‘You wish to deal directly with Kralovsk?’
‘That’s it. I’d like to go tomorrow. In the morning. It shouldn’t need more than an hour or two there. My principals expect me back in time for a conference on Monday morning.’
‘Very good,’ Svoboda said. ‘I will see everything is arranged. A car will call for you at – what? Is nine o’clock too early?’
‘Nine o’clock would be fine.’ I had no intention of leaving the hotel tonight. A nice, quiet trip, early to bed.
‘And you wish for no Discussions today?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve got everything I need for the moment.’
‘Excellent,’ said Svoboda.
He sounded a shade muted at this dearth of Discussions.
Little Vlcek was there with the car in the morning, vulpine and informative as ever.
‘I hope you have brought good weather back with you, Pan Whistler. Since you were here last we have had nine and a half centimetres of rain. Perhaps now the sun will shine.’
I said, ‘It looks a bit overcast now.’ The air was steamy and stifling; I had slept badly.
‘Ah, there might be a shower or two. But the meteorological service says all should be well for the parade on Sunday. That is the main thing.’
‘What parade is that?’
‘You have not heard?’ Vlcek was delighted. ‘It will be one of the greatest in recent years. See the stands are going up. One hundred and eight contingents are coming from outlying districts alone. The district of Brno, for instance, is sending one thousand seven hundred participants. You will see, the decorations go up today and the town will start filling tonight. There are many interesting problems in coping with such an influx …’
After a while I stopped listening again, and looked out of the
window. Vlcek went on talking ceaselessly. He had not mentioned what the parade was in aid of; I felt far too queasy in mind and stomach to ask him. We were nearing Kralovsk and my palms were sweating on the Norstrund. I was carrying Maura’s copy in the pocket of my raincoat. I wondered how I was going to leave the book this time. Knowing definitely now that Galushka was not in the plot did not help. I wondered how I would stumble through the questions I had to ask him, and if he would regard them with suspicion. He had already pointed out everything that could possibly be communicated about his bloody glass. God, I thought. How I hate glass.
Vlcek, as before, was still talking as we got out of the car and went through the front hall to Galushka’s office. It was some interminable nonsense about the organizational problems raised by the parade, but none of it required further response than an occasional nod. Which was just as well. I was feeling sick again.
They had buzzed through to Galushka from the front hall, and he was at his door to meet us, his small, uneven eyes roving over me in the unpleasant way I remembered.
‘Well, Pan Whistler, so we are honoured again.’ He had taken my hand in both of his and was slowly pumping it up and down. ‘Comrade Svoboda tells me you are troubled about some of our arrangements.’
‘Pan Whistler’s principals, you understand,’ said little Vlcek, whickering slightly and showing his gold teeth with extreme uneasiness. ‘Before concluding a deal naturally they wish to satisfy themselves on all points. Pan Whistler, I understand, merely wished to confirm what he has already seen. I believe you were more than satisfied with Comrade Galushka’s systems, Pan Whistler.’
‘Quite,’ I said. My mouth was dry and my heart pumping very unpleasantly. ‘We thought a further visit to the factory would be worth while in view of the impending trade agreement. We wish quick action.’
‘I too,’ Galushka said. He had released my hand and ushered us into the office. ‘This is the essence of our industry. Speed, efficiency and quality. You know, Vlcek,’ he said, ‘it will take
much work from Prague to convince our customers – our Western customers – that our specifications are so high. Article for article our product is both better and cheaper. They are amazed. They wonder what is the drawback. Oh, there is nothing personal in this, I assure you, ‘he said to me.’ I understand very well the psychology of the Western business man. I had excellent opportunity to observe it for thirty years. It does not surprise me and I do not resent it. We will have to educate them.’
His twisted smile was quite genial. Poor Vlcek was grinning horribly from one to the other of us. ‘The glass is very good undoubtedly,’ he said in embarrassment. ‘Pan Whistler, as I understand it, does not doubt it. It is merely a new market opening. One understands the problems and so forth …’
‘Well, I am at his service entirely,’ Galushka said. ‘What exactly is it you wish to see again?’
I told him, exceedingly relieved that he should regard my return in this light. He rang round to two of his departments while Vlcek screwed a cigarette into his long holder and strove to shed amiability. Embarrassment kept him less conversational than usual, however.
