The Cremator (Modern Czech Classics), page 13
Mr. Kopfrkingl smiled kindly, if it is at all possible to smile kindly in such a miserable beggar’s disguise, and said:
‘Beautiful carpets, pictures, bathrooms, you say . . . beautiful women?’
‘Beautiful women,’ Willi gave a laugh, ‘fantastic! You won’t find more magnificent, affectionate women anywhere in Prague, und doch die Eleganz! Look here, those Petites of yours from the Malvaz pub, those Liškas, Strunnýs, Čárskýs of yours, or whatever you call them . . . you’ve got to put a stop to that. You won’t need it. Does the meaning of your life consist of regulating the flow of coffins into furnaces and measuring temperatures for ever?’ Then he said:
‘You were born for big tasks, and so you’ll have to keep company with suitable people. Go to Maislova Street, to the Town Hall, to those erring ones, strain your ears. Today you shuffle there as a beggar, but one day you may go there in a Mercedes. In a beautiful, green military car . . . Well, go now, I’ll ask tomorrow. Geh . . .’
Willi Reinke left and Mr. Kopfrkingl said to himself:
‘He didn’t even give me the twenty-heller coin he was to pretend to give me. It wasn’t necessary. This amazing business makes me feel almost feverish. It’s more amazing than the silver casket. It’s just as interesting and strange, this change of mine, this transformation, as the Dalai Lama’s reincarnation in my book about Tibet, although it’s got nothing to do with it at all. Why, mine is just an ordinary kind of disguise, nothing more. If Mr. Fenek should see me now, poor thing. Or poor Mr. Dvořák,’ he recalled again, ‘but that doesn’t matter. My forehead is as cool as metal, my hand is firm and my heart’s beating as if it was made of Germanic steel. That’s the test!’ And steely calm and in disguise, he mingled with the poor unfortunate people in the street . . .
There was a blue Tatra saloon car parked in front of the Jewish Town Hall in Maislova Street, and Mr. Kopfrkingl began hobbling towards it as best as he could. He saw the lighted lamp, the glass plate behind it and the entrance next to it. ‘What a sorry entrance,’ he thought to himself, hobbling as best as he could. ‘There’s neither a trace of marble nor steps here, only grey plaster and a black metal-plated gate. Well, of course, it isn’t the German Casino, it’s the Jewish Town Hall . . .’ For a while he hung around the Tatra car, gazing through his specs at its blue colour, looking right and left, his face assuming an expression of helplessness . . . Some people were going into the Town Hall and noticed him. ‘I have to go to that plate by the entrance,’ he said to himself and dragged his leg to the plate by the entrance. He touched his spectacles and, without straightening up, began to read:
CHEVRA SUDE
The Prague Chevra Kadisha is holding a dinner, ‘Chevra sude’, on the day of both the birth and death of our teacher, Moses, on the 7th of Adar, i.e. the 6th of March 1939. This sude will take place after the mincha prayer in the Burial brotherhood hall, in this Town Hall at 6 o’clock. The spiritual leader will speak at the dinner and the chief cantors will sing religious songs. Participants at the sude will be treated to a traditional meal.
‘A feast,’ whispered Mr. Kopfrkingl with one leg behind him. ‘The anniversary of both the birth and death of Moses. He was born on the same day he died. What an absurdity. What a myth . . .’ he gave a smile, and then smiled again and said to himself: ‘The Burial brotherhood hall! What can the Burial brotherhood be like, and what can the hall look like? Carpets, mirrors, pictures . . . bathrooms . . . like the Casino . . .’ he gave a smile. ‘They’re certainly not going to have those. It’ll be probably something like our preparation room in the crematorium or the funeral hall, without the cross of course.’ And he told himself that these poor wretches did not have themselves cremated but went back to the earth where it took twenty years, twenty years, before they returned to the dust from which they came. He said to himself: ‘Even in this they have gone astray, they don’t understand. What did Willi say? Such an ancient nation that it’s already senile . . .’ Then he heard more people coming towards him, turned round, lifted his shoulders slightly on his bent body, and crouching even lower, raised his eyes pleadingly from under his specs and held out his hand.
