Richard de Nooy

Read an exclusive English excerpt from Richard de Nooy’s new book, Van kleine helden

The JRB
The JRB
Aug 9, 2017 · 22 min read

Richard de Nooy’s new book, Van kleine helden, was launched in the Netherlands earlier this month. He’s currently working on the English translation, which will be titled ‘All The Little Heroes’, and has shared an exclusive excerpt with The JRB.

De Nooy grew up in Johannesburg, but has lived in Amsterdam for the past thirty years. He writes his novels in English and Dutch. His first novel, Six Fang Marks and a Tetanus Shot, won the 2007 University of Johannesburg Prize for Best First Book. It was published in Dutch as Zes beetwonden en een tetanusprik. His second novel, Zacht als Staal, was longlisted for the prestigious AKO Literatuurprijs in 2011. It was published in English as The Big Stick. These two books form a loose trilogy with his third novel, Zendingsdrang or The Unsaid.

The below excerpt, ‘Pavel buys an Ejector Seat’, is set in Prague in the Czech Republic, and will also be published in translation by the Czech literary magazine PLAV. It has already been published in Dutch in De Revisor. This is its English debut.

~~~

Pavel buys an Ejector Seat

Richard de Nooy

‘How is Iveta? Is she dying yet?’

It’s Pavel from next door. He blinks a lot, as if he’s collecting snapshots of his world. Jaroslav has learned that the brakes on his inhibitions are faulty, making his blunt questions easier to accept.

‘Good evening, Pavel. Nice slippers.’

‘Bear feet. Grizzly. It says so inside. Maminka bought them for me. To wear when I work.’

‘Very handy. Have you been up in the attic?’

‘I’ve got an ejector seat,’ he whispers, rocking from side to side expectantly, like a dog wagging its tail. The zipper on his purple jacket goes down-up-down-up-zip-zip-zip.

‘An ejector seat?’

‘I’ve measured everything. It’s a go. I’m working on it now. Top secret. That’s American. It’s on all the documents. Don’t tell Maminka. It’s from a MiG-29. It doesn’t say so on the seat, but I saw it straight away. It came in pieces. I brought them upstairs one by one. When Iveta was in hospital. Maminka said I shouldn’t disturb you. But I’m ready now. Have you ever assembled an ejector seat, Engineer Formánek?’

‘Shouldn’t you be in bed, Pavel?’

‘Did I say it properly: assembled? That’s a word, right?

‘Yes, that’s a word: to assemble, to construct, to put together.

‘Do you know what’s most difficult?’

Jaroslav pretends to think. Then shakes his head.

‘Finding the right cosmic path. Plotting the trajectory. All paths lead to the Spirit Sun. But which path will Iveta take?’

Again he savours every syllable of her name, as if he’s tasting a dish for the first time. Pavel is deeply honoured to be on first-name terms with Iveta. He knows all about her cancer: why this variety is so deadly; that they moved to Prague to get the best treatment; what her therapy entails; the success rates; the risks; the side-effects; the costs. Pavel even has a theory about the cause: their house in Třebíč was too close to the nuclear power plant in Dukovany, where Jaroslav had worked as an engineer.

That had made a deep impression on Pavel, Mr Procházka explained when he and his wife had dropped in to welcome their new neighbours a few months before. The couple had played tennis on the topic of their son, knocking him back and forth over the net — a friendly, grumbling bear versus a tired, squawking goose.

‘Pavel is crazy about engineering.’

‘He didn’t want to join us.’

‘He loves technology.’

‘He can’t cope with change, with anything new.’

‘Pavel was close with Mrs Krejzlová. She used to live here.’

‘He’s afraid of your house. Everyone dies there, he says.’

‘Pavel used to make tea and soup for Mrs Krejzlová. They finished a puzzle together the day before she died.’

‘He’d rather not come here.’

‘She left him some money. To thank him. I manage it for him.’

‘He’s vulnerable. Still a child.’

‘Do you know used the money for?’

‘He’s always bringing home all sorts of magazines.’

