Marek Hlasko - Killing the Second Dog

“No. Please let’s not talk about this. I know what you want to ask. But I can’t go with you.”

“Why?”

“I won’t bring you luck. I’m a loser, you know. Nothing ever changes for men like me. I’d keep losing just the same on the other side of the ocean.”

“Then let’s try to be losers together.”

“You’re only a woman. And it’s best to be a loser alone. It hurts less.”

“Wrong,” Robert said. “Your lines should go this way: ‘You’re only a woman so you don’t believe in defeat, but I’ve learned the hard way what it means. It’s best to be a loser alone. It hurts less.’ Will you remember, please? And don’t say ‘It hurts less’ immediately after saying ‘It’s best to be a loser alone.’ Take a pause. You’re thinking and struggling with yourself, hating your words, hating yourself for saying them. This is a dialogue, for god’s sake, not a litany to Our Lady of Lorraine. These words hurt you. You have to say, ‘It’s best to be a loser alone,’ then smile like someone who’s forced to lend his sports car to his mother-in-law, and only then say ‘It hurts less.’ Do you see it now?”

“Yes,” I said. “Let’s move on to the pathetic part, okay?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“When you’re twenty years old, you’re unwilling to settle for any compromise where women are concerned,” I said, taking Robert’s fat paw in mine. “Later, you become mature enough to accept compromise. And then one day you learn to love a woman who …”

“Louder! You’re unable to believe your own words. You feel disgusted with yourself.”

“… who is far away and living with another man, but you are happy that she exists, that she’s alive and breathing, and you don’t care if she belongs to somebody else. You just thank God that she’s alive and that you can think about her whenever you like.” I fell silent; I looked at his face, and after a few seconds I looked down and saw the towel Robert had wiped himself with lying on the floor. “And that is old age, which has come upon you too fast.”

“We will face it together,” Robert prompted.

“One day people stop visiting you and so you start visiting them. That’s the onset of old age.”

“A good line,” Robert said. “Where did you get it from?”

“Some movie. I think Fredric March played in it. There was also something about kids. That when you go to visit your kids who’ve forgotten you, you know you’ve turned old.”

He put the sheet back on the bed. “Well, that about wraps it up. You’re doing fine. Just remember not to speak too fast. Deliver your lines as badly as you can. It has to seem that all the words are your own.”

“Robert?”

“What?”

“Hasn’t it ever crossed your mind that these words could be my own?”

“Don’t think about that. Try to imagine that I created you from scratch. Disney created Donald Duck, but he probably doesn’t believe it himself anymore. Same thing with Goofy. Goofy’s got his own life now. That’s the way you should picture yourself.”

IN THE MORNING LOUD NOISES WOKE ME UP. I PULLED ON my pants and walked into the hall. Two men were fighting; one was stretched out on the floor, the other was kicking him in the face with the point of his shoe. The fight was taking place in front of the john. The hunchback cowered in a corner, like a gloomy spider. The two men fighting bumped into me; I kicked one, then the other. Their loud cries woke up other hotel guests who poured out into the hall and pulled them apart; both men yelled for the police.

“What was that all about?” I asked the hunchback.

“Me.”

“What did they want from you?”

“They wanted to touch me.”

“Well, then, I guess you should have let them.”

“It’s not that simple. They both make deals in the city. So you see the problem.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Both believe touching a hunchback brings luck. But only if you touch him first. That’s why they were fighting. They’ve been fighting over me for two years now.”

“And you?”

“What can I do? When things get out of control, I lock myself in the crapper and wait for the cops. They don’t know the truth anyway. My hump is reserved for Azderbal. The old crook comes here every morning before going to the city and he touches me. He pays me ten pounds a month. Though today someone came even earlier and gave me a pound to let him touch first.”

I looked at him. “That was Robert, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. He told me he had to find a new backer. And I let him touch first.”

“And you forgot to tell Azderbal about it, didn’t you?”

“It slipped my mind.”

Soon afterward we went to a small cafe by the sea, Robert, myself, and a man Robert had found to be our backer. He was a quiet man, not much older than me, but with the build of a professional bouncer.

“Is everything clear?” Robert asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, then give us the money. No point wasting time.”

“I only said everything is clear.” The bouncer shook his head. “I didn’t say I’d give you the money.”

“You didn’t?”

“Look, I need to think it over. And listen, does that goddamn dog of yours …”

“I’ve told you five times already it doesn’t bite,” Robert said. “A strong man like you, how can you be afraid of a dog?”

“The dog may not know if I’m strong or not,” the bouncer said. “And even if it does, it can still bite me out of spite.” He glanced at the dog. “Have you had a vet look him over? He’s got bloodshot eyes.”

“Give us the money,” Robert said. “We haven’t got time to argue with you.”

“I have to think about it a while.”

“Stop playing games,” I said. “Our woman is already in the hotel, somebody making a pass at her this minute. The city’s swarming with guys out to make a quick buck.”

A man came to our table. I could see he’d hit the bottle real hard last night. His face was pale and swollen around the eyes, his hands shaking. He was shabbily dressed and very thin; his frayed shirt, a hand-me-down from someone much taller, hung on him like on a scarecrow. I knew right now, at nine in the morning, with the sun eating away at his eyes, he was feeling miserable.

“Buy me a beer,” he said. “Some day I’ll stand you one.”

“Beat it,” Robert said. “We’re busy.”

“Buy me a beer,” the drunk said again. I could tell by his shrill voice he was unstable: one of those drunks who start crying after the first sip. I took out thirty piastres and handed it to him.

“Here. Go buy yourself a bottle.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he said. “I was talking to him.” He pointed to Robert.

“Take the money and beat it.” I stretched out my hand with the thirty piastres showing, but he slapped it away and the coins fell. “That wasn’t very nice,” I said softly. “Leave us alone now.”

This made him angry. He poked me in the chest with his finger. “So you think you’re a better man than me.”

“No.” I got up, grabbed him by the elbow, and dragged him to the door. He tried to resist, but he was so weak I hardly felt anything. The waiters at the door took him off my hands and threw him onto the street. He fell on the pavement, unable to get up. The waiters watched with amusement.

“Don’t hit him,” I said.

“This is a place for respectable customers,” one of them said.

“Not if I’m here.” When I got back to our table, I asked the bouncer, “What’s with the waiters? Why do they like to gang up on drunks?”

“You should know,” he said. “You used to work as one.”

“You know everything about me, don’t you?”