The Cowards (2 page)

‘Oh God!’ said Haryk. ‘Hitler’s dead and he still goes off to work.’

‘Well, it just so happens things at the factory have been very interesting these past few days.’

‘Interesting? I beg your pardon?’

Jindra took advantage of the opening. Now he could talk away and cover up the bad impression he’d made. I looked at him and saw him tightening up the key on the bass, pretending to be listening for the pitch but meanwhile saying casually, ‘There was a riot at Messerschmidt. The workers stopped work and asked for a raise.’

‘Oh God!’ said Haryk again. ‘Hitler’s dead, the Reich’s going up in smoke, and all the Messerschmidt workers think about is trying to get a raise.’

‘They were just trying to raise hell. But the biggest joke is that it was Bartosik who led the whole strike.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘You don’t know him? Herr Bartosik from the pay office.’

‘Oh, him. You mean those idiots let themselves be led by a collaborator like him?’

‘Yes,’ said Jindra, and that was all. He stopped tuning his bass
and flipped open the sheet music in front of him. We were all watching him. From the way he’d said it you could tell there was more to it than that. He waited a little while till the room got quiet, and when it was he went on.

‘They let him lead ’em. But only up to Fenik’s office, and then they grabbed both of ’em and locked ’em up in the basement.’

‘Jesus!’ said Haryk. ‘I’m beginning to develop a healthy respect for the working class.’

‘You should have seen it! Especially the look on Bartosik’s face when they locked him up. You can’t imagine …’

‘Oh yes I can. Because I was around when he made a bad mistake like that once before,’ said Benno.

‘When?’

‘When he found out I was going to be shipped off to a concentration camp for racial reasons.’

We laughed, and Jindra laughed loudest. He had good reason to. He could be glad to get let off as easy as he had been after acting like such an eager beaver. Imagine, working in a German aircraft plant in Kostelec on the Fourth of May, 1945. Benno started off on a Bob Cats solo, softly, just for himself, and we turned to our parts, too. Before they shipped him off to the camp, Benno had been Bartosik’s secretary. I can just imagine how surprised Mr Bartosik must have been when he found out he’d had a half-Jew working for him in such a responsible position. And when he remembered all those half days he’d let Benno goof off! I stuck my saxophone in my mouth and hummed into it the opening bars of the first chorus of ‘Annie Laurie’. At the next desk Haryk opened up ‘Annie Laurie’ too, except on his score he’d written ‘Lucie’. ‘Annie Lucie.’ Old Winter pried himself loose from the tap and brought over some green soda pop on a tray. He shuffled over to the table by the window and set it down in front of Lucie. Lucie took a straw, tore off the wrapper, and dipped the straw into the soda pop. Then she bent over the glass and started to sip. She sat there in her nice thin dress, with her golden hair, sipping the emerald-coloured soda pop through which shone the setting sun. She was awfully pretty. I thought about Irena
and wondered what she was doing. But I knew. I was pretty sure I knew what she was doing. Zdenek hadn’t been going to the factory for a long time so it was pretty clear what he was up to also. Benno sounded off behind me, playing his rough, big, beautiful pre-concentration camp solo from ‘St James Infirmary’. I looked out the window and there hung the dusky silhouette of the castle and the sky was all red and orange with little clouds and clear patches and the first tiny stars. Lights glimmered in the castle windows. The big shots were probably putting their heads together. About how to make themselves scarce, most likely. The place was crawling with them. They’d come here from all over the Reich and now things were closing in on them from all sides and there they sat in their plush-upholstered rooms like in a trap. There was something kind of poignant about it. Kostelec was right in the middle of Europe, so they’d all gathered here. I guess they thought they could still save their skins somehow or other. One of that bunch was a queen of Württemberg – Ema, the housekeeper’s daughter up at the castle, had pointed her out to me – and she was very good looking. I wasn’t interested in her though. Falling in love with her would have been like falling in love with Deanna Durbin or something. The only way I could ever get her would be to take her by force when everything fell apart. But the thought of taking somebody by force when everything fell apart didn’t appeal to me. As a matter of fact, I’ve never felt like taking anybody by force ever. The only thing was that this Queen of Württemberg was pretty and I’ve always had a soft spot for a pretty woman. I didn’t have much faith in spiritual beauty. It’s all right for people to have a soft spot for pretty girls, because that’s only natural and it would be crazy to deny it. That’s just our nature. Anyway I was convinced that Fonda Cemelik had a crush on the Queen of Württemberg, too, even though he said he didn’t and that he couldn’t care less about her, because she really was awfully good looking. Prettier than Irena – I had to admit it objectively. Except that I was in love with Irena, and Fonda had all sorts of prejudices and moral scruples. Something anyway. And all I felt for the Württemberg queen was sympathy. Nothing else.

