Four Sonyas Read online

  “That’s enough!” Volrab roared so loudly a thick blue vein broke forth in the middle of his bulging forehead, he struck the bar with a bunch of keys and, in the resulting silence, added good-naturedly, “Look here, gentlemen, closing time has long since come and gone. My wife and I are both very much obliged to you, but still you can’t ask us to go on serving carnations at only three crowns apiece, when things are going to pot and for half an hour now no one has ordered so much as a beer. You have to agree, “When there isn’t any money, the show isn’t very funny!’” And once again he struck the bunch of keys against the bar, and then once more. “Or does somebody wish to order something, perhaps?”

  And so Ranger Sames ordered another small portion of salami, “plain” (and again he started rubbing his thumbs and index fingers together), the venerable Srol took it into his head to request “another large portion of your headcheese,” but only when the bachelor Petrik Metelka ordered champagne did Volrab consent to go on, and at once he took firm charge of the proceedings.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, kindly excuse me, but I shouldn’t have to run back to the kitchen for each crappy little request. Mr. Hudlicky, you haven’t eaten anything yet! Let’s have two portions of real Hungarian salami, and then a bottle of French white, how ‘bout it? And Mrs. Sarka’ll have Italian salad and Mr. Srol salami with wine and Mr. Sames wine with salami, I’m already off to place the orders and there’ll be more carnations. When there’s money—you’ve got it!—the show is funny!”

  At the piano, Sonya had turned pale and was smiling feebly, Volrab pushed into the kitchen, sent Volrabka to the garden to pick carnations, and (while Volrabka crawled about the garden with a flashlight in her teeth) skillfully cut the small portions of salami by a good third, he poured one glass from the bottle of wine and then filled the bottle up again with tap water, corked it again, and liberally doused the salami with paprika, pepper, and salt.

  The carnations went like hot cakes, gentleman after gentleman got up from his table (in response to Sonya’s fervent pleas, Uncle Volrab at last consented that she merely receive kisses and no longer give them) and the bar resounded without respite with Smack! Smack! Smack!

  “I’ll wait for you in the room, dear,” Ph.Dr. Berkova said in a grating voice to Ph.Dr. Berka, the happy possessor of two carnations (all night long slaps could be heard coming from Room No. 6).

  “Aren’t you ashamed, it’s so vulgar and base—” Lisaveta Baladova said in anger to her (for many years impotent) spouse Beda, who grasped six carnations in his sweaty hand. “I shall hold her as long as I can, to protect her from this mob,” the intellectual replied with dignity.

  Into the bar stormed the young engineer Jakub Jagr (the guest in Room No. 4, who was attached for a month to the Hrusov branch of Cottex) with a suitcase in his hand. He dropped it rather than set it down, and rolled his eyes at the frantically kissed Sonya.

  “What are you doing to her—” he groaned.

  The heavy garage door banged shut so that the interrogation—two men growling at one another across the silhouette of the car—would be secret.

  “What is your Sonya like?”

  “She’s… She’s beautiful.”

  “Ha! Hmm! Nonsense. Her age—”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Hmm. Height—”

  “Five feet six.”

  “Hmm. Is she fit?”

  “Completely. And wonderfully…”

  “Hmm. Nonsense. How do you know?”

  “If only you could see her for just a moment.”

  “Ha! Hmm! Nonsense. What can she do?”

  “Everything.”

  “Nonsense. Education?”

  “None actually, but…”

  “Ha! Hmm. So what can she do?”

  “Cook. Wash clothes. Make beds. Play the piano and sing.”

  “How can she earn a living?”

  “She can be a waitress, a telephone operator, a salesgirl, a babysitter… the best thing would be a hostess. But I would be happy to take care of her myself…”

  “Nonsense. Are you fond of her?”

  “I’m mad about her.”

  “Nonsense. More than about Kamila?”

  “That’s something different. I’ve known Kamila for many, many years and I’ve got used to her.”

  “So marry her!”

  “But when I love Sonya— do you understand? Even though I’ve known her only a couple of weeks. I’m fond of Kamila. But I love Sonya and I can’t live without her!”

  “So marry her!”

  “Dad — if I could just bring Sonya home to live with us.”

