Frauds, Thieves, and other Podvodniks (DRAFT)

2006-06-09T19:02:00.000-07:00

1 - Go East, Young Man
2 - The Revizor
3 - Stop, Look and Listen
4 - How Much Does a Brick Weigh?
5 - Pepíček Has a Girlfriend
6 - The Hajzl
7 - They Speak Czech Here, Don't They?
8 - The Spy Who Came into the Cold
9 - The Little Pearl on the Bottom
10 - The Amík
11 - Every Man is Available
12 - Self-Hatred
13 - Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
14 - Polish Holiday
15 - The Warmth of the Tundra
16 - The Kolín Bears
17 - The Information Age Society
18 - Betrayal
19 - Love is Love
20 - Cunts
21 - Sinking
22 - The Night Shift

22

2006-06-09T18:32:00.000-07:00

22

The Night Shift

From outside my old apartment, I heard the telephone ringing. Assuming it was Mindy, I didn’t rush to answer it. Once inside, I got out of my muddy clothes and took a shower. When I turned the water off, the telephone was still ringing; and as it didn’t seem as if it would stop, I finally picked it up.

"Hey, dufas," a man’s voice chuckled.

"Who’s this?" I yelled.

"Oh, come on, Joey -- don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten your good buddy Alex?"

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Now, now, now -- is that any way to talk to me? . . . Wow, I must say, you’ve certainly been a busy bee tonight; and, a very bad little boy. First, beating up that fine upstanding gentleman in the Alcohol Klub; and then, doing such unspeakable things to that innocent young lady, who was just trying to earn an honest night’s living. And in an alley of all places. You should really be ashamed of yourself. Why, I bet you’ve destroyed her idealistic view of the world."

"What the fuck do you want from me?" I screamed.

"Hey, asshole -- don’t speak to me like that. You know exactly what I fucking want. I want the fucking information. And I want it fucking now!"

"What makes you think I’d give you shit?"

"Oh, I think you’ll give me everything I want. Everything. Your friend Andrews and his pal Hedvábný will soon be arrested. The warrants have already been issued. So far, I haven’t said anything about you to the authorities. But if you try to fuck me, I’ll make sure you rot in the same South Bohemian establishment they’ll be residing at during the next few years. Have you ever heard what goes on at these ‘establishments’? It makes our prisons look like day-care. And just think, you won’t even be able to complain when you’re get anally raped each and every night. . . . All I have to do is make one call. One lousy call. So, I think you’ll give me the information. I think you’ll give it to me tonight."

I paused. I was so confused. I didn’t know what to do.

"I tell you what I’ll do," he continued. "Tonight, when you give me the information, I’ll hand you a plane ticket to New York in return. There’s a Delta flight leaving tomorrow morning at ten. I’ll also make sure your things get sent back as well, as I suppose you don’t want to see Mindy again. Just think -- it’ll be like this whole nightmare never even happened. So, what do you say, Joey?"

"Okay," I relented.

"Good choice. You’ve made a very wise decision. This is what I want you to do. Since I’m such a nice guy, I’ll let you compose yourself for the next twenty minutes. There’s a night bus back to town stopping by your apartment at 1:17. Be on it. Then, I want you to go to your office, and do that voodoo that you do so well. I’ll give you an hour to finish that report you were going to give me tomorrow.

"There’s a night tram, number 54, leaving from Národní třída at 3:25. It’s not the tram line that turns onto Národní, but the one that runs parallel to the river. Take it going south to the Podolské nábřežní stop. It should be there at around 3:40. From there, you’ll see a stone stairway leading to Vyšehrad Castle. Once you get to the top, you’ll know where to find me. Is everything clear?"

"Yeah, it’s clear."

"That’s a good boy. And make sure you’re not late. Like Matt, I can’t tolerate tardiness. And another thing: no tricks. If you try anything, Joey, . . . I’ll make you so fucking sorry!"

The line went dead.

I did my best to clean the mud off my suit, but it was in vain. It should’ve been thrown out. But it was the only clothes I had.

I walked to the bus stop, and as I got there, it started raining again. I looked at the schedule. Alex was right about when the bus would arrive -- to the minute. The bus pulled up a few minutes later, and I solemnly stepped onboard. There was only one other person on the bus, a heavy-set middle-aged man who was sleeping in the back.

On the ride back to town, I started thinking about my future. I had no idea what I’d do when I returned to New York. There was no way I’d get my old job back. I doubted whether I’d get any job. Not only was I going to be a nobody, but I was going to be an unemployed nobody.

A few people got on the bus along the way. Most of them were either middle-aged or elderly. At least I didn’t have to worry about getting mugged.

I got off at Wenceslas Square, which was still sprawling with tourists and street people; and as I walked past Krone, I hid my face. I didn’t want to be seen by the prostitute "resembling" Mindy. Thankfully, she wasn’t there.

When I got to the office, I entered "PODVOD" on the alarm keypad. I grinned. The word was appropriate.

I quietly churned out the report Alex wanted. It wasn’t too difficult so I had plenty of time. When I left, I felt strange turning off the lights, locking the door, and setting the alarm -- like a fox locking the chicken coupe after a night of debauchery.

Leaving the office, I took a brief look at Old Town Square. The Týn Church caught my eye, and I walked toward it, perhaps hoping for some kind of divine inspiration. It was closed.

Walking toward the direction of the river, I passed Wenceslas Square and was surprised that, in less than an hour, almost no one was there. I stopped briefly, taking one last look at St. Wenceslas, who seem to glare down at me in disgust.

At the end of Národní, there was two tram stops, one running parallel to the river. When the number 54 finally came twenty minutes later, I stepped onboard to an empty tram.

At the stop, I exited and slowly walked toward the stone stairway. It was still raining out, but not nearly as hard as before. I looked at my watch. I was a few minutes early.

I bided my time thinking about the crazy set of events that had brought me to this spot. At 3:40, I hesitantly took my first step. I soon began hearing classical music.

Halfway up, I recognized the song. It was Smetana’s "Vltava." I had often made love to Mindy to that song, a song Smetana supposedly finished while going deaf. As I neared the top of the hill, toward the source of the music, the song took on a quality I hadn’t recognized before. It was three-dimensional. I could feel the Vltava River flowing through my ears.

At the top, I saw a figure of a man twenty yards away. He was sitting on a short stone wall overlooking the river, with a small portable stereo at his side. As I approached, the song soared toward its climax.

"Hi there, dufas," he smiled when I came within a few feet of him. "It’s nice of you to make it. Oh, by the way, I really like your clothes. It really suits your style, so to speak."

He turned the stereo off.

"Not bad, don’t you think?" he continued, pointing at the stereo. "It’s certainly no Patsy Cline, mind you; but I must admit, it’s a damn nifty tune. A damn nifty tune. Do you know who turned me on to it? . . . Mindy. She used to play it while I was fucking her up the ass."

I cringed. Alex smiled.

"What’s the matter, Joey? Didn’t you get any of the good stuff? You have to ask for it, son. You have to ask for it.

"Yeah, I was fucking her well before you came along. And even while. In fact, sometimes she’d come into my office early in the morning after a night with you. It seems that you could never quite get her off. So, I had to fuck her right on top of my oak desk. Man, she was a real firecracker. . . . Oh, I’m sorry. Am I hurting your feelings? Did she break your little heart? You know, it’s a real pity. But cheer up -- I’ve got some good news for you. She’s in all kinds of trouble. Let me tell you, she really fucked up, taking that file of yours home with her. I’m sending her back on the next plane to Washington. Her career is over. If she’s lucky, they’ll send her off to some little public administration office far, far away -- like in New Mexico, perhaps. And you know what? It’s really a shame. She had such a bright future; she was really developing into an excellent case officer."

I looked at him in disgust. His smile widened.

"I guess right now you would like to take a swing at me, eh? Well, come on! Let me warn you though -- I’m not like that schmuck in the Alcohol Klub. I’ll kick your fucking ass all over this park."

He lit a cigarette and continued.

"I didn’t think you had the balls. . . . Anyway, getting back to business, do you have the information?"

I didn’t reply.

"I said, do you have the information?"

I still didn’t reply.

Alex threw his cigarette over the hill and pulled a gun out from his jacket. He pointed it at me.

"Don’t fuck with me, asshole! Give me the fucking information!"

I took the folded report from my back pocket and handed it to him.

"Good boy," he smiled as he grabbed it.

He looked through it thoroughly, never dropping his gun.

"Excellent. This is really excellent. Man, Andrews is quite a character."

"This is all bullshit, isn’t it?"

"Excuse me?" he said, carefully placing the report on the wall. "Did you say something?"

"This is all bullshit. This can’t be no government operation. If it were, we wouldn’t be meeting here in the middle of the night. You would’ve simply raided Matt’s office. So, what kind of shit are you up to?"

"Why, Joey, maybe you’re not as big of a dufas as I thought."

"What are you doing?"

"I’ll tell you what I’m doing. You see, this report is, in a way, my pension plan. True, the pension plan the Agency offers is adequate; but it’s nowhere near commensurate with the service I have provided them. But with this information -- with this information, I’ll be able to retire quite comfortably."

"So, you’re not going to arrest Matt?"

"Arrest him? Arrest him? You must be joking. I love that man! Besides, left to his own devices, he’ll eventually destroy himself anyway. People like him always do."

"Maybe I’m really stupid, but I still don’t understand. I can’t understand why you would ruin so many lives just to make a few bucks on the stock market. You certainly didn’t join the CIA to get rich. So why?"

"You fucking little prick! You don’t know me at all. How dare you question my motives. You wanna know why? Let me tell you a little story.

"When I got back from Vietnam, there was nothing for me. My wife had just left me for some suit. The fucking bitch couldn’t keep her panties on for two lousy years. And little pricks like you looked down at me because I was in the War. No one wanted to hire me. Only the CIA was interested. You see, they weren’t particularly popular themselves at the time; so, it was a perfect marriage. It was also the perfect escape.

"I bet you’ve probably read your share of spy novels and seen your share of bad James Bond films. Well, let me tell you, this has absolutely nothing in common with the real life of a spy. In reality, it’s a lousy, shitty job. While you were spending your evenings trying to make some tramp in the back seat of your uncle’s pickup truck, I was risking my worthless life in some of the shitiest places on earth. Whether it was collecting information from some scumbag drug dealer in the slums of Dacca, or waiting underneath a cold, damp bridge in Prague for some agent who had no intention of showing up, I stood the fucking night watch. And what do I have to show for it? . . . Jackshit is what I’ve got!

"Now -- now we’ve got this ‘New World Order.’ People like me and your buddy Jiří were part of the Old Order. And there’s no longer any place for us. Pretty soon I’ll be put out in the cold just like him. It’s already been made clear to me that I should start planning a new career. These motherfuckers -- they spent the Cold War in some air-conditioned office in Langley, and now they’re telling me I’m no longer needed. Well, fuck them! I’ll retire, all right. I’ll retire, but not without securing myself a nice fucking golden parachute.

"So, as you can see, when Matt came to town, it was like manna from Heaven. I knew the guy was crooked instantly. Then, I read his file, and I was sure of it. I knew he’d be pulling something here. The only question was what, and how could I get a piece of it. And then fate came my way. He asked me if I knew an experienced young American looking for a job; and you showed up. The gods were on my side."

"Podvodníks," I whispered.

"What’s that?"

"Podvodníks. Matt was telling me today that all Czechs are podvodníks. But you want to know something? It’s us Americans who are the real podvodníks. Every last one of us. If we’re not conning or screwing someone, we’re conning and screwing ourselves."

"Why, that’s almost profound!" he clapped, after putting down his gun. "You’re right -- we are all podvodníks. And God bless every last one of us."

He picked up his gun and pointed it at me again.

"What do you think of my gun? Pretty nice, eh? Know where I got it? . . . Government issue? Not on your life. We’re not even supposed to have guns, outside very special circumstances. No, I bought this baby on one of the side streets off Wenceslas Square. Ain’t capitalism grand? They even have a big sign on the square with a picture of a gun, so to point you in the right direction."

"Is that the gun you used to kill the DCM?"

"Very good, Joey. Wow, you’re full of surprises tonight. Yeah, I did the DCM with this. The motherfucker started sticking his dick where it didn’t belong -- so I had to cut it off. I told you motherfuckers like him all get theirs in the end."

He lit another cigarette and took a long deep drag.

"So," he continued, "what am I going to do with you? Of course, you realize I can’t let you live. It’s just too risky. There’s just too many ways you could screw this up. And I’ve worked way too hard to have some snot-nosed brat fuck it up for me."

"Mindy knows what’s going on. How do you know she won’t talk after she’s been fired?"

"Don’t worry about her. Our investigation of Andrews was completely official. Everything was done by the book. And she never knew you found anything concrete. You never did tell her what you found. In a few months, I’ll simply close the file. We just couldn’t find anything useful.

"You see, Joey, you’re my only real problem. I know you probably won’t believe this, but I honestly find disposing of you quite distasteful. I actually kind of like you. I really do. This a terrible, terrible waste. Unfortunately, it’s unavoidable.