‘A second-hand computer! Pavel is smarter than you think. He knows how to translate things into Czech. And he’s learning more and more words in German and English.’

‘He talks funny sometimes.’

‘He isn’t mad. He’s special.’

That evening Jaroslav had learned a lot more about Pavel: he was twenty-three; he had some form of autism; there was no suitable school for him; he had worn out six or seven private tutors; he often wandered the streets; he spent hours in his workshop up in the attic; he kept more and more secrets from his parents.

The latter was confirmed when Pavel had summoned up the courage to consult Jaroslav about the Rotalitnev. When Jaroslav opened the door, Pavel had leapt back, scratching his head nervously with both hands, as if his hair was infested with lice. He whispered encouragement to himself: ‘Stop! Stop! You can do this. You’re brave. Ask him! Ask him now!’

‘What is it you want to ask, Pavel?’ smiled Jaroslav.

‘Tatínek says you’re an engineer. Is that right?’

‘I am, yes,’ Jaroslav replied. ‘I was.’

On hearing this, Pavel’s knees seemed to dissolve into jelly. A blissful expression of adoration appeared on the lad’s face, which Jaroslav found both heart-warming and disconcerting, as if he had been mistaken for a saint and would be unable to rectify this misconception.

‘You can help me,’ said Pavel. ‘I’m building a Rotalitnev.’

‘A what?’

‘A back-to-front ventilator. An auxiliary power unit. Did I say that right: auxiliary power unit? I’ve got the windmills. Fifteen. All different, of course, but still. I’ve turned them around, but they’re not generating any auxiliary power.’

Fascinated by the intensity of Pavel’s conviction, Jaroslav followed the lad up to the attic. At the door of his workshop, Pavel had asked Jaroslav to turn around so that he could ‘punch in the secret code’. He also made Jaroslav promise he wouldn’t tell anyone what he had seen inside. Having sworn a solemn oath, Jaroslav entered a bewildering universe created by a mind that was clearly hardwired to connect everything with everything else. The walls and slanted roof were covered in collages of photos Pavel had torn from magazines. One of these collages, measuring approximately one by two metres, was made entirely of shredded images of fire. Within this paper gateway to hell, Pavel had pasted lines of text consisting of letters he had cut from newspapers, much like an incomprehensible ransom note:

THE PATH OF MAGNETIC LOGOISM
PORTAL TO THE INFERNAL EARTH
FROM THE 4TH TO THE 5TH HIERARCHY
DRIVEN BY GEMINI AND INCANDESCENCE
GOAL! FLOWING SWIFT-WISDOM AND LIGHT-CONSCIOUSNESS!

As he stared at the sprawling collage, Jaroslav discovered more and more portals: shredded trees and plants overgrowing each other in verdant shades of green; overlapping rivers, waterfalls, placid seas and monstrous waves, thrashing and churning; animals, dragons and mythical beasts driven together in a tight herd; faces of innumerable ethnicities laughing, crying, screaming, staring, crowded into a festive group portrait of humanity. And scattered in the midst of this mind-boggling vortex floated banners of hermetic text that seemed at once profound and profoundly nonsensical to Jaroslav.

‘Don’t look too long, Engineer Formánek,’ said Pavel.

‘Why not?’ asked Jaroslav.

‘Look out here,’ said Pavel, opening the only window in the attic. ‘This is my auxiliary power unit.’

Fifteen table ventilators were lined up in the gutter, with their feet in the rainwater. White cables ran through the gutter from each ventilator to a hole in the wall under the window. Inside, the cables had been gathered into a bundle that looked like an unravelling rope. The blue and brown wires of each cable had been stripped and neatly connected to separate terminal blocks.

‘This needs to be powered,’ said Pavel, pointing at a wooden structure with a fitting and light bulb mounted on top.

‘Why don’t you just plug it into the socket?’ asked Jaroslav.

‘Fifteen ventilators. That should be enough, right?’ said Pavel.

‘What exactly do you have in mind?’

‘The hatch has to open self-sufficiently.’

‘What hatch?’

