Zlodeji zelenych koni (The Green Horse Rustlers)

Excerpt

On sunday we both slept late, and around eleven o´clock – for the first time in ages – we had breakfast in the kitchen together. Karolina clasped her mug in both hands as she sipped her latte. I tried to remember how long her hair had been like that. I noticed that she had a score of new clothes, mostly a number of suits she wore at work.
Karolina breathed a sigh, and took a sip of her coffee.
“You really could find yourself a decent job, Pavel. Everything is slipping out of your hands – opportunities, time. In couple of years you won´t be able to get anywhere, you´ll see,“
“But I´m bringing money in. Just because I don´t wear a suit and tie…“
“I don´t care about that. I just don´t want our future to rest on foundations as unreliable as your treasure-hunting…“
“But Karolina, our future rests on something quite different, you know that: on the fact that we are together, that we love each other. Only you matter to me; nothing else, no one else.“
Karolina stared at the tablecloth, then looked up at me.
“You know, Pavel, it´s really nice to dream your dreams with you, to flit about up in the clouds, and all that stuff, but life with you isn´t worth a tinker´s curse…“
I studied her face, looking for a hint of smile, to see how she meant all this. I did not know what to reply; the sugar turned sour in my mouth, the sunlight outside the window suddenly became hostile.
For a week I lived with it, sitting at home waiting for Karolina, playing the good boy; but one evening I jumped into Kačmar´s car, and was soon honking the horn outside his house.
And so the night-shifts start again. We moved to another site near Třeboň – we weren´t the only ones to dig there at the time. There were a few familiar faces: they weren´t amateurs, either, they knew where to look. We dug in reddish sandy earth; it was quite firm, and the pieces of moldavite were completely dark. Often we had to wait until dawn to be sure that what we had found was really moldavite. These pieces of black moldavite were highly valuable for collectors, and I knew we would get a good price for them.
It must have been around midnight. We were working down the hole, and Kačmar complained that his shoulders were hurting. He went up for air. It was a Friday night, and I had promised Karolina that on Saturday we would go to her parents for lunch to celebrate her father´s birthday. So I had agreed with Kačmar that we would finish early; I wanted to be home by one o´clock to get a good night´s sleep.
I was digging, half-naked. It was a sultry night, and I was beginning to have enough. I didn´t like the place: we struggled to find the moldavite, which looked like cigar ends in the half-light. I was just thinking of saying so to Kačmar when a bright light shone into the hole.
“Does it still hurt?“ I shouted into the blinding cone of light.
Kačmar made no reply. I was wondering what he was using to illuminate the hole: we normally used miners´lamps, which had a rather different colour beam.
“What are you playing at, Kača, you´ll blind me…!“
The light continued to pierce my eyes, but there was no response. I stopped picking at the earth we had dug out, and threw a handful out into the open.
“Cut it out, you idiot!“ I shouted.
“Climb out and put your hands up!“ cried a voice, piercingly.
I looked out: above the hole stood a thin figure, not Kačmar. The order sounded once more. I got a grip on myself. Two policemen were standing there, both with their guns pointing at me. I looked around; Kačmar was nowhere to be seen. It was not perturbed by this – we had agreed that if one of us was no able to warn the other of impending danger, then he should save his own skin and what moldavite we had already excavated. It was not the first time we had had to flee from field and forest rangers or policemen.
The policemen were young, they had their helmets on, and they were quite clearly on edge.
“Hands up!“ the one closer to me repeated. So I raised both my hands. In one I was still holding the sharpened little pickaxe; I stood there, having clambered out of the hole, half-naked.
“What are you doing with that tool? Drop it now!“
I threw it onto the grass. I looked around for the rucksack containing our provisions and the moldavite. It was lying on the ground close by. Escape seemed hopeless, so I waited to see what would happen next.
“Don´t make any sudden movements!“ the other policeman commanded. They allowed me to put my t-shirt on and get my bag. Meanwhile they kept their guns pointed at me, and motioned me to the police car. They had approached the forest from the other side: this meant, thankfully, that Kačmar – having obviously not been able to warn me – had already made his escape, or was, at least, waiting at a safe distance from the lit squad car. I got in the back seat. The policemen regained their composure somewhat, but the one that sat next to me continued to grasp his gun in his hand. Once we had set off, they began to ask me where the others where. I told them I was alone.
“We know you dig in a team,“ the policeman said. “Where are the others?“
“There´s no one here but me,“ I replied, and in actual fact I wasn´t lying.
We turned into the first village, where I was forced to get out and pour out the contents of my bag onto the pavement under a streetlamp. A few tins of meat, a couple of bread rolls, a knife, a small tin plate and a scrunched butcher´s coat, that was all. I breathed a sigh of relief: Kačmar had made his escape with the bag containing the moldavite on him. I then had to empty my pockets. There were two pieces of moldavite in them – tha last ones I had found that night. They took them from me. Next we sat in the car again, and it was only in the nearest small town that we were to stop again, in front of the police station.
I didn´t have my papers on me, and my driving licence was in Kačmar´s car. But the police insisted I prove my identity.
“I can call my wife,“ I finally told them, knowing that there was now no chance of this thing ending happily. They shoved the telephone in front of me, and so, without further ado, I called Karolina. It must have rung for three minutes before she picked it up. I told her where I was, and to come for me with my identity card and passport. My story to the police was that I had travelled by train. They completed an official record. I said as little as I possibly could, and meanwhile the phone rang and one of them had to leave the room. I read what the policeman had typed on the typewriter and refused to sign it. When I was told by the other one that I could be kept for forty-eight hours, I argued with him for a while, then signed.
Half an hour later the other policeman returned, and a further ten minutes later a big black limousine stopped in front of the station, and Karolina got out, dressed in jeans and a pullover. It was two thirty in the morning. As I waited for her on the stairs, Karolina, a little shaken, handed my papers over to the policeman. Still standing in the doorway, he took a look at them, then handed them to his colleague. They exchanged a few words behind the door. Karolina looked at me inquisitively; I wanted to tell her what to say if they interrogated her, but by then one of the policemen was standing in the doorway again. He pushed my papers into my hand, informed me in an official tone of voice that I was free to go, and slammed the door.
“You don´t expect me to take all this seriously, do you?“ asked Karolina, as we got into the car. The headlights broke throught the darkness as I sat in torn, muddy trousers and the black and white butcher´s coat, sinking into the soft, bright interior and sugary smell of the car, as it purred quietly along. I murmured something in reply, then kept quiet, knowing that there was no point explaining anything to Karolina at a moment like this.

(Translated by David Robert Evans)

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