SS MAN: How can that be?
MRS KOPECKA sighing: I don’t know, perhaps it’s on the battlefield, some forward position or something like that. As if confused: But that’s enough, isn’t it? I’ve got to get on with my work, and it is just a game, you promised me.
SS MAN: But you can’t stop now. I want to know more about this secret, Mrs Kopecka.
SCHWEYK: I think so too, you ought not to keep the man guessing. Mrs Kopecka winks at him in such a way that the SS man can see. But perhaps you have said enough, because, well, there’s a lot we’re better off not knowing. Varczek the schoolmaster once looked in the encyclopaedia to see what skizziphonia meant, and afterwards they had to take him off to the Ilmenau asylum.
SS MAN: There was something more you saw in my hand.
MRS KOPECKA: No, no, that was all. Leave me alone.
SS MAN: You don’t want to tell me. I saw you winking at this fellow to get him to stop, because you didn’t want to speak, but I’m not having that sort of thing.
SCHWEYK: That’s right, Mrs Kopecka, the SS won’t have that sort of thing. I had to speak right away at Gestapo headquarters, like it or not, and straight off I admitted I wished the Führer a long life.
MRS KOPECKA: Nobody can force me to tell a customer things he won’t want to hear so that he never comes back here.
SS MAN: There you are, you know something and you’re not saying. You’ve given yourself away.
MRS KOPECKA: The second H isn’t at all clear anyway: not one in a hundred would notice it.
SS MAN: What second H is that?
SCHWEYK: Get me another pint, Mrs Kopecka, it’s so exciting I’m getting a thirst.
MRS KOPECKA: It’s always the same, you just get yourself in trouble if you give in and do your best to read a hand. Brings Schweyk’s beer. I didn’t expect the second H, but if it’s there, what can I do about it? If I tell you you’ll be depressed, and it isn’t as if there’s anything you can do.
SS MAN: But what is it?
SCHWEYK genially: It must be something serious if I know Mrs Kopecka, I’ve never seen her like this before, and she’s seen lots of things in people’s hands. Can you really bear it, do you feel up to it?
SS MAN hoarsely: What is it?
MRS KOPECKA: And then if I tell you that the second H means a hero’s death, at any rate usually, and then it depresses you? There you are, you see, it’s taken you badly. I knew it. Three beers, that makes two crowns.
SS MAN pays, shattered: It’s all a load of nonsense. Reading your hand. It can’t be done.
SCHWEYK: You’re quite right, look on the bright side.
SS MAN going: Heil Hitler.
MRS KOPECKA calling after him: Promise me at least you won’t tell the others.
SS MAN stops: What others?
SCHWEYK: Your detachment. You know, the twenty of them.
SS MAN: What’s it got to do with them?
MRS KOPECKA: It’s just that they’re associated with you in life and death. I don’t want them to worry unnecessarily.
Exit SS man, cursing.
MRS KOPECKA: Do come again.
FAT WOMAN laughing: Lovely. You’re pure gold, Mrs Kopecka.
SCHWEYK: That’s that detachment dealt with. Unpack your briefcase, Mr Prochazka. Baloun won’t be able to stand it much longer.
MRS KOPECKA: Yes, bring it out, Rudolf. It’s good of you to have brought it.
YOUNG PROCHAZKA feebly: I haven’t got it. Seeing them take Mr Schweyk away gave me such a shock I kept seeing it all night long, good morning Mr Schweyk, so you’re back, I didn’t dare to risk it, I’m afraid. I feel dreadful, Mrs Kopecka, letting you down in front of the customers, but it’s stronger than I am. Desperately: Please say something, anything’s better than this silence.
BALOUN: Nothing.
MRS KOPECKA: Well, so you haven’t got it. But before, when you came in, when I gave you a sign that I’d have to get rid of the SS man first, you nodded to me as if you’d got it.
YOUNG PROCHAZKA: I didn’t dare …
MRS KOPECKA: You needn’t say any more. I’ve got your mark. You’ve failed the test as a man and as a Czech. Get out, you coward, and never darken my doors again.
YOUNG PROCHAZKA: It’s all I deserve. Slinks away.