"Now, the question is, what to do with you? Of course, I could just shoot you and drop your body down the hill. There isn’t a soul around to see it. But the police might get suspicious if they found your body with a bullet hole in it. Granted, they’re not the brightest bunch, but they would certainly ask questions. And even in Prague, two plus two has a way of adding up to four. No, I think we can come up with a better way, don’t you? You know, I happened to be rather skilled in the art of killing people. Say what you want about the Agency, but you can’t deny it gives its employees the very best training. One blow from the handle of this gun to just the right spot on the back of your skull will kill you instantly. Instantly and painlessly. The police will think you got the blow from the fall. They’ll probably guess suicide. Just another crazy foreigner, bitterly disenchanted with life in Prague. It just never lived up to being like Paris was in the twenties. Think about it -- there wouldn’t be any suspicions at all.

"So, it’s up to you, Joey. If I have to shoot you, I’ll make sure it’ll really hurt. But if you cooperate with me, you won’t feel any pain at all." He lifted two fingers. "Scouts honor," he smiled.

I didn’t reply.

"I’ll take your silence as a ‘yes.’ You’ve made the right decision, believe me. It’ll all be over before you know it. All your misery and suffering will soon be over."

He slowly stood up. He then moved his hand over the barrel of the gun and cautiously approached me. I was motionless, consumed with fear.

He was only a few feet away from me when he stumbled, probably a loose stone. He didn’t stumble much, but enough to momentarily lose his balance. I instinctively pushed him, and he fell over the wall and down the hill.

I looked down, my body shaking. He was face-down by the side of the road. He was either dead or would soon be dead.

I kept staring down at him, unable to move, when suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around. An old man, walking with the aid of a cane, slowly approached along the path.

He walked toward me agonizingly slow. I was certain he saw me push Alex over the wall. I was terrified. Then, I saw his face. It was Hrabal, and he was smiling.

I couldn’t imagine what he was doing in Vyšehrad at that time in the morning, nor could I imagine what he would say. Or do.

"Dobré ráno," he said, tipping his cap.

I didn’t reply.

"Is Bivoj out tonight?"

"Who?"

"Bivoj. According to legend, a thousand years ago he fought a savage boar that was terrorizing Prague, right down there. On a clear night, sometimes I can see them fighting. Isn’t that what you were looking at?"

I shook my head.

"Maybe they took the night off," he smiled.

He walked passed me, but suddenly stopped, and turned back.

"You know," he said, "your friend Jiří is one of those little pearls on the bottom I was telling you about. Just like you, Joe. Just like you. . . . Nashledanou."

"Nashledanou," I repeated.

He turned away and continued along the path.

When he was out of sight, I picked up the report and tore it into quarters, and tossed it toward Alex’s body.

Looking out across the river, I could see Prague Castle in the distance. The sun was slowly rising behind St. Vitus Cathedral. The sun rises early in Prague during the summer months.

I sat down on the wall and put Smetana back on. And I smiled. It really is a damn nifty tune.

THE END

21

2006-06-09T18:13:00.000-07:00

21

Sinking

After I left Mindy’s apartment, I walked aimlessly through the streets of Prague. I felt betrayed, and was so full of rage and bitterness that I walked into a few passers-by, and almost got hit by a car. The driver stuck his head out and screamed at me in Czech. I flipped him my middle finger, part of a universal language he seemed to understand.

I eventually found myself in front of the Thirsty Dog. As usual, it was packed with hippies, with soft Grateful Dead music playing inside. It wasn’t the scene for me. Next door, in the Alcohol Klub, there was a rough-looking crowd, full of angry youth and derelicts. The speakers inside, which almost reached the ceiling, were blasting hardcore punk rock. Wearing a suit, I stood out. But still, it was the scene for me.

"Double Becherovka!" I screamed at the bartender, my voice barely audible.

"Cože?" he replied with a quizzical expression on his face.

"Becherovka! I want a fucking Becherovka!"

"No jo. . . . Thirty crowns."

I quickly drank the shot and paid for another. And another. And still another. After five or six, I ordered a large glass of that golden-sweet liquor, and took it to the corner of the bar.

That night, as I gazed out into the crowd, every woman reminded me of Mindy. Even the ones with shaved heads. I couldn’t get her out of my head. She was everywhere.

I loved her. I hated her.

I couldn’t drink fast enough, and had lost count when a man walked in the bar who was vaguely familiar. He was tall, bald, and carrying a knapsack; he was obviously American. And he obviously knew me.

"Hi," he smiled, offering me his hand. "You’re . . . Joe, right? We met at that Information Age Society meeting a few weeks back. I’m Dick. Dick Hendrix."

It should’ve been obvious I didn’t want company, but it wasn’t obvious to Dick.

"I’m the guy who’s doing software development here. Like I said at the meeting, we use a strictly object-oriented approach to software development -- which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is the only practical way to develop software in this day and age. We have quick, one-day turnarounds on software modifications, which we accomplish due to the time differences between here and California; and we deliver the modifications via e-mail. That’s right -- e-mail. The Internet. Pretty cool, huh?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I screamed, slamming my empty glass on the ledge I was leaning on. "More importantly, do you think I give a damn? Why don’t you get the fuck away from me, you fucking piece of shit!"

"Gee, I’m sorry," he said, startled by my reaction. "I didn’t mean to bother you. . . . Wow, people in this bar aren’t very friendly. I think I’ll go back to Jo’s."

After he left, I bought another Becherovka and slithered back to my corner. A skinhead couple had just walked in and they were standing next to me. Both of their faces were covered with earrings -- on their ears, lips, nose; the girl even had her tongue pierced. She was pretty in spite of her appearance, though, especially as she was wearing a leather jacket with nothing underneath.

I stared at her. I stared mostly at her breasts. At first they didn’t notice me, but when the guy finally did, he glared at me.

"Na co koukáš?" he angrily asked.

I didn’t reply. I just kept staring at her breasts.

"You speak English?" he asked.

I didn’t answer him, so he got in my face and repeated his question. Although he was only a little taller than me, he was muscular and mean looking. He probably thought that alone would be enough to scare me.

"Yeah," I replied, glaring back at him. "I speak English."

"Do not look at my girlfriend, asshole." He pressed his index finger into my shoulder.

"Why not? She’s got nice fucking tits!"

He grabbed my collar and thrust me against the wall.

"You asshole!" he screamed. "I kill you!"

I sharply kicked his instep. He didn’t expect this, and he let go of me as he wrenched in pain. I then grabbed his T-shirt and pulled him toward me as I threw the back of my clenched fist into his face. I then slammed his head into the wall over and over until it felt as if his neck had snapped. He fell to his knees, and I pounded the length of my arm across the width of his back, causing him to collapse on the floor. He was unconscious.

The bartender, who had just jumped over the bar, grabbed me in a full-nelson and lifted me off the ground. He dragged me outside and effortlessly threw me into an old parked Škoda.

"Stay out!" he screamed, as he walked back inside. "Filthy American!"

"Fuck you!" I screamed back, sitting on the sidewalk, leaning up against the car. "This place fucking sucks!"

There were a lot of people in the street, all of whom were staring at me. I felt like screaming at them too, but I just stood up and walked away.

I wanted to go home; but I no longer had a home. I still had keys to my old apartment, though. No clothes, but at least I’d have someplace to sleep my drunkenness off. I stumbled toward Wenceslas Square, in the direction of the Metro.

At the foot of the square, I passed a large Czech pub. One more drink wouldn’t have helped, but neither would it hurt much. I walked inside, found a room without many people, and ordered a beer. As I waited, I could hear music coming from another room. It was Daniel Landa, one of his slow songs. Everything was reminding me of Mindy.

One beer slowly became two and then three. When the waiter brought the fourth, an old drunk wobbled up to me. He wanted either money or beer; or both. Probably both. I waved him away.

"American, right?" he stammered.

I didn’t reply.

"I sing for you, American. I sing for you and you buy me beer. Okay?"

I thought briefly, before looking up at him.

"Okay," I said. "You sing ‘Kolíne, Kolíne,’ and I give you beer."

He loudly and deeply sang. I wanted to remember that afternoon in Kolín, searching through the decaying city center for those mythical bears. But his gruff, off-key voice only reminded me of the previous few hours.

When he finished, I grudgingly gave him my half-empty beer, which seemed to please him. I quickly paid my bill and left.

As I walked up the square toward the Metro, I passed in front of the prostitutes in front of the Krone department store, by the intersection of Vodičkova Street. They were the same ones that were there every night.

One of the prostitutes caught my eye. She wasn’t anything special. Just another cheap whore wearing tight clothes and bad makeup. She was no different from any other whore. But she caught my eye. She looked like Mindy.

I walked up to her and grinned.

"How much?" I asked.

"Fifty dollar," she whispered after briefly hesitating. She didn’t even look at me; she kept her eyes focused on the passers-by.

I pulled out a one-thousand-crown bill, which was a little more than thirty dollars, and waved it in her face.

"Fifty dollar," she repeated.

"No ‘fifty dollar,’" I said. "one thousand crown."

She didn’t reply, so I slowly began putting the bill back in my wallet.

"Čekej!" she cried out, grabbing my arm. "Je to dobrý," she smiled.

"Okay?" I asked.

"Okay," she repeated.

She led me a few blocks to an alley. A short fat man, who was missing two of his front teeth, greeted us there at its mouth.

"Kolik?" he whispered to the prostitute.

"Tisíc korun," she stoically answered.

"Tolik?" he asked, clearly disappointed.

"No co? Bude držet pár vteřin. Je opilej."

"No dobře," he smiled; and turning back toward me, he held out his hand and pointed to it. "Dej mi prachy, frajere."

I gave him the money and followed her into the alley.

"Mějte se hezky, děti!" he shouted to us in a friendly tone.

Once in the back of the alley, I put my hand over her mouth and threw her to the ground. I ripped off her skirt, and quickly pounded myself into her backside. I was rough, too rough. When I left, I could hear her whimpering in a pile of garbage.

"Příjďte zas, pane," the fat little man smiled at me as I walked away.

On the way to the Metro, I felt like a zombie. I couldn’t believe what I had just done. And it didn’t make me feel any better, just less angry; and anger was quickly replaced by self-pity and self-hatred.

I walked to the top of the square. The Metro had just closed. I crossed the street and looked at the bus schedule. I’d have to wait another twenty minutes. I heard thunder. I looked up and it started pissing rain. There was no shelter.

Waiting for the bus, drowning in the rain, I had time to think. I thought about how I fucked up my life; and I decided I had had enough. A boring life in New York no longer look so bad. I decided I’d pick up my things at Mindy’s the next day and take the first plane out of Prague. I couldn’t leave soon enough.

On the long, overcrowded bus ride, I fell asleep, waking up a few stops before mine. It finally stopped raining. When I got off, two other guys left as well. They each walked off in different directions.

After walking a few hundred feet, I turned around. One of the guys was walking directly behind me. I didn’t think anything of it until I crossed a muddy field toward my old apartment building. He was still following me. As I came to the end of the field, the other man cut across in front of me. He smiled.

"Dobrý večer," he said.

I ignored him and tried to walk around him, but he cut in front of me. I turned around. The other man had stopped and was smiling at me as well.

"Máš peníze?" the first man asked, rubbing his fingers together.

"Money," the second man translated, putting his hand on my shoulder.

I pushed them away and began walking backward. They started giggling as they walked toward me. One of them pulled out a knife.

I saw an empty beer bottle on the ground and I picked it up by its neck, and slammed it against the sidewalk. I then pointed its broken remains at them.

"Okay, you motherfucking Gypsies: you want some?"

It was way too dark for me to know their nationality. In all honesty, they probably weren’t Gypsies. I had listened to too many stories from Jan.

"Come on, you wanna fuck? I’ll cut you both up! Come on -- I don’t give a shit!"

They looked at each other and whispered, probably trying to decide whether it was worth it. Finally, the man with the knife put it back in his pants and the two of them ran off.

"Where are you going, you fucking pussies?" I screamed. "Come back here!"

I chased them for a few yards, before slipping in the mud; and as I fell to my knees, I threw the broken bottle at them.

Listening to their laughter in the distance, I sat in the mud, unable to pick myself up. It soon started raining again. I put my head between my knees and cried. Moments later, I heard footsteps. I thought the muggers had returned, but when I looked up I saw a middle-aged couple walking by underneath an umbrella. When they saw me, they stopped and stared, and began whispering among themselves.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" I screamed at them. "Why do you people always stare at me? I’m just like you. I’ve got two eyes, two arms, two legs; I’ve got five fingers, five toes. I am just like you. Why do you always fucking stare?"

The man briefly looked at his wife before turning back to me.

"You are not like us," he calmly said. "Do you see us crawling in the mud like pigs? No, you are not like us at all."

As they walked away, I surprisingly felt a small amount of solace. For, as low as I had sunk in the previous few hours, I couldn’t sink further.

20

2006-06-09T17:48:00.000-07:00

20

Cunts

Matt was the last person I thought I’d see when I returned to the office. But there he was as I came through the door, walking toward me from the reception area.

