Читать книгу Killing the Second Dog - Marek Hlasko - Страница 7

THE RIDE FROM HAIFA LASTED OVER TWO HOURS. ABOUT halfway to Tel Aviv, we realized that the man sharing the rundown cab was in a bad way. The driver said we would soon reach the outskirts of the city and stepped on the gas, taking each turn with a screech of wheels that made us feel like actors in some B-grade movie. At one point a cop raised his hand to stop us, but the driver didn’t slow down. In the rear-view mirror we saw the cop turn to his Harley standing in the shade, but he just shook his head; it was too hot to bother. He stood in the middle of the road, took off his helmet, and started wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“How is he?” the driver, without turning around, asked.

“Almost gone,” Robert said and then looked at me. “Now he’ll have lots of quiet and plenty of shade. Think he’ll like it?”

“Do you know him?” the driver asked.

I had to hold our dog by the collar; he was fidgeting and growling. The dying man must have made him nervous. “No,” I said.

In Tel Aviv the stranger died as soon as the three of us carried him out of the cab. He was lying stretched out on a bench while we waited for an ambulance. Some decent soul placed a photo magazine over his face. It had the picture of an actor on the cover; his blue eyes watched us with a piercing stare. Robert lifted the magazine and peered at the dead man’s face.

“I think he was Romanian,” he said. “Just arrived from Europe. He didn’t speak a word of Hebrew.”

“He won’t have to learn it now.”

“This is a bad sign.”

“You mean him?”

“What else?” Robert said. “I’m superstitious. This may spoil the whole deal for us. We should’ve taken the train.”

“Poor fellow, he’s not buried yet, and he’s already made another enemy.”

“That’s right,” Robert said. “I hope they stick the bastard in a coffin and bury him deep.” He looked at the driver, who was leaning over the corpse, trying to recognize the actor on the magazine cover. “We’re leaving, buddy. Haven’t got much time.”

“It’s John Wayne,” the driver said finally, lifting his head. “Can’t you wait a bit longer? You know how it is with the cops. They always think everything happened different than you tell them. You’d be doing me a real favor.”

“We have some business to take care of,” I said, “but we’ll be staying at a hotel across the street. Fifty-six Allenby. If the cops ask about us, give them our address.”

“Oh, they’ll ask for sure,” the driver said, again leaning over the corpse. “No, I guess it wasn’t John Wayne I saw in Pursued. Must’ve been some other guy.”

We crossed the street and walked into our hotel. The desk clerk was sitting at the end of the lobby, reading a book. I thought of the dead man and glanced at the cover that showed some guy murdering some broad, or maybe it was the other way around.

“Had a nice trip?” the desk clerk asked.

“It lasted over two hours,” I said. “And some fellow we didn’t know who was riding with us died right there in the cab. He was leaning against Robert the whole time.”

“Stupid bastard,” Robert said. “And a bad sign if I ever saw one. Have you got two beds for us, Harry?”

The desk clerk didn’t answer. He kept on reading. I glanced again at the lurid cover.

“For ready cash,” Robert added.

The desk clerk finally put the book down. “How long do you want to stay?”

“We don’t know yet,” I said. “We came here to make some cash. That’s why Robert’s sore. He’s convinced the corpse might mess things up.”

“Are you going to try to marry him off again?” the desk clerk asked Robert.

“Sure. Hasn’t it worked before?”

The desk clerk looked at me closely. “He’s old. And he looks goddamn tired.”

“Don’t worry about me, Harry,” I said. “Leave it to Robert. He knows how to make those broads part with their money.”

“Sure, I know,” Robert said. “The main thing is to have an idea. And I’ve still got lots of ideas for this guy.”

“He is old,” the desk clerk insisted.

“Leave it to me. I know best. His gloomy face is still worth its weight in gold. So, have you got those two beds or haven’t you?”

“You’ll have to pay for the dog, too. Hotel rules.”

“We already paid once. When we bought it.”

“How much?”

“Almost a hundred pounds. It’s a purebred. Did you think we got it for free? And with a nanny to take it out for walks? You didn’t think that, did you?”

“You’ll have to pay in advance,” the desk clerk said. “Four pounds. And I don’t want to see that dog running around the hotel.”

