happy I hardly know what I’m doing – aren’t you?’
‘Oh, absolutely.’
‘It’ll be a joy to live again. And as for those butchers – they ought to shoot them all!’
‘They certainly should.’
‘Yes. And not only them but everybody who collaborated with them, too. Mercy would be wasted on them.’
‘Absolutely,’ I said. I knew why the old girl was talking so wildly. Her neighbour’s husband was a collaborator, and she couldn’t stand her neighbour. So naturally she was all in favour of shooting.
‘They all ought to be locked up. And anybody with a life on his conscience – no mercy for them. The firing squad’s all they deserve!’
‘Oh there’ll be shooting all right,’ I said.
‘Oh yes,’ she said avidly. ‘You know, personally, I wouldn’t hurt a fly, but when it comes to those monsters I don’t have an ounce of pity.’
‘Who does?’ I said.
‘You’d be surprised. There are some people around here who’d just like to forgive and forget. But I’ll never forget. Not me!’
‘How could you?’ I said.
‘Because if we forget now, then we’ll have the Germans back again in twenty years. We’ve suffered long enough under them. It mustn’t happen again.’
‘That’s for sure,’ I said.
‘What would our children say? They’d never let us forget how foolish we’d been, how completely irresponsible and how we hadn’t learned our lesson.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Strnadova, but I’ve got an important appointment and I’ll have to be going.’
The old lady beamed at me.
‘Aha, I understand,’ she said. ‘Well, I won’t keep you, Danny, run along. And remember me to Miss Irena. She’ll be so happy, too.’
‘Yes, thank you. Good-bye,’ I said sweetly, and trotted down the stairs. The old girl was omniscient. She snooped out everything. I would have liked to have known where she found out that I was crazy about Irena. Actually, though, it was simple. Irena was Berty Moutelik’s cousin, and Berty Moutelik couldn’t keep anything to himself. And Miss Cihak, the schoolteacher, was Berty Moutelik’s aunt. And Miss Cihak was a friend of Miss Strnad. And the little Strnad girl didn’t go around with anybody except her mother. That was how she’d found out. It was simple. I didn’t care. I rushed out to the street.
There were lots of people milling around. Flags were flying from most of the houses by now, shining in the sunshine. Crowds of laughing people swarmed through the streets. Everybody was grinning. I put on a scornful expression. All that gay laughter made me sick. A stupid happiness. One should sneer. Sneer about the Germans and the German Reich. I stuck one hand in my pocket and ambled along with the mob. Old men and young thronged alongside me and everybody wore something in his buttonhole. Mr Petrbok, all dressed up in his band-leader’s uniform, rushed out of his house and carried off towards the square. He was wearing white gloves and carrying a baton with a gold ball on the end. The idiot. This poor sap was the one who always made trouble about our permit to play and said that since jazz wasn’t our national music itshould be prohibited. And now he thought he would welcome the Russians with his idiotic tin-can band. Well, we’d welcome them too. And we wouldn’t make any concessions, either – Petrbok could bet his last cent on that. We’ll welcome them with some real fine Dixieland, with Venca’s throaty, hoarse trombone and Benno’s sobbing trumpet. We’ll welcome them. And not Mr Petrbok. And we’ll play for dances down at the spa. And we’ll jitterbug and have a party and hang up paper lanterns around the pool. I sauntered along and looked around. The sun was shining and the air was fresh and soft as May. Mr Vladyka, the collaborator who worked at Dad’s bank, was hunched up in front of the bank, all jittery. He was pale as a ghost and in his buttonhole he wore a big rosette made out of linden leaves and all sorts
‘Oh, absolutely.’
‘It’ll be a joy to live again. And as for those butchers – they ought to shoot them all!’
‘They certainly should.’
‘Yes. And not only them but everybody who collaborated with them, too. Mercy would be wasted on them.’
‘Absolutely,’ I said. I knew why the old girl was talking so wildly. Her neighbour’s husband was a collaborator, and she couldn’t stand her neighbour. So naturally she was all in favour of shooting.
‘They all ought to be locked up. And anybody with a life on his conscience – no mercy for them. The firing squad’s all they deserve!’
‘Oh there’ll be shooting all right,’ I said.
‘Oh yes,’ she said avidly. ‘You know, personally, I wouldn’t hurt a fly, but when it comes to those monsters I don’t have an ounce of pity.’
‘Who does?’ I said.
‘You’d be surprised. There are some people around here who’d just like to forgive and forget. But I’ll never forget. Not me!’
‘How could you?’ I said.
‘Because if we forget now, then we’ll have the Germans back again in twenty years. We’ve suffered long enough under them. It mustn’t happen again.’
‘That’s for sure,’ I said.
‘What would our children say? They’d never let us forget how foolish we’d been, how completely irresponsible and how we hadn’t learned our lesson.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Strnadova, but I’ve got an important appointment and I’ll have to be going.’
The old lady beamed at me.
‘Aha, I understand,’ she said. ‘Well, I won’t keep you, Danny, run along. And remember me to Miss Irena. She’ll be so happy, too.’
‘Yes, thank you. Good-bye,’ I said sweetly, and trotted down the stairs. The old girl was omniscient. She snooped out everything. I would have liked to have known where she found out that I was crazy about Irena. Actually, though, it was simple. Irena was Berty Moutelik’s cousin, and Berty Moutelik couldn’t keep anything to himself. And Miss Cihak, the schoolteacher, was Berty Moutelik’s aunt. And Miss Cihak was a friend of Miss Strnad. And the little Strnad girl didn’t go around with anybody except her mother. That was how she’d found out. It was simple. I didn’t care. I rushed out to the street.
There were lots of people milling around. Flags were flying from most of the houses by now, shining in the sunshine. Crowds of laughing people swarmed through the streets. Everybody was grinning. I put on a scornful expression. All that gay laughter made me sick. A stupid happiness. One should sneer. Sneer about the Germans and the German Reich. I stuck one hand in my pocket and ambled along with the mob. Old men and young thronged alongside me and everybody wore something in his buttonhole. Mr Petrbok, all dressed up in his band-leader’s uniform, rushed out of his house and carried off towards the square. He was wearing white gloves and carrying a baton with a gold ball on the end. The idiot. This poor sap was the one who always made trouble about our permit to play and said that since jazz wasn’t our national music itshould be prohibited. And now he thought he would welcome the Russians with his idiotic tin-can band. Well, we’d welcome them too. And we wouldn’t make any concessions, either – Petrbok could bet his last cent on that. We’ll welcome them with some real fine Dixieland, with Venca’s throaty, hoarse trombone and Benno’s sobbing trumpet. We’ll welcome them. And not Mr Petrbok. And we’ll play for dances down at the spa. And we’ll jitterbug and have a party and hang up paper lanterns around the pool. I sauntered along and looked around. The sun was shining and the air was fresh and soft as May. Mr Vladyka, the collaborator who worked at Dad’s bank, was hunched up in front of the bank, all jittery. He was pale as a ghost and in his buttonhole he wore a big rosette made out of linden leaves and all sorts
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