Fonda rapped on the piano lid. ‘Okay, let’s tune up,’ he said. He gave us A and we tuned up. Meanwhile I went on thinking about the Queen of Wurttemberg. Fonda didn’t waste any time on Jindra but he was very strict with the rest of us. He had absolute pitch and sometimes really made a show of it. Venca was sweating from the way Fonda kept nagging at him. He made Venca slide his trombone all the way out but still it didn’t sound right. When I finally told him the horn couldn’t possibly still be off pitch, Fonda insisted there must have been a slip-up somewhere when the thing was made, or that the heat must have done things to it, but that nobody could question the fact that he had a perfect sense of pitch. Anyway, we were all on pitch at last and then quieted down. Fonda rapped four times on the top of Winter’s upright piano and we began to play. Lexa wailed shrilly in the highest register of his clarinet, Venca sank down to the explosive depths of his trombone to build up the bass, and I was playing around with some fancy little flourishes in the middle range, while Benno came out above us with his rough, dirty, sobbing tones that sounded like they came from heaven. I started thinking about the Queen of Württemberg again, and about how good it was that there were beautiful girls in this world. It seemed only right there should be. I thought that here was this queen with a fancy family tree and ancestors and all kinds of class prejudices, but no kingdom to rule over, and that she could never, for instance, think of marrying me even if I wanted to marry her, but then it struck me maybe she would, now, because I was a Czech and she was a German and maybe my look-out was a lot better than hers even if I didn’t have any ancestors or prejudices like hers, but then I realized yes I did have ancestors, in fact just as many as she had, and I remembered those monogenetic and polygenetic theories I’d been reading about a while before and I remembered Forester Bauman who’d somehow found out that our family is actually an offshoot of the Smirickys of Smirice and if he was right, I thought, then I could marry the Württemberg queen after all, except suddenly I thought maybe an English lady might be a whole lot better when the war was over and with me coming from such a
distinguished family, and while I was thinking all these things over we went right on playing without a break. The idea that there might be a revolution or that we would see front line action didn’t even occur to me. And when it was time for me to start off on my solo, I thought to myself, you fool, Irena’s the only woman you’ve got and the only one you love and she’s better than all the others and more important than anything else in the whole world, and I started thinking about dying a hero’s death and how that would really impress Irena and how wonderful it must be to die a hero’s death, except that she would have to get to know about all the details and I was positive then that I was in love with Irena because it was so wonderful to feel so positive that I was.

When we’d finished the piece, Benno said, ‘I sure missed that in Schlausen, and that’s a fact.’

‘I’ll bet you did,’ said Fonda. ‘Only you came in half a bar too late on your solo.’

‘Like hell I did,’ said Benno.

‘Well, you did. It’s supposed to go like this: tadlladadataaaa,’ Fonda sang out, waving a finger and tapping his foot and bobbing that curly little head of his on top of his long neck. Fonda was infallible. Every note was right on pitch and it had an authoritative sound.

‘Yeah?’ said Benno, humbled. Then he lifted his trumpet to his lips, played the opening bars, and looked at Fonda.

‘No,’ said Fonda and sang it out once again. Benno repeated it. It was just right this time. I expected Fonda to find something wrong with my playing, too, but he didn’t.

