Jachim Topol - Gargling With Tar

I looked at Páta and remembered: Gypsy cowboy. I couldn’t help laughing.

‘What’s up?’ Páta said.

‘Oh, nothing.’

Then Mr Cimbura piped up, and I, just as I had in my childhood long ago, ensconced in empty tar-soap boxes, listened, half-asleep, to Mr Cimbura’s fairy story. In those bygone days we weren’t hiding in a vault in the cemetery, while tanks and planes bent on our destruction rumbled overhead. I listened to the story of the dragon’s egg for the first time.

‘So, lads, I’m going to tell you how this Siřem of ours came into being, and who founded it hundreds and hundreds of years ago,’ said Mr Cimbura. ‘I’m telling you so that our squire here and his most esteemed delinquent brother know about it. Seeing as all the other locals have gone, you two stalwart sons of Czechia are the only ones left to keep alive this ancient legend… So listen carefully and stop fidgeting. Bullets are whizzing about outside and disorder reigns, but we’re here, tucked away in our snug little hole, so I’m going to tell you about the wayfarer…

‘Once upon a time, long, long ago, the wise men and militant boyars of the czar of the Eastern Empire decided they weren’t going to leave the world until it was all theirs. So they sent out this wayfarer to find the weapon with which they could subjugate the whole world… And the wayfarer rode away, until he came to a soot-stained signpost, on which it said: CAUTION: BOHEMIA! Well, the wayfarer wasn’t afraid, so he spurred on his horse… After travelling far across the wilderness, he came to a cottage, see? Inside it was a man and a woman, and their son, a chubby little lad who was a delight to behold.

‘And who else does the wayfarer see? A beautiful girl… She’s got these great big eyes, the skies float in them; her hair shimmers halfway down her back; and she’s got this gorgeous figure, a neck as white as snow, full breasts rising under her blouse, and a throat of radiant alabaster… She’s the purest of maidens… but then, there are no blokes living anywhere nearby, because they’ve all killed each other fighting or gone away or something!

‘The girl was sitting on a little stool, sewing. She was embroidering a white shift, and that shift was for her wedding day! Well, they welcomed him in: “A wayfarer’s arrived!” The girl gave him something to drink, and they all said, “When Grandfather returns, he will rejoice!” And the wayfarer learned that the old man had been in the forest for two days, hunting a wolf, but was expected home soon.

‘After dinner they went to bed. They all slept in the parlour, though they let the wayfarer have the lumber room, him being a guest. Only the little lad slept in the lumber room, and he didn’t disturb anyone, he just whistled gently through his little nose.

‘Well, that night the wayfarer’s mind turned to that gem of a girl, but he was all worn out from his journey and fell asleep.

‘Next day, they were working in the fields and the wayfarer helped out. They appreciated his strength and skill, which was good news for him, because a powerful love was growing in his heart for the beautiful daughter!

‘That evening, the wayfarer played with the little boy, and he was full of high spirits, and they all appreciated how good he was with children, which was more good news for him, given as how all he could think about was that girl!

‘Well, there they were, having dinner again, only in silence. And when the meal was over and they had blessed themselves with a crucifix, the wayfarer took the Cross and put it outside the door. Then they told him about the grandfather.

‘The old man had said that he was going after a wolf. “If I’m not back by nightfall on the third day,” he had said, “or if I’ve been at all mauled by the wolf, don’t let me in. It’ll be me, but it won’t be me.”

‘“I see,” said the father, and he picked up a wooden stake and started sharpening it with his knife.

‘Come the next evening and they heard this scratching at the door, and the little lad jumped up and said, “Grandpa’s back!” and they heard the loud voice of the old man saying, “Open the door!”

‘And the father said, “You’re too late, Dad.”

‘Well, the woman and the boy begged him to open the door, as Grandpa was only a teeny bit late for dinner! He’d been chasing a wolf for three days! He was worn out!

‘The father half-opened the door and said, “Show us the wolf’s head, Dad!” But the moment the door was open the old man came inside.

‘The father said, “Where’s the wolf’s head, Dad?” The old man let out a terrible groan — “Ooooaaaaaaa!” — and lifted his head, and through his whiskers they could all see his mangled throat.

‘The father grabbed the stake and took aim at the old man — his very own dad! And the grandfather ran out of the cottage and was gone. So they all went to bed.

‘Well, the wayfarer tossed and turned in bed, and told himself he’d be better off getting out of there, but then he remembered the beautiful girl. Then he heard a sound — tap! — at the window. The little lad sat up in bed. It was the old man tapping at the window, and he was ever so pale, and he said, “Grandson, come out to play.” So the boy climbed out of the window. This family is weird, thought the wayfarer to himself.

‘In the morning, the lad couldn’t walk straight. He was all pale and he picked up the sharpened stake and tossed it down the well, making a splash. Then the boy died.

‘“There’s something odd going on here!” the wayfarer told himself. He wanted to leave for the Eastern Empire and go back to his czar — without the weapon — but he also wanted the girl. He asked her to come to the lumber room, just for a quick word.

‘The girl came and the wayfarer prevented her from leaving. She stayed there all night, and in the morning the wayfarer left.

‘He travelled home, and stood before the czar, who commanded him, “Come thou not back without the weapon!” So back went the wayfarer.

‘The land was dark. The villages were deserted. Not a dog barked and no bird sang. The wayfarer met a priest, who asked him where he was going. The wayfarer told him he was going to Bohemia.

‘“Turn around and go back!” cried the priest, but the wayfarer said he wouldn’t. So the priest blessed him and gave him a crucifix. The wayfarer hung it around his neck, then off he went.

‘He heard wolves howling, and by now it was getting dark. He arrived at the cottage and there was nobody anywhere. He entered the building and behold: the girl was sitting on her stool, sewing, but what was she sewing, what was she mending? A shroud made from the pelt of a wolf. Strong was the odour of wolf from the skin.

‘The girl smelt strange, she smelt earthy. She stood up at once, opened her arms to embrace him, and drew him to her tight. The wayfarer couldn’t catch his breath!

‘And the girl said, “Come, my dear, our little one is crying.” She led the wayfarer into the darkened parlour. And what was that in the cradle? A dragon’s egg! And the egg was making a tapping sound and changing colour.

‘And at once the wayfarer knew that this was what he should take to the czar. He grabbed the egg and wrapped it in the wolf-skin shroud. He no longer wanted the girl. He was in a hurry to return to his native soil, to his czar.

‘The girl was pale. She asked for a kiss. Her lips were motionless and her face cold, as if she were not alive. She held the wayfarer tight in her embrace, and then she said, “They’re here!”

‘The wayfarer looked and behold! Outside the window he saw the old man, his son and daughter-in-law, and his grandson as well. They were scratching at the windows with their nails. They wanted to come inside. And they were all dreadfully pale.