‘Well,’ Galushka said, putting down the phone. ‘We can go.’ He looked out of the window and picked an umbrella from his stand. ‘Rain again. But leave your raincoat here if you wish, Pan Whistler. The one umbrella will do for both of us. There is not much walking between the shops.’
The rain was a godsend. I had been wondering what to do with the raincoat, having no desire to leave the two Norstrunds hanging about in the room. I said, ‘No, I’ll take it, thanks. It isn’t any bother, and it will leave you the umbrella. But I’ll tell you what I will do,’ I said, marvelling at the way it came out. ‘I’ll just leave this book here.’
‘Of course,’ Galushka said. And then, looking at it, ‘Ah, you are still attached to your guidebook, I see. We must not let you forget it this time.’
And that was that, the first part over.
The back of my neck was damp with sweat as we left the
office. Little Vlcek came too. Nobody asked if he had a raincoat and Galushka didn’t offer to share the umbrella. He got very wet.
It was just after half past nine when I had arrived at the works and it was not yet a quarter to twelve when I finished. Unless you’re very keen on it there are few things actually more boring than the mechanical production of glass. A number of dull minerals are melted in a furnace, the resulting fused ‘metal’ being then rolled or moulded, depending on what you are making with it. The questions I had asked related to the ‘metalling’ of fine table ware and the annealing of three of the ranges on offer, processes of such total lack of interest that I remembered nothing at all from my last visit.
Galushka proceeded on the principle that I remembered nothing at all and saw to it that I wrote everything down in my notebook. I emerged from the last of the shops with a filled notebook and my face again stiff with painful interest.
The rain had stopped and the ground was steaming in the tropical heat. The sun seemed to be trying to come out,
‘You see, Pan Whistler,’ Vlcek said. ‘I said you have brought the good weather with you.’ He was sneezing a little but had kept very cheerful. ‘We were all worried in town for the parade on Sunday,’ he told Galushka. ‘But the meteorological service announced today that the sun would shine. They do not realize Pan Whistler brought it with him,’ he said gaily.
‘Ah, the parade,’ said Galushka. ‘You are staying over to see it, Pan Whistler?’
‘I’m afraid not. I must fly back tomorrow.’
‘You will be missing a worthwhile experience. To see the young people from every region in their national costumes, all dedicating themselves to the state – this is to understand the source of our strength.’
Since I had taken down his every word he seemed kindly disposed towards me, and now showed an inclination to stand and chat. I was in no hurry. Every minute wasted here was a minute gained for whoever was fiddling with the Norstrund. Nothing had been said about staying on to lunch. I wondered if the
mysterious Golombek, that bloddy fool, would have had enough time to do his work.
Presently we strolled back to the office block. The car was waiting outside.
‘I hope you have now sufficient information,’ Vlcek said to me. ‘There is nothing else Comrade Galushka can tell you while you are here?’
I couldn’t think of anything. It seemed impossible that there could be anything further to tell about glass. I felt the back of my neck beginning to sweat again with the strain of wondering how to draw attention to the Norstrund.
‘If there is anything further,’ Galushka said, putting one hand on my shoulder and taking my right hand with the other, ‘don’t hesitate to get in touch. I do not resent it,’ he said, his uneven eyes smiling. ‘I understand very well the reasons.’
‘Yes, well. I think I’ve got everything …’
The sneezing but alert Vlcek came to my assistance. ‘Ah! Your guide book, Pan Whistler. We have nearly forgotten it again!’
‘Of course,’ Galushka said. ‘I will get it.’
He seemed to be a hell of a time about it. Vlcek and I made heavy conversation among the steaming puddles. Presently Galushka reappeared. He had the Norstrund in his hand. A minute later we were cruising back to Prague.
As Cunliffe had said, once you stopped worrying there was nothing to it.
The car put me down outside the Slovenska and Vlcek took a sneezing farewell. He was a friendly little soul, and I felt sorry for him. If anyone was going to get the chopper when this lot came out, I knew who it would be.
It was half past twelve, too early for lunch. I felt wound up, too excited to go to my room. I thought I would walk up the street towards the museum, and have a drink on the way.
