Free I Served the King of England by Bohumil Hrabal Page A

motion. It was like a shooting gallery with all the springs
     wound up but no one’s there, and then suddenly customers show up and load the
     pellets into the airguns and hit the target, those figures cut of metal and painted and
     jointed with pins, and the whole mechanism kicks into motion if someone hits the
     bull’s-eye. It also reminded me of the tale of the Sleeping Beauty where all the
     characters freeze just as they are when the curse comes over them, but at the touch of
     the magic wand all the unfinished motions are finished and those about to start, start.
     That’s what happened when a car was heard in the distance. The boss, sitting in
     his wheelchair by the window, gave a sign with his handkerchief, and Zden ě k dropped a coin into the music box, which began to play
     “The Harlequin’s Millions,” and the music box or orchestrion or
     whatever it was was muffled by eiderdowns and felt panels so it seemed to be playing far
     away, in another establishment, and the porter, looking tired and bent, as though
     he’d been splitting wood since noon, let his ax fall. I tossed a napkin over my
     arm and waited to see who our first guest would be. In walked a general wearing a
     general’s cape with a red lining, and he musthave had his
     uniform made by the same company that made my tuxedo. He seemed despondent. His
     chauffeur followed him in carrying a golden saber and he set it down on a table and
     left, while the general walked through the rooms, inspecting everything and rubbing his
     hands together. Then he stood with his legs apart, put his hands behind his back, and
     gazed out into the courtyard at our porter, who was splitting wood. Meanwhile Zden ě k had brought a silver wine cooler, and I put oysters and
     dishes of shrimp and lobster on the table, and when the general sat down, Zden ě k uncorked the champagne, Heinkel Trocken, and poured a
     glass. The general said, You are my guests as well. Zdeněk bowed and brought two
     more glasses and filled them, the general stood up, clicked his heels, shouted
Prost!
and drank. We emptied our glasses, but the general took only a sip
     from his and made a face, shuddered, and spat out, The devil! I can’t drink this
     stuff! Then he took an oyster from the plate, threw his head back, and eagerly swallowed
     the delicate, slimy flesh sprinkled with lemon juice, and again he seemed to eat with
     gusto, but no, he shuddered and snorted with disgust, his eyes watering. He downed his
     glass of champagne and shouted, Aaaaaah, I can’t drink this swill! He walked from
     room to room, and each time he came back he would take a piece of crabmeat or a leaf of
     lettuce or some salpicon from the plates, and each time he shocked me by shuddering in
     disgust and spitting out, The devil! This is completely inedible! Then he would come
     back and hold out his glass for a refill and ask Zden ě k a
     question, and Zden ě k would bow and tell him about Veuve
     Cliquot and all about champagne, though he considered what he was offering, Heinkel
     Trocken, tobe the very best, and the general, his interest aroused,
     would drink again, sputter in disgust, but then he’d drain the glass and walk over
     to look out into the courtyard, where everything was dark except the floodlit porter and
     his work and the floodlit walls stacked with pine firewood. Meanwhile the boss wheeled
     about silently, he’d glide up, bow, and then glide away again, and the
     general’s mood improved, as if his disgust with the food and drink had somehow
     whetted his appetite. He switched to brandy and drank a whole bottle of Armagnac, and
     every time he took a drink he would make a face and swear and sputter in Czech, and then
     in German:
Diesen Schnaps kann man nicht trinken!
It was the same with the
     French specialties. After every mouthful the general seemed on the point of vomiting and
     he swore he’d never take another bite or drink another drop, and he would roar at
     the