“The dog is always with us,” I said. “Goes wherever we go. We have no secrets from it.”

The desk clerk looked at me again. I knew he wanted to give me a nasty smile, but it didn’t come off. His face barely twitched. The day was too hot.

“Some day you’ll overdose and that’ll be the end of you,” he said to me. “You barely made it last time. They had to give you oxygen. I thought you were a goner.”

“That’s because I hadn’t eaten a decent supper. Anyone can make a mistake, Harry.”

“But you already made one in Jerusalem,” he said. “They had to lock you up in a psychiatric ward afterwards. Room fourteen.”

I went over to the board and got our key. “I collected a whole bundle that time in Jerusalem.”

“You are old.” He picked up his book and turned around to put our money away. He placed the bills in a desk drawer which he left half-open, too lazy to shut it properly. “What time will you be back?”

“Before midnight,” I said. “We’ll just take a quick shower now and be off.”

“Have you got your own towels?” Harry asked.

“No,” I said.

“Two towels … that’ll be half a pound extra.”

“Half a pound won’t make us broke,” I said.

Harry pulled two towels from the drawer. I took them, but Robert grabbed one and gave it back.

“One is enough,” he said.

“Frankly, I’d prefer to have my own towel,” I said.

“You’ll have to learn how to save on little things,” Robert said. “Otherwise you’ll never get rich. I read the other day Chancellor Adenauer demanded he get paid for a TV interview, took the money from the reporter, and pocketed it right there, right there while eight million Germans watched. You should learn from him.”

We walked down the dark hallway. A hunchback was sitting at the far end, reading a book. I made out his face in the slanting rays of a dim light bulb. It had that fake sweet and painful look that cripples often have. I glanced at the book he was reading, The Life of St. Paul of Tarsus.

“A fellow Catholic,” I said. “Though not for any idealistic reason, I assume. And a hunchback at that.”

“I converted to Catholicism because the priests promised to help me get a Canadian visa,” the hunchback explained. “What’s new? You still alive?”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “And you, I see, are still sitting in front of the john, huh? Nothing’s changed, has it?”

“Well, I feel safer here,” he said, pointing at the toilet door. “If I get the runs, it’s only one step away. Anyway, none of your business.”

“I’ve known this jerk for three years now,” I told Robert. “And all that time he’s been sitting in front of the john. Ain’t he something?”

“We could use him,” Robert said.

“How?”

“Oh, I’ll come up with something. A hunchback has plenty of potential. But all I can think of now is taking a shower.”

“Hey, blondie,” the hunchback called after me, “the priests promised to give me some cash at the end of the week. Find me a broad, okay?”

“That’ll cost you thirty or forty pounds,” I told him.

“Why? Everybody pays twenty.”

“Yeah, not everybody is a hunchback.”

“They say I’ll get the money when I learn the catechism. I’ve already memorized the Ten Commandments. Now I’m reading the life of St. Paul.” He got up, his face twisted in pain. “Excuse me. I’ve gotta rush.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Robert asked.

“He couldn’t stand the heat. Started drinking fresh water. It was during a khamsin that lasted for eight days. He caught some kind of stomach disease. Doctors are giving him charcoal, other stuff, but nothing seems to work. Now he wants me to find him a broad.”

“I’m not surprised,” Robert said. “I bet his whole sex life consists of half-assed jerking off. Let’s go shower.”

Shortly afterward we left the hotel and went into the nearest cafe. It was a little cooler inside; the rubber blades of an overhead fan quietly cut the air. Watching them you had the illusion of coolness. And after sixteen hours under the scorching sun, even the illusion wasn’t something to be sneezed at. Robert ordered two beers, and a waiter quickly brought them to our table.

I looked at our dog. It was lying motionless, its thick paws stretched out to the side.

“He gets on my nerves,” I said.

“Who? The dog?” Robert asked.

“No. Harry. The desk clerk. What does he know? Does he know how much money I made for us last year?”

“Don’t give him a thought. Think of your new bride.”

“Maybe he’s right,” I said. “I’m old. It might not work this time, Bobby. If they find me too late, that’ll be it.”

“No.”

“You know it can happen.”