‘The Portal to the Infernal Earth. Look, here it is,’ said Pavel, rolling out a drawing on the workbench. It was a rough sketch of the attic room. The slanted roof had been fitted with the canopy of a fighter jet.

‘And you want to mount that on the roof?’ said Jaroslav.

‘The hatch has to open self-sufficiently. That’s the key attribute of the First Path of Sirius: Self-Sufficiency. That means: using its own power. Otherwise you get deviations in the rhythm-heat-energy constellation.’

‘Is that a fighter-jet canopy?’

‘Look,’ said Pavel, walking to a corner of the attic, where a hippopotamus seemed to be hiding under a tarpaulin. Having removed two sturdy clamps, he flipped back the canvas and began rattling like a telex machine: ‘Mikoyan-Gurevich-25. That’s a jet fighter. Lots of people write MIG, using all capitals, but that’s just wrong. It’s big M, little i, big G, because the M and i are the first letters of Mikoyan, and the G is for Gurevich. Speeds of up to Mach 3.2 when diving. That’s 3,600 kilometres per hour. That’s is incredibly fast, but our Lightship is quicker. This here is transparent acrylic and aluminium. Unbreakable with a hammer. Try it. Go ahead. The explosive hinges weren’t included, but I’ve got an electromotor off a factory gate that will pop it open in a jiffy.’

‘Did you paste all those in there?’ asked Jaroslav, pointing out the collage of newspaper clippings on the inside of the canopy.

‘Look,’ said Pavel, opening the canopy. The interior was decked with a collage of flames. Dropping the canopy with a thud, he walked over to the fiery portal on the slanted roof. ‘That goes here. Fire with fire! Cosmic camouflage!’

‘But you’ll still see the canopy from the outside,’ said Jaroslav.

‘What colour is the roof?’

‘Orange-ish?’ Jaroslav shrugged.

‘Exactly! Over there!’ said Pavel, pointing to a paint tin standing beside the tarpaulin. ‘You really are very clever, Engineer Formánek! Very, very clever indeed! I’ll let you help me. This electromotor goes where that light bulb is. That would be your job! You could do it!’

‘I’d be honoured,’ Jaroslav laughed. ‘But are you sure I’m worthy?’

‘Of course you are!’ said Pavel. ‘I have faith in your abilities. I’d give you the secret access code and your own bunch of keys. Then you could come up here whenever you want!’

And so they agreed that Jaroslav would contribute his technical skills, on condition that Pavel would keep an eye on Iveta while he was away. They then went straight down to Jaroslav’s apartment so that Pavel could meet Iveta. Winding their way downstairs, Jaroslav was pursued by a swarm of questions from Pavel, who wanted to be fully prepared for the encounter: ‘Does she lie in bed all day, like a queen? Does she look sick? Is she ugly or is she lovely? How does she pee and poo? Does she eat ordinary food? What’s her favourite beverage? Does she drink tea? I can make tea. And soup. Has she ever had Coca-Cola? That’s tasty, but Maminka says it’s very bad for your teeth. Does Iveta have any teeth?’

On arrival at the door, Pavel fell silent. ‘I can do this,’ he whispered to himself. ‘I can do this.’

Jaroslav said that they should go in quietly, as Iveta might be sleeping. Pavel nodded slowly, blinking wide-eyed like a child receiving instructions for a visit with Father Christmas. Then they tiptoed down the passage to the bedroom, where they found Iveta with a book on her lap, staring expectantly at the door. What followed was one of the most poignant meetings Jaroslav had ever witnessed. In the years thereafter, he would revisit it often when he needed to wash out his pent-up grief with tears.

‘It’s you,’ Pavel said softly, standing at the foot of the bed, as if he didn’t dare get any closer.

Iveta put her book aside, smiled at Jaroslav and then answered as if she knew exactly what Pavel meant: ‘Yes, it’s me, Iveta.’

‘You are made of love,’ Pavel said.

‘I hope so,’ she laughed.

‘You are engineer Formánek’s queen.’

‘Am I?’ she asked, smiling at Jaroslav.

‘But you are dying.’

‘Yes,’ said Iveta. ‘We must all die in the end. But today I am still alive.’

