The Night of Wenceslas (18 page)

‘Ah, don’t bother your head. It’s an enemy of the people at large.’

‘What’s he done?’

‘Nothing to what we’ll do when we get him. He’s a famous American criminal, an expert in disguise. He escaped dressed as a waiter.’

‘I hope you catch him.’

‘We will,’ he said, walking off with his colleague’s parkys. He had not paid.

I remained inside the stall, quivering like a leaf. I sat down on a box. I poured myself a glass of mineral water. The stall was in plain view of the men on the corner. Now that the streets had thinned they could see me perfectly. There seemed no prospect of walking away. In a matter of minutes the street had gone quiet, and I was suddenly aware the trams had stopped. An ominous silence set in. There was presently a subdued rumbling, and after a few moments the two men on the corner turned to stare at me. One of them walked over.

I almost fell off the box in my haste to be up.

‘Are you staying here all night, comrade?’

I said, ‘What? No. I must have dropped off. Time to be off, eh?’

‘Your friends are all going. Better get that rattle trap off the street now. There might be some shooting soon.’

I came out of the side door. The floodlighting went off suddenly. Up and down the street the naphtha flares were moving, iron barrow wheels rumbling over the cobbles.

‘Look sharp now. The inspector will be round any minute. He wants to find the street empty.’

I said, ‘Right away,’ and went numbly back inside wondering where the hell to start. I picked up the frying pan and then thought of something else and nearly collapsed in panic. The inspector wouldn’t be finding the street empty. Vaclav Borsky was lying about in it, at present under the stall and snoring rhythmically.

The other policeman stepped over to join his mate, saying irritably, ‘Come on, come on now. What’s the trouble? Smirtov will be here any moment. Here, give him a hand.’

I came out of the side door at a rush, crying, ‘No. Wait. Don’t trouble yourself, comrades. I’ve just got to go somewhere a minute. Watch the stall for me, please. I’m bursting,’ and hurried off, making motions indicative of a violent need to urinate.

I don’t know if they believed me. I was beyond caring if they believed me. I thought it would take a minute or two for them to suspect, a little longer for them to know definitely. I had about three minutes.

I went round the corner of the Stepanska like a whippet. The street looked long and hideously straight. A few yards round the corner the huge bulk of an hotel glimmered dimly, but after that it was black as hell. My footsteps rang back from the high walls at both sides. I stopped and wrenched my shoes off, panting and sobbing, and hared on again in my socks.

I thought there must be an alley or an entry. I couldn’t see anything. Tall buildings; blank walls. I’d picked the wrong street. After a minute or two I was winded, stomach hurting like hell, and had to slow down to a trot, breathing heavily. Suddenly I heard a single enraged shout at the other end of the street and took off again like a rocket. Almost immediately, I fell over. The pavement had ended. I went sprawling on cobbles.

I got up, lost one of the damned shoes, scrambled frantically for it on the wet cobbles, found it. There was a light somewhere,
a tiny glimmer. I couldn’t make it out, took a second or two to contact. I’d found my alley.

I went up the alley slowly, puzzled by the light. A hospital, police station, cul-de-sac of some sort? I suddenly heard my breathing echoing back, realized I was in a roofed place, and stopped and held my breath, trying to work it out. It seemed to be an archway. In the silence the gutters gurgled steadily outside. The rain had stopped. A still close night. My elbow was throbbing. I must have fallen on it. Suddenly a car revved up and came whooshing down the street. Men shouting. Another car starting up. I couldn’t stay here, would either have to take my chance on it being a cul-de-sac or get out in the street again and find another alley.

I went on through the archway.

After a few paces I saw what the light was. A statue. A madonna, with a little oil lamp over her head. A few flowers showed whitely in an urn at the base. A cobbled, medieval courtyard; not, evidently, a churchyard; no obvious church; big blank buildings all round. There might be an alley running off at the other side. I ran across the cobbles in my socks and suddenly stopped, quite still.

There was someone there.

I stepped back to the wall, unable to place the direction. A girl laughed, over to the right, and I saw them, a single shape that became two, then one again. A man and a girl scuffling and laughing softly in the angle of two walls. A bicycle showed dully nearby.

