Carel Capek Cross Roads (pdf)

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Slav�k returned home deep in thought, but once there he
stood by a window and looked out at the quarry, which gaped
like an open wound in the side of the mountain. It seemed
THE MOUNTAIN 49
horrible to him, but also intriguing.
Nothing will obliterate my image of it: the large body, the face
covered with blood-stained mud, the insanely upthrust limbs, as
if he wanted to leap back up, now, even now, leap up and wipe
the muck off his forehead! Such a sight! The two raised hands
accuse the one responsible for this hideous, broken, lifeless
substance, clotted with mud and yet, oh God, so human,
those hands! Nothing will obliterate
The dearest of faces appeared before my eyes, in a casket,
eyes closed in sleep, hands crossed, and on its features an
expression as if blessing me. Amidst the hours and flowers,
those features slumbered with such dignity, they seemed holy.
Ah, the more humane the man, the more likely to be dead,
more likely than the celebrated man!
There is nothing more terrible than death, which sanctifies
neither the dead nor the living. Death, with its grimace of
motion, moment, chance. Death, which erases not the final
traces of life. Nothing is more monstrous than the life-like
gestures of the dead. Nothing more resembles desecration.
It was many long hours later that an automobile pulled up in
front of the quarry, and three men hopped out. Slav�k ran after
them. Two of them stooped over the corpse and the third
climbed along one side of the quarry.
He fell right on his face, one of them said, adding as he
rose, all the fractures are on the ventral side. He must have
died instantly. The head is completely hm what can I say?
No one would recognize him now.
Recognize him, the other said emphatically as he squatted
over the corpse and contemplated it. The devil himself
wouldn t recognize him.
What are you looking at?
Nothing, I m just
50 C ROSS ROADS
Did you find something?
The other man also rose. Nothing. Mine just went out,
thanks, he said to Slav�k, who was offering him a light. I m
Examiner Lebeda. Yes, he said, still lost in his train of
thought. So, doctor, how long do you think he s been lying
here?
A day, two days perhaps
Two days! Where he must be by now!
Who?
The murderer, of course, the examiner exclaimed,
surprised by the question. The one who threw this fellow
down here
Surely not murder! the doctor objected. Why why
I m surprised that the corpse still has his hat on his head;
I m surprised it wasn t even creased or dirtied. Odd, isn t it?
Indeed, the doctor said with little conviction.
The examiner glared at the doctor and moved his lips as if
about to burst out with something in reply. All the dead man s
monograms have been cut off.
Cover him up, the doctor growled. Suddenly he looked
at his hand with disgust. I must wash.
Wait, said the examiner. Let s suppose he resisted you
know, a struggle on the edge of the cliff but in vain. Only the
hat remains up there. The murderer then picks up the hat and
finds the man s initials in the lining, or the name of the firm.
Look. The examiner broke off, picked up the dead man s hat,
and pointed to the lining: a piece of the leather band inside the
hat had been cut out with a sharp knife. And it occurs to him
that the dead man probably has similar personal markings in
his underwear, on his clothes, in his pockets, and so he climbs
down with the hat in his hand Intriguingly idiotic, isn t it; he
could have simply tossed it down.
At this moment the man searching the side of the quarry
called down.
Pilbauer s found something, said the examiner. Then
THE MOUNTAIN 51
down here he cuts, rips off, and takes it all with him: mono-
grams, labels on the boots, the tailoring firm s name in the
linings, papers in the pockets everything, every indication of
person or place. He didn t miss a thing. Then he places the hat
on the head and goes away. This is how he left it. A nameless
corpse. An identity wiped out. An enigma. A witness far too
mute. What do I do now? Pilbauer, what did you find?
Footprints, the third man said as he descended.
Someone went bounding down into the quarry, he slipped on
the wet earth.
Yesterday afternoon, do you think? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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