‘Then you’ll move on,’ said Pavel.

‘Yes, probably,’ laughed Iveta.

‘I’ll be looking after you,’ said Pavel. ‘Engineer Formánek said I could.’

‘But only when I’m away,’ Jaroslav quickly added.

‘That would be lovely,’ said Iveta.

‘I feel you searching!’

‘Searching?’ said Iveta.

‘You’re searching for the right path. I can help you find it.’

‘That would be nice,’ said Iveta. ‘I’m not very good at searching, am I, Jaroslav?’

‘Not very, no,’ Jaroslav smiled.

‘I’m very good at searching!’ said Pavel. ‘I always find everything. I know where everything is!’

‘That sounds very handy,’ said Iveta.

‘Shall we check if we can hear you knocking on the wall with your stick?’ said Jaroslav.

‘You’re like a beautiful, little bird,’ said Pavel.

‘How kind of you to say so,’ said Iveta.

‘A small, sick bird,’ said Pavel.

Jaroslav laughed. ‘Come on, let’s go and listen.’

‘I’ll be back to look after you, Iveta Bird Queen,’ said Pavel, but he recoiled in horror when Iveta extended her hand. ‘I can’t touch you! You’ll be kicked out of your nest! I wouldn’t want that!’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Iveta laughed. ‘That would be awful.’

‘I’m going with Engineer Formánek now, but I’m sure I’ll be able to hear you, because I don’t listen with my ears. That’s what Mrs Krejzlová always said: ‘You never listen, Pavel, but you hear everything.’ She died here, in this room. But I will save you, Iveta Bird Queen.’

At the door of his parents’ apartment, Pavel took out a bunch of keys the size of a silver fist, chose the correct key without hesitation and unlocked the door.

‘You can open a lot of doors with those,’ said Jaroslav.

‘Absolutely! But I only know three of the locks! I still have to find the rest,’ said Pavel, switching on the light in the hallway. ‘This is where I live. Mother and father sleep there, at the end of the passage. My bedroom is next to theirs. But I only sleep there. You’ve seen my real room. And this is our living room.’

‘Lovely,’ said Jaroslav, stopping to admire the Bohemian crystal in the display cabinet.

‘Very fragile. They’re my mother’s, but I’m allowed to clean them. Every Tuesday. Just a dry dust cloth. No detergent. They don’t like it. These are the hardest,’ said Pavel, pointing out a swarm of crystal birds. ‘They take twenty minutes to clean.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Jaroslav.

‘And this is The Oracle Lenovo,’ said Pavel, pointing at a screen and keyboard standing on a desk. ‘It’s heart and brain are there, under the desk, in the dark,’ he said, pointing at the processor.

‘The Oracle Lenovo?’ Jaroslav smiled.

‘It can answer all your questions, Engineer Formánek,’ said Pavel. ‘Ask it any question you want.’

‘In Czech?’

‘Of course! Gogol translates it into English, then Gogol finds it in English and translates it into Czech! Gogol is magical! Gogol is a miracle!’

‘What’s the weather like in Třebíč today?’

‘What kind of question is that? Do you really want to know that? This is a real question: which path should I choose?’ said Pavel, typing the words into the translation box before copying the translation into the browser. ‘Look! Gogol has 638.000 answers! The truth is in there somewhere!’

‘But how do you know which answer is the truth?’ Jaroslav asked.

Pavel stared at him in astonishment. ‘You can feel it, Engineer Formánek! You just feel it, of course. Take Norway, for example!’

‘Norway?’

‘It’s a country in Scandinavia. That’s where he has been reincarnated. Am I saying that right: reincarnated? I sensed him coming for a while, so I knew it was true, but I only read about it yesterday.’

‘Who has been reincarnated?’

‘Where will he go? That’s what I keep wondering. Where will he go? Iveta! I hear her knocking.’

Jaroslav had to put his ear to the wall to hear his wife’s gentle tapping. ‘Your ears are incredible, Pavel!’

‘You mustn’t listen, you must feel!’