SCHWEYK after a pause: Talking of palmistry, Krisch the barber at Mnišek—you know Mnišek?—was telling people’s fortunes from their hands at the parish fair, and got himself drunk on the proceeds, and a young farmer took him home with him so he could tell his fortune when he’d sobered up, and before he fell asleep the barber asked this young fellow ‘What are you called? Get my notebook out of my inside pocket, will you? So you’re called Kunert. Right, come back in a quarter of an hour and I’ll leave you a bit of paper with the name of your future wife on it’. And with that old Krisch began to snore. But then he woke up again and scribbled something in his notebook. He tore it out and threw it on the floor and put his finger to his lips and said ‘Not now, in a quarter of an hour. It’ll be best if you look for the bit of paper blindfold’. And all there was on the paper was ‘The name of your future wife will be Mrs Kunert’.
BALOUN: He’s a criminal, that Prochazka.
MRS KOPECKA angrily: Don’t talk nonsense. The criminals are the Nazis, threatening and torturing people for so long that they go against their real nature. Looking through the window: This one coming now, he’s a criminal, not Rudolf Prochazka; he’s just weak.
FAT WOMAN: I tell you, we’re guilty as well. We might do a bit more than drink slivovitz and make jokes.
SCHWEYK: Don’t ask too much of yourself. It’s something to be still alive nowadays. And you’re kept so busy keeping alive that there’s no time for anything else.
Enter Brettschneider and the SS man of the previous day.
SCHWEYK gaily: A very good morning to you, Mr Brettschneider. Will you have a beer with me? I’m working for the SS now, so it can’t do me any harm.
BALOUN viciously: Out!
BRETTSCHNEIDER: How exactly do you mean that?
SCHWEYK: We’ve been talking of food, and Mr Baloun has just remembered the chorus of a popular song we’ve been trying to call to mind. It’s a song they usually sing at fairs, about the proper way to deal with radishes, around Mnišek they have those big black radishes, you’ll have heard about them, they’re famous. I’d be glad if you’d sing that song for Mr Brettschneider, Baloun, it would cheer him up. He has a fine voice, he even sings in the church choir.
BALOUN scowling: I’ll sing it. The subject is radishes.
Baloun sings the ‘Song of the Black Radish’. All through the song Brettschneider, with everyone looking at him, is undecided whether to intervene or not. Each time he sits down again.
It’s always best to pick a nice fat black one
And gaily tell him, ‘Oy, mate, you get out’.
But wear your gloves when you attack one
Bang on the snout.
That snout’s so dirty ’cause the bugger lives in dung.
Filthy lout. Should be slung
Out.
You won’t be asked to pay inflated prices
You get the sod dirt cheap all over town.
And once you’ve got him shredded into slices
Salt him down.
Salt in his wounds! He’s asked for everything he gets.
Salt him down! Till he sweats.
Salt him down!
INTERLUDE IN THE HIGHER REGIONS
Hitler and Marshal Goering in front of a model tank. Both are larger than life. Martial music.
HITLER
My good old Goering, now three hard-fought years have passed
And it looks as if my war’s won at last
Though it’s hard to keep it from spreading to other areas
Unless I can have more tanks, guns and aircraft carriers.
That means people have got to stop sitting around and flopping
And start sweating blood for my war instead until they’re d
ropping.
So answer me if you can:
What of the European Little Man?
D’you think he’ll want to work for my war?
GOERING
Mein Führer, I’d say that is something of which we’re quite sure:
The Little Man in Europe will sweat out his guts no less cheerfully
Than the Little Man in Germany.
That’s a job for my Labour Front.
HITLER
Splendid, so you’ve got a special outfit. That’s an excellent stunt.
4
A bench in the gardens by the Moldau. Evening. A couple enter, stand looking upstage towards the river with their arms round each other, saunter on. Enter Schweyk and Baloun. They look back.
SCHWEYK: Old Vojta treats his servant girls pretty badly; she’s the third he’s had since Candlemas, and already wanting to leave, I’m told, because their neighbours are on at her for working for a quisling. So it doesn’t matter to her if she comes home without the dog, so long as it’s not her fault. You sit down there first, she mightn’t sit down if nobody else is sitting there.
BALOUN: Shouldn’t I be holding the sausage?
SCHWEYK: So you can eat it yourself? Just sit down.