"Oh, there you are," he smiled. "I’ve been looking for you."

"I was running an errand."

"No problem. Just wanted to talk to you. I’ve got to leave town again tomorrow, and there’s a few things I want to discuss beforehand."

"If it’s about Helena, I just want to say . . ."

"No, it has nothing to do with her," he interrupted.

"Your office or mine?"

"Actually, I’d prefer to discuss it over some beers."

We went to the large outdoor café in the center of Old Town Square. I had never been there, as the prices were high even by Western standards. The café, as usual, was crowded with foreign tourists.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the waiter smiled in accented English.

"Dobrý den," Matt replied.

"What can I get you?"

"Dvě piva," Matt replied, suddenly perturbed.

"Very good. Two beers. Do you want light beers or dark beers?"

The waiter’s condescending tone of voice made Matt even madder.

"Dvě světlá piva," Matt sternly said, barely controlling his anger.

"Very good," the waiter smiled, completely unaware he was infuriating Matt. "Two light beers. Do you want large beers or small beers?" The waiter used his hands to emphasize the difference in size.

"Ježíšmarjá!" Matt cried out. "Jste tak blbej? Dvě světlá velká piva!"

"Fuck you," the waiter whispered, and then abruptly left.

"What did you just say to him?" I smiled.

"I just asked him if he were really that stupid. I can’t tell you, Joe, how mad it makes me when these fucking Czech waiters speak to me in English. Okay, so maybe my pronunciation isn’t perfect. But believe me, it’s a whole lot better than their English pronunciation. It makes me so angry! I spent all this time and money learning this fucking language, and no one will speak to me in it. Or, if they do speak Czech to me, they speak it like I’m retarded or something. Say what you want about Americans, Joe, but at least we give people the benefit of doubt when it comes to foreigners speaking our language. You know, Czechs treat their language almost as if it were some kind of secret society. Only they can have the privilege of speaking their glorious tongue, as if it’s the one thing foreigners will never do better than them."

Matt calmed down a bit when a pretty waitress served us the beers. He was especially pleased when she said "prosím" to him.

"So tell me," he said after taking a long sip, "how do you like working here so far? And please, be honest."

"Well, there’s certainly been some rough spots, I must admit. But it’s been a really good experience. And I’ve definitely learned a lot."

"Good," he smiled. "You know, all in all, we are very happy with your work."

I always wondered who was this "we" he always talked about.

"And how do you like living in Prague?" he continued.

"I love it. It’s an incredible place. It sure beats New York."

"Anywhere beats New York."

"And what about yourself? How do you like it?"

"For the most part I like it, too. There’s really a lot of opportunities here. Unfortunately, there’s also lots of podvodníks as well."

"What’s a ‘podvodník’?"

"A podvodník is basically a ‘crook,’ a ‘shyster,’ a ‘con-man.’ This whole city is full of them. If you ask me, every Czech, in one way or another, is a podvodník."

"Why does that word sounds familiar?"

"Our alarm access code is ‘podvod.’ It means a ‘con’ or a ‘swindle.’ Then, you have podvádět and podvést, the verb forms. And let’s not forget podvodný and podvodně, the adjectival and adverbial forms. Lots of words for it in Czech, because there’s lots of it. I guess that’s why American lawyers are having such a good time here."

"Are there are a lot of American lawyers here?"

"Tons. And most of them are completely worthless. I mean, the majority of the lawyers I’ve met here aren’t competent enough to have wiped my ass on Wall Street. In fact, this one American lawyer I used really fucked me up badly. I paid this jackass to set up my company; paid him roughly the same amount I’d pay a lawyer in New York, which of course, is outrageous. And the fucker did it completely wrong -- I had to re-register my company again from scratch. Of course, there’s no such thing here as legal malpractice, so he got away with it. One day though, I’ll get my revenge on the prick.

"But quite honestly, I have the same problem with all American consultants and advisors here. They all talk a good game: they tell you about all the ‘Western’ experience and expertise they have; but they’re all just lousy. From the independent CPA who doesn’t know dick about Czech accounting, to the bumblings of one of America’s largest banks. ‘Hard currency for soft advice’ -- that’s what Prime Minister Klaus called it.

And let’s just forget for the moment how incompetent they are -- you’d think at least you would get professional, courteous service from these American companies. But in many cases, they’re even worse than the Czechs."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Believe it. You see, Joe, for the most part, only second-tier people are here. While there are some exceptions, the majority of the Americans working in Prague -- if they had stayed in America -- would’ve never escaped the middle-level of the corporations they work for. But here they are important, here they’re ‘top-level’ management. Here, they think they can treat important people like shit and get away with it. But they’re wrong. Dead wrong."

We ordered round of beers while Matt continued his tirade.

"The Americans, though, are far from the worse when it comes to foreigners in Prague. You know, it’s really not difficult to see why people in Europe have always been fighting with each other. They’re all fucking assholes. Every last one of them. Take the Germans, for example. They’re all Nazis. Or the French. Such conceit from a people whose only contribution to humanity is bad cheese! And the British -- they’re the worst. They all walk around with their noses in the air as if they still had an empire, as if the sun still never set upon them.

"Yeah, America has its share of problems and assholes. But living in Europe, I have really come to appreciate our little island. At least an American will look you in your eyes while he’s putting his hand down your pocket. There’s a certain honesty and integrity in our way of thievery."

The more Matt spoke, the more human he became. I even began finding him tolerable, if not likable.

"I think you mentioned a few weeks ago that you moved in with your girlfriend," he smiled while we waited for yet another round of beers. "That was pretty fast."

"Yeah, I guess so. She’s a great girl, though. I think it’s really serious."

"That’s wonderful."

His expression suddenly became a little solemn.

"Are you seeing anyone?" I asked.

"Not really. I date Dana a little, and I also have some fun with Andrea now and then. You probably already know about that."

"I’ve heard rumors."

"Well, they’re all true."

"I even heard that Dana and Andrea got together once."

"Who do you think set that up?" he giggled. "I was actually sitting on the floor, watching them go at it. What a sight!"

"So, you and Dana aren’t serious?"

"Not at all. She’s a nice girl and all, but it’s pretty obvious what she’s after. I mean, I do own a mirror. I know I ain’t anything to look at. It’s the money that makes me attractive. The money, and what I can buy with it.

"You see, Joe, when it comes down to it, women are cunts. All women. . . . Just fucking cunts. I’ll tell you, when I was growing up, they wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. You know, I was a lot different than I am today. I was shy and sensitive; and although I wasn’t particularly good looking, I could’ve made some woman very happy. Any woman. And she wouldn’t have had to been great looking or smart, or even possess a great personality. I would’ve loved her if she just liked me. That’s all I wanted.

"As soon as I got out of college, though, everything quickly changed. I was making an incredible amount of money for someone my age. Joe, man, it was the eighties. No one cared about jackshit other than making money and having a good time. I had a big BMer, fancy clothes, and enough blow to fill a salt mine. The cunts really liked blow. I mean, if you had some blow, you were Warren fucking Beatty. Man, what a cunt wouldn’t do for some blow.

"Boy, was I having a good time with these cunts, let me tell you. They were my trophies. I earned them. Man, I had some of the hottest-looking models in New York. Cunts that make Dana and Andrea look like dog chow.

"Then, the shit hit the fan. You know the story. And when word got out, the legs around these cunts quickly became tighter than vices. You know, Joe, I was this close to suicide. And if the Berlin Wall hadn’t fallen, I just might’ve done it.

"Prague right now is almost like New York was ten years ago. Without the blow, of course. The cunts here don’t need it.

"Yeah, the cunts here are great. But I’ll never fool myself into believing they’re anything more than cunts. Just a soft piece of warm flesh surrounding three come receptacles. Nothing more."

Matt looked at his watch, and then quickly finished his beer.

"I’ve got some packing to do," he said, haphazardly putting some money on the table, "so I guess I better be going. I’ll see you on Monday."

We left in different directions, but Matt quickly called out to me.

"When I get back," he smiled, "we’re gonna have another talk. A talk about making you a junior partner. With a real salary to go along with it. These past few months have been a trial period. And you passed. Believe me, you passed. Most mortals would’ve quit weeks ago."

"Thanks," I said, more than a little embarrassed.

"No need to thank me. You earned it."

I really felt like shit. I wondered what Matt would think of me when he learned I betrayed him, when he learned I helped ruin him. He always seemed like such an asshole. Now I was the asshole.

I past a newsstand on my way home. The headline of The Prague Post caught my eye.

AMERICAN DIPLOMAT SHOT DEAD, EXECUTION-STYLE
Deputy Chief of Mission Found Dead in the Trunk of his Car

I stopped and stared at the headline, before reading the first few paragraphs. According to the police, he was shot in the back of his head from close range. There were no witnesses and no suspects.

I bought a copy of the newspaper, and a couple of postcards to send back home. I hadn’t contacted anyone since I moved to Prague.

I thought I was alone when I entered the apartment, until I saw Mindy’s large purse on the kitchen table; and when I walked toward the bathroom, I heard the shower running. A smile came across my face.

I went into the kitchen and picked up the largest knife I could find, quietly opened the bathroom door, and walked inside. With one motion, I pulled the shower curtain open and thrust the knife toward her.

She screamed, and the shower hose she was holding went flying across the bathroom. I put the knife down on the sink and started laughing.

"You fucking asshole!" she screamed.

I continued laughing as she pounded her fists onto my chest.

"You know," I smiled, "I’ve always wanted to do that." I then picked up the hose and handed it to her. "Here, I think you’ve dropped this."

She grabbed the hose and turned the water off. I grabbed her waist from behind, but she pushed me away.

"Don’t even touch me, asshole! You can’t possibly think that was funny."

"Actually, I thought it was very funny. . . . Oh, come on -- it was just a joke."

"Well, I’m not laughing."

She soon calmed down, and even smiled a little.

"Why don’t you get the hell out of here -- while you’re still standing."

I kissed her and we embraced, and then I took off my clothes and joined her in the bathtub. I lifted her up against the wall and we made love.

Afterward, I held her tightly. I was motionless.

"Can I finish my shower now?" She asked.

I slowly released her and stepped out of the tub.

"I’ll see you in a few," I smiled, picking up my damp clothes and walking toward the door.

"And don’t forget your knife! Believe me, Joe, I’ll get you back for this."

I put some dry clothes on and walked into the living room. The postcards were lying on the coffee table. I looked around for a pen. I searched the cabinets in both the living room and the kitchen, but couldn’t find anything. Then, I saw Mindy’s large purse. I knew there must’ve been a pen somewhere inside.

I dug into it, and as I felt around for a pen, a manila folder, containing a small stack of paper, fell out onto the floor. I picked it up, and as I was putting it back in the purse, something on the first page caught my attention. It was a seal, the seal of the Central Intelligence Agency. I sat on the couch and began reading the first page, dated one week earlier.

CLASSIFIED
SECURITY CLEARANCE LEVEL: 2
ASSET PROFILE

Asset: Smith, Joe
Code: DUFAS
CO: SVEJK

Asset recruited shortly after arrival in Prague. Purpose of recruitment was to acquire information about the activities of American citizen Matthew Andrews, and his company, Andrews & Soudruzi. Andrews is suspected of involvement in unethical and possibly illegal activities in the Czech Republic, and in other Central European states as well.

Asset was chosen due to his basic knowledge of the securities industry and the unlikelihood that he would attract suspicion. After selection, he was placed at Andrews & Soudruzi as an analyst.

Asset is considered to be of average intellect, possibly slightly below average. He is a problem drinker, and perhaps even an alcoholic. He also has a propensity for violence (please see attached psychological profile.)

SVEJK is the controlling officer handling Asset. She is having a sexual relationship with him, which was sanctioned in advance. This exception to usual policy was approved in an attempt to stabilize Asset.

Currently, no useful information has been acquired through Asset; and if none is obtained within the next 30 days, the relationship with Asset will be terminated. This termination will be permanent. Further action in regards to Asset may be taken if deemed necessary.

I also read most of the pages that followed. It included a very unflattering psychological profile, as well as notes from meetings and dates I had with both Alex and Mindy. Even our sexual relationship was detailed -- what I liked and disliked, what fetishes I had. Everything was detailed and annotated.

Minutes later, Mindy walked out of the bathroom wearing a robe. I was still sitting on the couch, with the folder lying on the coffee table in front of me.

"So what do you want to do tonight?" she smiled. "That is, if I decide to forgive you."

"You cunt!" I whispered.

"What? What’s wrong?"

I picked up the folder and showed it to her.

"It’s all been a lie," I said, dropping it back on the table. "One big fucking lie!"

She turned back and saw her open purse.

"What the fuck were you doing in my bag?" she screamed.

"I was looking for a fucking pen! You fucking cunt!"

"I can explain."

"I bet you can. My God, this has all been a game to you. I’ve just been a dupe. I guess that’s why my code name is ‘DUFAS,’ eh? . . . Well, both you and Alex can go fuck yourselves!"

I stood up and angrily walked toward the door.