And so Jaroslav Formánek earned a supporting role in a fantastic adventure, rendered all the more magical by its total absurdity. A glorious trapdoor that allowed him to briefly escape the burden of Iveta’s decline, leading to a place where he could take refuge from the awful truth, slipping through the silver screen into a superb surrealistic film. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jaroslav decided he would do whatever he could to ensure that Pavel’s imaginary universe blended seamlessly into everyday reality. He later ratified this resolution with a promise to Pavel’s father, who knocked on the attic door one night while Jaroslav was working on the Rotalitnev.

Jaroslav had just sent Pavel downstairs to look after Iveta, so that he could fake the wiring for the lad’s unfeasible invention. He had convinced Pavel that they would need a car battery, which would be charged by the ventilators in the gutter. Jaroslav had placed the battery inside a wooden box, which had an old electrical meter mounted on the outside, beside the innards of a transistor radio. But these were decorative elements, because the battery was actually charged by an adapter attached to the nearest electrical socket via a cable running under the floor.

Jaroslav was just concealing the splintered edge of a lifted plank with brown shoe polish when he heard a gentle knock on the door.

‘Engineer Formánek?’

Recognising his neighbour’s smoke-stained voice, Jaroslav tried to gather his wits.

‘I know you’re in there. I’d like to ask you something.’

‘One moment, Mr Procházka,’ said Jaroslav, stuffing the polishing cloth deep into his pocket and placing the tool chest on top of the damaged plank. He then blew out his concern in three deep sighs and opened the door.

Again Jaroslav was surprised by the dimensions of his neighbour, whose slim body seemed to rise up like a bass string, to facilitate his sonorous tone of voice.

‘You’re assisting Pavel, Engineer Formánek, that’s very kind of you.’

‘Please come in, Mr Procházka?’

‘Pavel doesn’t allow it,’ said Mr Procházka, immediately breaking his son’s rule by stepping into the middle of the attic. Gazing around in amazement, he shook his head and growled: ‘Unbelievable.’ Peering at the garbled slogans in the collages, he said: ‘This is terrifying, Engineer Formánek. Do you have any idea what he’s up to?’

‘Not exactly, but I intend to find out.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. He has wild ideas, strange plans.’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s trying to buy explosives.’

‘Explosives?’

‘Yes, an acquaintance told me so.’

‘But where will he get them?’

‘Pavel is very ingenious.’

‘He is indeed, but how will he pay for them?’

‘With his inheritance,’ said Mr Procházka.

‘Perhaps you should stop giving him money?’ ventured Jaroslav.

‘That would be an excellent idea, Engineer Formánek, but then he goes out begging.’

‘Begging?’

‘He doesn’t see it as begging, of course. He’s accustomed to getting money from us whenever he asks for it. If we refuse, he has no qualms about asking neighbours or strangers out in the street.’

Jaroslav laughed.

‘Do you find this funny, Engineer Formánek?’

‘I’m trying to protect your son from harm, Mr Procházka. The best way to do that is by helping him here.’

‘That’s very kind of you, but do you have time for that? Your wife is ill.’

‘She is indeed, but I do have some spare time. So I’ll help Pavel here and keep you informed, okay?’

‘How very kind of you, Engineer Formánek, thank you.’

And so Jaroslav Formánek earned an ever more important role in the execution of Pavel’s cosmic plan, which led via inverted ventilators, fake generators and roof-mounted fighter canopies to ejectors seats and explosives.

‘I want to install a bell in your bedroom, Engineer Formánek,’ whispers Pavel, nodding along to the rhythm of the zipper going up and down.

‘A bell? In my bedroom?’ Jaroslav whispers.

‘May I see Iveta?’

‘She’s sleeping, Pavel.’

‘I’ll sneak in on tippy-toe,’ says Pavel, lifting his grizzly slippers one by one, imitating a stalking bear.

Jaroslav stifles his laughter. ‘Come on in then. What exactly is your plan?’

‘Your house smells funny,’ whispers Pavel.