They came up to him, standing by the entrance, paused, and dived into their pockets and handbags. Coins fall into Mr. Kopfrkingl’s hand, who trembles, peering through his specs and twitching his leg. His lips bleat out words of thanks in a quavering voice . . . May God reward you for everything . . . when suddenly some familiar faces appeared before Mr. Kopfrkingl’s eyes . . . of course! His heart nearly stopped beating for the second time. Why, it’s Mr. Strauss and Mr. Rubinstein, his agents, to whom he gives half, nothing less, those two good, decent, orderly people. More coins fall into Mr. Kopfrkingl’s hand. Poor things, they haven’t got anybody, Mr. Kopfrkingl thinks to himself. Mr. Rubinstein is divorced, Mr. Strauss’s wife died of consumption of the throat and his little son of scarlet fever. If they but knew to whom they gave . . . And then suddenly, standing in front of him is . . . yes, he nearly crumpled at the knees, it’s him, Dr. Bettelheim, the consultant in skin and venereal diseases, from their apartment, that good noble philanthropist . . . ‘Violence,’ the thought flashes through Mr. Kopfrkingl’s mind, ‘rewards nobody for long. It can’t make history . . . you can stun people, intimidate them, drive them under the ground, but for how long . . .? After all, we live in a civilized world . . .’ Standing behind Dr. Bettelheim is his beautiful elderly wife. More coins keep falling into Mr. Kopfrkingl’s hand . . . and here is their Jan . . . he is walking with his head cocked somehow as if he was listening to music . . . He hasn’t the faintest idea, that good, nice boy, just like his uncle and aunt. If they only knew . . . but Anežka isn’t with them, Anežka is a Christian, she has a red apron . . . It was all like a dream. And then they stopped coming, they were already inside, they were already in the Town Hail, and Mr. Kopfrkingl found himself alone in front of the entrance, alone with the blue Tatra car. He turned round to look at the plate once more and said to himself:
‘Burial brotherhood, feast, participants will be treated to a meal: Moses was born and died on this day. What if I went in too? It’s true, I’m not a Jew, I’m a pure Germanic soul, but I’m such a perfect beggar that they would, I’m sure, give me a plate. Jews will clearly give to such a wreck, as I saw for myself, even if the wreck is, as they say, a goy . . .’ Mr. Kopfrkingl gave a smile, counted his money and found that he had six crowns. With the coin from the Casino it made six twenty. ‘I’ve earned six twenty in this beggar’s disguise,’ smiled Mr. Kopfrkingl. ‘Six from the Jews who went to Chevra sude, and twenty hellers from the Aryan woman . . . If Willi had also given me a twenty-heller coin in front of the Casino, I’d have six forty . . .’ And then he left.
The streets were already dark, the lamps were all on . . . After he had shuffled his way to the Jindřišská Tower, he stopped in his tracks. ‘Why, I didn’t overhear a thing at the Jewish Town Hall,’ he said to himself. ‘Ich habe kein Wort aufgefangen. Why, I only heard myself, my words of thanks, my own bleating! What am I going to say to Willi when he asks tomorrow?’ he said to himself. ‘I ought to say something to Willi. I’ve always performed my duties punctiliously, and this was a kind of test, training; I’ve been a member of the SdP since last month. What if I told him that, while they were going into the Town Hall, they were saying: Hitler is a murderer; Goebbels is a criminal; that Mr. Boehrmann, the one from Prague who frequently goes to see the ministers in Berlin, is a monster, who will be destroyed, liquidated . . .’ Mr. Kopfrkingl smiled sadly and shook his head. ‘That probably wouldn’t help those poor, erring, superannuated people, who don’t understand,’ he shook his head sadly. ‘Rather the reverse, I’d say. Hitler would then persecute them,’ he said to himself, ‘even more . . .’ Then he said to himself: ‘I’ll have to think of something else.’