"Wait!" she cried, grabbing my arm from behind. "You’ve got to listen to me. Yes, it’s true; I am a CIA officer and so is Alex. We needed to get information on Andrews. The guy is a fucking scumbag. We needed you to help us. If we had told you we were working for the CIA, you would’ve never helped us. You know it. . . . And yes, I was encouraged to have a sexual relationship with you."

"I’ve heard enough," I said, reaching for the doorknob.

"No you haven’t!" she screamed. She turned me around toward her. Tears were forming in her eyes. "Maybe at first it was a job. But things changed. I love you, Joe. You’ve got to believe me. Do you think I could make love to you the way I’ve been without any emotion?"

"I think you could probably do anything."

"No, it’s not true. I’m not a machine -- I’m a human being just like you. And I love you. You’ve got to believe me. And you’ve got to believe me when I tell you that there’s something really wrong going on. That’s why I brought your folder home with me. I’m trying to figure it all out. It just doesn’t make any sense."

"What doesn’t make sense is what the fucking CIA is doing involved in all this. The Cold War is over. Is industrial espionage your way of justifying your existence?"

"Don’t be so naive, Joe. We need good intelligence more now than ever. Before, it was simple -- it was us against them. Now, we don’t even know who ‘them’ are, nor how many of ‘them’ are out there. Sometimes it’s even harder to tell who ‘us’ is. We’ll always be needed. Always."

"Well, I certainly don’t need you."

I tried to turn and leave, but she again stopped me.

"Where are you going?"

"To get really fucked up. Alcoholics like me can’t control our drinking. And you know how fucking unstable I am. Besides, I don’t have the intelligence to know any better."

"Don’t you see -- that’s just it. All those things written about you are untrue. It doesn’t make any sense. Nothing is making sense. Your file doesn’t make sense -- the DCM getting murdered doesn’t make sense. Something is really wrong."

"You lie so much I wonder if you even know yourself when you’re telling the truth."

"I swear to God I’m not lying. I swear to God I love you. You have to believe me!"

"I just want to know one thing."

"Anything!"

"Was it part of your job . . . to swallow?"

She slapped me across my face. I slapped her back. But much harder. The force of the blow knocked her onto the floor, and she started crying hysterically. Part of me desperately wanted to hold her, but another part wanted to hit her again, this time harder.

The first part won out, and I fell to my knees and crawled toward her. She turned to me and we embraced, my lips catching one of her teardrops.

"You believe me?" she whispered.

"No" I shook my head.

"Get out of here," she angrily pushed me away.

I stood up and left the apartment. But I couldn’t leave the hallyway. I just collapsed outside her door, putting my head between my knees.

I could hear Mindy crying. She finally stopped, and began dialing a number on the rotary telephone.

"Tady Švejk," she said, her voice cracking. "Poslušně hlásím, pane obrlajtnant, . . . grandmother is on the roof."

19

2006-06-08T18:59:00.000-07:00

19

Love is Love

I spent the following Saturday at the office once again. And again, I couldn’t find anything strange in the database. Not that I knew what to look for. There were dozens of tables, filled with numbers upon numbers.

When I came home early that evening, I was a little depressed.

"What’s wrong, honey?" Mindy asked me when she saw me slouching on the couch.

"I don’t know. I just don’t think I’ll ever find anything unusual. I don’t see anything even the slightest bit peculiar. It’s just a bunch of numbers."

"I know it’s difficult," she said, rubbing my shoulders, "but don’t give up just yet. I’m sure you’ll find something if you keep trying. You know, Alex is more convinced than ever Matt is doing something illegal. Something will pop up; just be patient. It’s not like there’s any rush. And if you don’t find anything, you don’t find anything. It won’t be the end of the anything."

I turned to her and started kissing her neck, while my hand slowly unbuttoned her blouse.

"Later," she smiled, pushing my hand away.

"Why?"

"We’re going to a poetry reading tonight at Radost."

"A poetry reading?"

"Yeah, a poetry reading. I really love listening to the American poets who show up there."

"Are they that good?"

"No, they’re that bad."

Andrea had often talked about Radost, so I was curious about it. At the same time, though, I was hoping Andrea wouldn’t be there.

We arrived at Radost at around nine, about an hour before it became the busiest night club in Prague. After we paid the small entrance fee, two gorillas frisked us with a metal detector.

"They’ve had some problems with guns here," Mindy whispered.

"Sounds like it’ll be a fun evening," I smiled.

We walked downstairs and ordered two beers at the bar while we waited for the first "poet" to come on stage. The club, although small, had the atmosphere of an expensive Manhattan night club.

"All over Prague clubs and cafés have been opening," she told me, "offering artists and poets the chance to express themselves. You know, a lot of Czech artists are really good. Some are even better than good. Like, for example, Aleš Agoun. He painted that beautiful picture hanging over my couch. I actually paid a lot of money for it, relatively speaking. But with any luck, one day it’ll be worth a fortune. Now, the American artists on the other hand, are really awful. Either they have no talent whatsoever -- or, if they have talent, they have no imagination or inspiration. I think that’s why they’re living in Prague; they’re looking for inspiration. The problem is, you really can’t find inspiration -- it has to find you."

Moments later, the first "poet" walked on stage carrying a single sheet of paper, to a hail of polite applause. He was quite pale and was dressed completely in black. Even his hair and goatee were jet-black. After he composed himself, he began reading.

O God, O God, O God, O God,
Almighty God.
Do you exist here in Prague -- perhaps as a frog?
Or have you died here in the dense, dirty fog?

O God, O God, O God, O God,
Almighty God.
Could it possibly be your goal at all,
To let nuclear power thrive at all.

O God, O God, O God, O God,
Almighty God.
Man’s inhumanity toward his fellow man;
It is this that I cannot stand.

O God, O God, O God, O God!

The crowd cheered, but Mindy and I had to really try hard to keep from laughing.

"You were right," I whispered. "That was awful. How can people actually cheer him?"

"Probably because their poetry is even worse."

She was right. His poetry was by far the best. After the last "poet" finished, I asked Mindy if she wanted to go home, but she was in the mood for dancing. We walked to the dance floor, just as Andrea and a few of her friends came downstairs.

"Pepíčku!" Andrea screamed. "A-hoj."

"Hi, Andy," I nervously smiled. "Let me introduce you to my girlfriend, Mindy. Mindy, this is Andrea -- she’s my assistant at work."

"It is nice to meet you," Andrea said, shaking Mindy’s hand. "Pepíček has told me all about you."

"You don’t say," Mindy coldly smiled. "And what exactly did Pepíček say about me?"

"He said that you are very wonderful and smart. And I can see now that he was telling the truth."

"Well, wasn’t that nice of Pepíček to say all those wonderful things about me."

"Yes, it was. . . . Well, I am going to dance with my friends now. Have a good time. And, Pepíček, maybe you and I can dance together a little later."

"I’m afraid Pepíček will have his hands full this evening," Mindy interrupted, grabbing my arm and pulling me away. "Maybe next time, sweetheart."

"You know, if I didn’t know better," I whispered to Mindy as we began to dance, "I would think you’re jealous."

"Just tell me one thing: are you sleeping with that cunt?"

"Of course not." I didn’t lie -- we actually never "slept" together. "Why would you ask me such a thing?"

"She was looking at you like you were her lover. And what was all that ‘Pepíček’ shit?"

"Listen, I can’t help what she calls me. She’s just a dizzy chick, that’s all."

Mindy soon calmed down a little; and when a new song started, she looked up at me and smiled.

"I love this song. Isn’t her voice fantastic?"

"Yeah. I think I’ve heard this song on the radio. Who is she?"

"Lucka Bílá. This is one of the most popular songs in Prague. It’s called ‘Laska je laska.’ ‘Love is Love.’ Have you seen the video? It’s really sexy. It’s about these people kissing in the park; boys and girls, girls and girls, and boys and boys. The video is so risqué that it was the first video banned by Czech Television since the Revolution. It makes me hot just thinking about it."

"Really?" I smiled. "Maybe we should do something about that."

"That’s exactly what I was thinking. Hey, why don’t we go to the Charles Bridge and . . . and fuck."

"Excuse me?" I cried out.

"Sshhh. . . . I said, let’s go to the Charles Bridge and fuck. It’s been a fantasy of mine ever since I moved here."

"But there’s tons of people on the bridge."

"So what. It’s dark out -- no one will see us. Besides, no one cares. This isn’t America. No one here has any hang-ups about sex."

It took us almost an hour to walk to the bridge, and I thought for sure Mindy would’ve changed her mind by the time we got there. But midway across the bridge, she pushed me up against one of the statues on the wall, and quickly pulled my pants down past my thighs. She then yanked up her skirt, and soon we began quietly making love.

I looked up at the saint towering over us. I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell he was staring down at us. God, how I hoped he wasn’t an important saint.

As Mindy climaxed, two policemen walked by. By the expressions on their faces, it was obvious they knew what we were doing. I thought for sure they would arrest us, but they just smiled. One of them even tipped his cap. No, this definitely wasn’t America.

Andrea smiled at me when I walked into the office Monday morning.

"Did you have a good time Saturday night?" she asked.

"If you only knew."

"Your girlfriend is very wonderful. What is her name again . . . Mindy?"

"Yes."

"That is a pretty name."

"Yes, it is."

"I do not think that she likes me very much."

"Well, you know how some women are."

"Unfortunately," she sighed, "I do."

After I sat down, Andrea walked over to me and provocatively sat on my lap.

"Tell me," she cooed, "does Mindy make you shoot like I made you shoot?"

"I don’t think we should be having this conversation," I said, grabbing her hand and lifting her off me. "I’ve got a lot of work to do."

"What work? There is nothing to do!"

"Well, I’ve got things to take care of. If you’ve got nothing to do, go tell Matt -- I’m sure he’ll find something to occupy your time."

"I am sure that he would. But I do not have a taste for him this morning. I have a taste for you."

"Well then," I said, ignoring her last comment, "just sit at your computer and play games until he gives us another project."

I spent the day just as I had spent the previous days -- looking for something strange in the database. Something. Anything. By evening, I was frustrated, but as I was just about to leave, I finally found something unusual. I did a directory listing of the tables and found that two tables had very similar names: FINSCZ0 and FINSCZO. The only difference was that the name of the first table ended in a zero while the second ended in a capital "O."

I did a query of the first table. It contained the base financial information for the database: balance sheet and income statement line items for each company. The names of the columns corresponded directly with the standard Czech chart of accounts. Unlike in America, each Czech company used the same chart of accounts, at least in regard to analytical accounts. For example, for every Czech company, account 221 was "bank accounts". Therefore, the column labeled "221" contained bank account totals.

I tried to query the second table, but I received an error message. I didn’t have sufficient rights to open it. This was strange as I thought I had all rights to the database. I scanned through my book and discovered that it was possible to assign a password to an individual table, and that this password took precedence over all other rights. I tried a couple of passwords, including the superuser password, but nothing worked. I knew I’d never guess it correctly, so I just decided to go home. I would call Alex in the morning from Mindy’s apartment. Maybe Tom would know of a way of opening the table.

After leaving the office and locking the door, I began setting the alarm; and as I entered the alarm code, I thought of something. I knew it was a long-shot, but it was worth a try. I rushed back to my desk, logged onto the database, and entered the following command:

SELECT * FROM PODVOD.FINSCZO

It worked. The password and the alarm code were the same.

When I got home, I was excited, and Mindy immediately sensed it. I told her about the table.

"That’s wonderful," she said, hugging me tightly. "That’s a real breakthrough. I knew you’d find something. I’ll tell Alex tomorrow."

"Now, don’t get too excited yet. It might not mean anything. And even if it does, I might not be able to recognize it."

"If there’s something there, you’ll recognize it. I know it."

I went to work much early than usual the following morning, and started analyzing the two tables. As I didn’t have any other work to do, I was able to spend the entire day comparing data from the two tables. In many ways, they were very similar. They had the same exact structure and most of the data was the same. Line-items for eight companies, though, were different. In each case, the line-items for these eight companies were stronger in the password-protected table. That is, the companies had larger amounts of assets and were more profitable. I cross-referenced the line-items with the Popis program and discovered that the program was using data from the unprotected table. I then started another instance of the Popis program and entered Ctrl-Shift-A; and at the secret dialog box, I entered "PODVOD" as the password. Here, the program used data from the password-protected table.

I didn’t understand what Matt was doing at first, but I soon realized what he was up to. As Andrea was still there, I excused myself and walked across the street to a telephone booth, where I called Alex.

"Hi, it’s Joe. I think I have some good news for you."

"That’s great. Mindy told me you were getting close. Can you tell me over the phone?"

"Yeah. I’m at a pay phone."

"Shoot!"

"Well, like Mindy probably told you, I found two tables that have almost identical names; you probably wouldn’t even notice the difference. They are both tables that contain financial information about the companies we cover. One of the tables is accessed by the normal computer program we use, but the other table is easily accessed only through that secret door I told you about. Anyway, I discovered that the two tables contain almost identical data. The only difference is in line-items for eight companies. The line-items in the secret table are a lot stronger."