“You’ll be all right. Just remember to eat more beforehand. Have a big supper first. Besides, your body has built up some immunity by now.”

“Don’t count on it. One day it can turn out real shitty. Don’t tell me you don’t know that.”

“Sure, it can happen,” he said. “But do you know how dumb I am? I haven’t even insured you. And I don’t intend to take out a policy naming me as your sole beneficiary. You’re not a movie star and I won’t play your widow.”

“Hey, I swear I never suspected you of anything like that.”

“Anyway, neither of us is into this for kicks. Hell, I never expected to make my living this way. My specialty, you know, is Shakespeare. I studied English at the university so I could read him in the original. That’s exactly what I’d like to be doing now.”

“Let’s not talk about that, Bobby.”

“No, I don’t mind. Did I ever tell you how I think Macbeth should be staged?”

I remained silent. He had told me at least a hundred times—in Jerusalem, in Haifa, during those endless trips together, and during all those nights when it was too hot to fall asleep. It was when he talked about Shakespeare that his ugly face began to light up. Now, I thought, comes the boring part.

“Did I?” he said. Shakespeare was his one true passion and like all cranks he never tired of his favorite subject.

“You did mention it,” I finally said, feeling a little sorry for him. “You really are a great director, Bob. It’s too bad I happen to be your only actor. And I feel pretty worthless now. My face looks lousy. I don’t think the girl is gonna fall for me. Sorry, but I really don’t expect it to work this time.”

“It will. It will. Stop worrying. Trust me. I’ll make her fall for you. Just remember this, the last time anybody called her a girl was before World War I. And stop thinking about your face. Look, it’s like with Shakespeare. Shakespeare’s plays shouldn’t be performed. You just have to know how to say the lines. The worst thing is everybody insists on performing Shakespeare; it makes me want to puke. How can you perform a scene like the one where Hamlet and Ophelia’s brother quarrel by the grave? Olivier had this brilliant idea how to perform Shakespeare, so he turned his plays into theater. Shakespeare is life, not theater.”

“Don’t tell that to too many people.”

“I’m telling it to you,” he said. “You just have to shout out your lines and walk off the stage. You don’t have to perform at all. Anyway, we’ll rehearse your part from the beginning.”

“Tonight?”

“No. Tonight we need to rest. But first we have to talk to this backer of ours. Finish your beer and we’ll go. It’s cooler now.” He fell silent for a moment and then asked, “What did that guy say?”

“What guy?”

“The guy in the cab. Did you understand his last words?”

“Not quite. I think it was ‘pray for my soul’ or something like that.”

“He said it in German?”

“Yeah.”

“How cliché,” Robert said. “But I guess a lot of people have repeated that hackneyed phrase. Still, it’s worth remembering. You can always add a word or two and change something around. I’ve heard that all those famous last words are a pack of lies. When Goethe was on his deathbed, they couldn’t get a word out of him for posterity, so they started shining a light on his face until he finally said that famous line of his: ‘More light!’ Sly bastards.”

“I wouldn’t say a thing. I’d be too scared.”

“Not even a word to the kids kneeling around your bed? Or to your wife banging her head against the floor in desperation?”

“Come on,” I said. “I’m tired. Let’s talk to our backer and have it over with. I want to climb into bed and sleep until morning. Look at the dog. He’s beat too.”

Robert paid the bill and we walked slowly toward the sea. It was already dark. I remembered reading in some book that man is but the shadow of a dream, but I couldn’t think of the book’s title or the name of the author. I don’t know who had dropped that line on me or at what point in his life the author had written it. Was it while he was gazing at the dying flame of a candle, or watching a dog with a bone in its jaws, its eyes shining with fearful ecstasy? Or maybe it was the voice of God that had suddenly rumbled inside him and made him mutter those words while staring wide-eyed at the people around him, certain all of a sudden that he would not disappear without a trace when he reached the end of his road. And maybe it seemed to the people around him they had been allowed to glimpse some wonderful light that would never shine again. It must have been a glorious moment and I can only thank God I wasn’t present, since most likely I would have added a few words and spoiled the whole show. That’s the way I am. And then what would have happened to the light? But I don’t like light. I like the darkness, which frees us from our faces and the shadows we cast.

