He was scared we’d break it.’
‘Let’s go. Let’s do something,’ said Benno. I looked at him. He didn’t look scared. I went over to him.
‘How’re you doing?’
‘Huh?’
‘How’d you sleep?’
‘Swell,’ he said. ‘You?’
‘Me, too. Everything’s running real smooth, huh?’
‘Just wait. Dad’s down at City Hall now.’
‘Yeah,’ said Lexa. ‘So’s old man Cemelik. From what I heard, they’re going to proclaim an independent state of Kostelec at noon and elect Sabata president and declare war against Germany.’
‘Or declare neutrality, maybe?’ said Haryk.
‘That’s possible, too.’
‘What the hell, let’s get going,’ said Benno.
‘Let’s go,’ said Haryk.
‘Where’ll we go first?’ I asked.
‘First let’s go over to our store,’ said Benno. We started off. People looked after us and some of them were laughing.
‘That’s the spirit, boys,’ some old-timer said. ‘Smear it all up.’
‘You bet. We’re going to wipe it all out,’ said Haryk.
‘The whole past,’ said Pedro.
‘And all that suffering,’ said Haryk.
The old guy looked at us and you could tell he didn’t know what to think. But we kept right on going. The people kept streaming along, up one side of the street towards the square and back down on the other side. Flags were flying everywhere. Mr Kodet was just sticking a bust of Benes in his shop window and his wife was fixing up the backdrop, draping the Czechoslovak flag into neat folds and then stepping back to see how it looked. Next door, the Shuberts had six flags in their store window. One for each of the Allies. They even had a Chinese flag. We kept on going. Mr Moutelik was standing out in front of the City of London department store, passing out tricolours. A big crowd was elbowing around him, mostly boys, and begging him, ‘Me too, Mr Moutelik, me too!’ Mr Moutelik was cutting out the tricolours and giving them away. Boy, was he bighearted! Man, was he a big patriot! He also owned the biggest store in Kostelec. He was absolutely bald and his head shone in the sunshine. When we reached him, he’d just finished cutting out the last piece. He threw up his hands and yelled, ‘That’s all there is. Don’t push! You can see for yourselves I don’t have any more.’
Haryk stopped.
‘Want us to paint you, Mr Moutelik?’
‘How’s that, Haryk?’
‘Do you want us to paint your sign for you?’
‘Oh, that’s it. Well, come on, boys,’ said Mr Moutelik. ‘Come on. I’ll be much obliged to you.’
Lexa and Benno propped the ladder up in front of the door and Haryk slowly made his way up.
‘Careful,’ said Mr Moutelik. ‘Don’t spill any paint on the Czech lettering now.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Haryk and he expertly began to paint over the German inscription.
‘Careful,’ said Mr Moutelik, looking up at him. Haryk calmly went on painting. But all of a sudden, a thin trickle of black paint dribbled off the brush and dripped down the signboard over the Czech letters.
‘Watch out!’ shrieked Mr Moutelik. ‘Wipe it off, Haryk!’
‘I don’t have anything to wipe it off with,’ said Haryk.
‘Wait a second,’ called Mr Moutelik. ‘Rosie! Hurry! Bring a rag!’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Rosie, looked up in amazement, then disappeared into the store. Haryk sat there on the ladder and didn’t do a thing. We waited. Rosie didn’t come. Haryk shifted the brush to his other hand and tried to rub off the paint with his hand. But he only made it worse.
‘Careful! No! Don’t do that!’ cried Mr Moutelik. ‘Here comes Rosie! Hurry up!’
Rosie rushed back with a rag and handed it up to Haryk. Haryk took the rag and rubbed. The Czech inscription and Mr Moutelik’s huge signature were veiled in a grey film. Mr Moutelik looked grieved.
‘Wait a minute, Harry, old boy,’ he said.
‘It won’t come off,’ said Haryk.
‘Leave it be.’
But Haryk kept on smearing the paint over the sign.