  “You’ve got to choose one or the other. No woman’s worth very much, but still you’ve got to choose. Make up your mind and then bring the better one home. I mean the one who’s less bad. End of conversation.”

  Pre-war staff sergeant Jakub Jagr (51, father) energetically passed his hand over his short gray crewcut and set off at a brisk pace. (Now he’s disappearing into his room, where no one dare follow him, and in the evening he’ll go out to the garage to hear Jakub’s vital decision.)

  In torment, the young engineer Jakub Jagr (25, son) pressed his sweaty forehead against the windshield of the car. The one who’s less bad.

  According to Jakub’s valuation tables, the comparison between Kamila and Sonya came out as follows:

  Physical Characteristics:

  Sonya (perfection)

  Kamila (completely acceptable)

  Character Traits:

  Sonya (the ideal woman)

  Kamila (self-conscious, quiet, indifferent)

  Erotic Attraction:

  Sonya (maddeningly beautiful)

  Kamila (we’ve known her since childhood)

  Education:

  Sonya (never finished gymnasium)

  Kamila (chemical engineer)

  Living Conditions:

  Sonya (poor as a churchmouse)

  Kamila (a villa and all the property; the sole heir)

  Social Status:

  Sonya (a village orphan, exploited by grasping relatives)

  Kamila (a member of the cream of society of Usti nad Labem)

  Kamila totals 455 points, Sonya 320. But Education can be upped to 100 (in Sonya’s case), while Character Traits (in Kamila’s case) show a tendency to deterioration (as can already be seen). And what are all Kamila’s 455 points compared to the glowing 100!!! of Sonya’s beauty — and if Love for Kamila is 100, then love for Sonya must be at least 10,000.

  The strong June sun at noon on Sunday beat down upon the young engineer when he emerged from the darkness of the garage, and with dark wet crescents under his armpits he trudged through the baked yard, from the door of the white villa his mother looked at him, but didn’t dare ask him anything (Jagr women wait silently for the men’s decisions), Jakub lurched through the corridor, with both her legs his sister, Zlatunka, swiftly stopped the motion of her rocking chair, but then went right on rocking (Jagr women are silent even when they want to scream), Jakub avoided the insistence, rage, and despair of his sister’s eyes, ran upstairs to his room on the second floor, and double-locked the door behind him.

  On the hygenically clean floor protected by a polymer enamel coating, a tightly-woven, firm, thin carpet bouclé, bright blue in color (but darkened near the window by the thousandfold marks of a naked, exercising body), metal furniture and a narrow metal bed with a thin, hard mattress, dazzlingly white bed linen, on the wall a spring exerciser for the biceps, a sculpture of a tiger’s head, and two walls covered with bookcases holding a good 355 square feet of technical books, scifi, and mysteries.

  Beyond the graceful swaying of the radiant tops of apple and cherry trees, in a similarly beautiful garden, the very similar villa of the Jagrs’ neighbors, the Orts, whose daughter Kamila was looking forward to her wedding, as were all the Jagrs and all the Orts, for all was long since decided and readied for the joy and prosperity of the two neighboring houses: the newlyweds Jakub and Kamila will get the lu
xurious second floor of the Orts’ yellow villa, while for Zlatunka and her fiancé the luxurious second floor of the Jagrs’ white villa will be vacated, and so the thus united families will live together forever, as in a fairy tale…

  (Beyond the graceful swaying of the radiant tops of apple and cherry trees, Kamila Ortova is standing in the second floor of the yellow villa, by the window with cream-colored curtains — behind her a large cabinet crammed with her trousseau, the most expensive damasks and the finest linens with red monograms in the corners, the family silver in leather caskets, and crested china — if Jakub doesn’t whistle at the garden gate today either, then it’s all over for him).