“Is anything wrong?” Robert asked.

“No. I was just trying to remember something.”

“And …?”

“No luck. But don’t worry. That’s why I’m so fond of thinking; it doesn’t lead to anything. You should know me, Robert. We’ve been working together for over a year.”

“Ease up, man. Soon we’ll start talking about money and you’ll feel even worse.”

“You’ll do the talking.”

“Right. And you just try not to have such a goddamn sad face. All you need to do is sit with us; you don’t even have to listen to me. You can clean your fingernails or pick up some book and leaf through it. Don’t pay any attention to what’s happening. To you it should be obvious he’ll give us the money. Pretend you can barely hide the boredom and disgust you feel, okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

We were walking side by side. Darkness was all around us, but not the kind that envelops a city like a dream. It didn’t make us forget our hot and tired bodies. This darkness was rough and hard, like the dust; and like the dust it clung to our skin.

“So, once again. How will you act?” Robert asked.

“I won’t pay any attention to either of you,” I said. “You won’t interest me at all. I’ll just sit there looking out at the garden, and your loud, repugnant voices will seem to me both meaningless and unreal.”

“You got it, pal. Okay, we’re here.”

We entered a building and started climbing a stairway overrun by cats. It was siesta; in this country, people sleep by installments. They go to bed after coming back from work, and then again late at night. They spend their evenings in cafes or visiting friends. When you visit someone, your host usually asks whether you’d like to shower before you sit down for coffee. Robert disliked taking showers and almost always refused, claiming that only dirty people need to wash very often. Chacun à son goût.

Our host was sitting on the terrace, reading a newspaper. His girlfriend was sitting next to him. When she saw us, she adjusted herself in her deck chair and lowered her gaze to the floor. It was meant to show her contempt. She was putting on an act. Men look only for peace and deliverance; women have to have something churning and shifting in their lives. They’re always very serious about how they feel and genuinely convinced that all those fleeting emotions they take for anger, love, or contempt are going to last forever.

“It’s us, Mr. Azderbal,” Robert said.

“Again?” Azderbal said.

“Didn’t it work out very well last time?”

“Sure. All it took to save my neck was two top lawyers and a doctor who testified that I happen to be partially insane. I don’t suppose you’ve come here to tell me of some new deal we could make together, huh?”

“That was an accident,” Robert said. “Somebody squealed on us.”

“Bullshit,” Azderbal said. “I’m not interested in any more shaky deals.”

I moved away and sat down on a deck chair next to the girl. She glanced at me in a brief, detached way. I could swear she’d been practicing that look in front of a mirror for the past three months, certain I was going to show up at any moment. But I hadn’t shown up; I had come only now with Robert because we were short of cash. I sat next to her, staring out at the dark garden, while behind our backs the two men continued their loud conversation.

“I need money,” Robert was saying. “I have to pay for his hotel, food, and all the rest.”

“And for the doctor,” the other added.

“Yeah, for the doctor, too. We need money for at least two, three weeks. He must have a room and three meals a day; breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He must be able to afford cigarettes, coffee, a deck chair at the beach, and a haircut and shave once in a while for him to look all right. And our dog, too, our dog costs a pretty penny.”

“What does it eat?”

“Two pounds of pork a day,” Robert said. “Or do you expect me to cook grits for it in my hotel room and mix them with canned kosher meat? Do you really? Well, maybe you’d eat that mush, but not this dog.”

“It’s too big. You should have bought a smaller dog, a poodle or a Pekingese; this one’s not a dog, it’s a monster, a fiend. No wonder it’s so expensive to feed.”

“Why don’t you just say outright that we should use a dead dog? That would come out cheapest. You don’t know how to make money because you don’t know what investing is all about. You want a hundred percent profit on every lousy deal you make; you haven’t learned that some of the best deals ever made often involve just fractions of one percent. You think like a small-scale herring merchant who has to make a hundred percent profit on every sale or else he’ll die of hunger.”

“You should have bought a smaller dog,” Azderbal insisted.