Baloun sits down on the bench. Two servant girls enter, Anna and Kati, the former with a pomeranian on a lead.
SCHWEYK: Excuse me, miss, can you tell me how I get to Palacky Street?
KATI distrustful: It’s just across Havliček Square. Come on, Anna.
SCHWEYK: Excuse me, but can you tell me where the square is? I’m a stranger here.
ANNA: I’m a stranger too. Go on, Kati, tell the gentleman.
SCHWEYK: Well now, isn’t it funny that you should be a stranger too. I’d never have known you weren’t a Prague girl, and with such a nice little dog. Where do you come from?
ANNA: I’m from Protivin.
SCHWEYK: Then we’re almost neighbours, I’m from Budweis.
KATI trying to draw her away: Do come on, Anna.
ANNA: Coming. Then you must know Pejchara, the butcher with the shop on the ring road in Budweis.
SCHWEYK: Do I know him? He’s my brother. He’s very well liked there, you know, a nice chap and very obliging, and always the best meat and good measure.
ANNA: Yes.
Pause. Kati waits ironically.
SCHWEYK: What a coincidence we should meet as far away as this. Have you a few minutes to spare? We must tell each other the news from Budweis—there’s a bench over there with a nice view—that’s the Moldau.
KATI: Really? With pointed irony: I’d never have known.
ANNA: There’s somebody sitting there already.
SCHWEYK: A gentleman enjoying the view. You should keep an eye on that dog of yours.
ANNA: Why?
SCHWEYK: Don’t say I told you, but the Germans are keen on dogs, astonishingly keen, specially the SS, a dog like that’s gone quick as a wink, they ship ’em back home, me for instance, only the other day I met an SS lieutenant called Bullinger who was looking for a pom for his wife back in Cologne.
KATI: So you knock around with SS lieutenants and people like that, do you? Come on, Anna, that really is enough.
SCHWEYK: I spoke to him while I was in custody for expressing opinions that endangered the security of the Third Reich.
KATI: Is that true? Then I take back what I said. We’ve got a few minutes to spare, Anna.
She leads the way to the bench. The three of them sit down next to Baloun.
KATI: What opinions?
SCHWEYK indicates that he cannot talk about it because of the stranger, and adopts an especially innocent tone: How do you like it in Prague?
ANNA: All right, but you can’t trust the men here.
SCHWEYK: That’s only too true, I’m glad you realize it. Country people are a decenter lot, wouldn’t you say? To Baloun: Nice view here, sir, don’t you think?
BALOUN: Not bad.
SCHWEYK: Sort of view would appeal to a photographer.
BALOUN: As a background.
SCHWEYK: A photographer could make something really nice out of it.
BALOUN: I am a photographer. We’ve got the Moldau painted on a screen in the studio where I work, only a bit tarted up. We use it for the Germans, mostly SS, who want a picture of themselves in front of it to send home when they’ve been posted and won’t be coming back. It isn’t the Moldau, though, just any old river.
The girls laugh approvingly.
SCHWEYK: That’s very interesting. Couldn’t you maybe take a snap of the young ladies—needn’t be a full-length shot, just a bust—beg pardon, that’s the technical term.
BALOUN: I could indeed.
ANNA: That would be nice. But not in front of that Moldau of yours, eh?
Plenty of laughter greets this, then a pause.
SCHWEYK: D’you know this one? A Czech standing on the Charles Bridge hears a German in the Moldau shouting for help. So he leans over the parapet and yells ‘Shut up down there, you ought to have learnt swimming instead of German’.
The girls laugh.
SCHWEYK: Yes, that’s the Moldau. There’s a lot of immorality goes on in the park now it’s wartime, I can tell you.
KATI: There was in peacetime.
BALOUN: And at Whitsun.
SCHWEYK: Out of doors they keep at it till All Saints’ Day.
KATI: And nothing goes on indoors?
BALOUN: Plenty there too.
ANNA: And at the pictures.
They all laugh a lot again.
SCHWEYK: Yes, the Moldau. D’you know the old song ‘Henry slept beside his newly-wedded’? They sing it a lot in Moravia.
ANNA: Doesn’t it go on ‘Heiress to a castle on the Rhine’?
