Krakatit/Chapter 4

by Karel Čapek

CHAPTER IV

 

“Now I’ve blurted something out!” Prokop realized with the fragment of his brain that was most clear; but otherwise he was completely indifferent on the subject; all he wanted was to sleep, to sleep inordinately. He saw in front of him a sort of Turkey carpet, the pattern of which continually changed. It was nothing important and yet it somehow agitated him. Even in sleep he yearned to meet Plinius again. He tried to rid himself of his image; instead, he saw before him an abominable grinning face, which ground its yellow, rotten teeth until they were crushed, and then spat them out in pieces. He wanted to get away from this picture. The word “fisherman” came into his head, and presto there appeared to him a fisherman sitting above some grey water with a net full of fish. He said to himself “scaffolding,” and he actually perceived scaffolding to the last hook and rope. For a long time he amused himself by thinking of words and looking at the pictures which they called up; but then not even by exerting all his powers could he recall a single one. He made the most strenuous efforts to remember at least one word or thing, but in vain; and then through the horror of impotence he came out in a cold sweat. He decided that he must go to work methodically; he must begin from the beginning or he was lost. Luckily he remembered the word “fisherman”; but now there appeared before his eyes an empty petroleum tin. It was horrible. He said to himself “chair,” and he saw with astonishing clearness the tarred fence of a factory with a patch of dreary, dusty grass and some rusty hoops. This is insanity, he said to himself with cold clearness; this, gentleman, is typical madness, hyperofabula ugongi dugongi Darwin. This technical term for some unknown reason appeared to him to be excruciatingly funny. He positively gulped with laughter and woke up.

He was covered with sweat and had kicked off his bedclothes. With feverish eyes he watched Thomas, who was moving quickly about the room and throwing a few things into a suitcase; but he did not recognize him. “Listen, listen,” he began, “here’s a funny thing, listen, wait a moment, you must listen——” He wanted to tell him as a great joke this extraordinary technical designation, and was already smiling in anticipation; but for the life of him he was unable to recall how exactly it had run. He became annoyed and was silent.

Thomas put on an ulster and a cap; but when he had already picked up the suitcase he hesitated and sat down on the end of Prokop’s bed. “Listen, old chap,” he said with concern, “I’ve got to go away now. To my father, in Tynice. If he doesn’t give me any money I shan’t come back, see? But don’t be worried about that. The doorkeeper’s wife will come in the morning and bring you a doctor, yes?”

“What’s the time?” asked Prokop indifferently.

“Four. Five past four. Perhaps . . . there’s nothing you want, is there?”

Prokop closed his eyes, resolved to take no further interest in anything in the world. Thomas covered him up carefully and all became quiet.

Suddenly he opened his eyes again fully. Above him he perceived an unfamiliar ceiling round the edge of which there ran an ornament which he had not seen before. He stretched out his hand for the table at his bedside, but groped in the air. Frightened, he turned round and saw, in the place of his laboratory desk, some sort of table with a small lamp. Where there used to be a window there was a screen; in the place of the wash-stand some door or other. This confused him enormously; he could not understand what was happening to him, or where he was. Conquering his giddiness, he sat up in bed. Slowly he realized that he was not at home, but could not remember how he got to be where he was. “Who is that?” he asked aloud on chance, controlling his tongue with difficulty. “Drink,” he said, after a moment, “drink.” It was painfully quiet. He got out of bed and, a little unsteadily, started to look for water. On the washstand he found a carafe and drank from it greedily; but when he was returning to the bed his legs gave way and he sank into a chair, unable to do any more. He sat there for a good hour, perhaps; then he began to shiver with cold, and became overwhelmed with self-pity, thinking that he was in some strange place, that he was not capable of even reaching the bed, and that he was alone, helpless, and without anyone to give him counsel. Suddenly he began to cry convulsively like a child.

When he had cried in this way for a bit his head became clearer. At last he was able to get to the bed and lie down with his teeth chattering; no sooner had he got some warmth into his body than he went off into a deep, swoon-like, dreamless sleep.

When he woke up the grey light of day was coming through the window; someone had pulled up the blind and created a certain amount of order in the room. He was unable to comprehend who had done this; but, on the other hand, he remembered the explosion of the day before, Thomas, and his departure. His head was splitting, he felt a weight on his chest, and he was tortured by a tearing cough. That’s bad, he said to himself, that’s really bad; I ought to have gone home and gone to bed there. He got up and began to dress. himself with long pauses. He felt as if something was exercising a horrible pressure on his chest. Then he sat down, indifferent to everything and breathing heavily.

Suddenly the bell rang briefly and lightly. With an effort he remembered himself and went to open the door. Outside was standing a young girl with a veil over her face.

