Killing the Second Dog. Marek Hlasko

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СКАЧАТЬ I made for us last year?”

      “Don’t give him a thought. Think of your new bride.”

      “Maybe he’s right,” I said. “I’m old. It might not work this time, Bobby. If they find me too late, that’ll be it.”

      “No.”

      “You know it can happen.”

      “You’ll be all right. Just remember to eat more beforehand. Have a big supper first. Besides, your body has built up some immunity by now.”

      “Don’t count on it. One day it can turn out real shitty. Don’t tell me you don’t know that.”

      “Sure, it can happen,” he said. “But do you know how dumb I am? I haven’t even insured you. And I don’t intend to take out a policy naming me as your sole beneficiary. You’re not a movie star and I won’t play your widow.”

      “Hey, I swear I never suspected you of anything like that.”

      “Anyway, neither of us is into this for kicks. Hell, I never expected to make my living this way. My specialty, you know, is Shakespeare. I studied English at the university so I could read him in the original. That’s exactly what I’d like to be doing now.”

      “Let’s not talk about that, Bobby.”

      “No, I don’t mind. Did I ever tell you how I think Macbeth should be staged?”

      I remained silent. He had told me at least a hundred times—in Jerusalem, in Haifa, during those endless trips together, and during all those nights when it was too hot to fall asleep. It was when he talked about Shakespeare that his ugly face began to light up. Now, I thought, comes the boring part.

      “Did I?” he said. Shakespeare was his one true passion and like all cranks he never tired of his favorite subject.

      “You did mention it,” I finally said, feeling a little sorry for him. “You really are a great director, Bob. It’s too bad I happen to be your only actor. And I feel pretty worthless now. My face looks lousy. I don’t think the girl is gonna fall for me. Sorry, but I really don’t expect it to work this time.”

      “It will. It will. Stop worrying. Trust me. I’ll make her fall for you. Just remember this, the last time anybody called her a girl was before World War I. And stop thinking about your face. Look, it’s like with Shakespeare. Shakespeare’s plays shouldn’t be performed. You just have to know how to say the lines. The worst thing is everybody insists on performing Shakespeare; it makes me want to puke. How can you perform a scene like the one where Hamlet and Ophelia’s brother quarrel by the grave? Olivier had this brilliant idea how to perform Shakespeare, so he turned his plays into theater. Shakespeare is life, not theater.”

      “Don’t tell that to too many people.”

      “I’m telling it to you,” he said. “You just have to shout out your lines and walk off the stage. You don’t have to perform at all. Anyway, we’ll rehearse your part from the beginning.”

      “Tonight?”

      “No. Tonight we need to rest. But first we have to talk to this backer of ours. Finish your beer and we’ll go. It’s cooler now.” He fell silent for a moment and then asked, “What did that guy say?”

      “What guy?”

      “The guy in the cab. Did you understand his last words?”

      “Not quite. I think it was ‘pray for my soul’ or something like that.”

      “He said it in German?”

      “Yeah.”

      “How cliché,” Robert said. “But I guess a lot of people have repeated that hackneyed phrase. Still, it’s worth remembering. You can always add a word or two and change something around. I’ve heard that all those famous last words are a pack of lies. When Goethe was on his deathbed, they couldn’t get a word out of him for posterity, so they started shining a light on his face until he finally said that famous line of his: ‘More light!’ Sly bastards.”

      “I wouldn’t say a thing. I’d be too scared.”

      “Not even a word to the kids kneeling around your bed? Or to your wife banging her head against the floor in desperation?”

      “Come on,” I said. “I’m tired. Let’s talk to our backer and have it over with. I want to climb into bed and sleep until morning. Look at the dog. He’s beat too.”

      Robert paid the bill and we walked slowly toward the sea. It was already dark. I remembered reading in some book that man is but the shadow of a dream, but I couldn’t think of the book’s title or the name of the author. I don’t know who had dropped that line on me or at what point in his life the author had written it. Was it while he was gazing at the dying flame of a candle, or watching a dog with a bone in its jaws, its eyes shining with fearful ecstasy? Or maybe it was the voice of God that had suddenly rumbled inside him and made him mutter those words while staring wide-eyed at the people around him, certain all of a sudden that he would not disappear without a trace when he reached the end of his road. And maybe it seemed to the people around him they had been allowed to glimpse some wonderful light that would never shine again. It must have been a glorious moment and I can only thank God I wasn’t present, since most likely I would have added a few words and spoiled the whole show. That’s the way I am. And then what would have happened to the light? But I don’t like light. I like the darkness, which frees us from our faces and the shadows we cast.

      “Is anything wrong?” Robert asked.

      “No. I was just trying to remember something.”

      “And …?”

      “No luck. But don’t worry. That’s why I’m so fond of thinking; it doesn’t lead to anything. You should know me, Robert. We’ve been working together for over a year.”

      “Ease up, man. Soon we’ll start talking about money and you’ll feel even worse.”

      “You’ll do the talking.”

      “Right. And you just try not to have such a goddamn sad face. All you need to do is sit with us; you don’t even have to listen to me. You can clean your fingernails or pick up some book and leaf through it. Don’t pay any attention to what’s happening. To you it should be obvious he’ll give us the money. Pretend you can barely hide the boredom and disgust you feel, okay?”

      “Okay,” I said.

      We were walking side by side. Darkness was all around us, but not the kind that envelops a city like a dream. It didn’t make us forget our hot and tired bodies. This darkness was rough and hard, like the dust; and like the dust it clung to our skin.

      “So, once again. How will you act?” Robert asked.

      “I won’t pay any attention to either of you,” I said. “You won’t interest me at all. I’ll just sit there looking out at the garden, and your loud, repugnant voices will seem to me both meaningless and unreal.”

      “You got it, pal. Okay, we’re here.”

      We entered a building and started СКАЧАТЬ