Tranquility (30 page)

This was the first time I tried to play by myself, which was inevitable enough, certainly no more absurd than, say, making love alone or drinking your morning coffee alone. As I've said, I managed to play some good games. Once, playing white, I forced a queen exchange, black really had no choice, but in a few moves it became clear that it would have been better to sacrifice the knight, because with the exchanging of queens the white sealed its own fate. It tried to bring up a pawn on the right side, but the black mounted a devilish counterattack, moving its king slowly, from square to square, right behind the white defense line, then on a8 captured the pawn with the rook and with that it kicked the stool out from under its ivory partner.

Actually, I got on pretty well with pusillanimous Castorp and the thirty-two chessmen. What I really want to say is that I felt much more Clawdia Chauchat's presence than that of Hans Castorp; I would be hard put to talk about this but, in fact, there isn't that much to say about her. Perhaps to mention that when she slammed the glass-paneled door of the dining room for the hundredth time and, in her white pullover and while adjusting her bun, she sat down at the “good” Russian table, in short, the more this oriental Kyrgyz-faced woman kept reappearing, the more irritated I became with Mr. Settembrini's discourse on the means of proper thinking. So much so that when Madame Chauchat appeared, as if by accident,
in the small waiting alcove by the X-ray room and, crossing her legs and stooping forward slightly, began to leaf through some illustrated journal, one tended to think that life could have turned out differently. Yes, if I, for example, had met this woman fifteen years ago; if it had been not a half-drunk whore stumbling across the street, with a shoe in one hand and a half-dead bird in the other, but this Clawdia, nobody else but her, then . . . well, never mind, I think I should take back what I had said about the classified directory. In sum, in my own way, I was doing all right. I only went out to the all-night food store on the boulevard, and only at night, because I didn't want the neighbors to see me.

.   .   .

When I got home, the door was ajar. Two men in suits were sitting in the kitchen; they seemed to have been there for some time. They were smoking, and stirring the instant coffee they must have made for themselves. They didn't get up when I walked in.

“Are you the next of kin?” the stocky one asked, and then asked me to identify myself. It was obvious why they were here and we had to get past the formalities. The lean one pushed the kitchen stool toward me with his foot and motioned that I should sit down.

“May I smoke?” I asked, as if I weren't in my own home.

“Of course,” he said and held out the pack toward me.

“Thanks, I've got my own,” I said.

“Leave it, for later,” he said, and there wasn't even a hint of threat in his voice; still I took one of his. We're smoking the same brand, anyway, I thought. I could tell he was in charge, though neither of them bothered to introduce himself, which is not a rarity with these people. I would have been glad to get the whole thing over with; after all, I wasn't going to deny anything.

“This is a very nice apartment,” said the stocky one, but first he looked at his partner and waited for the approving glance, as if this were some important remark, to be made only at a higher command. I would have liked it better if the other one did the talking. He looked much more intelligent than his pig-faced partner, though you could see on his waxen face he was a sadist.

“Yes,” I said, even though I wasn't in the mood for this sort of chattering.

“And it's furnished very prettily, too.”

“It's mainly scenery,” I said.

“But five hundred a month covers everything,” he said, and that made me a little nervous, because it was none of his business what we lived on.

“Yes,” I said curtly. At first I wanted to add that since I began publishing and with all the readings I do and the exhibitions I open, I have been making a decent salary, but then decided not to complicate the conversation.

“Even for two people,” he said.

“Even for two,” I said, and from this disgusting hint my stomach began to tremble, and I wanted to protest but decided not to.

“Let's take a break,” the lean one put in, and offered me another cigarette. The whole time I smoked the cigarette, only the ticking of the alarm clock could be heard. I tried to remember in which play this clock had a role and
Much Ado About Nothing
kept cropping up, though it couldn't possibly have been in that.

“This is a very nice apartment,” said the stocky one when I put out the cigarette butt.

“It is,” I said.

“And it's furnished very prettily, too.”

“It's mainly scenery,” I said and only then realized that we had done this
before, and I doubted very much that we were there to discuss the scenery Mother called her Weér inheritance.

“But five hundred a month covers everything.”

“Yes, I've already said that.”

“Even for two people.”

“Even for two. I've said that too.”

“Let's take a break,” the lean one put in, but this time I didn't take the proffered cigarette, and all the while we were silent I was still put out by not remembering which play that prop clock had come from. And by not getting over the thing we had to get over. Let them interrogate me properly; give me that life sentence, or fifteen years, because I wasn't going to deny anything.

“This is a very nice apartment,” the stocky one began again, and I felt like getting up and telling them let's go then, but realized I couldn't do that. And I remembered what I had said to Eszter on Szabadság Bridge, so I couldn't possibly say the same thing to these henchmen.

“This whole thing makes no sense,” I said instead.

“And it's furnished very prettily, too.”

“We've discussed this a number of times already, it's only scenery.”

“But five hundred a month covers everything.”

“What do you want?” I asked the other one, but he didn't move a muscle. He was gulping his coffee from my mother's teacup, his eyes had a waxen glitter, and he kept his peace.

“Even for two people,” the stocky one said.

“Of course; even for two. If you look into it, you'll see it's about the same as what a doctor makes here,” I said.

“Let's take a break,” said the lean one and put his cup down.