  All I have to do now is go downstairs and shout, “I’ll marry Kamila!” And my parents will be glad and Zlatunka will be glad, all I have to do is cross the garden and whistle at the Orts’ silver-gray garden gate, the elder Orts will smile benignly from their garden table, Kamila, smiling too, will rise and walk toward me along the pebble walk I would run to meet Sonya, with Kamila on our Sunday walk to Strizov Forest just as so many hundreds of Sundays before, WITH SONYA IT WOULD ALL BE FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME, by the old oak Kamila will turn her face and passively let it be kissed, kneeling I would kiss Sonya’s knees, my wedding to Kamila is set for August, the wedding guests will dance on our lawn under Chinese lanterns and in the evening in our bedroom on the second floor Kamila will stand in front of the mirror and slowly begin to remove her wedding veil, I would see Sonya reflected in that mirror and burst into tears, Kamila’s sweaty face in the maternity ward where my child will be born, Sonya’s sweaty face in the maternity ward where my child will be born, care for the child would take so much of Kamila’s time that she would cease to care for herself, Sonya will still be beautiful at forty, Kamila would start getting bored, and me too, I will love Sonya forever… Now I know that I would not really be happy with Kamila, I REALIZE AT LAST THAT IT IS SONYA I WANT—

  The nervous tension of the past few weeks was suddenly swept away by intense happiness, and the young engineer lay down on the floor, groaned, and then, turning on his back, his hands behind his head, he dreamt for hours on the firm blue carpet.

  Not until the approach of evening did Jakub get up decisively and pack four white shirts in his suitcase (normally two would have sufficed) and, after a brief hesitation, he added two more, from his secret cache inside the dust jacket of Dorothy L. Sayers’ Murder Must Advertise he drew out his entire “emergency” cash fund of 2,700 crowns (normally 300 would have sufficed, taken from the envelope marked “Official Travel”) and he stuffed it into his black breast pocket, with a dry feeling in his throat he spread out on the suitcase an elegant pair of shorts made of sparkling scarlet silk (when I bought them, a week ago now, I didn’t think about Kamila at all—) and quickly he snapped the suitcase shut and now he was marching and now he was galloping down the stairs.

  In the hallway, his father, mother, and Zlatunka looked up from their canasta. Three spreads of cards barely fit among the glasses on the black-stained oak.

  “You haven’t been to see Kamila today,” his mother remarked into the rigid silence (the twenty-year friendship with the Orts next door is turning into bitter, life-long warfare).

  Zlatunka jumped out of her rocker, ran out the door, and banged it behind her (her fiancé will have to begin looking for an apartment at once).

  Without a word Jakub quickly walked straight to the garage and stood there with his face to the wall until he heard his father’s footsteps behind him and the banging of the heavy garage door.

  “I hear—” the staff sergeant barked in the gloom.

  “Sonya!”

  “Ha! Hmm! Nonsense. Is it definite?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Hmm. Good. Kamila was a fine girl — but she doesn’t have the spark. I approve.”

  “Dad — you really mean—” Jakub turned around and ran toward his father, if the narrow lane between the wall and the car would have permitted, he would even have (the Jagrs never kiss, as a matter of principle) kissed him.

  “And that Sonya of yours — has she got the spark? Sure! I’ll be able to tell from far away, from the way she walks. You can tell with a horse or a woman. Hmm! Ha! Ha! Bring her here on Saturday!”

  “Of course, by all means. I’d be happy to… except… she may not want to.”

  “Ha! Hmm! Nonsense. I want to see her. If she’s got the spark — Ha! Ha! Ha!”

  “Now that I’m certain, it will all go quickly. I’ll have a chance to talk with her this evening—”

  “A chance to talk with her! Hmm! Nonsense. Men don’t talk with women. Are you a man? Well then! You must conquer her!”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “No long drawn-out rigmarole! All is fair in love and war—ha! Everything! You understand? Ha! Ha! Ha!”

  “On Saturday I’ll parade Sonya before you.”

  Jakub Jagr left via the garden and then, his face rigid, he walked past the fence and the Orts’ silver-gray garden gate. Ort, his wife, and Kamila were sitting at their garden table, silent and flint-like.

  (Kamila’s face became rigid and her fine white fingers crushed a corner of the yellow tablecloth, even though it was woven with the red monogram that you chose, Jakub Jagr, tonight will be the last time I shall weep — it’s only that we’re too close to one another here, don’t you agree? But for that reason we will meet again many times, and under different circumstances — and Kamila’s face hardened again.) As if on shards crackling under his feet Jakub took the shortcut across the grassy slope that for so many years was my path and yours, Kamila, we always used to kiss under this oak tree, and suddenly moisture forced its way into Jakub’s eyes, this our beloved green vale will never again be what it was, as I will never again be a boy, the tears pour over his cheeks and burn, from time immemorial LOVE, WOMEN, SEX, MARRIAGE meant the same thing as Kamila, and breaking up with Kamila suddenly seems the same as amputating my feet. —Darling Sonya, appear and lighten this my last moment of unhappiness, but from my shoulderblades wings are already budding — there’s nothing for a legless angel to do but fly.