I was light-headed with relief and hilarity. I knew from previous experience that the mood would not last, that very shortly
I would begin to jangle like a piano wire. But just then, at that moment, I had a heady conviction of total success. I knew I’d got it this time. There had been a certain smoothness, a certain inevitability about the whole business. All I had to do now was fill in the hours till ten in the morning.
The Vaclavske Namesti was glittering in the sun, cobbles, pavements, trees, sparkling and steaming from the rain. As Vlcek had said, the decorations were going up and there was a new air of bustle and cheerfulness about the place. Workmen were up ladders attaching banners and streamers. Outside the Zlata Husa restaurant, a group of them were swaying in a cradle fixing a giant triptych of portraits.
Farther along by the Opletala, a banner broke across the street above the little shuttling trams.
TO A LASTING PEACE. TO THE PEOPLE'S VICTORY
. Young office girls out for the lunch break streamed along the pavements, gossiping and laughing, their splendid Slav bosoms straining in light summer dresses. Even the old black-clad crones, a changeless feature of the place, seemed to be sharing some common joke, toothless gums grinning as they shuffled by with shopping bags.
By the time I reached the statue of Wenceslas I’d decided to amble down to the embankment for a drink, and crossed the road, winking at him on his iron horse, and walked down the Mezibranska by the side of the museum. I walked under the linden trees to the Manes café.
It was chiming one o’clock all round when I got there and the crowds were streaming back to work. I sat at an open-air table and ordered a large beer and drank it, watching, in the hot sun, the bathers diving from the raft into the molten river.
I had no appetite for food. I stayed at the Manes café drinking the light beer till three o’clock. Then the sun went in and clouds came over again. I picked up my mac and left.
With the sun gone, the air was too thick and sticky to walk back. At the tram stop by the Smetanov bridge I caught a number seventeen for the Vaclavske Namesti, and had to stand all the way, jolted and jostled in the throbbing heat. I got off at the Prikopy junction with a violent headache.
They were trying out loudspeakers that had been installed on lamp-posts as I walked the few yards back to the hotel. A military march. My head throbbed, mouth sour with beer, heavy and oppressed again in the suddenly grey, hot afternoon.
Josef was lurking on the second floor.
‘You have eaten well, Pan Whistler?’
‘No, Josef. It was too hot to eat. I’ve been drinking at Manes.’
‘Ah, so. It’s very sensible. A thunderstorm will clear the air.’
‘It looks as if we’re going to get it.’
‘Yes. In an hour or two, I think. Have you further business today?’
‘No. I’m going to lie down now on the bed.’
‘It’s a good idea. You’d like another beer?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve drunk enough.’
‘Try an iced Pilsener before you rest. I recommend it.’
I didn’t want any more beer, but he seeemed installed for a chat, so I said all right to get him out of the way and went in the room. The canopy was down on the balcony, the room green and dim like the inside of an aquarium. I flaked out on the bed and edged my shoes off and kicked them on the floor.
The row of the military band came in through the open window, but presently stopped. The technicians began testing with numbers. ‘
Jeden
…
dva
…
tri
…
ctyri
…’
The throbbing in my temples had begun to ease when Josef reappeared with the Pilsener. He stood and watched me sip it, smiling in his darkling way.
‘It’s good?’
‘Wonderful.’ It wasn’t wonderful. It was the strong export Pilsener, too tangy for my sour mouth.
‘You want to lie here all afternoon or shall I call you for tea?’
I thought I’d better write to Maura, as promised. I said, ‘What times does the post go?’
‘From the hotel at five o’clock, from the post office until seven. Someone can always go if it is urgent – the post office is just along the street. It’s a letter to England?’
‘Yes.’
‘Better to get it in the six o’clock post. A call at five-thirty then,
pane
?’
‘Five-thirty would be fine.’
He went and I put the beer down and lay back again. Just a short block of time to get through now. Rest until five-thirty; write, eat, drink, read until ten. Then bed. Only a few hours.
It suddenly occurred to me that I had not examined the Norstrund. I sat up and picked it up from beside me on the bed. The flyleaf was still immaculate. I hoped the man had had time to do his work. I wondered what the hold-up had been in getting it back from Galushka’s office. But if there’d been anything wrong I wouldn’t have got it back.