had all so nearly backfired; Jarmila and at least the second child could have been mine, had I not set the fire, utter fool that I was. What could I do? Mourn the dead? Or try to avenge myself once more? Revenge is good! Revenge is better than love. Now I would not have cried, would not have held my hands to be tied.
The next morning as they were getting Oom-Pah’s wagon ready to take me to the county court his brother-in-law, the schoolmaster asked smugly: ‘How could an educated man do such a thing?’ Later Maruschka showed up, lamenting and weeping of course, but I kept my distance. ‘Don’t push me away,’ she said, ‘You’ll live to regret it!’
‘What’s left for me to regret?’ I responded, ‘I never regret.’
‘I’ll wait for you anyway,’ she said.
‘Wait? For how long?’
‘Until you get out of prison, as long as it takes.’
She looked into my eyes, ‘Am I not yours?’
‘You’re the devil’s,’ I spat, gripped by my insatiable fury.
‘Is that your final word?’ she asked, a typical woman, refusing to understand the obvious. I didn’t respond for at that moment the police officer came to collect me. I pulled my cap down to hide my face and followed him closely. He took the reins himself for he liked to drive and did it well. I looked across the fields and when we passed our little wood I thought to myself that I might not walk these fields nor smell these pine needles for a long time. For it was like Maruschka had said: ‘As long as it takes …’ But I still did not know the full story. How was I to know that five hard years of imprisonment lay ahead? If they had had their way they would have sentenced me to life. The old man on the other hand was guilty of the death of his wife and his second child but did not even appear before the jury. He said he had to protect himself against theft, feathers were expensive after all. A three-judge senate fined him fifty crowns for negligence, and even that had a grace period … In the village, though, everyone knew whothe murderer was. They didn’t want him as a fireman anymore. They didn’t ›er merchant, nor as a village musician, and he was forced to leave without delay. But not alone! He took my son. For he was the lawful father. And he took Maruschka , too, his brother’s sister-in-law and my bride to be. They got married just two years into my sentence. Now she is my child’s stepmother. He is theirs according to the law. Yet he belongs to me for I am his natural father. He is my flesh and blood. I’d rather burn in hell with the three of them than leave them together!”
In the meantime we had reached the hills of Vyšehrad along the banks of the Vltava, where a road had been cut into the cliffs with the help of explosives. Below the rock it was sheltered and much warmer than outside. He stopped, his breath coming fast. His hoarse whisper resounded in my ear: “Do you think I’m a good-for-nothing? I was in that cell for five years, busying myself with watch-making. It was then that I came up with my little invention, the mechanical toy. It sells well, my child and I could easily live off it! Here, or in America. I want him back, I’ll get him. Believe me! You will see!”
“Don’t you think,” I said so loudly that the rock walls reverberated, “You’ve brought enough unhappiness to people?”
XV
A LTHOUGH I hadn’t known the watchmaker long, I felt close to him: I recognised some of my own mistakes and shortcomings in him, although I’d never gone to such extremes. Not that I was overly proud of my restraint, it was more that I wanted him to see sense. The pretty waitress’s attentions in the inn showed that people obviously still found him attractive and I thought it a waste. Some time ago, out of the blue, I was sent the watch. The glass had broken in transit, but the watch itself worked well. Unfortunately there was no letter enclosed, not a word, not even the sender’s name. So the watch did not bring
The next morning as they were getting Oom-Pah’s wagon ready to take me to the county court his brother-in-law, the schoolmaster asked smugly: ‘How could an educated man do such a thing?’ Later Maruschka showed up, lamenting and weeping of course, but I kept my distance. ‘Don’t push me away,’ she said, ‘You’ll live to regret it!’
‘What’s left for me to regret?’ I responded, ‘I never regret.’
‘I’ll wait for you anyway,’ she said.
‘Wait? For how long?’
‘Until you get out of prison, as long as it takes.’
She looked into my eyes, ‘Am I not yours?’
‘You’re the devil’s,’ I spat, gripped by my insatiable fury.
‘Is that your final word?’ she asked, a typical woman, refusing to understand the obvious. I didn’t respond for at that moment the police officer came to collect me. I pulled my cap down to hide my face and followed him closely. He took the reins himself for he liked to drive and did it well. I looked across the fields and when we passed our little wood I thought to myself that I might not walk these fields nor smell these pine needles for a long time. For it was like Maruschka had said: ‘As long as it takes …’ But I still did not know the full story. How was I to know that five hard years of imprisonment lay ahead? If they had had their way they would have sentenced me to life. The old man on the other hand was guilty of the death of his wife and his second child but did not even appear before the jury. He said he had to protect himself against theft, feathers were expensive after all. A three-judge senate fined him fifty crowns for negligence, and even that had a grace period … In the village, though, everyone knew whothe murderer was. They didn’t want him as a fireman anymore. They didn’t ›er merchant, nor as a village musician, and he was forced to leave without delay. But not alone! He took my son. For he was the lawful father. And he took Maruschka , too, his brother’s sister-in-law and my bride to be. They got married just two years into my sentence. Now she is my child’s stepmother. He is theirs according to the law. Yet he belongs to me for I am his natural father. He is my flesh and blood. I’d rather burn in hell with the three of them than leave them together!”
In the meantime we had reached the hills of Vyšehrad along the banks of the Vltava, where a road had been cut into the cliffs with the help of explosives. Below the rock it was sheltered and much warmer than outside. He stopped, his breath coming fast. His hoarse whisper resounded in my ear: “Do you think I’m a good-for-nothing? I was in that cell for five years, busying myself with watch-making. It was then that I came up with my little invention, the mechanical toy. It sells well, my child and I could easily live off it! Here, or in America. I want him back, I’ll get him. Believe me! You will see!”
“Don’t you think,” I said so loudly that the rock walls reverberated, “You’ve brought enough unhappiness to people?”
XV
A LTHOUGH I hadn’t known the watchmaker long, I felt close to him: I recognised some of my own mistakes and shortcomings in him, although I’d never gone to such extremes. Not that I was overly proud of my restraint, it was more that I wanted him to see sense. The pretty waitress’s attentions in the inn showed that people obviously still found him attractive and I thought it a waste. Some time ago, out of the blue, I was sent the watch. The glass had broken in transit, but the watch itself worked well. Unfortunately there was no letter enclosed, not a word, not even the sender’s name. So the watch did not bring
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