  Vahar looked towards the main building. ‘All right,’ he said.

  ‘Bringing weapons, boys?’ somebody said behind of us. I turned around. There stood Major Weiss, looking very pleasant.

  ‘Yes,’ said Benda.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Major Weiss and turned back the tarpaulin revealing the pile of rifles, German bazookas and two submachine guns.

  ‘Well, well, you’ve outdone yourselves, boys,’ said Major Weiss. ‘Come along with me now. We’ll take them over to the storeroom.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Benda and turned to us. The boys looked at him uncertainly.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Benda, and didn’t look at anybody. Major Weiss was already heading for the storeroom.

  ‘I thought we were going to wait for Prema,’ said Prochazka.

  ‘But he’s ordered us,’ said Benda.

  ‘But they’re going to want us to turn in everything,’ said Kocandrle.

  ‘Aw, no. You saw the way he just glanced at the wagon.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh, sure.’

  Major Weiss turned around. ‘Follow me, boys,’ he called to us.

  ‘We’re coming,’ said Benda and started to push the wagon.

  ‘I don’t know,’ repeated Kocandrle, but Vahar had already turned the shaft. The boys slowly began to push. It made me mad, too. I didn’t want to part with my gun. Should I make a break for it? But it was probably too late now. Weiss had seen me. And what would I do with a gun all by myself, if the rest of the boys didn’t have any weapons? But I could hide it someplace. Sure, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have it in the house somewhere. You could daydream a lot better that way. About gangsters and things like that. But Major Weiss was waiting for us and his assistants surrounded us. We were on the spot. We slowly trundled the wagon towards the storeroom. It was around the corner from the icehouse. Hruska from Messerschmidt stood in front of the doorway wearing a uniform and a helmet strapped under his chin. He was holding a rifle with a bayonet on it and staring straight ahead. One wing of the door was closed and there was a sign on it reading: ARSENAL. Slowly we approached the doorway. Hruska drew himself up straight and tall.

  ‘Hey! Open up!’ called Major Weiss.

  Some guy with a pipe looked out. I knew him. It was the stockroom man at the brewery. He’d always been here. The stock had changed a bit, but otherwise there was no difference. He looked at us and shoved back the bolt. Then he leaned against the door and pushed it open.

  ‘Bring it in, boys,’ said Major Weiss.

  We pushed the wagon. The same kind of light fixture hung from the storeroom ceiling as in Skocdopole’s warehouse. There was a table underneath and behind it sat the high-school janitor in his Czech Legion uniform with all his medals pinned on. He had a sheet of paper and a bottle of ink in front of him. There was somebody I knew by sight standing beside him, in a green cape and officer’s cap. The man in the cape saluted. Major Weiss saluted, too.

  ‘Another lot,’ said Major Weiss. ‘Boys, hand it over piece by piece to the lieutenant, and the sergeant will write it down.’

  I looked around. A row of rifles stood stacked up along the wall. At the end of the row I saw light Czechoslovak Army machine guns with tripods. There were a couple of sacks on the floor and on top, neat little pyramids of egg-shaped hand grenades. There were about twelve bazookas leaning against the other wall and a collection of all sorts of revolvers spread out on a table behind the janitor.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said the janitor. ‘First you’d better take off what you’ve got on so you can move around easier.’

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t bother us,’ said Benda.

  ‘You just take off those guns. You’ll be more comfortable. You’ve got to do it sooner or later.’

  Benda stood silent
ly in front of the janitor. I could see he was feeling uncomfortable. Then he spoke up slowly. ‘You want … the stuff we’re carrying, too?’

  The janitor looked at him in surprise. ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Well, now, look, we liberated this stuff ourselves.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Don’t worry, we won’t forget that.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘I write down the name of the donor of every weapon, whenever there is one.’

  ‘But we’d like to keep them.’

  ‘Keep them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but that’s impossible. Didn’t you read the order?’

  ‘The one on the door?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, yes …’

  ‘You read the order?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, there you are.’

  ‘But, look. We …’

  Major Weiss turned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Major, this gentleman refuses to hand over his weapons.’

  Major Weiss peered at Benda and assumed a military expression. ‘Do you know the order?’

  ‘Yes, Major, but–’

  ‘Quiet! You know the order, therefore you also know your duty.’

  ‘Yes –’

  ‘Every soldier must obey without question orders given by a superior officer,’

  Benda flushed.

  ‘I’m not a soldier!’ he burst out.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Major Weiss.

  ‘I’m not a soldier,’ Benda repeated.

  ‘When were you born?’

  ‘The twenty-second of March, 1924.’

  ‘Then according to the proclamation of the chairman of the National Committee, you’re mobilized.’

  ‘This is the first I ever heard of any proclamation.’

  ‘Well, I’m telling you now. Now turn in your weapons, please.’

  Benda didn’t move.

  ‘Are you going to hand them over? I’m giving you your last chance. Otherwise I’ll have to regard this as a clear case of insubordination.’ Major Weiss waited in silence and watched Benda. Then he added, slowly and significantly, ‘And do you know what that means when a state is in extreme peril, as it is now?’

  Benda stood in front of him, his face red, looking at the ground. The gun slung across his back looked silly now. He was whipped. He stood there in his black fireman’s helmet and he’d been completely whipped. His round face burned. Major Weiss was watching him, icy and military. He was only doing his duty.