“Let's not! Come on, tell me what you want and then let's go,” I said and wanted to get up, but the one in charge motioned that I shouldn't do that, so I kept my place. Throughout this break, they just sat and stared before them and we all listened to the ticking of the alarm clock.

“This is a very nice apartment,” he began again.

“And it's furnished very prettily, and five hundred a month covers everything? How much longer do you want to go on with this idiocy?!”

“And it's furnished very prettily, too,” he said.

“Would you stop that? Are you idiots, both of you, or do you take me for one?!”

“But five hundred a month covers everything.”

“Yes! It does, five hundred francs a month covers everything very nicely! We could afford no need for them cosmetics and even fire-extinguishing equipment! We managed beautifully! The money covered everything, exactly!”

“Even for two people.”

“Stop it, you ass!”

“Let's take a break,” the lean one said, and offered me a cigarette exactly the way he had on all previous occasions, and this time I took it because I was trembling with nervousness and it felt good to smoke. I tried to pull myself together and told myself I shouldn't lose my self-control. Whatever they want, I must be cool. It was a mistake not to answer the question. Yes, that was an error. I walked right into the trap. I accepted their rules of the game.

“This is a nice apartment,” the stocky one started again.

“Yes, it is,” I said.

“And it's furnished prettily, too.”

“I like it too, even though it's only scenery,” I said.

“But five hundred a month covers everything.”

“Yes, it does,” I said.

“Even for two people.”

“Of course, even for two,” I said.

“Let's take a break,” the lean one said. I took the cigarette, listened to the alarm clock's ticking, and felt that this time things went well. I may have made the slight mistake of not responding verbatim, as I did the first time. Then I thought that they probably didn't remember that and it would be best if I kept to the last pattern.

“This is a nice apartment,” he said.

“I like it too, even though it's only scenery,” I said, and in that very instant I realized I had made a mistake, because this was the response to the furnishings. I tried to cover my embarrassment, and pulled myself together.

“And it's furnished prettily, too,” he said.

“I like it too, even though it's only scenery.”

“But five hundred a month covers everything.”

“Yes, it does, pretty much.”

“Even for two people.”

“Even for two. Let's take a break,” I said, and already knew that I spoiled everything. That all my efforts had been in vain, this was the lean one's line. He is the only one who can say that line. I can't decide when we take a break.

“Let's take a break,” the lean one said, as if nothing had happened, but I would have preferred him saying something about my mistake; or if, say, he didn't offer me a cigarette again. Then I thought that the whole thing
would be over soon because they were people too, they couldn't stand this sort of thing indefinitely. And that these breaks were really helpful, one could at least collect oneself, but in that instant the whole thing started all over again.

“Nice apartment.”

“Yes.”

“And it's furnished prettily, too.”

“Yes, but it's only scenery. Mainly.”

“But five hundred a month covers everything.”

“Yes.”

“Even for two?” he asked and I was about to say Yes, but suddenly, like a knife, the thought went through me: until now he had always made these words a statement, not a question; that until now he hasn't asked anything. Until that moment he didn't utter a single fucking question, and I felt I had been lured into a trap, that they wanted to tire me out, they wanted to break me, like they would a wild animal, to bear the yoke, and I didn't answer them but began to shout that No! It wasn't enough for two! It wasn't enough for anything! I didn't do anything! Stop all this, stop it, you animals! and things like that.

“Let's take a break,” the lean one said when I calmed down and begged their pardon. I received a cigarette and wanted to ask for a little water, but in the end I didn't dare.

“Nice apartment.”

“Yes,” I said.

“And it's furnished prettily, too.”

“Ask me something,” I said. “This really makes no sense. Go ahead, ask me, and if I can I will answer.”

“But five hundred a month covers everything.”

“I'd really reply. Why are you doing this to me? What makes you think I would deny anything? Ask me something, for God's sake, ask me a question, do you understand?!”

“Even for two people?”

“Yes, but this has nothing to do with it. Neither does the apartment or the scenery. Ask me something that makes sense. Ask me Why? All right? Let's take a break and then ask me Why?”

“Let's take a break,” said the lean one and I thought that now they know what they should ask, so I could ask for a glass of water; after all, this is not a jail, this is still our kitchen, but then I thought that soon this whole thing would be over, I can stand one more round, it's enough if I confess, they can't expect me to beg for a glass of water in my own apartment, and I bit off the cigarette's filter and began to chew it because chewing produces saliva and that too can quench one's thirst.

“Nice apartment,” the stocky one said, but it was obvious he only wanted to scare me. He still pretended not to ask me why, and I said yes.

“And it's furnished prettily, too.”

I kept quiet. Not out of spite, more because of fatigue. I looked at the other one to ascertain whether I could keep quiet for a little while longer. His face was just as fresh as it had been when I walked in, his gaze just as waxen.

“But five hundred a month covers everything.”

Actually, I hated him more than the stocky one. Even though he was the one who always said let's take a break and who gave me the cigarettes.

“Even for two people.”

Except he didn't have an ounce of decency in him. He looked at me as
he would at an object, a machine that after every four sentences smokes a cigarette. I hated him, but wouldn't have dared to attack him, which was probably why I hated him most. Because he was stronger than I was and knew exactly what he wanted. The other one didn't count, only this wax-eyed animal. Why don't you say let's take a break? We've already done the even for two people. Then why can't we take a break, you prick? What are you looking at? Haven't you ever seen a murderer before?!