"What do you think it means?"

"Well, as you know, lately the prices on the stock market have been falling dramatically. This is because the large investors -- the institutional investors -- see major discrepancies between the book values and the market values of the companies being traded. That is, share prices are not supported by fundamental data.

"Everyone knows that publicly-available financial information is sketchy at best. Somehow, though, Matt must’ve been able to get more accurate financial information for these eight companies than what is commonly available. Two or three of these companies I know for a fact Matt has visited in the last month. So, I think these eight companies are actually doing a lot better than everyone thinks. Matt knows this, and he also knows that this reality will eventually become public knowledge. In the meantime, he can buy these companies at ridiculously low prices, and then sell them later at a huge profit."

"It’s all makes sense," Alex cried. "Hedvábný. Hedvábný controls one of the largest investment funds in the country. As such, he has the power to audit all the companies he controls, which I bet includes every one of those eight companies. And I bet Tyson and Čubková are somehow involved as well. Between the four of them, they can quietly buy up stock without anyone noticing anything out of the ordinary. They can also help these companies become even more successful then they already are. And while all this is happening, Matt will continue disseminating incorrect information. When the truth does finally come out, no one will suspect him. After all, everyone had the same lousy information. Hell, I’d bet Matt won’t even directly own any stock!"

"So, what should I do now?"

"I want you to create a report, detailing what you just told me. With this report, I’ll have enough evidence to go to the Finance Ministry. They’ll then be able to get a court order to confiscate Matt’s computer system. And after that, it’ll all happen faster than a stack of dominoes falling. It’ll only be a matter of time before Matt is arrested; and possibly the rest of them as well. Tell me, when do you think you could finish this report?"

"I could probably finish it by tomorrow morning."

"Great. Let’s meet at noon at that hot dog stand you like so much. By the way, I just want to let you know that you’ve done an incredible job for us. You can count on my strong personal recommendation for the Foreign Service."

As I stepped out of the telephone booth, I looked up at our offices and smiled.

"I got you, you bastard!" I whispered. "I got you!"

18

2006-06-07T19:08:00.000-07:00

18

Betrayal

When I woke up early the following morning, Mindy was still sleeping. I gently caressed her arm with my fingers, and moments later, she awoke and smiled at me.

"Is it time to get up already?" she asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"Just about. At least for me. I’ve got to go home and change before work. You know, it seems like such a waste of time. All that traveling. Everything would be so much easier if I just lived here."

"I don’t know if that’s such a good idea."

"Why?"

"I just don’t know. Why don’t we talk about it later."

"How about tonight?"

"I guess that would be okay. Why don’t you come by at eight. I should be home by then."

I didn’t have much work that day, so at lunch I went to Starman Bohemia Library to buy an SQL book.

Although it called itself a library, Starman Bohemia was clearly a commercial enterprise, consisting of two rooms stacked with computer books and magazines.

"For 500 crowns a year," the short, heavy-set woman who managed the place said to me, "you can borrow two magazines or one book for one week at a time."

"Can I just buy a book without paying the membership fee?" I asked.

"Of course. We even have a catalog, if you do not find what you are looking for."

I looked through the bookshelves and found a book called Using IBM Database Manager. It was quite a large book, and paging through it, it seemed to be geared toward beginners. It even had an SQL primer.

As I walked back to the office, I wondered what I would say to Matt if he saw me with the book. It certainly would’ve been difficult explaining why I would be interested in the subject. Before I entered the building, I put the book under my arm and hoped for the best. Matt passed me in the hallway as I walked toward my office, but fortunately, he wasn’t paying attention to me whatsoever.

Back in my office, I began reading the book. SQL wasn’t very complicated; it was, in fact, very logical. By the evening, I had finished reading most of the book, and I felt reasonably confident to begin cautiously playing with the database. It would have to wait until the following day, though, as it was getting close to eight.

"Hi," Mindy smiled as she led me into her apartment a little after 8:30. "I was wondering when you’d get here. I’ve got a big surprise for you."

"Is it the kind of surprise that’ll keep me up all night?"

"It would only be a surprise if I didn’t keep you up all night."

She led me to the couch. On the coffee table in front of us were two glasses of dark beer.

"Is this my surprise?" I sarcastically asked, picking up one of the glasses. "A nice, cold beer? Wow, Mindy, you’re a woman after my own heart."

"No, that’s not the surprise, silly."

"Then, what is it?"

"Finish your beer first."

I took a few sips. It was a little warm, and had a faint taste I couldn’t quite recognize.

"So, have you given any thought about me moving in?"

"I should say so. Will you finish already!"

I quickly gulped down the remainder of the beer. As the last of it left the glass, something metal entered my mouth.

"What the fuck?" I hollered, spiting it out onto the floor.

I reached down to pick it up, while Mindy heartily laughed. It was a key. I turned to her and smiled.

"Yes," she said. "It’s the key to the apartment building. I’ll give you the key to the front door later. I didn’t want you to choke."

I pulled her close to me.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" I whispered to her.

"Don’t tell me -- fuck me."

The following morning, in spite of it being a Saturday, I woke up early. As I dressed, Mindy awoke.

"Good morning," she smiled.

"Good morning. Go back to bed -- it’s still early."

"Where are you off to?" she asked, looking at her alarm clock.

"To get my things. I’ll be back in a few hours."

When I returned with my backpack, I smelled eggs cooking.

"Would you like some breakfast?" she asked.

"Definitely," I smiled, putting my backpack down and walking toward the kitchen table.

"Now, just because we’re living together, don’t get the wrong idea. I certainly won’t be cooking for you everyday. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll clean up after yourself. Just remember: I’m your girlfriend -- not your mother."

"You won’t have any problems with me. After all, I don’t even know what it’s like to have a mother. I always had to do my own cooking and cleaning. Well, maybe not that much in terms of cooking."

"Oh, I forgot. I’m sorry."

"There’s nothing to be sorry about," I smiled.

The breakfast was delicious. In all honesty, I could’ve easily gotten used to her cooking for me everyday.

"What do you want to do today?" she asked when we finished eating.

"I was thinking of spending the weekend at the office. I’ve got to learn how to use this SQL; it’s the only way to know if Matt’s up to something. You don’t mind, do you?"

"Not at all. What you’re doing is very important."

"Of course," I winked, "I don’t need to be there immediately."

"What exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Smith?" she coyly smiled.

"You wouldn’t happen to have anymore of that pepperoni lying around?"

I finally made it to the office at around noon, working well into the evening. I practiced basic SQL commands on the database, being careful to avoid the data manipulation commands as Tom had warned me.

After getting a directory listing of the thirty or so tables in the database, I listed the contents of each table, trying to learn its purpose. For example, when I entered the following command:

SELECT * FROM CORP

corporate information for each company was listed on the screen.

By the end of the day, I knew the basic structure of the database, and I also understood how the individual tables interrelated. I didn’t, however, see anything that looked even remotely suspicious.

As I was getting ready to leave, the telephone rang.

"How’s it going?" Mindy asked.

"Well, I think I’ve got a good feel for everything, but I haven’t found anything out of the ordinary. You know, it could very well be that Matt isn’t doing anything illegal or unethical. All Alex has is suspicions."

"You could be right. But I’ve never known Alex to be wrong with his instincts. The important thing, though, is that you’re trying. You know, Alex really appreciates the effort you’re making. And don’t tell him I told you this, but he said you’re a shoo-in to get into the Service, regardless of the outcome with Matt. But you’ve worked long enough today. You need a break."

"What do you have in mind?"

"There’s a new Roman Polanski film I’d like to see. I think the English title is Bitter Moon. Supposedly, not only is it good, but also has a lot of really hot sex scenes."

"Sounds great."

"Why don’t we meet at the McDonald’s on Vodičkova in fifteen minutes. We’ll grab a quick bite to eat and then go to the movie theater. It’s right across the street."

We walked inside McDonald’s together, to a mass of people, mostly young Czech children. With at least three birthday parties in full swing, it resembled more a playground than a fast food restaurant. Mindy ordered first and pointed to where she would be sitting.

"Can I help you?" the young girl behind the counter smiled at me.

"Yes," I smiled back. "I would like a Big Mac Menu. But I don’t want a Coke; just give me some soda water."

She returned with a Big Mac, French fries, and a tiny cup of water.

"No," I said, "I want a regular-size cup of water."

"I’m sorry, sir -- we can only serve water in these cups."

"But I ordered a Big Mac Menu. It says up there that it comes with a medium-size Coke. I want water in that same size cup."

"I’m sorry, but we cannot serve you water in that size cup."

"That’s crazy! Can I speak to your supervisor?"

She called over some guy, who was not much older than her, and explained to him in Czech what I wanted.

"I’m sorry, sir," the supervisor said, "but we can only serve water in this little cup."

"Listen, I ordered a Big Mac Menu. It comes with a medium-size Coke. All I’m asking is, instead of putting Coke in that fucking cup, you put soda water in it."

"I’m sorry."

"Tell me something, which costs less: Coke or water?"

"Water, of course," he knowingly smiled.

"So, if you put water in that large cup instead of the Coke I would normally get, are you losing money?"

"That is a very good point. However, I need to ask the store manager for approval."

He called over the store manager, who was almost as old as me, and the three of them discussed it among themselves in Czech. They finally relented, and gave me a medium-size cup of soda water.

"What took you so long?" Mindy asked when I finally sat down across from her.

"Fucking morons!" I cried. "I wanted a soda water with my Big Mac Menu instead of a Coke, and they didn’t want to do it. I had to go through two levels of fucking management to get a lousy cup of water."

"You should’ve just taken the Coke."

"But I didn’t want a fucking Coke!"

"Listen, don’t get mad at me. What do you expect -- do you think they train these people to think?"

"I guess not."

"You know," she continued, "it’s really sad to say that McDonald’s is perhaps our country’s greatest company. It’s by far the most aggressive American company overseas. I mean, they’re everywhere. They’re even in places IBM wouldn’t dare go. . . . And they’re not all bad. I mean, you can go to a McDonald’s anywhere in the world and find the same clean bathroom. Also, the food tastes exactly the same in Prague or Moscow as it does where I grew up."

"Do you mean that as a compliment?"

After the movie, we walked home together arm-in-arm.

"What did you think of it?" she asked.

"It wasn’t bad -- apart from all the gratuitous sex."

"Really? I thought all the gratuitous sex was its saving grace. Especially that scene with all the milk. You know, there’s a grocery store around the corner."

"You’re not thinking . . ."

"If they’ve got any milk," she deviously smiled.

Matt walked into my office late Monday morning to give me a new project. As he came toward me, I nonchalantly hid the SQL book.

"These reports shouldn’t be a problem," I told him. "I’ll have them done in a few days."

"Take your time. I’m leaving town on Thursday, and I won’t need them until I return on Monday."

"Oh, Matt," I said to him as he walked out, "the past weekend I moved in with my girlfriend. So, I won’t need the apartment anymore."

"Fine. Just give Dana the keys before the end of the month."

"So," Andrea said to me after Matt left, "you moved in with this girlfriend of yours."

"That’s right."

"She must be very wonderful," Andrea smiled.

"She is."

I was excited early Wednesday evening leaving work for my first Czech lesson. While I knew I wouldn’t learn the language in one day, it was a beginning.

I walked inside the classroom, where a dozen students were waiting, all American. Moments later, an old man slowly entered. He had a big smile on his face.

"Dobrý večer!" he cried out in a deep baritone voice.

When no one replied, he repeated himself, putting his hands to his ears.

"Dobrý večer!" we answered, neither correctly nor in unison.

He went to the chalkboard and wrote his name: Petr Svoboda.

"Jmenuji se Petr Svoboda," he slowly said, pointing to himself. "Tak. Jak se máte?"

We all looked at each other, hoping someone understood the question.

"How do you do?" he said in heavily accented English.

No one knew how to reply.

"This is very important question in the Czech language. You will hear it every day. Now, many people answer: jde to." he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "Jde to. This means: ‘it is going.’ This is awful answer. Some people answer: dobře. This is little better. It means: ‘good’ -- it is going good. But correct answer is: mám se nejlépe! It means: "I am the best!" Please, class, repeat: mám se nejlépe!"

We tried repeating what he had said, obviously quite poorly.

"Ještě jednou," he said, waving his hands toward himself.

This time we said it a little better.

"To je vončo!" he smiled.

After class, I briefly talked with the young couple sitting next to me.

"What did you think?" I asked them.

"Not bad," the woman replied. "This is actually our third school. The other two were really awful. We didn’t learn a damn thing; and the teachers were so sexist. At least this guy is pretty interesting. Don’t you think so, honey?"

"Yeah. I think this one is going to work out. One thing for sure -- it’s certainly the cheapest school. . . . Tell me, what do you do in Prague?"

"I work for a small investment research company. And you guys?"

"Well, we’re entrepreneurs. Right now, we’re considering opening a laundromat, something to compete with Laundry Kings."

"Good idea. You know, I really got fed up with that place. I was even doing my wash in my bathtub for a while."

"You and lots of others."

"So, when will you open this place?"

