The Cowards (15 page)

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 silently 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.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘This is it,’ I could hardly believe my own ears, but he really said it. ‘This is it.’ Probably it had popped up in his head from all those novels he’d consumed during the war when he’d worked in the municipal library. I looked at Benda. He was crushed. He stood there with his pants stretched tight over his big rump, in that funny-looking fireman’s helmet with a silver seam down the middle. I felt sorry for him. I watched him and I would have helped him if I could. I thought about staging a mutiny. But it was just a thought. We had guns in our hands and they didn’t have anything. We could easily have got out of there. But I put it out of my head right away. It’d be all over in a couple days and then they’d try us for
sedition and we’d get sent to jail on account of it for God knows how long. There wasn’t anything we could do. Slowly, Benda took off the string of hand grenades and laid them down on the table in front of the janitor. Then he took off the gun strapped over his shoulders and placed it on top of the grenades.

‘Good. I see you’ve understood what your duty is,’ said Major Weiss. ‘And don’t think we don’t know what we’re doing. These weapons will be distributed among experienced trained soldiers.’

Benda stepped back. I took his place in front of the janitor. Cautiously, Major Weiss picked up Benda’s submachine gun.

‘Write this down, sergeant,’ he said to the janitor. ‘One light machine gun, donated by Mr – what’s your name?’

‘Submachine gun,’ I said quickly and casually.

‘What?’ said Major Weiss.

‘That’s a submachine gun.’

I’d taken him by surprise. He was off balance now. He looked at me in embarrassment and his face flushed a little around his nose.

‘It’s a submachine gun, not a light machine gun,’ I repeated obligingly.

‘Yes. I know, Mr Smiricky. You don’t need to instruct me,’ he said brusquely, to cover up.

‘I thought maybe you didn’t know,’ I said. I was capable of all kinds of insolence at that moment. Major Weiss turned pale with anger, but he was smart enough not to go on any further. He turned to the janitor and continued. ‘Have you got that? One submachine gun, donated by Mr – what’s your name?’

‘Benda,’ Benda said.

‘Mr Benda.’

The janitor wrote it down. When he wrote submachine gun you could see how his pen hesitated. It was probably the first time he’d ever heard the word.

‘Also six hand grenades,’ Major Weiss went on. The lieutenant took the grenades and Benda’s submachine gun and put them aside. I laid my own submachine gun down on the table in front of the janitor and pulled the ammunition out of my
pockets. I felt a bit like a thief, but then the whole thing was a farce anyway. And that’s how we were disarmed. And we hadn’t even fired a shot. It was a real farce. I felt a bit sad about giving up my gun, but at least I’d have a snapshot of it. That would be enough. And so I was out of it. Out of the army. And out of the uprising. And nobody could say I didn’t have guts. And I’d be able to show Irena my picture. And I wasn’t going to get mixed up in anything else. Let somebody else get mixed up. I’d done my part. Yesterday they’d practically put me in front of a firing squad and now today this business with our guns. I’d certainly done my part. Now Mr Moutelik and Mr Machacek could play at being heroes. I’d just sit by and watch. I stepped away from the table and stood next to Benda. Vahar moved in front of the janitor and put down his flag and staff.

‘One Czechoslovak flag,’ Major Weiss dictated. ‘Donated by Mr –?’

‘Vahar,’ said Vahar, and stepped back to join us.

Then all the rest of the boys stepped up to the janitor’s table, one after another. The lieutenant, his collar unbuttoned, checked the weapons and carried them over to the wall. You could tell from the way he picked up our submachine guns that it was the first time he’d ever laid his hands on one. Benda watched sadly. I watched with interest. When they were through with us, Major Weiss said, ‘Thank you. That’s all. Now report to the office.’ He spoke briskly and officially because he was mad at us. Especially at me. Well, I’d shown him up. I turned around and went out. The first thing I saw was Berty Moutelik with his camera. He stood there with his camera up to his eye taking a picture of four gentlemen who were posing for him. I knew them all. They were from the Commercial Bank and they’d already been inducted because they had on red-and-white armbands with some kind of gold inscription. When I got closer, I could read it.
CS ARMY
stood out like the letters on a ribbon on a funeral wreath. I noticed that there were already a lot of groups standing around in the yard with armbands on. We went on towards the main building. I saw the boys from the band standing over by the icehouse. I left the others and went over to them.

‘Hi,’ I said. They turned to me.

‘Hi,’ said Haryk. Benno was wearing his sheepskin cap. He wore it pulled down low over his eyes and he looked a small-town hick. Benno was always good for a laugh. Day before yesterday he’d talked as if he was scared, but he hadn’t lost his sense of humour. I remember him playing a hurdy-gurdy at a carnival once and the peasants, who didn’t know who he was, threw money into his cap. We walked by him, too, and Haryk threw him a ten-crown note and Benno thanked him respectfully. He gave the guy who’d loaned him the hurdy-gurdy a thousand crowns for letting him use it half a day. But he could afford it. His dad’s shop was doing good business.

‘You’re looking sharp, Benno,’ I said.

‘Hail to our homeland,’ said Benno.

‘All hail!’ said Haryk.

‘So you’re in already?’ I said, because I saw they were all wearing those mourning bands on their arms.

‘You bet. Answering our country’s call,’ said Lexa.

‘I’m going to get in line.’

‘Go on, then come back here. We’ll make up an exemplary body of fighting men.’

I laughed and went up to the door and took my place in line. Hrob, a red-headed kid I’d known in grade school, was just ahead of me. He looked at me with those great big eyes of his.

‘Hello,’ he said in a respectful voice.

‘Hello,’ I answered, very friendly. Hrob had mild blue eyes. I remembered him – how he’d excelled in two things in school. He’d been absolutely incapable of learning the multiplication tables so he’d dropped out of school in fourth grade, but he was always so quiet and mild that the teacher had a hard time before finally deciding to flunk him. He really didn’t excel so much in the second thing. It just brought him fame. That was one time in second grade, I guess, when we were still just little kids and we used to have peeing contests in the john at recess. Who could sprinkle the wall most. Ponykl won. He got all the way up to the strip of black tar paint and made a gorgeous palm tree on the wall. Hrob just watched us, but then all of a
sudden he smiled, unbuttoned his fly, took out his little peter, bowed, and then a fine yellowish stream spurted out like a fountain and gradually went higher and higher up the wall. But still not as high as Ponykl’s. Hrob leaned back a little bit more and he shouldn’t have done that because the yellow stream dropped back from the wall and before the poor kid could duck, it fell back on his head, obeying the law of gravitation. The kids razzed him about it for the rest of his school career. Now there he stood in front of me, looking at me with those big, docile, respectful blue eyes. He had on a neat blue suit made of reject material by which you could always recognize the workers from Lewith’s weaving mill on Sunday.