‘Leave it!’
‘Let’s go. Let’s do something,’ said Benno. I looked at him. He didn’t look scared. I went over to him.
‘How’re you doing?’
‘Huh?’
‘How’d you sleep?’
‘Swell,’ he said. ‘You?’
‘Me, too. Everything’s running real smooth, huh?’
‘Just wait. Dad’s down at City Hall now.’
‘Yeah,’ said Lexa. ‘So’s old man Cemelik. From what I heard, they’re going to proclaim an independent state of Kostelec at noon and elect Sabata president and declare war against Germany.’
‘Or declare neutrality, maybe?’ said Haryk.
‘That’s possible, too.’
‘What the hell, let’s get going,’ said Benno.
‘Let’s go,’ said Haryk.
‘Where’ll we go first?’ I asked.
‘First let’s go over to our store,’ said Benno. We started off. People looked after us and some of them were laughing.
‘That’s the spirit, boys,’ some old-timer said. ‘Smear it all up.’
‘You bet. We’re going to wipe it all out,’ said Haryk.
‘The whole past,’ said Pedro.
‘And all that suffering,’ said Haryk.
The old guy looked at us and you could tell he didn’t know what to think. But we kept right on going. The people kept streaming along, up one side of the street towards the square and back down on the other side. Flags were flying everywhere. Mr Kodet was just sticking a bust of Benes in his shop window and his wife was fixing up the backdrop, draping the Czechoslovak flag into neat folds and then stepping back to see how it looked. Next door, the Shuberts had six flags in their store window. One for each of the Allies. They even had a Chinese flag. We kept on going. Mr Moutelik was standing out in front of the City of London department store, passing out tricolours. A big crowd was elbowing around him, mostly boys, and begging him, ‘Me too, Mr Moutelik, me too!’ Mr Moutelik was cutting out the tricolours and giving them away. Boy, was he bighearted! Man, was he a big patriot! He also owned the biggest store in Kostelec. He was absolutely bald and his head shone in the sunshine. When we reached him, he’d just finished cutting out the last piece. He threw up his hands and yelled, ‘That’s all there is. Don’t push! You can see for yourselves I don’t have any more.’
Haryk stopped.
‘Want us to paint you, Mr Moutelik?’
‘How’s that, Haryk?’
‘Do you want us to paint your sign for you?’
‘Oh, that’s it. Well, come on, boys,’ said Mr Moutelik. ‘Come on. I’ll be much obliged to you.’
Lexa and Benno propped the ladder up in front of the door and Haryk slowly made his way up.
‘Careful,’ said Mr Moutelik. ‘Don’t spill any paint on the Czech lettering now.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Haryk and he expertly began to paint over the German inscription.
‘Careful,’ said Mr Moutelik, looking up at him. Haryk calmly went on painting. But all of a sudden, a thin trickle of black paint dribbled off the brush and dripped down the signboard over the Czech letters.
‘Watch out!’ shrieked Mr Moutelik. ‘Wipe it off, Haryk!’
‘I don’t have anything to wipe it off with,’ said Haryk.
‘Wait a second,’ called Mr Moutelik. ‘Rosie! Hurry! Bring a rag!’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Rosie, looked up in amazement, then disappeared into the store. Haryk sat there on the ladder and didn’t do a thing. We waited. Rosie didn’t come. Haryk shifted the brush to his other hand and tried to rub off the paint with his hand. But he only made it worse.
‘Careful! No! Don’t do that!’ cried Mr Moutelik. ‘Here comes Rosie! Hurry up!’
Rosie rushed back with a rag and handed it up to Haryk. Haryk took the rag and rubbed. The Czech inscription and Mr Moutelik’s huge signature were veiled in a grey film. Mr Moutelik looked grieved.
‘Wait a minute, Harry, old boy,’ he said.
‘It won’t come off,’ said Haryk.
‘Leave it be.’
But Haryk kept on smearing the paint over the sign.
‘Leave it!’
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