Marek Hlasko: All Backs Were Turned

“I can’t do it, Dov,” Israel said. “The police will think we did it together.”

“And we did,” Dov said.

“I wasn’t here,” Israel said.

“But you were there when you told me I should go to her,” Dov said. “And that’s when she began to hate me and I began to hate her.” He placed his hand on Israel’s arm. “Can’t you understand that only you can help me now?”

“No,” Israel said. “I can’t help you. I wasn’t here. I know how it’ll be; they’ll start asking me questions, more and more questions, and they’ll shine a lamp in my face until I finally tell them whatever they want to hear. I know I’ll tell them. I’m a weak man, that’s all.”

“Look, you simply have to help me,” Dov said. “Like I’ve always helped you.”

“Yes,” Israel said. “You always helped me.” Suddenly he put his face against Ursula’s breast. “Dov,” he said, “she’s alive. She’s breathing.”

He got up; Dov knelt next to Ursula’s body and placed his head on her breast. Israel held the stone ready in his hand; he had noticed it while kneeling by Ursula’s body, and he picked it up while pressing his face to her chest. He waited until he saw Dov begin to straighten up, then he hit him twice in quick succession; he circled the body to make sure Dov was really dead, then hit him a third time; only then did he toss the stone away.

THEY LEFT THE BAY BEHIND. IN FRONT OF THEM WAS open desert. He was uncomfortable; his hands were handcuffed, and he could barely move them.

“Take these off,” he said. “You know I won’t run away.”

“Should I take them off?” one of the cops asked.

“No,” the other cop said. “Rules are rules.” He turned to Israel. “You can stand it, man. This whole thing will surely resolve itself in the next few days. You have nothing to fear if you were trying to defend that woman like you say.”

They were driving past the hospital. Suddenly Israel saw Esther.

“Stop for a moment, okay?” he said to the cops. “I want to say goodbye to her.”

They pulled up to the curb.

“Let me know if I can help you in any way,” he said.

“We don’t need your help,” she said.

“Remember our conversation? Do you now know what I was talking about?” he asked her softly.

“I don’t care what you were talking about,” she said. “I’m going to have a child, you know.” She looked at him for a moment. “I’ve never loved anybody but Dov,” she said. “And I’ll go on loving him for the rest of my life.”

“I know,” Israel said. “I always knew you loved Dov.” He turned to the cops. “We can drive on.”

She gazed after them, her hands folded across her belly, then she turned around. She looked at the wide open hospital door through which — his arms spread wide to embrace her — Little Dov was coming out.

Madrid, June 1963