SCHWEYK: Yes, that’s the one. To Baloun: Have you got something in your eye? Don’t rub it. Could you perhaps see to it, Miss, the corner of a handkerchief’s the best.
ANNA to Schweyk: Would you hold the dog? You’ve got to be careful in Prague. There’s a lot of soot blows around.
SCHWEYK ties the dog loosely to the lamppost near the bench: Excuse me, but I really must get down to Palacky Street. Business you know. I should like to have heard you sing the song, but I haven’t the time, I’m afraid. Good-bye. Exit.
KATI as Anna fishes around in Baloun’s eye with a handkerchief: He’s in a hurry.
ANNA: I can’t find anything.
BALOUN: It’s better, I think. What’s this song you were talking about?
ANNA: Shall we sing it for you? We really must go then, though. Quiet, Lux. I’d be glad to see the back of both you and your master. To Baloun: He’s too well in with the Germans for me. Right, I’ll begin.
The two girls sing ‘Henry slept beside his newly-wedded’* with considerable feeling. Meanwhile from behind a bush Schweyk attracts the dog with a tiny sausage, and makes off with it.
BALOUN after the song: You sang that beautifully.
KATI: And now we’ve really got to go. Mother of God, where’s the dog?
ANNA: Heavens above, now the dog’s gone. And he never runs away. What will Mr Vojta say?
BALOUN: He’ll ring up his friends the Germans, that’s all. Don’t get upset, it’s not your fault, that gentleman can’t have tied him tight enough. I thought I caught a glimpse of something moving away while you were singing.
KATI: Quick, we’ll go to the police and see if it’s been found.
BALOUN: Why don’t you come to the Chalice one Saturday night. It’s number 7, Huss Street.
They nod to Baloun and go out quickly. Baloun returns to his contemplation of the view. The previous couple come back, but with their arms no longer round each other. Then Schweyk arrives with the pomeranian on a lead.
* The text of this song is on p. 139.
SCHWEYK: It’s a real quisling’s dog, bites when you’re not looking. Gave me a terrible time on the way. When I was crossing the railway he lay down on the lines and wouldn’t move. Perhaps he wanted to commit suicide, th
e silly sod. Let’s get a move on.
BALOUN: Did he go for that horse sausage? I thought he was only supposed to eat veal.
SCHWEYK: War’s no picnic, not even for them with pedigrees. But Bullinger’s not getting this one till I see the colour of his money, or else he’ll swindle me. Us collaborators have to be paid.
A tall, sinister man has appeared upstage and has been watching the two of them. He now approaches.
MAN: Good evening, gentlemen. Taking a stroll?
SCHWEYK: Yes, and what’s it got to do with you?
MAN: Perhaps you’d be kind enough to show me your identification papers. He displays an official badge.
SCHWEYK: I haven’t got my papers with me, have you?
BALOUN shakes his head: We’ve not done anything.
MAN: I didn’t stop you because you’d done something, but because you seemed to me to be doing nothing. I’m from the Department of Voluntary War Work.
SCHWEYK: Are you one of those gentlemen who have to hang around outside cinemas and in pubs to dig up people for the factories?
MAN: What’s your job?
SCHWEYK: I run a dog business.
MAN: Have you got a certificate to say you’re employed on essential war work?
SCHWEYK: No, your honour, I haven’t. But it is essential war work; even in wartime a chap wants a dog, so that he can have a friend at his side when the bad times come, eh, pom? People keep a lot calmer when they’re being bombed and shelled if they’ve got a dog looking up at them like he was saying ‘Is that really necessary?’ And this gentleman is a photographer, and that’s even more essential if anything, because he takes photos of soldiers so that the folks back home can at least have pictures of their boys, and that’s better than nothing, you must admit.
MAN: I think I’d better take you along to headquarters, and I advise you to cut out all this nonsense when you get there,
BALOUN: But we pinched the dog under higher orders, can’t you explain to him?
SCHWEYK: There’s nothing to explain. This fellow’s under higher orders too.
They leave with him.
SCHWEYK: So your job is pinching men, is it?
5
Lunch time in the Prague goods yards. On the rails sit Schweyk and Baloun, now shunters in the service of Hitler, guarded by a German soldier armed to the teeth.