“Don’t teach me, Mister. The dog has to be big, happy, and full of life. It must be loved and pampered by everybody. People must want to feed it chocolates, while it knows it can’t accept even one piece. Not even sniff it! That’s what I call a real dog. A dog like that becomes an issue. And then we have the makings of a tragedy. Don’t you see that? The dog must have honey-colored stars in its eyes.” Robert came up to me and paused behind my chair; he was furious and awe-inspiring. “I have to tie the wings of my soul while he begrudges me a bit of meat for the dog.”

“He’s a jerk,” I said quietly, without turning my head. This was how we had planned it; I was to show the backer we despised him and his money, so he would think we had other options and that we came to him only because he lived so close. Azderbal and the girl twitched nervously. I continued to stare into the darkness.

“Why don’t you try it yourself?” Robert asked him. “Then you’ll see how difficult it is. You’ll see what these women are really like. All those old bitches out to save their lives. He suffers with them and pretends to be their savior. Two lonely hearts scarred by life and all that stuff. Try doing that yourself! You don’t want to? I’d like to see a woman give you forty piastres for a bus ride. Once I’ve seen that, I can lie down in my grave and die in peace. I’d know I hadn’t wasted my life.”

Azderbal looked at me. “He’s too old. He’s got the saddest kisser the world has seen since the death of that saint who used to sit on a pillar. What was his name?”

“St. Simeon the Stylite,” I said, which was a mistake on my part; I was supposed to remain silent throughout.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Azderbal said. “What does he do with them in bed? They just cry together, or what?”

“We’ll divide the money three ways,” Robert said. “Like we did last time.”

“How much do you think it’ll be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe six hundred, maybe eight.”

“He’ll never score that much,” Azderbal said, looking at me. “His face is perfect for playing poker, but not for this kind of game. Either you’re blind, Robert, or else you don’t want to see this. Maybe you feel pity for him and don’t even know it. I can’t help you.”

“But he’s already made a pretty bundle this way,” Robert said.

“He’s finished, and you simply can’t see that. He’s done this trick a few times too many and everybody knows about it. Why don’t you find some handsome young fellow and bring him here? Then we might work something out. But don’t expect me to stake my money on this one.” He turned to the girl. “What do you think?”

“He’s too old,” she said. “He’s finished. What woman wants a guy who’s over thirty and looks ten years older? Women know a man like that’s never going to let them change him. And that’s all they ever really want.”

This was her way of getting even with me for having walked out on her two years earlier. She’d been waiting ever since for a chance to take her revenge and was probably feeling disappointed that she couldn’t do anything more to hurt me.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.” I got up from the chair and shook hands with Azderbal and then with her. I added in a friendly voice, “Maybe we’ll make some other deal together, Azderbal.”

“If it’s worth my time, you can always count on me,” he said.

“And how do you find her?” I asked, stroking the girl’s face. “Has she learned to fake orgasms yet? She used to be rotten at that. Most likely because she has no sense of rhythm. Most women are deficient in this respect. Good night.”

We left.

“Azderbal is a thief,” Robert said.

“All Azderbals are thieves,” I replied.

“The most thievish family of Azderbals used to live in Wroclaw,” Robert said. “If they didn’t swindle someone at least once a month, they’d be so depressed they’d need a shrink. Some of them even got suicidal.”

I didn’t answer. We walked back along the same street in silence. It was only when we were back in our hotel room that Robert finally spoke: “Don’t worry, tomorrow I’ll find us another backer. We don’t need a lot of money. Just enough for a few days.” He looked at the dog, which was lying stretched out on the floor, its red tongue hanging out. “But we do need it. There’s no way we can cut our expenses any further. No one mourns a Pekingese. Or a pug. Your dog has to capture the minds of all who see it. Otherwise there’ll be no tragedy.”

“Have you seen her yet?” I asked.

“I don’t need to. They don’t differ much from each other.” He moved to the window and stood there, gazing out; I looked at his white body gleaming with sweat, and the sight made me feel queasy. I wished there were a painting or a photograph hanging in the room. Anything you could fix your eyes on. But there was nothing. Only the bare walls, Robert, and the dog. I couldn’t look at the dog. “Yes,” Robert said, “they really don’t differ. All those lonely women getting on in years who want to get married one more time. With their money, which they’ve been saving all their lives.”