  From the longest platform at the Usti train station there’s a wonderful view of the Elbe rolling on toward the ocean, and in the final rays golden dust was dancing (Kamila had already ceased to exist), with his suitcase Jakub marched along the concrete platform, and the bright smoke of the Orient-Express made him suddenly feel wonderful, he recalled that he’d had nothing to eat since breakfast and at a kiosk he bought four cold green meat patties and a pocket flask of brandy with a bakelite stopper.

  The train rushed across the mightily flowing river and on its rippled surface the fateful day was perishing magnificently, Jakub chewed the meat, gulped down the brandy from the bakelite, and thought of Sonya, she IS wonderful, but she must be stripped of those base habits of the waitress and the maid, of laughing at anyone who buys a glass of beer, of flirting with deliverymen for free, the wife of Engineer Jakub Jagr must be respectable and must have CLASS, to re-educate Sonya toward this end means to reduce her to the molecules from which a new personality can be erected—

  It is only a short stroll from the little Hrusov station through the village to the Hotel Hubertus, even shorter at a brisk gait, and out of breath Jakub barged into the hotel with his suitcase—the suitcase which he now dropped rather than set down in the doorway to the bar:

  Sonya at the piano in a green dress and around her drunken jubilation and shouting, scumbag after scumbag took her in his arms, pressed her to himself, and shamelessly licked both cheeks, arms, shoulders, and her neck — and Sonya did not defend herself in the least, Sonya even smiled — and from the bar her guardian Volrab watched and laughed — from the kitchen doorway her guardian Volrabova laughed at the sight — and Volrab signed up more and more scumbags and guffawed at the entire company.

  “What are you doing to her?” groaned Jakub.

  “It’s a floricultural evening.” the ebullient Ph.Dr. Berka informed him. “Wouldn�
��t you like to have a kiss too? For a mere three crowns in the local currency, and that girl really puts on a performance! Get your change ready and join the line there by the counter.”

  Sonya’s pale face and green frock kept disappearing behind the red, sweat-streaked napes and the unbuttoned jackets of the scumbags, and reappearing after a frightfully muggy smacking of lips, with her dress woefully rumpled and on Sonya’s face yet another damp red stain, Sonya’s pitiful smile — or was it a smile of pleasure?! — one customer would take her whole face in his hand, the next one would hook her face with his elbow and then slide his free hand over the contours of her body—

  Jakub rushed out of the bar into the cool night, it’s only a short stroll from the Hotel Hubertus to the station, even shorter at a mad dash, beyond the station there’s nothing but a dark meadow and woods, with his suitcase in hand Jakub ran through the darkness of the woods, stumbled on roots, and ran on and up all the way to the crest of the mountains, and in the glassy gleam of the moonlight, lying among the black skeletons of trunks uprooted by a tempest, he wept bitterly.

  Infinitely later, toward morning, he got up and knocked on the door of the sleeping Hotel Hubertus, under the stars, so clear here because they’re so close, and only the murmur of the mountain stream answered out of the night’s coolness. Jakub set down his suitcase and with both his fists he began to hammer away at the poster that began with the words FIRST FLORICULTURAL EVENING.

  With a lit flashlight in her hand Sonya came at last to open the door, over her long nightshirt a shabby greatcoat (a very fat gentleman’s) and barefoot on the cold stone floor … you wanted to weep for her.

  “Sonya, I love you! I really do! And I’ve decided to marry you.”

  Sonya rubbed her bare ankles against one another and smiled prettily at Jakub.

  “Sonya, you can’t stay here another day. I’ll find you a job and a place to live. And then I’ll take you home with me, to Usti—”

  “Uncle and Auntie won’t let me go.”

  “Sonya! You must come with me. I love you. Today I broke my engagement for your sake. I can’t live without you. Do you hear? I love you!”