to what the name might signify. “Yes, Thomas, of course. And what do you want from me?”
The man with the turned-up collar seized him by the arm. “Wait, first of all you must sit down. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Prokop, and allowed himself to be led to a seat. “I . . . that is to say . . . I’m not well, you see.” He suddenly drew out of his pocket a hand bound up with a piece of dirty rag. “Wounded, see? A confounded business.”
“And doesn’t your head ache?” asked the man.
“It does.”
“Now listen, Prokop,” said the other. “You’ve got a fever or something of the sort. You must go to the hospital, see? Anyone can tell you’re in a bad way. But at least do remember that we know one another. I’m Thomas. We did chemistry together. My dear fellow, do remember!”
“I know Thomas,” echoed Prokop weakly. “That rotter. What about him?”
“Nothing,” said Thomas. “He is talking to you. You must go to bed, see? Where do you live?”
“There,” Prokop attempted to say, and made a gesture with his head. “Near . . . near Hybsmonka.” Suddenly he attempted to stand up. “I don’t want to go there! Not there! There—there is . . . there is . . .”
“What?”
“Krakatit,” breathed Prokop.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. I shan’t say. No one must go there. Or . . . Or . . .”