"Well, nothing’s definite. We’re still in the planning phase. And we’re also considering other options. If the laundromat idea doesn’t work out, we’ll probably just start an international Internet conglomerate."

It was still early after I left school, so I went back to the office to play around with the database. Minutes after I sat down, the doorbell rang. I couldn’t imagine who it could be; it was almost eight. I opened the door and saw Helena.

"Hi, Joe," she smiled. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," I replied, motioning her inside.

"I saw your lights on from the street and realized that I needed to speak to Matt about something. Is he here?"

"I’m sorry, Ms. Čubková, but he’s not. In fact, he won’t be back until Monday."

"Please, Joe, call me Helen."

"Well, is there something I can do for you, Helen?"

"Oh, I can certainly think of a few things you could do for me. And a few things you could do to me. Why don’t we go into Matt’s office and have a little chat."

"I don’t know. I don’t think he’d want anyone in his office while he was out."

"Nonsense. I’m his best client."

We went into Matt’s office and sat together on the couch.

"Why don’t you come a little closer," she cooed.

"Please excuse me, Helen, if I’ve misread your intentions, but -- "

"I don’t think you’ve misread them at all," she smiled.

"Well," I politely smiled back, "I’ve got a serious girlfriend. In fact, I just moved in with her this past weekend."

"That’s none of my concern. Joe, I think we need to get a few things straight. Actually, I’m hoping to get more than just a few things straight. You’ve probably heard a lot of stories about me. Well, they’re all true. Believe me, I’m not ashamed of it one bit. You know, if I were a man, I’d be considered a playboy. As a woman, though, I’m considered a slut. But I could care less. I know what I want, and I know how to get it. And right now, I want you. Right here and right now."

If she weren’t so ugly, I might have been tempted. Not even Andrea had talked to me like that. But she was damn ugly.

"I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal against you. It’s just that I’m in love with someone else, and I won’t be unfaithful. This simply isn’t going to happen."

"You should think very carefully before making statements like that. I’m a very powerful woman in this city."

She reached over and started caressing my chest.

"I could do a lot of good things for you," she continued, slowly moving her hand down to my crotch, where she started gently squeezing. "And I could do a lot of bad things to you."

"I’m sorry," I said, pushing her hand away, "but I really think you should leave."

"Fine," she angrily snorted as she got up and walked toward the door. "Just remember: it’s much better to be my friend than to be my enemy. That is, if you want to remain in this country. . . . Please tell Matt that I’ll be contacting him first thing Monday morning."

As she left, I wiped the sweat off my forehead. It was a close call. A little too close.

On the tram ride to U bílého lva the following evening, I thought about how I would end my friendship with Jiří. I probably shouldn’t have even shown up. I’m sure that was the way Alex would’ve wanted. But I felt I needed to give him an explanation, regardless of how lame it would sound. He deserved that much.

U bílého lva was yet another typical-looking Czech pub. Drab interior, picnic tables, and lots of heavy drinking and smoking. As I entered, a waiter brought Jiří a beer. He slammed it on the table and angrily walked away.

"I see you’re a štamgast here as well," I smiled, before sitting down across from him.

"Yes," he smiled back, "they love me here as well. Everyone in Prague is full of love toward me."

We both ordered the peppered venison. It was surprisingly tasty.

"If you are not busy next week," Jiří said after the waiter abruptly picked up our plates, "maybe we could play chess again."

"I don’t think so."

"Why? I am sure I will not win so fast next time."

"I’m afraid I can’t see you again."

"But why? Are you going back to America?"

"I really can’t explain."

"I do not understand."

"I don’t understand either. Believe me, it wasn’t my choice."

He looked at me strangely momentarily.

"Well," he finally said without any emotion, "if that is what you want, it does not matter to me. I did not ask you to be my friend; and I do not care if you are my friend. So, just leave. Leave now."

"I’m sorry," I meekly said, as I slowly stood up and put some money on the table.

"I do not want your filthy money!" he cried out, throwing the bills back at me. "Kašlu na to! . . . Vypadni!"

I looked around the pub. Everyone, including the waiters, were staring at us. I quietly left. From the outside, I briefly looked at Jiří through the window. He sat pensively, as if contemplating a chess move.

I felt awful the entire way home. I wondered whether it was worth it. The lousy job, the spying, the betrayal.

When I got home, I found my answer. It was lying on the couch, wearing a sexy nightgown I was anxious to tear off.

"There you are," she smiled. "I was wondering where you were. I called the office, but there was no answer."

"Oh, I just stepped out for a few beers," I said, sitting on the couch beside her.

"That’s not a good sign," she whispered as she sat on my lap. "You’ve been living here less than a week and you’re already spending time at the pub instead of with me. You’re not going local on me, are you?"

"You’ve got nothing to worry about there."

17

2006-06-07T18:39:00.000-07:00

17

The Information Age Society

The sign on the building read "Jazýková škola." It was the National Language School. I took a deep breath and followed the signs to the first floor, located three flights of stairs from the bottom.

By the entranceway, I read the class schedule, which included a few Czech courses taught at night. I timidly walked to the information counter and said hello.

"Good morning," a young blonde Czech girl smiled. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," I nervously replied, "I would like to sign up for Czech classes."

"Terrific. Are you a beginner?"

"I’m even less than a beginner."

She handed me an enrollment form and told me the course would cost 3,000 crowns for a six-month class meeting twice a week.

"Good luck," she said, handing me a receipt.

"I’ll need it."

"The first class starts in two weeks," she smiled.

When I returned to the office, Matt passed me near the front door.

"Oh, there you are," he smiled. "I’ve been looking all over for you. Where’ve you been?"

"I was at lunch," I lied.

"In the future," he said, looking at his watch, "try to take shorter lunches. Or even better yet -- eat your lunch at your desk, like I do most of the time. You really need to be accessible."

"Do you have a new project for me?"

"Yes. I need this report done as soon as possible. That means it has to be done today, before you leave tonight. And I don’t care if you have to spend the whole night here; it better be done when I come in the office tomorrow morning."

He handed me the report specification. I looked at it in disbelief. It was a week-long project at the very least.

"If you have any questions," he said, walking toward his office, "let me know. But keep in mind that I must get out of here tonight at five."

I solemnly went to my office and began working on the report. Then, the telephone rang.

"Hello, can I speak to Joe Smith," a man with a low, pleasant voice asked. It sounded like a long-distance connection.

"Speaking."

"Hi, my name is Tom and I’m a friend of Alex Walters. He asked me to give you a call, as I have a lot of experience working with database systems. He told me that you’re having a problem accessing a certain aspect of the system you’re working with."

"Do you think you could give me a call tomorrow? I’m really busy right now."

"No problem. How about 11:00 A.M.?"

"That should be fine."

As I hung up the telephone, Matt rushed in.

"Joe, what have I told you before about using the phone for personal calls! An important client could have been trying to reach us just then while you were chatting away."

"Listen," I angrily replied, "this guy called me. I didn’t call him. I can’t control who calls me. . . . And if I need to make a call, I need to make a call. I’m sorry you only have two phone lines, but I really resent being treated like a servant. I’ve been working really hard for you and I think I’ve done a pretty good job. I deserve to be treated better."

"Oh, so you have some backbone after all," he smiled as he left. "It’s good to know."

By early in the evening, it became clear I wouldn’t finish the report before the Metro closed at midnight. Which meant taking my first night bus. It was just before 2:30 A.M. when I finished. I put it on Matt’s desk and left him a note. I wouldn’t be in the office the following morning until eleven. And if it weren’t for Tom’s call, I don’t think I would’ve came before noon.

After leaving the office, I walked to the bus stop on top of Wenceslas Square. No one was waiting, which was not a good sign. I looked at the schedule. I had just missed it. The next one wouldn’t come for another half hour.

When it finally came, it was packed with drunks, punks, and other assorted dregs of Czech society; and the heat was sweltering. I had to stand the first half hour, crushed in between a mass of people.

Unlike the Metro and the tram system, the names of stops were not announced on the bus. I had to rely on sight, and it was nearly impossible to distinguish one stop from another.

"Háje Metro?" I desperately asked a young couple in the middle of nowhere, pointing outside.

The man looked out the window and thought.

"Five stops" he said, using his fingers.

At the fifth stop, I stood up, and smiled at the couple.

"Děkuji," I poorly pronounced my thanks as I waved them good-bye toward the exit.

As I left, the man rushed up to me and grabbed my arm. I was startled.

"Sorry," he smiled, "one stop more."

At the next stop, I got off. Looking around, I thankfully recognized where I was. I went home; and once there, I noticed that it was past four. I was exhausted, but it still took another thirty minutes to fall asleep.

"Matt wants to see you immediately," Dana said to me when I walked into the office the following morning, just before 10:30. "He is not very happy."

As soon as I entered Matt’s office, he started screaming.

"What the fuck is this shit?" he shouted, holding my note. "Close the fucking door and sit down!"

I timidly closed the door and sat down across from him.

"Joe," he said after pausing for a few moments, "do you like working here? Because if you don’t, I think you should start looking for another job. Immediately. Your work so far has been pretty good, but I can’t put up with this kind of insubordination. You know that you have to be here at nine."

"But I was here until two thirty in the morning!"

"Shut up! I don’t fucking care how late you were working last night. Your company is counting on you to be here on time. It’s your responsibility."

"But -- "

"I said, shut the fuck up! I don’t want to hear any of your fucking excuses. The fact of the matter is that I needed you to make corrections to the report this morning and you weren’t here. Because of you, our client won’t get his report on time. And this makes the whole company look bad. . . . I just can’t tolerate this nonsense, Joe. Either you get your act together, or start looking for another job. That is, if you can find another one. Reputations move very quickly in this town."

Matt certainly knew about reputations and how quickly they spread.

"Here," he said, throwing the report at me, "take this and make the corrections I’ve annotated. And I want it done within half an hour. Our client needs it by noon. . . . And close the fucking door on your way out!"

This was the low point of my Prague experience. I wanted to quit. I wanted to tell Matt what I thought about him and his lousy two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar-a-month job. But most of all, I wanted to hurt him.

I took the report back to my office. The changes were minor. The motherfucker could’ve easily made the corrections himself. Fifteen minutes later, I went back to his office with the corrected report. He grabbed it from my hand and carefully looked through it.

"Fine," he grudgingly remarked. "On Dana’s desk you’ll find a stack of financial documents. I want you and Andrea to enter the data into the system. The analysts are on vacation this week. And this evening, there’s a meeting I want you to attend. It’s called the Information Age Society. They meet every Wednesday night. I promised Scott Francis, the guy who runs the group, that I would attend, but I won’t be able to go tonight. So, I want you to go there in my absence. It’s probably bullshit, but I want you to check it out, nonetheless. It takes place at 8:30 at a pub called U pinkásu, which is right off I.P. Parlova. It’s a pub so large, even you should be able to find it."

I took the documents back to my office, just as Tom called.

"Could you hold on for just a second?" I asked him.

I gave Andrea some of the documents and told her to start entering the information into the computer.

"Okay," I said, "I’m back."

"Can you speak freely?" he asked.

"Not entirely, but it should be okay."

"Joe, do you know what kind of computer you’re using? Is it a PC, Mac -- mainframe terminal?"

"It’s a PC. An old 386."

"Is it running Windows 3.1?"

"Yes."

"Okay, this is what I want you to do. First, exit Windows and restart your computer by turning it off and on. Then, tell me everything you see on the screen as the computer boots up. Use the Pause key if the screen is moving too fast for you to read."

After turning my computer off and on, I read Tom line-by-line what was appearing on the screen.

"It seems like a pretty basic setup," he said. "You’re now logging onto a Novell network."

"The next lines says ‘IBM Extended Services.’"

"Now you’re logging onto IBM Database Manager. Interesting. That’s probably where the system database is stored."

"Okay, now I’m at the Program Manager screen in Windows. There’s an icon on the desktop for the Popis program, which is the main program we use."

"Can you exit Windows?"

"Okay. . . . Now I’m at a DOS prompt. What next?"

"Well, this is the tricky part. We can log onto the database directly through the command line, but if we can’t figure out the password of someone with sufficient rights, we’ll never get any further. . . . Hmm, maybe, just maybe, the back door has been left open. Try entering this command: ‘logon USERID.’ The word ‘USERID’ must be in capitals."

"It’s asking me for a password. What should I enter?"

"Try: ‘PASSWORD.’ Again in capitals."

"It says, ‘logon successful.’"

"We did it! The idiot who setup the system forgot to delete the superuser password."

"So, now what?"

"Well, how well do you know SQL?"

"Not very well, unfortunately. When I started working here, Matt showed me how you can use SQL in spreadsheets to query the database in real-time, but I haven’t yet had a need to use it."

"Then, you have a problem. The only way you’ll be able to easily access data in the system is with SQL commands. . . . Hey, the last time I was in Prague, I visited some place called the Starman Bohemia Library. Hold on, I think I still have the address. . . . Here it is: Konviktská 17. They have a lot of computer books in English, so they must have at least something on SQL; and if you’re lucky, they might even have a book specifically about Database Manager. If I remember correctly you can borrow books once you become a member, which means paying an annual fee; but as you’re only interested in one book, you might as well just buy it.

