Marek Hlasko - Killing the Second Dog

“Take it easy. You don’t know how to enjoy yourself. How are things going? Okay?”

“Yes.”

“See? I told you.”

“You were right,” I said. “You proved to me what human genius is capable of.”

“Good. I’ll go talk to the bouncer now and try to convince him to back us again. Though I’m afraid he’ll be reluctant to risk any more money.”

“We don’t need him. When we pull off this job, we should have enough money for Tiberias.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to finance ourselves. I’m sure everything’ll work out fine, but what if it doesn’t? It’s always better if somebody else takes the fall. The same as with a movie production.”

“Only no one will give us an Oscar, no matter how good we are,” I said. “And that’s the bitter truth.”

“You’re an actor, not a star. Remember that. Anyway, Chaplin didn’t get an Oscar either.”

“But he got American dollars in Swiss bank accounts. And all he has to pay is four percent income tax.”

“God willing, one day you’ll be wallowing in money, too. Okay, I’m going. Think of the Sea of Galilee. You’ll have to be in the depths of despair. These broads go for that. Despair above all. Think about it.”

“It’s enough if you do,” I said.

Robert left. Soon afterward I heard a piercing scream, which must have reached the highest heavens. Little Johnny’s sense of humor had led him too far this time: when some lady swam out to sea on an inflatable rubber mattress, he punctured it with his knife, letting all the air escape; the mattress sank almost immediately. I could see the lifeguard holding Johnny under his arm and a crowd trying to resuscitate the poor woman. The lifeguard began walking in my direction, as unrelenting as fate.

“Is this your kid?” he asked, trembling with anger.

“It’s awfully hot,” I said. “Ask me a simpler question.”

“Do you know what I’m going to do now?”

“I have no idea.”

“I’m going to whack his ass so hard he’ll have to crawl on his belly for a week. Everybody’s had enough of him!”

“He’s a good kid,” I said. “Let him go, or the blood will rush to his poor little head.”

“Are you responsible for him?”

“Yes.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“That’s right.”

He let go of little Johnny, who then managed to bite his captor somewhere near the liver. The lifeguard threw down his fancy hat with a brass anchor, the word lifeguardstitched on it.

“I’m talking to you as a private person now,” he said to me. “Get up from that deck chair.”

“It’s too hot,” I said. “Come back when the khamsin stops blowing.”

“Be a man!”

The tone of his voice was so imploring, I had to oblige. He hit me in the jaw with such force I fell back on the chair, breaking it to pieces. Then he lost his balance and tumbled down; I grabbed him by the hair and kicked him in the belly. He gasped, but managed to hit me once more. I, too, managed to land a blow with the last of my strength. Then we both sat on the sand, breathing hard.

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to continue,” I said. “I’m out of breath. It’s because of this goddamn wind.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I feel kind of weak myself today. What I need is a cup of strong coffee.”

“Your legwork is lousy. That’s why you lost your balance.”

“And you don’t know how to kick. You were aiming at my gut, but you got me in the groin.”

“Too bad I don’t know karate,” I said. “If I did, I could kill you by hitting your Adam’s apple with the edge of my hand.”

“Sure. If I let you,” he said, rubbing his belly. “But I could dodge your blow and then hit you right between the eyes. The nasal bone would break and knife into your brain. Instant death.”

“Karate is a clever art.”

“But you have to learn it well. Another good move is to hit someone in the solar plexus with the tips of your fingers. But you have to be careful not to break your fingers. It’s best to wrap a hanky around your hand. Real tight.”

We fell silent. We were both breathing hard; the lifeguard massaged his belly, I massaged my jaw.

“I lost my job because of this kid,” he said. “I just couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve been following him around for the past three days, but there’s no way to keep him out of mischief. Yesterday he managed to get hold of a magnifying glass and set fire to guests’ pockets, the pockets they kept their money in, of course. As I was carrying him just now, I got so angry something snapped in me. I lost my job, but I don’t give a damn.”

“You’ll find a new one,” I said.

“Small chance. The season’s almost over. All the hotels already have lifeguards. I won’t find anything.”

“You should go to Eilat,” I said.

“What for?”

“I know some guys down there. They could find you a job in Solomon’s mine. Or in the harbor.”

“I prefer the harbor.”

“It can be arranged.”

“I’m willing to give it a try,” he said. “And you don’t have to pay taxes in Eilat. Can you really help me?”

“Sure. When you get there, ask for Abram Szafir. He’s a wonderful guy. I stayed with him two years ago. He’ll help you find something. Can you play cards?”

“Of course.”

“Then don’t have second thoughts about going. A good player is worth his weight in gold there. Everybody’s bored stiff; playing cards is the only entertainment.”

“Will you write me a note to your friend?”

I wrote a note and gave it to him. The lifeguard picked up his fancy hat and handed it to me.

“Give it to the kid. Actually, I never wanted to be a lifeguard.”

He left. I got up, too, and started searching for Johnny. When I found him, he was busy building a fortress on an old gentleman in the sand. The old man was watching him with a kindly expression.

“You should buy him a toy,” the old man said. “Maybe a spear gun, something like that.”

“You don’t know him,” I said. “The only toy he’d enjoy playing with is a flamethrower. Come, Johnny. Come along, dear. There’s something we have to talk about.”

He stood up and followed me.

“Yesterday you traded away my pants and my shirt,” I said. “Then you let our dog into a meat store and the poor animal ate so much it hasn’t been able to eat since. The chair the lifeguard broke throwing me onto’ll cost at least thirty pounds. I just want you to know the holy saints don’t shower money on me from the sky, and I don’t expect them to start anytime in the near future.” I gripped his shoulder and turned him toward me. “The fact is I’m a poor man, John. I’m sorry to have to tell you that.”

“You mean you don’t have money?”

“No, John. I never had any.”

“Try making some.”

“That’s excellent advice, John. But it so happens I haven’t got any money now.”

He held out his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” I said.

“Listen, do you want to sell your dog?”

“No, Johnny. Spot isn’t for sale.”

“I’d like to have it,” he said. “It’s a good dog. And Americans love dogs.”

“Yes, I know. Americans love dogs more than any other nation does. But Spot isn’t for sale.”

“Spot would like it in America.”

“I know, John. But I can’t sell you my dog. It’s too late now, and it can’t be changed.”

“Too late?”

“Maybe I’ve expressed myself wrong. But Spot has to stay with me and that’s it. Spot is my only friend.”

“How about Robert?”

“Listen, John. Spot isn’t going anywhere. Period.”

“There is a way out,” Johnny said. “I think I know how to get that dog to the States.”