Free The Cowards by Josef Škvorecký Page A

‘No, Danny. Shh! Don’t let’s talk about it.’
    ‘Well, why not, Irena?’
    ‘You know I – it’s simply impossible.’
    ‘I know it is, Irena. But it’s … awful.’
    ‘Danny.’
    ‘All right, I won’t say any more about it.’
    ‘But don’t be angry with me.’
    ‘I’m not angry with you. How could I be angry with you?’
    ‘In matters like this, a person’s simply helpless, you know that.’
    ‘I know, Irena.’
    ‘I think an awful lot of you, Danny, really. But –’
    ‘You’re in love with Zdenek.’
    She looked straight at me. Now it was getting very serious. Now she was going to make me face up to the facts, for about the sixth or seventh time.
    ‘Yes,’ she said.
    I squeezed her hand and gulped. I gulped so my Adam’s apple would wobble and I made the corners of my eyelids twitch. I bowed my head slightly to one side and tears came to my eyes. I squeezed her hand.
    ‘Okay, Irena, I know. Not much I can do about it, is there?’
    ‘But you’re not angry, are you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You mustn’t be angry.’
    ‘I’m not. I’m something else, though.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’m in love with you,’ I said.
    She drew back her hand and her smile changed. ‘You …’ she said.
    ‘Terribly in love with you.’
    ‘That’s nice.’
    ‘I love you and I worship you and I want you.’
    Irena started to laugh. Then she spoke in a changed tone.
    ‘Save some of your energy, Danny. Maybe you’ll need it for something else.’
    I could see right through her. I could tell it made her feelgood. Oh, I knew her. It flattered her, hearing all that over and over. It must be a nice feeling to know somebody’s in love with you. But to be in love was also nice, which was why I was.
    ‘Look,’ said Irena all of a sudden.
    ‘What is it?’ I said, and looked up at her. She was looking out over my head towards the square. I turned around. The sun stood blazing above the castle, flooding the square with its white light. The church cast a dark shadow on the cobblestones and as the crowd eddied around it, the women’s dresses flashed as they moved out of the shadow into the sun. But that wasn’t it. Something was going on. People were milling around on both sides of the church. They were running away from the square behind the church and jamming the streets on either side of the square. Something was going on behind the church but you couldn’t see what. Clusters of people had stopped in front of the post office to stare. All I could see was the backs of people’s heads, tilted hats, and dishevelled hairdos. Soon it was almost deserted on both sides of the church. I watched Mrs Salacova, the lame seamstress, swinging along fast on her crutches. My curiosity was aroused. From around the left side of the church a soldier emerged with fixed bayonet and the square grew silent. The soldier advanced slowly in his grey helmet and jackboots, an ominous figure. A second one came out close behind him. Then from behind the other side of the church more soldiers appeared. They moved forward, fanning out around the church. Some held submachine guns, others rifles with fixed bayonets. They came on quietly, slowly, steadily. Behind them, the square was empty. The crowd silently pressed back into side streets and doorways. Mrs Salacova hurried along frantically on her crutches. I watched her go. Her body swung in frenzied arcs like a pendulum or as if she was doing calisthenics on the parallel bars. She was going as fast as she could, but not fast enough to escape the soldiers. The fan slowed down behind her. I could see that the soldier who was driving her on didn’t know what to do. He was embarrassed. He didn’t know whether to pass her and let her go on behind him or wait until she’d hobbled into some doorway. He slowed down and soon the whole column came to a standstill. Thesoldiers on the other side of the square were nearly half-way across it now. Officers with drawn revolvers moved up behind the