Krakatit/Chapter 52

by Karel Čapek

CHAPTER LII

 

The paths of the world twist in a curious way. If you were to follow out all your steps and all the journeys you have made, what an intricate design they would make! For by his steps every one traces out his map of the world.

By the time that Prokop found himself standing in front of the grille before the factories at Grottup, it was already evening. The factory consisted of a great stretch of sheds, illuminated by the dull globes of arc lamps; the lights were still showing from one or two windows. Prokop thrust his head through the bars of the grille and cried: “Hallo!”

The doorkeeper, or perhaps the guard, came up. “What do you want? It’s forbidden to enter.”

“Excuse me, is Mr. Engineer Thomas still with you?”

“What do you want with him?”

“I must speak to him.”

“. . . Mr. Thomas is still in the laboratory. You can’t see him.”

“Tell him . . . tell him that his friend Prokop is waiting for him . . . that he has something which he wishes to give him.”

“Get farther away from the grille,” muttered the man, and called some one.

A quarter of an hour later some one in a long white coat came up to the grille.

“Is that you. Thomas?” cried Prokop in a low voice.

“No. I’m the laboratory assistant. Mr. Thomas can’t come. He has important work. What do you want?”

“I must speak with him urgently.”

The laboratory assistant, a stout and active little man, shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m afraid it’s no good. Mr. Thomas isn’t free to-day even for a second.”

“Are you making Krakatit?”

The assistant snorted evasively. “What’s that to do with you?”

“I must . . . warn him of something. I’ve something to give him.”

“You can give it to me. I’ll take it to him.”

“No. I’ll . . . I’ll only give it to him. Tell him——”

“All the same, you could leave it with me.” The man in the white coat turned on his heel and went off.

“Wait,” cried Prokop. “Give him this. Explain to him . . . explain to him. . . .” He drew out of his pocket the crumpled package and passed it through the grille. The assistant took it suspiciously with the tips of his fingers and Prokop felt as if he had torn himself away from something. “Tell him that . . . that I’m waiting here and that I should like him to . . . to come here!”

”I’ll give it him,” said the assistant and went away.

Prokop squatted down on his heels. On the other side of the partition a silent shadow continued to watch him. It was a frosty night, the bare branches of the trees stretched into the fog, there was a slimy and chilly feeling in the air. A quarter of an hour later some one came up to the grille—a pale youth, evidently suffering from lack of sleep, with a face the colour of curds.

“Mr. Thomas says that he thanks you very much and that he can’t come and that you mustn’t wait,” he announced mechanically.

“Wait,” said Prokop impatiently through his teeth. “Tell him that I must see him, that . . . that it’s a question of his life. And that I will give him anything that he wants if . . . if he will only let me know the name and address of the lady from whom I brought him the parcel. You understand?”

“Mr. Thomas only told me to say that he thanks you very much,” repeated the lad in a sleepy voice, “and that you are not to wait.

“But—the devil,” groaned Prokop through his teeth, “I’ll explain when he comes and shan’t move until then. And tell him that he must leave his work or that . . . he’ll go up in the air, see?”

“Please,” said the youth dully.

“Ask him to come here! And to give me that address, only that address, and say that then I’ll give him everything, have you understood?”

“Please.”

“Well, go then, quickly, for heayen’s——”

He waited in feverish impatience. Was that the step of a human being within? He had a sudden vision of Daimon, twisting his violet mouth and staring at the blue sparks of his apparatus. And this idiot Thomas didn’t come! He was preparing something over there where one could see the lighted window and had no idea that he was being bombarded, that with his quick hands he was digging a grave for himself. Was that a step? No one came.

Prokop was rent by a hoarse cough. I’ll give you everything, madman, if you will only come and tell me her name! I want nothing, nothing except to find her. I’ll give you everything if you will only tell me this one thing! His eyes stared into the distance and now she was standing in front of him, veiled, with dry leaves at her feet, pale and extraordinarily serious in this darkness. She twisted her hands on her breast and had already given him the parcel. She looked at him with deep, attentive eyes; her veil and fur were covered with drops of moisture. “You were unforgettably kind to me,” she said softly in a muffled voice. She raised her hands to him and again he was convulsed by a fierce cough. Oh, was nobody coming? He threw himself at the grille, trying to force his way through.

“Stay where you are, or I shoot,” cried the shadow from the other side. “What do you want here?”

Prokop drew back. “Please,” he said desperately in a hoarse voice, “tell Mr. Thomas . . . tell him . . .”

“Tell him yourself,” the voice interrupted him illogically, “but keep away.”

Prokop again squatted down on his heels. Perhaps Thomas would come when his experiment again missed fire. Certainly, he would not be able to discover how Krakatit was prepared; then he would come and call Prokop. . . . He sat hunched up like a beggar. “Look here,” he said at length. “I’ll give you . . . ten thousand if you’ll let me through.”

“I’ll have you arrested,” answered the voice sharply and inexorably.

“I . . . I . . .” stammered Prokop. “I only want to know that address. See? I only want to know that . . . I’ll give you anything if you will only get it for me! You . . . you’re married, and have children, but I . . . I’m alone . . . and I only want to find . . .”

“Keep quiet,” scolded the voice. “You’re drunk.”

Prokop became silent and rocked himself on his heels. “I must wait,” he reflected dully. “Why does nobody come? I’ll give him everything. Krakatit and everything else if he’ll only . . . ‘You were unforgettably kind to me.’ No. God preserve me. I’m a bad man, but you, you awakened in me the passion of tenderness. I would do anything in the world to earn a look from you; you know why I’m here. The most beautiful thing about you is that you have the power of making me serve you. That’s why, you see. I can’t help loving you!”

