Marek Hlasko - Killing the Second Dog

I woke up some time later. Robert was sitting on the bed, smoking a cigarette.

“I can’t sleep,” I said.

“Me neither.”

“Are you worrying about getting the money?”

“No. We’ll get it tomorrow. I’m worrying about finding a kid. That’s why I can’t sleep.”

“What do you want a kid for?” I asked. “Will you want me to feed it my own flesh like a pelican?”

“We need the kid to show what a kind-hearted man you are,” he said. I could feel his irritation. He was angry that I hadn’t grasped what he had in mind right away. “She’s gonna fall for it, pal. Some jerk’ll start mistreating the kid and you’ll be the one to stop him. Every broad has to fall for a trick like that.”

“And you’ll be the jerk?”

“Of course. Why waste money hiring somebody else? Don’t worry, I can play the part. This is very important. It’ll show you in the best light. From that moment it’ll all be a breeze.”

“Can’t we manage without the kid?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’d be best if she had a kid of her own. With some kind of handicap. A kid with one leg shorter than the other, a hunched back, or a stammer at least. A little hunchback would be perfect. Someone gives him a kick on the butt, and you step in and act like a hero. Yeah, a sweet little cripple. Or maybe a paraplegic. Jesus Christ, think how much money we could save that way!”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “Dreams like that never come true. Besides, who ever brings a hunchback to the beach?”

“Don’t you worry. To you it may have a hump the size of a camel’s but to its own mother the kid is as straight as the prick of a Russian soldier. What do you know about women? If they love someone, they’re blind as bats.”

I got up and walked over to his bed, which stood close to the window. The street outside was dark, but there was no coolness out there. The night seemed solid and dusty, like some forgotten theater set. Robert gave me a cigarette, and in the light of a burning match I saw his face was dry and tense. I thought with annoyance that he must have wiped it with our towel that was now lying somewhere on the bed.

“What’s bothering you?”

“I’m worried it may not work out,” I said.

“Don’t be. As long as you stick with me, you’ll be all right. I’m as durable as the papal state.”

“Sure. But one day this con is bound to fail. We’ll be the ones to lose money. What’ll you do when that happens?”

“We’ll come up with some new act.”

“What new act?”

“Any act. We’re not any less clever than other men. We have to believe that.”

“Robert, do you know what a loser is? It’s a guy who keeps on losing. I’m a loser, Robert. You heard what he said: find some handsome young fellow. If you plan to go on with this hustle, one day you’ll have to do just that.”

“Hey, that’s really good! What you said about being a loser. You have to tell her that. Say you love her, blah, blah, blah, but there’s been a lot of misfortune in your life, blah, blah, until a warm female hand grasped yours, blah, blah … It’ll come out great.”

“Robert, art isn’t made by people working in twos or threes. Art is made by loners. That’s why I used to like literature, because in literature the only ones who count for something are those who go it alone, never expecting anyone to come along one day and explain what they’re really striving to achieve.”

“Don’t you like literature anymore?”

“No, I don’t. But it’s not that simple. Actually, I never really wanted to write.”

“Don’t think about it. Better think where we can find a kid whose sweet little looks will melt a woman’s heart. A kid with eyes like diamonds. Later, we’ll give him money for ice cream and he can catch dysentery for all I care. That kid has spoiled my whole night. The fucker isn’t even big enough to cut himself a piece of bread and he’s already a pain in the ass.”

I lay down next to Robert and he moved over to the wall. We lay like that for a while, listening to the sound of our own breathing. I was sure neither of us would be able to fall asleep, but I didn’t care. Looking at Robert, I knew he was thinking about the kid and that his mind was working full steam, coming up with new ideas and rejecting them one after the other. At least I could be certain tonight he wouldn’t bore me with his bullshit about the kind of theater he longed to create.

“You’re a loser, too, Robert.”

“Not yet,” he said. “Right now I’m one of those who’ve figured out a good angle. It was me who found you and guessed you’d once wanted to be an actor. It set me thinking and I came up with this scam. This whole thing is my baby.”

“History will never forget you.”

“What amuses me most,” he said, “to the point that I wake up at night howling with laughter, is all those broads listening to you talk about love and the life you’ll lead together. None of them ever knowing all your lines were made up by a fat old Jew suffering from a double hernia who feels sick even after eating wild strawberries with cream. And that I’m that old Jew. You do all the work while I just lie peacefully in bed and wait for the moment when you’ll collect the bundle and depart in an unknown direction, whispering the most tender endearments. No, son, I’m not a loser. I’m the one who’s created you and this little piece of theater.”

“Sure, but one day you’ll have to come up with something else. I’m sorry, but that’s the goddamn truth.”

“I’ll make you up again from scratch. No problem.”

“I could do with a drink,” I said.

“Everything’s closed at this hour. Think of the kid.”

“I hate kids.”

“So do I. All kids except this one. It’ll make a neat beginning. You’ll both look at the kid, then at each other, and your thoughts will rush up to the Pearly Gates.”

“I don’t think ‘rush’ is the best word,” I said. “I think ‘soar’ has a nicer ring to it.”

“Okay.”

“So how should I phrase it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe just say, ‘Let me fly away with you.’ Don’t worry. In dialogue there’s no need for perfection. You have to deliver your lines slowly and in a clumsy way, forgetting that you know them by rote. You have to believe these words are your own. And she must see how hard it is for you to speak, how much trouble you have finding the right words and stringing them together. That’s the way Shakespeare should be staged.”

“But that’s not Shakespeare,” I said. “It’s a line from some song.”

“What is?”

“Let me fly away with you.”

“What’s the difference? Just don’t forget what you ought to be feeling.”

“When am I supposed to say that? After you act out the scene with the kid?”

“Yes. The kid is very important.”

“And then will I … you know?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you when the time is ripe.”

“Let’s rehearse some more. We won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

“Okay.” He got up from the bed and wrapped himself in a sheet. I sat and smoked.

“Where do you want to start?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Any place.”

“All right. Let’s start from when she tells you that she’s got to go back to the States after her vacation.”

“You first.”

“I didn’t want to broach this subject earlier,” Robert said, “but you know I’ll have to leave soon, don’t you?”

“My darling, why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

“I’m only a woman,” Robert said. “I wanted to be happy with you for as long as I could.”

“I didn’t expect the summer to pass so quickly,” I said.

“I must ask you something.”