The muttering went on; giggling again. The man’s voice, gruff and wheedling, ‘Ah, why not? You said you would.’

I thought I could safely leave them to it, and edged round, keeping close to the wall. The courtyard was a rectangle. Railings; basements; everything in darkness. The backs of business premises, I thought. From somewhere close by a clock chimed half past eleven, and all round other clocks began to strike.

There was an opening at the next corner, a cobbled path not a yard wide. I couldn’t see where it went, everything pitch black. Another car went by in the street, and men running. I was in no
position to choose. I went swiftly into the opening, feeling my way with my right hand outstretched. The wall curved right, left, right again. No chance to escape if anyone came in after me in either direction.

My outstretched hand suddenly fetched up against a blank wall. Dead end. Panic.
Wait. Wait
, I thought. How dead end? Why dead end? The path must go somewhere. There had been no doors or gates opening off it. I felt all round, found that it turned sharply at ninety degrees to the left, hurried on, sobbing with relief. From all round now there seemed to be a fair amount of activity. Car doors banging, men shouting. I’d lost all sense of direction. I knew I mustn’t be caught up this alley. I began to run.

Immediately I tripped, stumbled, went floundering down a flight of steps, and landed heavily on my backside. There was something underneath me, something alive and shrieking. A cat. A bloody cat. It tore out from under me, clawing and spitting, and a dustbin lid clanged a yard away. I scrabbled to my feet, terrified of the row, and at the same moment a light came on from an upstairs room in front of me. I was outside a gate, the end of the path, railings at both sides. Really dead end now.

A woman’s voice called, ‘Franti?’

I couldn’t somehow move, stiff from my fall and hypnotized by the light. There was a group of buildings beyond the gate. The woman came out on to a balcony and stood silhouetted against the light.

She said, ‘Frantisek? See you put the bicycle away tonight. It will rain again.’

I tried to edge into the shadow. She was leaning over a small coping, peering at me. A flight of steps ran up to the balcony. ‘What, lost your tongue? Ah, there’s no need to sneak in, you fornicating beast. I’ve been waiting for you. What was it tonight?’

I couldn’t understand the layout of the buildings. Not houses. Not warehouses. A large formal structure, many windowed, a gothic arch.

‘All right. Stay dumb. You can stay out, too. Maybe she’ll give
you a bed. Or see if you can find a girl again in the gymnasium. You filthy beast!’ she said bitterly, and went in and slammed and bolted the door.

I thought, gymnasium. A school, perhaps. The caretaker’s lodge. I tried the gate. There was a simple iron latch. It opened easily, but I didn’t go in. There would be a front entrance on a street, a naked public street. My instinct was to remain in the dark alleys. I couldn’t somehow think. I was aching all over, desperately tired. I suddenly realized I’d been on my feet for the best part of seven hours. I felt behind me for the steps and sat down, holding my head and trying to work it out. In the silence I could hears the cars still, a confused distant row. I couldn’t tell how far I’d gone. But I knew I couldn’t stay here. The fornicating Frantisek would be along any minute with his bike. No point in going back down the alley for the same reason. Nothing else but the gate.

I got up and pushed it and went in.

A wide quadrangle, dark, no visible features except the bulk of the buildings. I skirted them on the left, found a high wall and followed it round. I followed it for several hundred yards and came up against a building. Dead end. I cut back across the quadrangle to try the other way, and suddenly a finger of light swung across and I froze. A bicycle lamp. I heard the faint clang of the gate latch and then the light went off. I remained quite still in the ocean of darkness, listening for him. The faint hiss of tyres on the wet surface. I couldn’t place the direction, wondered if he wasn’t coming towards me to put the bicycle away in some shed, and backed quickly to the wall.

I lost him completely then. Total silence. Suddenly a light came on, an institutional blister lamp under the balcony where the woman had appeared. The pool of light spread all the way to the gate. I saw him leaning the bike against the wall. He seemed in no hurry. He wiped his face and collar carefully with a handkerchief, fumbled around in his pocket, and I saw the weak spurt of a match. The flame leapt. He was lighting a pipe.