In the bedroom, he stands gazing at Iveta, who is under the covers with her face to the wall. Watching from the doorway, Jaroslav whispers ‘pss-pss-pss’ when Pavel bends forward. The lad spreads his arms wide, as if he’s estimating Iveta’s dimensions, and then makes rolling movements with his hands, as if he’s wrapping her up. He freezes when he feels Jaroslav’s hand on his shoulder. Then he turns and puts his finger to his lips, pointing to the ceiling and drawing a line straight down to the bedside, mouthing: ‘Bell for Iveta.’

Back at the door, he says: ‘I’m going to save her soul.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Pavel.’

‘I’ve charted all the astral pathways.’

‘Fantastic.’

‘I’ve got all the coordinates, but that’s like knowing on which track the train will pass without stopping. Fortunately, this train travels very slowly, they say, so you can just step on board. But they also say you have to be ready when the time is right.’

‘Who are “they”, Pavel?’

‘Hence the bell,’ says Pavel.

‘Which bell?’

‘If we install the button next to Iveta’s bed, you can press it as soon as she dies.’

‘PAVEL!’ Jaroslav is startled by the booming echo of his own voice in the corridor.

Retreating wide-eyed from the demon he fears he has unleashed, Pavel makes placating gestures: ‘Just the button! Just the button! You can install it yourself!’

Jaroslav feels empathy washing his anger away. ‘Sorry for shouting at you, Pavel, but this is a difficult time.’

‘Morphine!’ Pavel exclaims the word like a eureka. ‘Iveta needs morphine to take away the pain. Then she can also decide when she wants to die! That’s even better.’

Jaroslav manages a sad smile. ‘Yes, perhaps that’s better, Pavel. I’ll help you install the bell, but in return I want an honest answer to the following question.’

‘Of course, Engineer Formánek. We are like cosmonauts sitting side by side in the same spaceship!’

‘Exactly,’ says Jaroslav. ‘My question is: are you buying explosives? And do you have any idea how dangerous that is?’

‘That’s two questions, Engineer Formánek, but I know the answers to both: yes and yes,’ he whispers. ‘Semtex will blow your hand right off!’

‘Exactly!’ says Jaroslav. ‘That’s why you shouldn’t buy it. What do you want to use it for?’

Pavel leans in so close that Jaroslav can smell the pickled sausage on his breath when he whispers: ‘For the canopy and the ejector seat.’

‘You can’t use Semtex for that! You’ll blow a hole in the floor and the house will burn down. Is that what you want, Pavel?’

‘Of course not!’ says Pavel, wide-eyed. ‘We don’t want that happening. But what alternatives are there? How will I launch myself?’

‘Leave that to me. Don’t worry.’

Sometimes prognoses are terribly accurate. Within days, Iveta’s condition deteriorates abruptly, rendering her unable to stand, turning her spine to stone, leaving her flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her head rolling gently from side to side, as if she is seeking her tormentor. Witnessing her decline, Jaroslav is repeatedly reminded of Pavel’s eureka: ‘Morphine!’

‘Your wife needs constant care now,’ says the kindly doctor, leading Jaroslav into the kitchen to share her latest prognosis. ‘We can only ease her pain and make her comfortable. But you can’t manage that alone, for days on end, who knows how long. Eating and drinking will become more and more difficult, and then she’ll lose control of her bladder and bowels. You won’t be able to feed and clean her properly, no matter how hard you try.’

As the paramedics push Iveta’s rattling stretcher down the passage, Pavel comes bursting out of the door, jabbering nervously: ‘Where are they taking her, Engineer Formánek? Where is Iveta going? She must stay here, otherwise I can’t save her!’

‘We’ll visit her in hospital together, Pavel.’

‘Nooo!’ he moans, almost tearing his hair out.

‘I’ll bring her home to die, okay?’

‘Is that a promise, Engineer Formánek?’

When Jaroslav gives his promise, Pavel almost faints with relief, leaning back against the wall, covering his face with his hands, panting through his fingers.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon,’ says Jaroslav, hurrying off after the stretcher.