Then the thought of his wedding ring, which he had left in the hand of his darkhaired beauty at home, caressed him. She seemed to be dejected and uneasy, and he started running. Behind the tower, at the crossroads with its passing trams and cars, he came across a young pink-faced girl in her black dress, walking arm-in-arm with a young man. He noticed her only briefly as he passed, and went on running. Then he came across an elderly woman in spectacles. She probably lived somewhere nearby because she was carrying a jug of beer . . . Then, behind the crossroads, he came across a little old fat man in a stiff white collar with a red bow tie. He was counting some cards with the fingers of one hand, the other he held with fingers clenched . . . He went on running, but slowed down for a while at the corner of one of the streets; a real beauty was standing under the lamp. He noticed that she had fair hair; he could overhear her telling somebody whom he could not see very well: ‘Some people take soda water, some take ice . . .’ Then he recalled the Casino again, and began to run as fast as he could on his loose soles.
XI
A week after the dinner in the Jewish Town Hall, the 15th of March came and with it everything that happened on that day and has been happening since. The armed forces of the Reich poured into the country. The Führer came to Prague. The flag of the Reich flew over Prague castle, over the houses, and possibly over the crematorium as well . . . and Mr. Kopfrkingl . . . Mr. Kopfrkingl might well have been standing about on the Prague streets during the moments he was not at his place of work, watching the army and reading the German inscriptions over the shops. He might even have gone to Ovocný trh to read the inscription over Mr. Kádner’s bookbinder’s shop, and to Nekázanka Street to read the inscription over Mr. Holý’s picture-framing shop. But he definitely went to Růžová Street, quite often, to enjoy, at least from the pavement opposite, the Casino’s white marble entrance with its three steps which reminded him of a rich man’s villa, or a particularly grand ceremonial hall, or a palace of breathtaking mysteries, like a silver casket . . . And then, in April, at the time of the Führer’s birthday, he was at last honoured with an invitation to that Casino.
He was sitting there, in the luxurious hall with carpets, chandeliers, mirrors and pictures, with his friend Willi Reinke, the top official of the Prague Sicherheitsdienst, and his wife, Erna. She had a well-tended coiffure and biggish earrings. He was also sitting there with officers and officials, but not only them. There were excellent waitresses, barmaids and hostesses, fairhaired beauties. Mr. Kopfrkingl was in raptures over their beauty, warmth and elegance, in raptures over everything he had seen and heard, as well as over the food he was eating and . . .
‘No thank you, I won’t have a drink. Why . . .’ he smiled at the ladies and gentlemen at the table, ‘I’m abstemious. I don’t smoke either. Willi and Erna know all about it. I feel sorry for Mr. Prachař from our apartment house, he’s an alcoholic. His son, Vojta, could inherit it from him. It’s a perversion. Such weak people are a burden, they cannot contribute to the battle for tomorrow. Of course, this is something else,’ he said quickly, pointing to the glasses on the table. ‘This isn’t alcoholism. But then, we mustn’t suspect and judge others without reason, we have faults enough of our own. There are some beautiful mirrors and pictures here,’ he smiled into the hall. ‘I’d say this place is like paradise. The whole world should look like this in the coming, happy and just order,’ he gave a smile, finally fixing his gaze on the fairhaired beauties.
‘It’ll be within our power,’ Willi gave a smile, ‘in our power if we all perform our duties. It depends on each one of us,’ he repeated, ‘on each one of us, if wars, poverty, hunger, disrupted families, ruined marriages, as you say . . . exploitation and suffering are to disappear from this world,’ Willi gave a smile. ‘Why shouldn’t it be possible in this life? Why should it be only in the life eternal? . . . Can you see anybody suffering here now . . .?’ Willi spread his arms and glanced at the blondes, who burst out laughing, Erna did too. ‘See, nobody’s suffering here, and if it’s possible here and now, in the German Casino in Prague, why shouldn’t it be possible everywhere else, and for ever, in Warsaw, Budapest, Paris, Brussels, London, New York . . .? But the Führer will have to win through first. As soon as he has won through it’ll be like this everywhere, and not even horses will suffer . . .’ Willi leaned towards his friend Kopfrkingl and gave a laugh. ‘The armed forces of the Reich,’ he gave a laugh, ‘don’t need horses as the Austrian army did in the days of the War. The armed forces of the Reich are mechanized, automated . . . But we have enemies, mein lieber Karl,’ said Willi.