“Does . . . Mr. Thomas live here?” she asked rapidly and confusedly.

“Please,” said Prokop and made way for her. When, hesitating a little, she had passed close by him into the room, he became conscious of a faint and elegant perfume which he inhaled with delight.

He gave her a seat by the window and sat down opposite her, holding himself as straight as he was able to. He felt that through this very effort he must appear to be severe and frozen, which embarrassed both the girl and himself exceedingly. Behind her veil she bit her lip and cast down her eyes; oh, the delicious smoothness of her face, oh, what small hands and how extraordinarily excited! Suddenly she raised her eyes and Prokop held his breath with ecstasy, so beautiful did she seem to him.

“Mr. Thomas isn’t at home?” asked the girl.

“Thomas has gone away,” said Prokop, with some hesitation. “Last night.”

“Where?”

“To Tynice, to his father.”

“And he returns?”

Prokop shrugged his shoulders.

The girl bent her head down, her hands pulling at something. “And did he tell you why . . . why?”

“THe did.”

“And you think that . . . that he will do it?”

“What?”

“That he will shoot himself.”

In a flash Prokop remembered that he had seen Thomas put a revolver into his suitcase. “To-morrow, perhaps, we’ll make an explosion,” he again heard him mutter through his teeth. He did not wish to say anything. He looked very serious.

“Oh my God!” said the girl, “but this is terrible. Tell me . . .”

“What?”

“If only somebody could follow him! If only somebody could say—could give him—you understand, don’t you, that he mustn’t do it! If only somebody could go after him today——”

Prokop looked at her hands which were twisting desperately.

“I will go there for you,” he said quietly. “As it happens I’ve got to go somewhere in that direction. If you wish it I——”

The girl raised her head. “Could you really?” she cried joyfully, “could you . . .?”

“I’m an old . . . colleague of his, you see,” explained Prokop. “If you would like to send him a message . . . or send . . . I would willingly . . .”

“You are really very good,” breathed the girl.

Prokop reddened a little. “That’s nothing,” he defended himself. “As it happens . . . I’ve some free time . . . I should like to go away somewhere and also, generally speaking——” He waved his hand in embarrassment. “It’s not worth talking about. I will do anything that you wish.”

The girl blushed and looked quickly in another direction. “I really don’t . . . know how to thank you,” she said in confusion. “I am really very sorry that . . . you. . . . But it is so important—you’re his friend. Don’t you think perhaps that I myself——” Then she got control of herself and turned her clear eyes on Prokop. “I must send him something. From somebody else. I cannot tell you.”

“There is no need to,” said Prokop quickly. “I shall give it him and that’s all there is about it. I am so glad that I am able . . . that I can help him. . . . Is it raining then?” he asked suddenly, looking at the drops of moisture on her fur.

“Yes, it is.”

“That’s good,” said Prokop. He was actually thinking how pleasantly cool it would be if he could put his forehead against the fur.

“I haven’t got it with me,” she said, standing up. “It will only be a small parcel. If you could wait . . . I’ll bring it you in two hours’ time.”

Prokop bowed; and in doing so he was afraid of losing his equilibrium. In the doorway she turned round and gave him a direct look. “Au revoir.” She was gone.

Prokop sat down and closed his eyes. The drops of rain on the fur; a thick and bedewed veil; a curiously distant voice; scent; uneasy hands in small tight gloves; a clear and disturbing glance from beneath firm, elegant eyebrows; her hands on her lap; the soft folds of her dress over her strong knees. Oh, little hands in tight gloves! Scent, a dark and vibrant voice, a smooth, pale face. Prokop dug his teeth into his quivering lips, sad, and confused and brave. Blue-grey eyes, eyes clean and full of light. Oh God, how her veil pressed against her lips!

Prokop groaned and opened his eyes. “And she’s Thomas’s girl,” he said to himself, with blind fury. “She knew the way; it wasn’t the first time she had been there. Perhaps here . . . here in this very room . . .” Prokop dug his nails into his palms in intolerable agony. “And I, like a fool, suggest that I shall go after him! I, idiot that I am, am to take him a letter! What . . . have I to do with her?”

Then he had a saving thought. I will dash off home to my laboratory at the top of the house—and she—let her come here! Let her do what she wants to! Let . . . her go after him herself, if . . . it’s so important to her——

He looked round the room; he saw the tumbled bed and straightened it a little as he was accustomed to at home. Then it seemed to him that it was not tidy enough, so he did it again, smoothed it and then set about cleaning up the whole place, even trying to arrange the curtains in nice folds. After which he sat down with a dizzy head and a chest which was thumping painfully, and waited.