Later that evening, as Jaroslav is making his weary way back to his apartment, trying to tread as silently as possible, Pavel bursts out into the passage again.

‘I’ve been sitting here for hours!’ he says, pointing at a chair he has dragged into the hallway. ‘I think I can do it! But I’ll need to change the launch angle. And I’ll need the exact coordinates of Iveta’s deathbed, of course.’

‘Why exactly, Pavel?’

‘The body is a wickle.’

‘A wickle?’

‘Am I saying it wrong?

‘Do you mean ‘a vehicle’?’

‘Yes! Like a Volkswagen. You drive a Volkswagen, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you aren’t a Volkswagen, are you?’

‘No.’

‘You could also drive another car.’

‘That’s right, yes.’

‘That’s exactly how it works! Your soul can drive any car it wants. It can choose to inhabit a different body, but you have to be there on time, otherwise the energy is discharged and absorbed into the collective cosmos. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘I need to cross her cosmic trajectory as precisely as possible. And to do that, I need the exact coordinates of Iveta’s deathbed.’

‘Iveta wants to die at home. I told you so, right?’

‘Can we visit her together tomorrow, Engineer Formánek?’

‘Of course, Pavel. I’ll be leaving at 10.’

‘I’ll be ready and waiting!’

On their way to the hospital, Pavel sustains a constant stream of commentary, calling out the names of familiar landmarks, as if he doesn’t want to lose his bearings. The tramline is his guide. He knows all the stops along the way. In between, he reads out the names of shops, banks and other businesses. In some cases, he even knows the names of people who work there and the jobs they do, as if he has charted the demographics of the entire neighbourhood.

When they enter less familiar territory, Pavel falls silent, fidgets with his clothes, scratches his scalp, opens and closes the window, wriggling in his seat as if there’s a mouse in his pants.

‘How exactly will you catch Iveta’s soul, Pavel?’ asks Jaroslav, hoping to distract the lad.

‘With a banana, Engineer Formánek,’ he replies without hesitation.

Jaroslav disguises his laughter as a cough.

‘A green one,’ Pavel adds.

‘Why a green one?’

Pavel stares at Jaroslav in disbelief. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t know if it was ripe, would you?’

‘But the banana is green?’

‘The banana will ripen as soon as it has absorbed Iveta’s soul. Then you can eat it, Engineer Formánek, giving her soul a new home.’

‘Me?’ says Jaroslav.

‘Of course! There’s more than enough room in you for two souls, Engineer Formánek. Then Iveta would be with you for the rest of your life. And if you don’t like the idea of having a second soul in you, I’d eat the banana. That doesn’t scare me at all. I would do it to save Iveta’s soul.’

Jaroslav feels his throat jamming up. ‘You’re a good man, Pavel.’

‘I know things!’ Pavels proudly declares.

‘You do indeed,’ Jaroslav smiles.

At the hospital, Pavel is clearly ill at ease, startled by every unfamiliar sound, constantly asking questions that Jaroslav is unable to answer. Eventually, he takes Jaroslav’s hand and leans against his shoulder as they walk the final stretch to Iveta’s room.

When Pavel sees her, he first gasps and puts his hand over his mouth, before exclaiming: ‘You’re almost see-through, Iveta!’

She smiles and whispers: ‘But you can see me, Pavel.’

‘You’re like a tiny, baby jellyfish!’

Jaroslav laughs and Iveta’s giggle ends in a coughing fit. A passing nurse admonishes the visitors.

‘No more jokes,’ says Jaroslav.

‘How are you feeling, Iveta?’ asks Pavel. ‘Are you going to die?’

‘I’d like that, Pavel.’

‘She’s very tired,’ says Jaroslav. ‘And she’s in a lot of pain.’

‘It will all be over soon,’ says Pavel. ‘Then you’ll go to sleep and your vehicle can go to the junkyard. But we’ll have your soul.’

‘Will you?’ Iveta smiles.

‘In a banana,’ says Jaroslav.

‘What do you mean, Jaroslav?’ ask Iveta.