I told him silently,
Go, damn you, go. He didn’t go
. He began
to walk up and down smoking the pipe, breathing deeply. I leaned against the wall, sick and aching. My feet were cold and wet in the socks. I wondered if I might sit on the ground, and lowered myself painfully but surely right into a bloody puddle. I was so dead beat I couldn’t bear to move and sat there, watching him.

A quarter to twelve struck.

He knocked out the pipe and walked back to the bike and the light suddenly went off. I levered myself to my feet again. I heard the faint sound of him going up the stairs, and started moving. He’d be down again pretty soon, I thought. I knew one fornicator who wouldn’t be entering the conjugal home tonight

I actually managed to trot on my maltreated feet past the gate and away over to the other side of the quadrangle, but after a few seconds slowed to a painful walk again. The sky seemed to be lightening a bit. The clouds were breaking up, a dim radiance appearing. I saw the outline of the wall now, and then the main gates.

Beyond the gates, the street seemed deserted. I peered through them in both directions. I had no idea at all where I was. I felt it couldn’t be far from the river. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got there. They would have the approaches to the Embassy well covered by now. It seemed pointless to try and get there. But what was the point of trying to get anywhere? I couldn’t hide indefinitely in Prague. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life running up and down alleys. They were going to catch me some time. My only hope lay in trying to get to the Embassy. If I failed then it meant failing earlier instead of later. This meant I had to cross the river. I would have to boat or swim across, both prospects so grimly unattractive that I groaned faintly in the dark.

I wondered at which point of the river embankment the street led out. There was only one way to find out, and I turned the handle of the gate and pulled gently. Nothing happened. I tried the other way, pushed, pulled, wrenched, swore obscenely. The gate was locked. It seemed about a mile high; straight vertical bars, too difficult to climb, too risky to climb, exposing me
against the skyline to anyone who might be patrolling in the street.

The sky was brightening rapidly, tattered, luminous-edged clouds scudding across now. A breeze fluttered over the quadrangle, cold against my wet trousers. I looked round the school walls, saw a cluster of buildings beyond the wall on my left, and, farther along, an unexpected godsend, a builder’s ladder. I made for the ladder, planted it firmly against the wall and climbed up. At the other side of the wall there was a collection of lorries and handcarts; a big building with hangar doors; a warehouse of some kind. Away to the right the street wall continued. I could see over it now. It was dark and quiet out there. There was a faint yellow light perhaps fifty yards along; evidently the corner, the river embankment.

The lorries were parked in line at the side of the warehouse. I thought there must be a gate or door at the far end that would open directly on to the embankment. Perhaps there would be a gap or a keyhole through which I could check my position.

There was a handcart directly below at the other side of the wall. I pulled myself on the wall, dropped the shoes on the handcart and went cautiously after them. A cobbled yard, faint stink of diesel oil, and something else – polish, wood, shavings? I went carefully down the line of lorries, found blank double doors, padlocked, no gap, no keyhole.

I went back again, round the warehouse, to the hangar doors, and suddenly stopped. A glimpse of light, a crack in the door. I see-sawed my head from side to side to catch it again, couldn’t, and stepped back a pace. It wasn’t a crack in the door. The door was open, not quite pulled to, a gap of an inch or so.

I pushed gently, waiting for the creak, but there was no creak. It opened ponderously, but quite smoothly.

The light was coming from big plate glass windows at the other end, faint yellow lighting from street lamps on the main road. I went slowly in, and stood for a moment just inside, sizing it up.

Furniture. Chairs, dressing tables, beds, standard lamps. Towards the window the stuff was laid out in suites. A clock
suddenly struck and I dropped one of the shoes in panic, and picked it up, sweating, swearing, nervy as hell. The other clocks chimed in then. Twelve o’clock. Three-quarters of an hour since I’d left the
parky
stall. Only five hours since I’d coshed Josef and run for it. It seemed a lifetime. But I was free still. I’d got away with it so far. I’d got to the river.

With a faint resurgence of hope I moved in to the wall in the shadow of a line of wardrobes and went slowly up to the windows. As I got there the moon came out. A silvery luminescence swam over the street like a filmy curtain going up at a theatre. There was someone out there. It only needed one look to see who.