“What’s up with you?” came the voice from the other side of the grille. “Are you going to be quiet or not?”

Prokop stood up: “Please, please tell him——”

“I’ll set the dog on you!”

A white figure, accompanied by the glowing end of a cigarette, sauntered up to the partition. “Is that you, Thomas?” cried Prokop.

“No. Are you still here?” It was the laboratory assistant. “Man, are you mad?”

“Is Mr. Thomas coming, please?”

“He wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” said the assistant contemptuously. “He doesn’t need you. In a quarter of an hour we shall have it ready, and then, gloria victoria! Then I shall have a drink.”

“Please tell him that . . . that I want that address!”

“That’s already been dealt with by the boy,” said the assistant. “Mr. Thomas tells you to go to hell. Do you think that he’ll leave his work just now when the great moment is being reached? We’re on the point of making it and then—there we are.”

Prokop screamed out in horror: “Run and tell him—quickly—that he mustn’t turn on the high frequency current! He must stop it! Or—something will happen—run as fast as you can! He doesn’t know . . . he doesn’t know that Daimon—for God’s sake stop him!”

“Pooh!” the assistant broke into a short laugh. “Mr. Thomas knows what he’s doing and you——” Here the butt of the cigarette flew through the partition. “Good-night!”

Prokop sprang to the grille.

“Hands up,” came a cry from the other side, and the guard’s whistle sounded piercingly. Prokop took to flight.

He ran along the main road, jumped over the ditch at the side, and ran over the soft ground, stumbling over a ploughed field. He fell over, picked himself up, and dashed on. He stopped with a beating heart. All around him was darkness and deserted fields. Now they wouldn’t be able to catch him. He listened; all was quiet. He could hear nothing but the sound of his own breath. But what—what if Grottup should be blown into the air? He clutched his head and ran on further, descending into a deep valley, scrambling up on the other side, and then limping over more ploughed fields. He felt the acute pain of his old wound and a burning sensation in his chest. He could go no further, sat down on a stone and looked at Grottup, mistily glowing with its arc lamps. It seemed like a bright island in the midst of boundless darkness. It was oppressively dark, and yet within a radius of thousands and thousands of miles a terrible and unremitting attack was being launched. Daimon on his Magnetic Hill was precisely and silently bombarding the whole world. In all directions waves were being sent out which would ignite the first grain of Krakatit which they encountered anywhere in the world. And there, in the dead of night, bathed in this pale light, an obdurate, wrongheaded man was working, bending over a secret process of transformation. “Thomas, look out!” cried Prokop, but his voice was lost in the darkness like a stone thrown into a pond by some childish hand.

He sprang up, trembling with fear and cold, and dashed on further, as far as he could from Grottup. He found himself in the middle of some swampy place and stopped. Had he heard the noise of an explosion? No, all was quiet, and with a new access of terror he clambered up a slope, slipped on to his knees, sprang up again and dashed on, rushing into some bushes, tearing his hands, slipping about, and then descending again. He drew himself up, brushed away the sweat with his bleeding hands, and ran on.

In the middle of a field he came across something white—a cross which had been overturned. Breathing heavily, he sat down on its vacant support. He was now a long way from the ruddy glow over Grottup, which was already on the horizon; it now seemed to be on the surface of the ground. Prokop breathed a deep sigh of relief; there was no sound; perhaps Thomas’s experiment had failed and the terrible thing would not happen. He listened cautiously; no, nothing was to be heard but the cold dripping of water in some gutter underground and the beating of his heart.

Then an enormous black mass was thrown into the air over Grottup and all the lights went out. The next moment, as if the darkness had been torn asunder, a pillar of fire leapt into the air, spread terribly and liberated a tremendous body of smoke. Directly afterwards came an impact through the air, something cracked, the trees began to rustle, and—crash! A terrible blow, as with a whip, an uproar, a shattering blow. The earth trembled and torn-off leaves whirled through the air. Snatching for air, and holding on with both hands to the support of the cross, so as not to be swept away. Prokop stared wildly at the roaring furnace.

And the heavens shall be cleaved by a fiery power and the voice of God shall be heard in the thunder.

Two more masses went up, one after the other, and were broken up by a band of fire. Then came the sound of a still more terrible explosion—evidently the ammunition stores. A roaring mass flew into the air, exploded, and came down in the form of a ray of sparks. The roar changed into a pounding bombardment; in the stores there were exploding rockets which flew up like sparks from an anvil. A purple fire glowed on the horizon, and there was a continuous succession of reports like the noise of a machine gun. A fourth and fifth explosion followed with the noise of a howitzer. The fire spread on both sides and soon half the horizon was a flame.

Only then could he distinguish the sound of the crackling of the timber in Grottup, but this was still nearly obscured by the explosion of the arsenal. A sixth explosion resounded firm and clear—evidently kresylite. As a sort of accompaniment, came the deeper note of the explosion of casks filled with dynamite. A huge flaming projectile flew half-way across the sky, leaving an enormous trail of flame behind it. Another flame sprang up, went out, and reappeared a short distance away, but the noise of the explosions only arrived a few seconds later. For a moment it was so quiet that one could hear the crackling of the fire, like that of broken brushwood. Then there was a further rending explosion and above the Grottup factories there sprang up a flame which spread to the town of Grottup.

Aghast with fear. Prokop picked himself up and staggered on further.