The Cowards by Josef Škvorecký Page A

of junk as if he’d got himself all dressed for inspection. He was shaking all over, so that even his rosette trembled. He looked around him in terror but nobody paid any attention to him. I made a face and went past him. I saw Pedro Gershwin at the corner by Novotny’s. I headed towards him.
    ‘Hi,’ I said.
    ‘Hi,’ he said, and touched two fingers to the rim of his hat. He was leaning up against the anti-tank barrier that stood there and his legs were crossed with elaborate casualness.
    ‘How’re things?’ I said.
    ‘I’m just watching the crowds,’ he said.
    ‘Aren’t you going on downtown?’
    ‘No. I’m waiting for Haryk.’
    ‘Where is he?’
    ‘He went for some paint.’
    ‘What for?’
    ‘We’re going to do some painting.’
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘Painting.’
    ‘What are you going to paint?’
    ‘We’re going over the German signs.’
    ‘Oh, I see. Then I’ll stick around, too. Anybody else coming?’
    ‘Benno and Lexa went for a ladder.’
    ‘They’re coming here?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    We were silent.
    Pedro was cool as a cucumber and terse. He always was. He didn’t have much between the ears, but what little he did have he doled out so carefully that he made out better than lots of kids who knew ten times as much.
    ‘What do you think? You think there’s going to be any shooting here?’ I said.
    ‘I’m afraid so.’
    ‘You don’t think maybe they ought to hold off for a while?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘I think so, too. Guys are rushing into this like mad without even waiting till they’ve got enough guns and …’
    ‘Let ’em, if they want to push up daisies for the communists.’
    ‘You think that’s what’s going to happen?’
    ‘Why, sure.’
    ‘That the communists are going to take over?’
    ‘No doubt about it.’
    ‘Well, I don’t know. That’d be bad, all right. Yeah, but Benes …’
    ‘There’s nothing he can do about it.’
    I didn’t say anything for a while. Then I said, ‘Well, what’re you going to do?’
    ‘Me?’
    ‘Yeah. If the commies take over.’
    ‘Listen, pal – but this is strictly between you and me …’
    ‘Sure.’
    Pedro looked at me quizzically.
    ‘As soon as the highways are clear,’ he said, ‘I’m going to hop on my motorcycle and get the hell out of here.’
    ‘Where to?’
    ‘To the Americans, where else?’
    ‘Yeah, sure,’ I said. ‘You’re right. That’d be the best thing to do.’
    ‘Greetings, gents,’ somebody said behind us. It was Haryk. He was wearing a white druggist’s smock and in one hand he held a can of paint, in the other a paint brush, and he was grinning.
    ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Well, congratulations and welcome to freedom.’
    ‘Same to you, same to you,’ said Haryk.
    ‘Man, did you see old Petrbok?’
    ‘Yeah. With gloves and a big baton.’
    ‘He’s nuts. But just wait till this afternoon when he marches his brass band out to the customs house.’
    ‘I hope he does. At least he could get mixed up in something out there and that would be the end of him,’ I said.
    ‘Right,’ said Haryk. ‘Only then we’d have to play for all the funerals in town instead of him.’
    Pedro laughed.
    ‘Yeah. Here everybody’s celebrating victory and freedom and they forget the front hasn’t got here yet.’
    ‘You think it’ll come this way?’ said Haryk.
    ‘Well, what do
you
think? The Germans are just going to evaporate?’
    ‘Maybe the Russians’ll catch up with ’em before they get here.’
    ‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because the Germans are running their asses off trying to get back to the Americans.’
    ‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Haryk. Silently, we watched the crowds. Lexa and Benno emerged from the cinema Lido arcade. They were carrying a ladder. Lexa was dressed in his ordinary clothes but Benno was wearing a white smock and a hat made out of a newspaper. They came over to us.
    ‘It’s about time,’ said Haryk.
    ‘Old man Matejka didn’t want to lend us the ladder.