Caleb Crain - Necessary Errors

“Hus was two centuries earlier than the nobles killed over there,” Jacob felt obliged to explain. “But it all runs together in the national myth.”

Carl leaned back and looked up to find Hus’s line of sight. “He’s staring at these pretty buildings you don’t like.”

“I like them,” Jacob said. “There’s a contrast, is all.”

“Didn’t you say ‘war’?”

“After the Hapsburgs put down the Protestant revolt, they made Prague as beautiful as they could,” Jacob said. “Crushingly beautiful.”

“So beautiful that no one would ever want to leave.”

“So beautiful that it seemed right that they had won. The way Louis Napoleon remade Paris.”

“Like capitalism,” Carl suggested. “‘We’ll give you so much pleasure, you’ll never want to try another socioeconomic system.’”

“Something like that.”

“‘They came for the freedom, they stayed for the McNuggets.’”

“That’s terrible,” Jacob said, with delight.

“That’s not mine. A friend came up with it while we were watching the Berlin Wall on TV.”

* * *

“He doesn’t think I was too much the frosty bitch on the ride home,” Melinda suggested.

“God no,” Jacob reassured her. “Why would he think that?”

“I was afraid in retrospect that I was too proper. Too English. I can’t quite get used to him. He isn’t like you, is he. You were right about that and I was wrong.”

“I don’t remember that we said that much about it.”

“But we thought it, anyway, or at least I did. He isn’t like you, and I can’t decide whether to like him anyway.”

“Such flattery.”

“We’re taught that Americans don’t mind personal comments. You won’t mention any of this, will you. I forget that you’re flatmates. You won’t gossip about me.”

“The beautiful and mysterious Melinda Stone.”

“Gor, is that all you can come up with? ‘Mysterious’?”

He couldn’t tell if she might really be offended underneath the pretending to be. They were standing at the edge of a booth, whose benches were crammed with the rest of the group, in the basement of , a wine bar just south of . The ceiling was low, and large blond-wood casks elbowed into the room from along the walls. Loud reflections of chatter hid their words.

“At first one thinks he is as enthusiastic as he seems,” Melinda went on, returning to the subject of Carl, “and then one becomes aware of his irony, and you worry he’s making fun of you for thinking he could be so eager, and then you realize, no, he really is that enthusiastic, and for some reason he feels obliged to make fun of himself for it. Or to make fun of his need to make fun of himself. But perhaps this is too much analysis.”

Carl was sitting only a couple of yards away, across from Thom and Jana. It felt very pleasant and sly to be talking about him so near but without his knowledge.

“You’ve given it some thought.”

“Oh I wouldn’t call it thought. But what else is one to do with one’s evenings in this town?” She and Rafe were always making an effort to figure out the members of the group and how they fit together. It was part of the way they presided, to the extent that anyone in the group did preside over any of the others. They tried to understand people; they tried to place them.

“What worries me is—,” Jacob began.

“Yes?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Darling, you must, once you’ve begun so promisingly.”

“What if it’s something less than enthusiasm. Or if that’s all it is, enthusiasm.”

“I don’t follow, but keep on and perhaps I’ll catch you up.”

“What if he’s sort of a rogue?”

“Did you say a rogue?”

“What if he’s just here to drink beer and get laid. If it’s sort of animal on his part.”

“Oh, I would look forward to that. And you wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know.” He felt lightheaded; he should have kept his mouth shut.

Annie rose from her perch at the edge of a bench, and when she was at eye level, Melinda told her, “Jacob is afraid that his friend Carl is a rogue. Do you think there’s any hope of that?”

“A rogue?”

“That he’s here for the drink and the loose women,” Melinda clarified.

“You’re quite mad, Jacob. He’s quite a solid person, I find, and he has very pleasant manners. Before meeting the two of you, I had no idea Americans could pay attention in such a way to other people.”

“You thought we were hicks.”

“Not given to listening, rather.”

“I’m very taken with the eighteenth-century cast of the anxiety,” Melinda said. “With the Samuel-Richardson-novel aspect of it.”

“I wonder if it isn’t almost treacherous to suggest such a thing of a friend his first night here?” Annie considered.

“I rather like that about Jacob,” Melinda replied. “His ruthlessness. He does it so sweetly. He has ideas that he wants us to live up to.”

“I don’t have ideas.”

“You’re a romantic. You have a whole city of ideas. A republic of ideas. Like any Don Juan.” Carl had told them about the search for the opera house.

“I’m not a Don Juan.”

“If the women don’t correspond to the ideas, there are always more women. Or men.”

“But I’m not a Don Juan.”

“You’re the only one of us who’s getting any.”

“Really?” Jacob pointedly queried.

“On the open market, I mean. Rafe doesn’t count.”

“I’m not any more.”

“What became of the parade of Czech youth?”

“There was only ever one Czech youth, and he was older than me. And it’s over now, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Melinda said. “Poor love.”

They waited a moment for the topic to dissipate.

Melinda reverted to the subject of Carl: “It is only natural in us to wish for him to have adventures, but it would be wrong in us to expect them of him. We must allow him to be himself.”

“Of course I like him,” Jacob said. “I brought him here, for god’s sake.”

“I find I’m quite fond of him already,” Annie volunteered.

“That’s settled, then,” Melinda concluded, because while they had been speaking, Carl himself had stood up on the bench where he had been sitting, in order to extricate himself, and was now holding onto Jacob’s shoulders for steadiness as he hopped to the floor.

“What is?” Carl asked.

“That we shall allow you to blossom untrellised,” Melinda supplied.

He looked into her eyes. “Why thank you, I think.”

“I forgot to ask how your Christmas was,” Jacob said to Melinda.

“Rafe did splendidly. Me mum now likes him much more than she does me. This despite his dashing off to meetings every afternoon and not even pretending to pretend that his absences had anything to do with shopping for our gifts.”

“Rafe is your boyfriend,” Carl said, as if he were confirming the identity of a landmark.

“Yes,” Melinda answered, and then seemed for a moment to lose the thread of her story.

“Rafe’s coming later,” Jacob said. “Did he really have to work while you were in London?”

“He didn’t have to, of course. But since we were there, and since people who could answer some of his questions were there,…” She trailed off again.