‘Every great achievement is born out of the opposition put up by the enemy,’ said Willi. ‘You have to expect that. People are people, not angels, and evil, as you say, is committed by people . . . The Führer has eliminated one bastion of war, this former Republic, but it doesn’t mean that there aren’t other evil-doers. That we can now rest on our laurels. That we can calmly close our eyes and go to sleep. Evil-doers may be hiding in all the social strata. They could be scientists, artists, writers . . . they could be former officers of the Czechoslovak army and the police, they could be priests . . . but they could also be ordinary cleaning women, mechanics, stokers, or businessmen and directors; people who set others at loggerheads, instigate, incite . . . and they’re dangerous as long as we don’t know about them. As long as we don’t know about them, we can’t transfer them to other places of work, take note of them, follow them . . . We’d be committing an offence against our German nation and mankind if we sat on our hands and just looked on at their destructive work . . . You’re our only man in your workplace, in the crematorium, the only German, the only upholder of civilization and representative of the new order. And now a member of the NSDAP. We have to rely on you. Well, then, how do things look at your place . . .?’ said Willi lightly, and Erna, the blondes, the officers and officials all fixed their eyes on Mr. Kopfrkingl. . .
‘Well, then, how do things look at our place,’ Mr. Kopfrkingl nodded his head thoughtfully, slightly pushing away the glass of wine which had been put in front of him . . . ‘It’s tragic . . . There are those people who don’t understand anything. . . They’re even worse now, after the fifteenth of March, unfortunately . . .’ Mr. Kopfrkingl raised his head; he saw them all looking at him, and pushing his glass still further away . . . he said:
‘Take Zajíc and Beran, for example. They’re both enemies of the Reich and the new just order. Besides, they have already objected to the occupation of the Sudetenland. Vrána in the porter’s lodge in the courtyard, who is there because he’s got something wrong with his liver; I don’t talk to him much, but his behaviour shows him to be rather unreliable, unfortunately. Mrs. Liška used to clean up for us at one time but has now left . . . I don’t have her address, unfortunately, but we can find it out . . . Mr. Pelikán who opens the iron curtain in the funeral hall and lets people into the ether . . . but he’s not bad, he’s alright so far . . . On the other hand, the director, the director of the crematorium, of my Temple of Death,’ he said, and Willi laughed with the others. He felt that he had risen in their estimation by making this comparison . . . ‘Well, the director doesn’t have the correct attitude towards the Reich either. I’d cremate all the Germans in these ovens, he said once, even after the fifteenth of March. His name is Srnec . . . I’m not sure whether he should go on being director . . .’ he looked round, and Willi and the others nodded. He felt that they agreed with his objection, and Willi said:
‘It seems out of the question that he should go on. We have no need to keep him there since you’re there and are thoroughly experienced in these things . . . Karl Kopfrkingl, gentlemen,’ Willi turned to the officers and officials, ‘has been working in the crematorium for twenty years . . .’ They all nodded, Mr. Kopfltringl smiled kindly, and then Willi said:
‘And what about the people in your private life, those poor unhappy Jews of yours who are extremely dense – that superannuated race which is suffering from senility – you even employ two of them . . .’ and Mr. Kopfrkingl shook his head and said:
‘I know.’ And then he pushed the glass of wine further away and said:
‘Mr. Strauss, my agent, is a good, decent fellow. Sensitive, he’s fond of music. He works well. We have to be fair in our judgements . . . But perhaps he works so well because he’s only interested in gain. He’s a commercial traveller in confectionery. He doesn’t agree with the Protectorate and the Germans. He’s against them. Mr. Rubinstein, the other one, is also a good, decent, sensitive fellow. He is fond of music too. He also works well, but probably also for gain. He used to be a representative in bed-linen. Well, and he doesn’t like the Führer and the Reich . . . Who?’ Mr. Kopfrkingl smiled at Willi’s question and passed his hand over his forehead. ‘Ah, Dr. Bettelheim from my apartment house. He’s a good-natured fellow,’ he passed his hand over his forehead. ‘Of course, he doesn’t understand either. He once maintained that the Germans commit acts of violence, and that violence cannot make history. People can only be silenced for a short time. We live, he said, . . .’ Mr. Kopfrkingl looked round the ladies and gentlemen, ‘in a civilized Europe in the twentieth century. . . Well, his wife doesn’t like us either. Probably their nephew, Jan, is steeped in it as well. A very nice boy, he’s fond of music . . . Their housekeeper, Anežka, is not Jewish, she’s a good old soul, but she’s apparently steeped in it as well. She killed the carp for us at Christmas. I wouldn’t . . .’ Mr. Kopfrkingl wiped his hands on a napkin, ‘do it . . .’ Willi nodded. He called his adjutant, or whoever it was, to the table. He had more wine brought to the table, cognacs as well, coffee for his friend Kopfrkingl, and lobster titbits and almonds. He also invited another beauty to join them.