All he said was, ‘We’ll take it from the top,’ then waited for us to quiet down, rapped, and we started in again. In those days we didn’t dare improvise very much and just went by the score. We had a great band though. Better than anything for miles around, that’s for sure. We played Bob Crosby-style Dixieland very well. The only trouble was in the bass. Fortunately, though, the bass played so softly that it didn’t make much difference. I’d memorized my part. I just closed my eyes and fingered the keys on my sax, thinking how nice it would be to start daydreaming again, as usual, since dreaming’s been a
habit with me for as long as I can remember. Ever since ninth grade, to be exact. That’s when I fell in love with Judy Garland and that’s when it all began. I thought about myself and about her, but mainly about myself, and I thought how things would be
if
. And usually the thoughts themselves were so wonderful that they were enough for me. Sometimes I even thought it was probably better just to think about something than to actually live through it in real life, at least in some ways. So I started daydreaming again. It was really a wonderful feeling to sit there playing a piece of music that had practically become a part of your own body and at the same time to be daydreaming with your eyes closed. The syncopated rhythms echoed through my skull and I thought about Irena, or rather about myself, how much I loved her and how wonderful it would be to be with her, and how it was really better to be with her this way than for real and not know what to say or what to do. This way I didn’t have to say anything at all, or just say something and then listen to how it sounded in my imagination and not to think about anything particular, just about Irena in general. There was supposed to be a revolution coming up and it was nice to think about that, too. And have your last will and testament all written up, like I did. Saying that I’d never loved anybody in my life except Irena and that all I wanted in the world was for her to know, as she read these lines, that everything I’d done and gone through was important only because it had all been in some way connected with her, that I’d lived and died only for her and that I’d loved her. The best part of the whole thing was the past tense. But the rest was pretty good, too. That part about ‘these lines’ and how I’d ‘never loved anyone else in my life’ and that ‘I don’t want anything in the world’. Words like that – ‘world’ and ‘life’ – sounded great. They were impressive. And when I thought about it honestly, it was a good thing, too, that I was in love with Irena and that she was going with Zdenek and maybe I was better off just daydreaming and writing testimonials to my love. Of course it would have been nice, too, if I’d been going with her myself. Everything was nice. Absolutely everything. Actually, there wasn’t anything bad in the whole wide world.

‘Benno,’ said Lexa when we’d finished, ‘come on, tell the truth. You practised while you were in the concentration camp, didn’t you? Your blues sound like Armstrong.’

‘It was the bedbugs. They really bothered me,’ said Benno.

‘Honest? There were bedbugs?’

‘What did you think, man? The place was crawling with them.’

‘Why, Benny’s still scared of them,’ said Helena.

‘Scared stiff,’ said Benno.

‘Where at?’ said Lexa.

Helena raised her eyebrows and pretended she hadn’t heard. ‘He practically takes the bed apart every night before he goes to sleep. Why, he even leaves the light on all night long.’

‘Why?’ I said.

‘Bedbugs are scared of light,’ said Benno.

‘Really?’

‘Sure. A simple trick like that’s enough for them. As long as the light’s on they don’t come out. They’re awfully dumb.’

‘They sure are,’ said Lexa.

‘Except in camp we weren’t allowed to keep the lights on and that was rough. Bedbugs leave some people alone, but I was all chewed up by morning.’

‘Well, they had plenty to work on with you,’ said Lexa.

Benno didn’t say anything.

‘You put on a little weight while you were away, Benny,’ said Haryk.

‘Maybe he had pull with the camp boss,’ said Lexa.

‘Yeah,’ said Benno. ‘I had to shine his boots every morning and pull ’em off for him every night.’

‘No kidding.’

‘Sure. Man, it was like something out of
Good Soldier Schweik
.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I’d always stick out my ass …’

‘Benny!’ said Helena.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘You know I don’t like you to talk dirty.’

‘But, honey …’

‘No, I won’t stand for it. One more dirty word out of you and I’m going home.’

‘But ass isn’t such a dirty word.’

‘I’m going,’ said Helena, and got up. Benno jumped up and rushed after her. He waddled, he was so fat and lazy, and his white shirt stuck to his back.

‘But, baby,’ he said.

‘No, I told you not to use dirty words and you said it again.’

‘Aw, come on, baby!’

‘No. Good-bye.’

We all watched the scene with interest and I stopped daydreaming. Benno was completely under Helena’s thumb. Henpecked. A classic example. I couldn’t understand it. She could make him do absolutely anything. He trotted behind her and the folds of his sticky shirt quivered.