“A man wouldn’t do it,” I said. “You’d never find a guy who’d scrimp and save for fifteen years so that he could marry some broad he’s never seen, has no idea even what she looks like. Robert, would you put your shirt on?”

“Why?”

“Your body’s disgusting. God only knows why I should have to look at it.”

He turned around. “That’s a very good line. An excellent line. You can say it to her at some point. I’ll walk off and you say, ‘I’ve spent the best years of my life with this guy. At night I’d look at his disgusting body and think to myself that I’d never be with a woman again.’ And then you take her hand and look into her eyes. Yes, that’s a beautiful line. You won’t forget it, will you?”

“No.”

“You can even stroke her body when you say it. Though maybe not. Better not overdo things. The dialogue’ll be enough.”

The desk clerk came into the room. “I knew it.”

“Anything wrong with knocking?” Robert said, interrupting him.

“The cops are here!” the desk clerk shouted. “Go down and talk to them. I knew something like this would happen.”

I had to put my pants on again; they felt rough and hot, covered with dust. I went downstairs, but I didn’t feel like walking into the street. I stood in the doorway while the policemen sat in their car and stared at me.

“You again?”

“Good evening, sergeant,” I said. “Did I do anything to deserve such an unpleasant welcome?”

“Not yet. But you’re going to, aren’t you?”

“Gimme a break, sergeant. I’m just a sentimental guy.”

“You do it again, we lock you up.”

“There’s no law against falling in love.”

“Who’s the woman?”

“I don’t know. I love her is all I know. I love ’em all, sergeant. My father used to tell me when he was young he fell in love with every woman he met. I’m his spitting image. Is that so unusual?”

“You got a dog yet?”

“Would you like to see it?”

“Yeah, bring it here.”

I whistled and the dog bounded down the stairs. It settled at my feet. We looked like master and best friend posing for a picture. A perfect pair.

“My god! That’s not a dog, that’s a horse. Where did you get it?”

“We bought it.”

The sergeant turned to the other policeman. “Has anyone reported a dog missing? Check it over the radio.”

While the other cop switched on his radio, I said to the sergeant, “Come on, we paid a hundred pounds for this dog.”

“Does it eat a lot?”

“Sure. We feed it tripe … and other stuff.”

“You should try canned dog food,” the sergeant said.

“Have you?”

“Yes, but the dog won’t eat any. He’s as spoiled as a movie star. We’ve had to cut down on our food to feed it properly. Robert’s lost two pounds.”

“The dog’s okay,” the second cop said, signing off.

“Let’s go then,” the sergeant said. But he kept staring at me. “I don’t want any problems with you two. So be careful. Believe me, one day you and your friend’ll go on a long prison diet.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “And besides, Robert isn’t my friend. He’s my manager. That’s a big difference.”

“Who are you then?”

“His client,” I answered. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

They left. I turned around and went back to our room. Robert was already asleep. Lying in bed I looked again at his white body. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. In a few days I’ll be lying in a hospital bed, I thought, and the doctors will be fighting for my life, like the newspapers say. Will my body be as white and sweaty as his? For some reason, it didn’t matter to me. I threw the sheet off. It made me feel a bit cooler, but not much. I leaned over, touched the stone floor with my hand, and put the sheet on it. Then I lay motionless, beginning to smell the stink of my own sweat. Finally, I dropped off to sleep.

I woke up some time later. Robert was sitting on the bed, smoking a cigarette.

“I can’t sleep,” I said.

“Me neither.”

“Are you worrying about getting the money?”

“No. We’ll get it tomorrow. I’m worrying about finding a kid. That’s why I can’t sleep.”

“What do you want a kid for?” I asked. “Will you want me to feed it my own flesh like a pelican?”

“We need the kid to show what a kind-hearted man you are,” he said. I could feel his irritation. He was angry that I hadn’t grasped what he had in mind right away. “She’s gonna fall for it, pal. Some jerk’ll start mistreating the kid and you’ll be the one to stop him. Every broad has to fall for a trick like that.”

“And you’ll be the jerk?”

“Of course. Why waste money hiring somebody else? Don’t worry, I can play the part. This is very important. It’ll show you in the best light. From that moment it’ll all be a breeze.”