‘As we’re talking about the Jews anyway,’ Willi Reinke said, glancing at Erna and the other ladies and gentlemen at the table, ‘you can see yourself now why the Führer doesn’t like them. He doesn’t like them because they don’t understand. They’re against us and spread their hatred of us. You say yourself that their housekeeper, Anežka, is not Jewish, but that she, too, is steeped, steeped, – that’s the right word and why shouldn’t she be? – to be sure. Why shouldn’t she be? To be sure. Considering she’s been living with them for years. They’re an unhappy, erring people who don’t understand us and won’t do so, even in the future. Don’t think that you can re-educate, persuade, convince them. They don’t have the brains for it . . .’ Willi pointed to his forehead. ‘They’re senile from old age. It’s hereditary. Even when you stood as a beggar in front of the Jewish Town Hall last March you were ineffably superior to them. When you took off your beggar’s outfit you became Karl Kopfrkingl again, the Teuton, the Aryan, of pure Germanic blood. On the other hand, when they took off their outer garments, they remained the same unhappy, miserable Jews. It’s the same with music, as you say. There are people who are wretched because they die without ever learning of the beauty of Liszt or Schubert. These poor things, on the other hand, die without learning of the strength and beauty of the Greater German Reich. They suffered a great deal in the past, they were persecuted. Do you think they were persecuted for no earthly reason whatever? Have you ever heard about the plague?’ Willi gave a smile and took a sip of cognac. ‘That scourge of the Middle Ages which caused hundreds of thousands of people to die? What caused the plague, do you know?’ Willi gave a smile, and Mr. Kopfrkingl looked around at those present and fixed his gaze on Erna rather uncertainly, irresolutely . . . ‘Well,’ said Willi, ‘poisoned wells. Why, the Jews poisoned the wells to exterminate the Christians. Didn’t you know that? But we mustn’t concern ourselves with the past or origins,’ Willi waved his hand, laughing. ‘What happened, happened. It’s all past now. You maintain that we all come from the same dust and will return to the same earth, that there’s no difference in human ashes. After all, you’re an expert in it . . . And you should become the director. After all, the meaning of your life does not consist in regulating for ever the flow of coffins into furnaces and measuring temperatures. So, we’re not interested in origins, but in results. Which are that the Jews are against the Führer, against us, against the Greater German Reich. They obstruct our happiness, endanger the Führer‘s European order, his mission, our position as the elect, which includes you. Only individuals seem to be good, your Mr. Strauss and Rubinstein for example. You always said that they were good, decent people, but you can see for yourself now that it’s not so, that you’ve misjudged them: that Dr. Bettelheim too, whom you’ve always praised so much. Now you can see how he has incited and infected even his own nephew. Well, as far as that goes, there’s no doubt that he’s a relative – but he’s also infected the housekeeper, who’s not Jewish. In Sparta, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Willi turning to those present, ‘they used to kill their sickly children. It may seem cruel to some sensitive souls. But it was, after all, an act of immense kindness to those children themselves. How they would have suffered had they lived . . . and then, it was healthy for the nation. How greatly it contributed to Sparta’s soundness and how successful was Sparta’s history! We’d be committing an offence against the nation and mankind,’ Willi turned to his friend Kopfrkingl, ‘if we didn’t get rid of undesirable elements. We’re responsible for the happiness of the German nation and of the whole of mankind. For the prosperity of the whole. The details are a mere decoration or complement, nothing more.’