"And after you’ve read the book thoroughly, you can start playing around with SQL commands. It’s really not all that difficult. Just make sure you stay away from the data manipulation commands and stick to the data retrieval ones. You could really screw the system up if you’re not careful. If you have any questions, contact Alex, and I’ll give you a call back."

"Who was that?" Andrea suspiciously asked after I hung up.

"Oh, just some technical support guy. I was having a little problem with my computer."

After Andrea left for the day, I tried to get some sleep before the meeting. Shortly after 7:30, I woke up and walked to I.P. Parlova. As Matt had said, U pinkásu was so large even I could find it.

I walked inside and asked one of the waitresses where the Information Age Society met. She obviously didn’t understand English, but she knew what I wanted. She led me to a small room in the back of the restaurant near the restrooms.

"Hello," a tall blond-haired man with thick glasses smiled when I walked inside. "Are you here for the meeting?"

"Yes, I am," I answered, shaking his hand. "My name is Joe Smith."

"It’s nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Scott Francis. Why don’t you take a seat. We’ll be starting shortly."

I sat down at the long oblong table and ordered a beer from the waitress. A half-dozen people were there, and a few more straggled in after I arrived. They were all Americans.

"Well," Scott said to start the meeting, "I would like to welcome everyone to the Information Age Society, where we discuss topics relevant to the development of the Information Age here in the Czech Republic. For those of you who are new here, we start each meeting by going around the room, so everyone can describe who they are and what’s their contribution is to the Information Age. Then, we’ll have an open forum to discuss relevant issues.

"I will start. My name is Scott Francis and I’m a consultant at SPT Telecom. It’s been both my responsibility and my pleasure to develop the Information Superhighway in the Czech Republic."

As Scott said this, a bald man across the table from me cringed.

"Hi, I’m Patrica Conway," a heavy-set woman, said next. She was another one of the Momma Cass look-a-likes all too common in Prague. "I’m an artist. And, I’m also a computer specialist. That’s why I’m here. At this meeting, I mean. I’m actually here in Prague because my boyfriend is an accountant at KPMG. Anyway, in addition to creating great works of art using an ‘eggshell’ motif, I’m interested in finding local ADA programmers for a project my friend is managing back in the States. . . . Oh, yeah -- I’m also interested in classical music applications in the sphere of artificial intelligence."

"Hi," a young, geeky-looking guy with a thick Texas accent, said next. "My name is Robert Stills. I studied Aerospace Physics at Dalton Community College in Oklahoma. Eventually, I would like to become either a rocket scientist, an astronaut, or maybe even a brain surgeon. I haven’t quite decided yet. I came to Prague to clear my head before I make this monumental career decision. Right now, I’m a computer programmer at a small Czech company. Man, they really dig my accent."

After a few more people spoke, it was the bald man’s turn.

"Hi, I’m Dick Hendrix. I’m part owner in a company called Thought Tech. We develop custom software for clients in the Silicon Valley, using a purely object-oriented approach. I’m sure you’ll all agree that this type of approach is the only proper way to develop quality software. Anyway, I live in Prague, as we exploit -- I mean, utilize Czech engineers to develop the software. Again, I can’t stress enough the emphasis on developing software using an object-oriented paradigm."

"Very good point," Scott interjected. "Perhaps we should make it the topic of our discussion tonight."

Soon, it was my turn.

"Well, I’m Joe Smith. I work for Andrews & Soudruzi; we’re an investment research company."

"And why exactly are you here?" Scott interrupted.

"That’s a good question. I’m not exactly sure myself. My boss, Matt Andrews, asked me to come. He said he had promised you that he’d come this week, but he couldn’t make it."

"Very well. I hope you enjoy yourself."

Just then, a tall man with long brown hair walked in. He wore a headband and a tie-dye T-shirt, as if he had just been transported from the sixties, or from a Grateful Dead concert.

"Sorry I’m late, dudes and dudettes," he said, sitting next to Scott, a seat Scott had been reserving.

"That’s quite all right, Mike. We all know that you’re an extremely busy man. Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who don’t know Mike Riggs, he’s probably the most fascinating and most amazing American in Prague."

"Please, Scott," Mike blushed, "you’re embarrassing me. And don’t call me ‘Mike.’ You know I prefer ‘Scout.’"

"Sorry about that, Scout. But don’t be modest -- you know you’re amazing."

Mike shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"And for those of you who don’t know," Scott continued, "Scout takes time out of his very busy schedule to help develop the computing center at the technical university, ČVUT. Can you imagine that? He donates his very own time and money to help develop the education system here in the Czech Republic, without asking for anything in return. And, in addition to all that, he is a major supporter of the arts. Applause, applause!"

A handful of people energetically clapped, but most people, like myself, just politely smiled.

After the introductions, they went into a long drawn-out discussion about the benefits and the drawbacks of object-oriented technology. I soon fell asleep, waking up just as everyone was leaving.

"Next time," Scott whispered to me, placing his hand firmly on my shoulder as he left, "try not to snore so loud."

"Sorry," I softly apologized.

I met Jiří at U Hýnků for lunch the following afternoon.

"Hello, my young friend," he gently smiled when I walked in. ". . . You look very tired."

"I feel tired. I’ve been killing myself at work the past few days. It really sucks. I mean, my boss is a real fucking asshole."

"Welcome to the wonderful world of capitalism."

"The problem isn’t capitalism. The problem is he’s a fucking asshole."

"It sounds like you are very disenchanted."

"It’s more than disenchantment. I really think my days there are numbered."

"Does that mean you will be going back to America?"

"I don’t know. I have some friends at the American Embassy who say they might be able to find me something better. Actually, they are the ones who found me this job. They say they might even be able to get me into the Foreign Service."

"You should be very careful of these friends of yours."

"Why is that?"

"Well, I worked in a foreign service once as well; and although you might think that our foreign service was much different than yours, there were many more similarities than dissimilarities. Often, people in these types of organizations are not exactly what they represent themselves to be. It doesn’t mean that they are bad people; it is just simply part of their job. You should be very careful. You could end up getting yourself in all kinds of messes."

"I really don’t think that’s the case with these two. One of them is my girlfriend. She’s really a special person, more special than any woman I’ve ever met. And the other person is a really good guy. He might be a little strange at times, but he’s really standup."

"I am sure you are right. All I am saying is that you should be careful. Be very careful."

After lunch, I smiled at Jiří as I stood up.

"Same time next week?"

"I do not think so. I was told by the manager today, in no uncertain terms, that I was not to return here. Ever."

"I’m sorry."

"Don’t be. I have other places to go. Perhaps you would like to have dinner together one evening?"

"Sure, why not. What about next Tuesday?"

"That would be nice. Do you know U bílého lva?"

I shook my head.

"Oh, it is a great restaurant. It is not very pretty, but they serve excellent venison. Just take tram number 22, in the direction of Bílá hora, to the first stop past the Pyramida Hotel. It is on the left-hand side of the street and is so ugly you can’t miss it. Now, when you get to the restaurant, you will see two entrances. You want to enter the door labeled ‘pivnice.’"

"Great. I’ll see you then."

I went back to work and started entering financial information into the computer. A few minutes later, Matt stormed in and threw some papers on my desk.

"You fucked up!" he screamed. "You fucked up bad!"

"What’s the problem?" I nervously asked.

"I just got the Polish report back from our client. He was really pissed off. The pricing ratios are all wrong. You didn’t pull out the correct share numbers. I want you to fix it immediately. And let me tell you, Joe, this kind of mistake is completely unacceptable. You don’t know how close you came to being fired. It’s a damn lucky thing that I like you."

After he left, I looked at the report. He was right -- I did make a big mistake. It was the kind of mistake I never made.

As I quickly corrected the report, the telephone rang. It was the last thing I needed.

"Hi, Joey -- this is Alex." There was a strange tone to his voice. It seemed both condescending and angry.

"Oh, hi," I replied. "I’m sorry, Alex, but I really don’t have time to talk with you right now."

"That’s okay. What we need to discuss has to be done in person. I want you to meet me tonight."

"I don’t know. Things really aren’t going well at work, and I have a lot to do."

"This is important. I’m sure you can spare fifteen minutes."

"I guess so. Where do you want to meet . . . U Hýnků?"

"No, definitely not there. There’s a restaurant I know on Na příkopě. Hardly anyone knows about it. It doesn’t even have a name. It’s number 18. The entrance is in the alley. I’ll see you there at eight."

After fixing the report, I spent the remainder of the day entering financial information with Andrea. At 7:30, Matt peaked his head in.

"The report looks okay," he said. "How’s the financial information coming along?"

"Good. I’m entering the last few documents right now."

"Terrific. You know, you two are almost as good as the students."

I left the office twenty minutes later, assuming it wouldn’t take me long to find the restaurant. But I had a difficult time finding the entranceway, and I was ten minutes late when I finally walked inside. Alex was sitting at a table in the corner of the restaurant drinking a beer. He was the only customer there, despite the large numbers of tourists hovering outside.

"Hi, Joe," he smiled when he saw me walk toward him. "How you doing?"

"Okay."

"That’s good. Please, have a seat. . . . Would you like a beer?"

"Sure."

He called the waiter over and ordered me a beer.

"You know," he said to me moments later, "I had a real interesting day today. Would you like to know how interesting? Well, I just happened to be walking through Old Town this afternoon when I got a little hungry. And there it was: U Hýnků. I remembered our little chat there last month; and I also remembered how great the utopence are. So, I walked inside. And you’ll never guess what I saw. Do you know what I saw, Joe? . . . I saw you and Jiří David eating lunch together, having a grand old time, like you were the best of buddies. The same Jiří David who was the head of StB not too long ago. The same Jiří David who was a pretty well-known spy in his day. So, Joey, tell me something: what kind of fucking game are you playing with me?"

"I don’t know what you’re getting at. Yeah, Jiří is a friend of mine. And yes, I know about his past. But so what? The Cold War is over. He’s just an old man now. He’s just a lonely old man."

"What? Do you have any idea how many lives this ‘lonely old man’ has ruined? Do you know how many people he ordered to be tortured? Do you have any idea how many people have died directly because of him? Do you? Do you?"

"It’s all in the past. He’s completely harmless now."

"You’re so fucking naive! Harmless, my ass!" Alex’s face became red with anger as he shook his index finger at me. "That man is a cunning, ruthless butcher. I could tell you stories about him that would make you vomit over yourself. And don’t think for a second just because he’s old and looks like someone’s grandpa that he’s changed. A man like that can never change."

He finally calmed down a bit as he lit a cigarette.

"Joe," he continued in between deep drags, "I want you to stop seeing him. Not only is he dangerous, but he could ruin the whole case we’re building against Matt."

"But how? He’s just an old man. He can’t hurt anyone anymore. And I like him. Don’t ask me why, but I like him."

"Listen, Joe, if Matt and his buddies get arrested, and one of the key witnesses turns out to be associated with Jiří David, the case will go straight down the shithole. Without a doubt. And not only will the case be ruined, we’ll all look like fucking idiots as well. And more importantly, for your sake, this relationship could seriously damage your chances of entering the Foreign Service. The Cold War may be over, but we still have very strict regulations regarding the foreign contacts of our employees. And I’ll be very blunt with you, Joe: no friend of Jiří David will ever be admitted into the Service. Never."

I didn’t know what to think. I liked Jiří, but if I blew my chance to get into the Foreign Service, I didn’t know what I would do. I was in a position where I more than just wanted the job -- I needed it.

"Okay," I relented. "I won’t see him anymore."

"Great," he smiled. "I’m really sorry I had to do this, Joe, but this case is far too important. Speaking of which, I heard you had a little talk with my friend Tom. He said he was able to break into Matt’s system, albeit somewhat superficially."

"Yeah, that’s right. Unfortunately, the data can only be accessed in something called SQL. I really don’t know much about it, so Tom gave me the address of a library where I could buy computer books."

"Starman Bohemia. I know it. Purchase whatever you need -- we’ll reimburse you. . . . I happen to know a little bit about SQL myself. It’s really not too difficult. And I’m sure a bright guy like yourself will be able to figure it out without much problem."

Alex quickly finished his beer, paid the bill, and began leaving.

"Let me know as soon as you find something," he said. "All we need is just a little evidence, and then we can nail the bastard."

I stayed in the restaurant and finished my beer. When I walked outside, it was pouring rain. It was always raining in Prague.

I didn’t have an umbrella, so I stood under an awning waiting for the rain to subside a bit. I then noticed a telephone booth across the street, and ran toward it.

"Prosím," the woman answered.

"Mindy, is that you?" I asked.

"Yes. Joe?"

"Yeah. Hey, are you busy tonight?"

"No, why?"

"I was wondering if I could come by."

"Of course you can. You’re always welcome here. Don’t you know that by now? . . . I love you."

"I love you, too. Hey, have that Smetana CD ready."