‘Pavel is going to trap your soul in a banana, which I will then eat.’

‘That sounds like a brilliant idea,’ says Iveta. ‘Then I’ll be inside you.’

‘Exactly!’ says Pavel. ‘That’s exactly how it will be, Iveta!’

‘That sounds wonderful.’

‘Pavel doesn’t want you to die here,’ says Jaroslav.

‘I’d rather not, Pavel,’ says Iveta. ‘I definitely want to go home.’

Pavel nods. ‘I’ll buy a fresh, green banana every morning.’

That same night, around eleven, Jaroslav hears a gentle knocking on the door as he stands brushing his teeth. At first, it sounds like a window shaking in the wind, but when he traps the brush between tooth and cheek, Jaroslav can hear the knocking clearly. Could it be Pavel? There’s no rhythmic code. Whoever it is knows that Jaroslav is at home. The caller knocks for a fourth and then a fifth time, louder and louder.

When Jaroslav opens the door, Pavel’s father blows out a sigh of relief before growling: ‘Pavel has put on his pilot’s suit, Engineer Formánek. He’s sleeping in his pilot’s suit. Do you understand? He’s wearing it in bed. I know your wife is seriously ill and I don’t want to disturb you, but I would really like to know how things are going.’

‘Things are going as planned, Mr Procházka,’ says Jaroslav cautiously.

‘I’m glad to hear it. I just …’ He can’t find the right words.

Jaroslav helps him. ‘Would you like to see what we’ve been up to? I could really use your help, Mr Procházka. Maybe we can discuss that now?’

‘That would be fantastic, Engineer Formánek! Thank you,’ he growls.

‘Excellent,’ says Jaroslav, picking up the fistful of keys carefully composed by Pavel.

Having ascended the stairs in silence, they arrive at the attic door, where Jaroslav chooses the right key and places it in the lock.

‘The code! Don’t turn the key!’ warns Pavel’s father, pointing at the handwritten notice on the door: WARNING! HIGH VOLTAGE!

Jaroslav smiles. ‘Enter a code.’

‘But I don’t know the code,’ says Mr Procházka.

‘Nor do I,’ smiles Jaroslav, entering a random combination. As soon as he enters the fourth digit, the keypad emits a high-pitched beeping. ‘The sound is rather annoying, but certainly not fatal,’ smiles Jaroslav, turning the key in the lock.

‘Good grief!’ Mr Procházka exclaims when he sees the ejector seat. ‘What exactly do you have in mind?’

As Jaroslav explains how he plans to seamlessly merge Pavel’s imaginary universe with the real world, Mr Procházka keeps shaking his head, mumbling in admiration: ‘Incredible … What a fascinating idea … How can I ever thank you?’

Having explained his entire plan, Jaroslav asks: ‘Would you be prepared to help me?’

‘Of course!’ says Mr Procházka. ‘But will you be able to press the bell when the time comes? Grief can paralyse you, as I have learned from experience.’

‘I appreciate your concern, Mr Procházka, but by then I will have taken leave of the real Iveta, my Iveta. She will be little more than a body, longing to be freed of its suffering.’

But when the time comes, Jaroslav discovers the awful truth. Through a blur of tears, he tries to find the veins in Iveta’s skeletal arms, sticking on the morphine plasters one by one, as instructed by the doctor, before lying down beside his dying wife, so that she can breathe out her last in his arms.

It is not until Iveta’s bowels release their malodorous farewell that Jaroslav realises he has been lying there for more than an hour. Pavel has been sitting upstairs in his pilot’s suit all that time, waiting for his sign.

When Jaroslav presses the button beside the bed, he hears the heavy thud of the smoke bomb going off under the ejector seat. If all is going as planned, the mask attached to Pavel’s helmet is now filling with laughing gas.

Out in the passage, Pavel’s father is waiting with a ripe banana. When he sees Jaroslav’s red-rimmed eyes, Mr Procházka embraces him and whispers words of comfort in his gruff voice. Then they head upstairs to the attic.

The JRB

Written by

The JRB

The Johannesburg Review of Books

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade