The Cremator (Modern Czech Classics), page 11
‘“A woman allegedly committed suicide because of hunger. This morning at 8 o’clock, in Dr. S.’ villa, the police found . . .” ,’ Mr. Kopfrkingl read the news item to the end and glanced at Zina, who was at that very moment arranging her hair in front of the small mirror. Then the sound of a second blow could be heard from the kitchen and Mr. Kopfrkingl, standing by the bookcase, nodded his head.
‘Now the second one is dead,’ he said, glancing at the wall chart by the window, the most sublime timetable. ‘Which one could it have been? His wall has collapsed too, and his soul is in the ether. You’ll be taking their air-bladders,’ he smiled at Mili and took the book about Tibet out of the bookcase. ‘You’ll play with them as you have always done ever since you were small. But they’re not really the souls of the carp, that’s only what people call them. They’re air-bladders. Their real souls could have been reincarnated by now,’ Mr. Kopfrkingl opened the book, ‘possibly into cats. They’re our younger brothers. We shouldn’t really kill and eat them, it’s cruel. Well, there you are. In a moment your heavenly mother will put them on the kitchen stove, on that little furnace of ours, and fry them,’ he said, putting back his book about Tibet and taking out the copy of the laws on cremation bound in black covers. ‘They’ll arrive on our festive dining-table at seven o’clock. But God has arranged it so and that’s good. By eating them on Christmas Eve we accelerate their rebirth. The Saviour ate them too,’ said Mr. Kopfrkingl, putting back the copy of the laws on cremation. ‘He also ate lamb . . .’ Then he gave a smile, put away the newspaper in the cabinet and extended his hands to Zina and Mili.
‘Come, my gentle ones,’ he said, ‘we’ll give Anežka her present. A pretty red apron.’
When Anežka had left, Willi came.
He exchanged greetings with Lakmé and the children in the hall and took off his coat. He had on an elegant new suit. Then he entered the dining-room. There was a bottle of wine ready on the table.
‘You’ve got a nice tree there,’ said Willi. ‘What about the carp, have you got that?’
‘Two,’ Mr. Kopfrkingl gave a smile. ‘My heavenly one is going to fry them in a moment. In a moment she’s going to put them on that little furnace of ours. Her late mother,’ he said, ‘used not to fry the carp. She used to make sweet-jellied carp, in a foreign style. We do them in the Czech style. You’ve come to tell me that I’m a renegade and a coward . . .’ Mr. Kopfrkingl gave a smile.
‘I never said that,’ Willi turned away from the tree. ‘I only said that you don’t feel your German blood, and that we fight for happiness and justice. We,’ he gave a laugh, seating himself at the table, ‘strong people who are one hundred-percent. I said,’ he said and poured a little wine into his glass, ‘that fighting for sublime goals doesn’t create hell for decent people, but for our adversaries. For war-mongers. Do you like violence?’ Willi smiled in a kind of attentive manner, if it is at all possible to smile in an attentive manner, and raised the glass to his lips. When Mr. Kopfrkingl did not answer immediately, he said: ‘Do you like those who are responsible for our poverty? Do you keep your fingers crossed on their behalf? So that they can bury us still deeper? For them to make beggars of us? Have you ever seen a bloodletting?’ he asked lightly and said: ‘They cut the vein here, on the arm, and put leeches on it. They used to do it in the Middle Ages to fight the plague . . . I always thought,’ he said and look another sip of wine, ‘that you were against violence, that you’re concerned with peace, justice and everybody’s happiness. Well, look here,’ he said and rapped the table with his fingers, ‘to give you some proper information for once. I always thought that you didn’t like war, that you haven’t forgotten how people suffer in war, and not only people. You talked about horses once . . . Well, this republic is an enormous barrel of gunpowder. The source of a new World War. Our enemies’ bastion.’
‘It’s a humanitarian state,’ objected Mr. Kopfrkingl. ‘A humanitarian state, it has good laws . . .’
‘Laws on cremation,’ Willi interrupted him. ‘We’ve got them, too. Every humanitarian state has them, except perhaps for the Vatican which doesn’t recognize cremation. But why didn’t this humanitarian state grant us, us Germans, the right to self-determination? Why did it make it difficult for the Germans in the Sudetenland to send their children to German schools? Why did they make raids on our people in the borderland and shoot them? What . . .?’ he said in answer to Mr. Kopfrkingl’s objection as to whether it was true. ‘Is it true? Don’t you know? And what about the poverty here? You yourself have admitted to that, that you haven’t been able to put an end to poverty entirely. There are beggars here, there are women here who sell skinned cats in the markets instead of rabbits . . . That would not be possible in the Reich even now, although we’re not yet home and dry by a long chalk. I’d stake my life on it that there’s not a single beggar in the Sudetenland today, and how long is it since the Führer liberated them?’ he said and took a swig. ‘No, Karl, to make things clear. It must not come to war. Violence must be suppressed, everywhere. This republic is lost. Poland will not lift a finger for it. Beck made an agreement with Goering on the share which will fall to him once the republic is liquidated, and the Little Entente has fallen into decay. It’s over.’
‘Has it really gone that far?’ Mr. Kopfrkingl shook his head and wanted to add something, but Willi interrupted him forcefully.
‘Even further,’ he said. ‘This republic is only one bastion of the enemy. There are still other enemies and the Führer is going to settle accounts with them too. We Germans,’ he said and gave a smile, ‘are destined to bring order. We are going to establish a new, happier, and just order in Europe,’ Willi rose, crossed the dining-room and then halted by the cabinet.
‘We’re upholders of a strong, proud spirit,’ he said, glancing at the family photograph in which Mr. Kopfrkingl sat in the middle, with the cat. ‘Pure Germanic blood flows in our veins. Blood is our greatest honour and it cannot be outweighed either by education or by gold . . . it’s a gift from above . . . Yes,’ Willi glanced at his friend Kopfrkingl, ‘no-one who’s got it will disclaim it.
‘We’re upholders of a luminous civilization,’ he went on, gazing at the picture of the wedding procession and at the wall chart by the window, the most sublime timetable, the timetable of death. ‘We know what life is. We understand it as no other nation does, we got it from above as a christening present. You too . . .,’ he turned to his friend Kopfrkingl, ‘especially you. But why! Because you have German blood which you won’t disclaim. Do you think it’s a coincidence?’ Willi smiled at the picture of the wedding procession. ‘This is no coincidence. This is predestination.’
‘We are going to establish a superior, universal morality, and,’ he approached the Christmas tree on which there were many candles waiting to be lit, ‘a new world order. You’re one of us. You’re an honourable man, sensitive, a man of responsibility, and most of all . . .’ Willi turned round, ‘strong and brave. A pure Germanic soul. Nobody can take it from you, mein lieber Karl. You can’t take it away, even if you wanted to a hundred times over, not even you yourself. Because it’s been given to you from above. It’s your gift too. Your predestination. You’re one of the chosen,’ Willi pointed to the ceiling as if pointing to the sky. Mr. Kopfrkingl was sitting behind the table, on which stood a bottle of wine and a half-empty glass, and gazed at Willi, who was standing in front of the Christmas tree, smiling softly. There was a moment of silence and then a rap on the door could be heard. Lakmé came in carrying a bowl of almonds.
‘Willi will not have almonds today,’ said Mr. Kopfrkingl. ‘Thank you, my noble one. We’ll join you soon.’
When Lakmé left, Willi seated himself at the table and, as it seemed, emptied his glass with relish. Mr. Kopfrkingl refilled it.
‘I must be going,’ said Willi kindly. ‘Erna’s waiting. We’re spending Christmas Eve in the Casino. In the German Casino on Růžová Street,’ he moved his hand, ‘with that white marble entrance and the three steps. There’s going to be a big gathering. Factory owners, deputies, professors from the German Charles University. Only some of them of course . . . I’m going to confer about something with Boehrmann, the leader of the Prague SdP. You won’t,’ he said, ‘find a more luxurious establishment in Prague than our German Casino, Karl. The way we’ve furnished it,’ he looked round the walls of the dining-room, ‘is simply a miracle. Beginning with the carpets, mirrors and pictures, and ending with the lavatories and bathrooms. Beginning with the food and ending with the service. There are excellent waitresses, barmaids and hostesses. Magnificent, ravishing women, they’re breathtaking,’ he gave a smile. ‘They’re German of course. Only fellow-countrymen are admitted to the Casino. German nationality. No Czechs. We won’t put up with trouble-makers and spies in our own house. Well, I’m going to Vienna and Berlin in January,’ Willi rose. I’ll be given a new car in Berlin. Karl,’ he extended his hand to his friend Kopfrkingl, who had risen as well. ‘Everything depends on one’s ability to see the whole. To think about the future. About a better life for our children. About a more joyous life for mankind. Well, it seems to me that you’re better informed about Tibet than about happenings here at home.’ He gave a smile. ‘Well, merry Christmas and all the best for the New Year. You’ve got a loose curtain there,’ he nodded his head in the direction of the window. Indeed, the outer edge of the curtain had slipped off its cord and was hanging loose below the rod. ‘Well, have a good time. I’ll just say goodbye to the family,’ he said.
By seven o’clock Lakmé and Zina had laid the dining-table. Both had their best dresses on. Zina wore the black silk dress she had received for her birthday; Lakmé had the dark silk dress with the white lace collar. Mr. Kopfrkingl lit the candles on the tree and turned on the radio. Then they all seated themselves at the table.
‘I thought,’ said Zina, ‘that we’d light the candles when we start giving presents.’
‘It’s better to light them before dinner,’ smiled Mr. Kopfrkingl. ‘After all, they’re not lit often, only once a year. They’re lit more often on graves and catafalques. Well, Christmas is really beginning now,’ he pointed to the radio on which carols could be heard, ‘and we have to remember all these dear good souls of ours who are not with us or who don’t understand us. Our enchantingly beautiful one,’ he smiled into the corner where the cat was licking her plate, ‘our eternal Rosana. Our aunt from Slatiňany, that faithful good soul of ours, always ready to help, who, had she been a Catholic, would certainly be canonized when she dies, and who is a saint even during her lifetime. Our gentle ones,’ he said, thinking of the children, ‘should visit her again some time with a bunch of lilies. Your late mother, my heavenly one,’ he smiled at Lakmé, ‘and her sweet-jellied carp in the foreign style. Well, perhaps she can see us now, perhaps she’s here. Perhaps she really came when I lit the candles and is now standing by the tree over there. But perhaps she’s in a different body now. We mustn’t be so conceited as to believe that she is no longer reincarnated, that she has reached her goal already. That’s very rare; some pharaohs, saints, one of the Dalai Lamas . . .’ Mr. Kopfrkingl glanced towards the bookcase, smiling. ‘And what may Mr. Míla Janáček be doing, my lovely,’ he smiled at Zina. ‘He’s having dinner with his parents and thinking of you. He gave you a nice present and sent a nice Christmas card. He’s a good boy, he’s fond of music, physics and machines. He’s from the best family and deserves happiness in his life. And what about the young Misses Lenka and Lála, your fairhaired classmates? The Bettelheims,’ Mr. Kopfrkingl looked at Mili, ‘are also having a feast now. They celebrate Christmas like us. I don’t think they’ve ever observed any Jewish festivals. At the same time, he comes from a distinguished Hungarian Jewish family, that good noble philanthropist of ours, Dr. Bettelheim. He invited me up to his surgery once and told me that,’ he said with a glance at the picture of the wedding procession by the window. ‘He told me that in connection with the beautiful old picture he’s got hanging on the wall there. It depicts the abduction of a woman by Count Bethlén which failed . . .’ Mr. Kopfrkingl looked round the walls of the dining-room . . . then he stared at the ceiling as if he was seeing the starry sky, and then he glanced at Mili again and said: ‘And what may the Prachařs be doing? Poor Mrs. Prachař, I haven’t seen her for a long time now; poor Vojta Mr. Prachař’s son.’
New carols could be heard on the radio. Mr. Kopfrkingl gazed at the Christmas tree for a while and then at the cat, who came up to him, and then he said:
‘It’s Christmas Eve, my dears, and the Temple of Death is idle today. Today it’s deserted and empty. Even Mr. Dvořák is not there, nor Mr. Vrána in the porter’s lodge, who sits there because he’s got something wrong with his liver . . . even Mr. Fenek with the nail on his little finger isn’t in the porter’s lodge. He’s somewhere at home. I wonder how he is spending his Christmas Eve . . .? And what may Mrs. Strunný and Miss Čárský be doing . . .?’ he said, listening to the radio on which “Sweet Was the Song the Virgin Sang” could now be heard. ‘If they were in the ground they’d look horrifying now, poor things . . . luckily they’re not in the ground but are dust in the urn and their souls are undergoing further reincarnation. There are only a couple of corpses lying in the preparation room in the Temple of Death today, waiting for the festival to finish. Christmas Eve is not a day of death but of birth,’ he said with a glance at the radio on which “While Shepherds Watched” could now be heard, ‘and so there’s no cremation. Just like Saturday afternoon,’ he smiled at Mili, ‘there’s no cremation on Saturday afternoon either . . . But there should be one on Christmas Eve. Precisely because Christmas Eve is a day of birth. There should be many funerals on such a joyous day so that as many souls as possible could extricate themselves, free themselves, fly up into the universe, and find new bodies. Christmas Eve should be generous to the dead as well. At least these dear fried carp will get something out of it . . .’ he added. On the radio, they had just begun singing “God Rest You Merry Gentlemen”.
When they had finished the fried carp, Mr. Kopfrkingl put the newspaper and a bottle of wine on the table. “Come All Ye Faithful” was on the radio. They filled and then clinked their glasses, though he only wetted his lips. ‘Just symbolically,’ he said, ‘I’m abstemious. On the other hand, I’m also a pure Germanic soul. Yes . . .’ he smiled at Lakmé, who glanced up, ‘Willi told me that today. Predestined, chosen,’ he smiled towards the glass. ‘He and Erna are having dinner in the German Casino today. The Casino is in Růžová Street. It’s got a white marble-covered entrance with three steps. Willi’s having dinner in high society. In case I should forget,’ he smiled at Lakmé, who looked saddened somehow, ‘the newspaper is full of accidents again. A woman committed suicide, allegedly because of hunger.’ He looked at the newspaper and read out the news item and then read another piece: ‘“Mad dog bit five-year-old girl. Yesterday afternoon, a dog, belonging to Karl B. in Loučeň, broke loose from its kennel, ran out of the door onto the path where children were playing, and . . .” And here’s something else,’ Mr. Kopfrkingl gave a smile. ‘I’d completely overlooked it, an advert. Drapes and curtains repaired,’ he read, to the accompaniment of the children’s chorus singing “Little Jesus, We Will Rock You” . . .’ by Josefa Brouček, Prague-Hloubětín, 7 Kateřinská Street. . . in case I should forget,’ he smiled at Lakmé. ‘The curtain over there is giving trouble. We’ll put it right before we start giving presents, so that our fiat will be flawless and without blemish – like paradise.’
Lakmé got up and went to the window. Mr. Kopfrkingl put aside the newspaper, took his chair and put it close by the curtain. Lakmé got up on it, and adjusted the cord, standing on the tips of her toes a little. ‘It’s working,’ Mr. Kopfrkingl gave a smile after he had helped Lakmé jump down and checked the curtain. Then he embraced Lakmé and stroked her white lace collar.
‘So,’ he said, ‘and now we are going to bring out the sweets for those who have a sweet tooth and give presents. Not every family has as many presents at Christmas as we do. There’s still a great deal of poverty in our country and in the world. Willi also told me today,’ he gave a smile, ‘that everything depends on the ability to see the whole. To think about the future. About a better life for our children and for those who will follow after us. About a happier life for mankind. So, it seems to me,’ Mr. Kopfrkingl smiled somewhere in the direction of the bookcase, ‘that Willi spoke like a book . . .’
Then the radio began to play and sing “Jesus Christ, Our Saviour Was Born”. Mr. Kopfrkingl brought out the presents which he had hidden in the living-room. Lakmé got stockings, an enormous jar of sweet-smelling cream with a golden and black label and a box of chocolates. Zina got a handbag, a box of chocolates and a piano score from Chopin’s “Funeral March”. Mili got a basket of chocolate rings, a little white car with a red cross, and a black pillow adorned with golden and silver tassels. And also an adventure book called “Death in the Primeval Forest”.
X
‘Willi only gave me the parcel in February and look, he’s written to me today,’ said Mr. Kopfrkingl to his darkhaired Lakmé, Zina and Mili in the dining-room three months after Christmas. ‘Well, then, I’m going to do it in the room I like best in the flat, the bathroom, and I won’t come out until I have completely finished. My enchanting ones,’ he said, thinking of them all, ‘don’t knock on the door and don’t call me, so that I’ll be able to concentrate. Stand right away from the door so that you won’t get a fright when I come out. The first impression will probably be shattering.’ They all nodded rather uncertainly, even fearfully. Mr. Kopfrkingl took the parcel and disappeared into the bathroom.