16

2006-06-06T18:56:00.000-07:00

16

The Kolín Bears

The sun rises early in Prague during the summer months.

By 5:00 A.M. it was shinning brightly through the blinds of Mindy’s bedroom window. I turned to Mindy, and she started waking, as if by my stare alone. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and smiled at me; and we began making love. It was not like the night before -- it was slower and gentler. Perhaps we lacked the energy.

The telephone rang.

"Who the fuck could be calling at this time?" I cried.

"I’d better get it," she said, caressing my cheek. "It could be important."

She jumped out of bed and put on a robe.

"My job is kind of a twenty-four hour thing," she said, rushing into the living room.

When she came back, she didn’t look very happy.

"Sorry, but I’ve got to go to work. They’re having a major emergency -- just like usual. Someone needs to explain to them that if everything is an emergency, nothing is an emergency."

"That’s okay," I said, reluctantly getting out of bed. "I should be getting home anyway. I’ve got to shower and change."

I got dressed and she walked me to the front door.

"When can we get together again?" I asked.

"Well, this weekend is the Forth of July."

"I totally forgot! You know, it’ll really be strange not being in America for July 4. I mean, no fireworks, no nothing."

"That’s not exactly true. The Ambassador is having a picnic at his house on the Forth. That’s Saturday afternoon. I have to be there because of work, but you can come too if you’d like. There’s a charge for guests, but I don’t think that it’s too expensive. And the Ambassador has a really beautiful house, with a pool and tennis courts. Wait till you see it. Supposedly, there’s going to be a lot of good picnic food at this thing. American picnic food. In fact, someone told me they specifically ordered that no head cheese whatsoever be served."

"Sounds great."

"Good -- then I’ll have them put your name on the list. It starts at noon. Here, let me write you down the address of the house."

I got to my apartment with just enough time to shower and dress. When I walked into the office an hour later, Dana smiled at me.

"Dobré ráno," she said. "It looks like someone had a good evening last night."

"Is it that obvious?" I asked, approaching her desk.

"Oh, yes."

As we continued small-talking, the doorbell rang. Dana released the lock and a short middle-aged woman entered and stampeded toward the reception area.

"Good morning, Mrs. Tyson," Dana said.

"Is he in?" the woman sneered.

"Yes, but -- "

Without knocking, the woman rushed into Matt’s office and slammed the door behind herself.

"Who was that?" I whispered.

"Ruth Tyson," Dana whispered back. "She is such a fucking bitch!"

Matt rushed into my office later that morning.

"Why are you so happy?" he asked, obviously not so happy himself.

"Nothing particular. I’m just in a good mood."

"Well, isn’t that nice. What about that Polish report? It’s really important that it gets finished before the holidays."

"It’ll be done by tomorrow."

"Great. By the way, if you don’t already know, the Fifth and the Sixth are Czech holidays. The Sixth is a Monday, but as you and I are both Americans, we’ll both be working that day. But feel free to take the Forth and Fifth off, he-he-he."

I was still smiling after he left. Not even Matt could dampen my mood. I was feeling so good that I even forewent my usual lunch of hot dogs for some utopence at U Hýnků.

When I walked inside, I saw Jiří sitting by himself near the front of the pub. One of the waiters brought him a beer, slamming it on the table as he spit on the floor.

"They really like you here," I smiled, walking up to him.

"Yes, they do. Like I have said, I am a štamgast here."

"Can I join you?"

"Please."

I sat down across from him, and he smiled.

"So, I see you got laid last night," he quipped.

"How can you tell?"

"I am not that old, my friend."

As I ate lunch, Bohumil, the old pábitel I had met in the park, entered the pub.

"Dobrý den," he smiled at Jiří as he walked by our table.

"Dobrý den," Jiří politely repeated, seemingly surprised by Bohumil’s appearance.

He suddenly stopped when he recognized me.

"Oh, hello, Joe," he said. "How are you doing?"

"Very good. And yourself?"

"Very good as well."

Bohumil walked across the room to the far corner of the pub, and sat down facing us. The waiter quickly brought him a beer and glowingly smiled.

"Do you know him?" Jiří asked me.

"Yeah, I met him about a month ago. A nice old guy."

"Do you not know who that is?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"That is Bohumil Hrabal!"

"That’s Hrabal?"

"Yes, that is him. He comes here now and then; but he usually prefers U zlatého tygra. That is a pub not too far from here, where I am no longer welcome. Did you know when your President Clinton was in Prague last winter, he met Hrabal there.

"Look at him. He smiles at me; he says hello to me. He is perhaps the only Czech who is civil to me. Even my old StB ‘comrades’ cross the street when they see me coming. But he is polite to me. And I don’t understand it. We did not make it easy for him.

"You see, he was probably our most dangerous writer. Others were certainly louder -- they incited and propagandized; but these writers were easily dealt with -- we simply exposed them for the bourgeois malcontents they were. But Hrabal, Hrabal wrote veraciously, without anger or hatred or bitterness. If you disliked it, it was only because you disliked the truth. How do you counter such writing? You can only attempt to suffocate it. Which we did.

"He has every reason to hate me. He has much more reason to hate me than these waiters who spit in my beer. Truthfully, half of them were collaborators before the Revolution. But Hrabal does not hate me. I do not understand why."

"You know, after what you had told me about him, I bought some of his books. Actually, I bought all the books they had."

"And what did you think?"

"They’re incredible. I can’t believe I was actually talking with him. I can’t believe I’m sitting in front of him."

It must’ve been some scene. Me, a silly Amík, and Jiří, the former head of the secret police, sitting together in a smoky pub, gawking at an eighty-year-old man as if he were a teenage idol.

After finishing lunch, I looked at my watch and slowly stood up.

"I guess I should be getting back to work. . . . Tell me, do you come here often?"

"I come here every day. I am a štamgast; I must come every day. The people who work here would be very disappointed if they did not see my pretty face every day. And who am I to be so cruel?"

"Great. Maybe we can have lunch together next Thursday, say around noon."

"I will be here."

As I left, I waived at Hrabal. He waived back with that smile of his, and I blushed a little.

Walking back to work, I thought about Jiří. Sure, he was probably crazy. And maybe he was a little sadistic as well. But everyone has their problems. And while I understood why he was hated, and felt the hatred was mostly justified, there was something about him I really liked.

The report Matt wanted was deceivingly difficult, and it took me longer to complete than I had expected. I didn’t finish it until late Friday afternoon.

"I wasn’t sure you’d make it this time," Matt smiled when I handed him the report. "You came dangerously close to missing the deadline."

"Well, if there isn’t anything else," I said as he read through the report, "I’m going to take off."

"By all means. Remember, though, I’m expecting you here bright and early on Monday morning. . . . Enjoy the holidays!"

The address of the Ambassador’s house was Pellova 13. Looking at my map the following morning, I found it, only a few blocks from the Hradčanská Metro station.

I got there early, and took a walk around the neighborhood. It was pretty, and it wasn’t hard to imagine that it was once posh. A lot of embassies were in the area; the Chinese and Egyptian embassies were on the same street as the Ambassador.

From the outside, the Ambassador’s house didn’t look like much. It didn’t even seem particularly large.

I walked through the front gate, but it was still early, and I was the first guest to arrive. Just beyond the gate a table was set up, behind which stood a few people wearing American Chamber of Commerce name tags.

"Can I help you?" a young American girl asked.

"Yes, my name is Joe Smith. I don’t have a ticket, but my girlfriend invited me; her name is Mindy Forsyth. She’s the assistant commercial attaché."

"Okay," the girl replied after scanning through her list, "I see you. The cost is 250 crowns."

After paying her, I walked toward the garden, and quickly realized I had been mistaken about the house. From the inside, it was a mansion, the kind of house that would’ve cost five or ten million dollars in America, and only if it weren’t in a major metropolitan area. I walked toward the back side of the house, where two large looking-glass doors allowed a view of the immaculately-furnished living room.

The Ambassador clearly lived like a king. Perhaps better than many. As I walked away from the doors, I heard a sound, and I turned back to see the glass doors opening into the ground. A few servants walked out, and they smiled at the expression of astonishment on my face.

I returned to the garden, where servants were busy preparing food; a few others were setting up a volleyball net and a croquet set. To the right of the garden was the swimming pool and tennis courts. This was the life. I felt as if I had left Prague.

Half an hour later, Mindy arrived.

"Hi there" I smiled, kissing her by the front gate.

"Hi there, yourself. So, what do you think about this place? Not bad, eh?"

"Not bad at all. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a house like this -- not even in Westchester."

"Yeah, it’s probably one of the most beautiful houses in the country. I heard that some really rich Jewish guy built it in between the Wars. He fled the country when the Germans invaded, and then sold it to us after the War -- supposedly, for pennies on the dollar. Which is still a lot more than he would’ve gotten after everything was nationalized."

We walked to the picnic table to get some food, and then sat down on a nearby bench.

"Unfortunately," she said, "I won’t be able to spend a lot of time with you this afternoon. I have to work the crowd. You know, make sure all the corporate blue-bloods are happy. If you didn’t notice when you walked in, this event is sponsored by the AmCham, so a lot of businessmen will be here. Maybe later though, we can sneak out, and perhaps, play a little ‘hide the pepperoni’ back in my apartment."

"Sounds good to me," I smiled.

"Maybe we can even go somewhere this weekend, considering Monday is a holiday."

"I have to work on Monday. Matt said that since we’re Americans, it’s not a holiday for us."

"That bastard!" she smiled. "You know, one of the great things about working in the Foreign Service is that not only do we get all the American holidays off, but we also get the local holidays off as well."

"But you’re working today."

"Well, sort of."

"Hey, maybe we could go somewhere tomorrow? You know, I haven’t been out of Prague yet, besides Poland."

"That’s a great idea. You know where we could go? . . . Kolín."

"Kolín? What’s in Kolín?"

"Well, they’ve got these bears."

"Bears?"

"Yeah, bears. I saw this great Czech cartoon once about a family of bears from Kolín."

"Cartoon?"

"Trust me -- it’ll be great. Well, I’ve really got to get going. Have fun!"

She kissed me, before disappearing into a sea of people.

After finishing a plate of food, I went back to get some more. Standing at the end of the line was Matt.

"Hi," I said, tapping his shoulder. "How’s it going?"

"Joe, what are you doing here?" he replied, obviously surprised to see me.

"My girlfriend, Mindy Forsythe, works for the Embassy. Perhaps you know her. Anyway, she invited me."

He didn’t seem pleased.

"Is it a problem that I’m here?" I asked.

"I guess not. Just don’t do anything to embarrass us."

He turned around and pretended not to know me.

A little later, a group of Marines started selling beer in the corner of the garden. I was excited -- that is, until I saw they were charging more than a dollar a beer. I decided to abstain simply on principle. When I turned around, I saw Alex standing in front of me. He was wearing expensive sunglasses and had a big smile.

"Happy Fourth of July!" he said.

"Same to you," I smiled back. "Hey, are you sure you want to be seen with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Matt seems to think I’m not important enough to be here."

"Don’t worry about what that asshole thinks. You’re just as important as he is. After all, you’re an American, aren’t you? Come on, let’s take a little walk."

"This is a pretty incredible place," he said to me as we walked around the estate, "don’t you think?"

"That’s an understatement."

"If only the American taxpayer knew how senior Foreign Service personnel live, it would make those Congressional scandals seem trivial. You know, this isn’t unusual -- most ambassadors live like millionaires. The best houses, the best clothes, the best food. Not to mention all the extra perks. What’s even worse is that they think they’re somehow above the average American; which, of course, couldn’t be further from the truth."

"Is this whole place just for the Ambassador?"

"Not all of it. Some of these smaller houses are for other members of the Embassy staff. Unfortunately, no one in my section gets to live here."

A few minutes later, a short heavy-set man wearing a Madras shirt, Bermuda shorts, black socks, and black dress shoes, waddled up to us and said hello to Alex.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ambassador," Alex smiled as he shook the Ambassador’s hand. "How are we doing today?"

"Fine. We are doing just fine. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Just a beautiful day."

The Ambassador excused himself and we continued on.

"So that’s the Ambassador." I said.

"Yup, that’s him all right. . . . The fucking idiot."

"He’s an idiot?"

"Are you kidding? The guy is a complete moron. The only reason he got this job was because of all the asses in Washington he kissed over the years. Believe me, Joe, he’s had to wipe his nose clean of shit more times than you’ve had to wipe your ass. You know, it just amazes me that a buffoon like him could become an ambassador. As hard as it is for me to believe, I actually miss the days when Shirley Temple was the Ambassador here. At least she could sing and dance."

"But is he really that stupid?"

"Let’s put it this way: he couldn’t count to ten if he started from nine."

Just then, a tall bearded man ran past us in the direction of the Ambassador.

"That was the DCM who just flew by," Alex said.

"What’s a ‘DCM’?"

"Deputy Chief of Mission. He’s second in command at the Embassy."

"Is he stupid, too?"

"Not at all. In fact, he’s actually quite brilliant. However, what he lacks in stupidity he more than makes up for in arrogance. I mean, the guy acts as if his shit doesn’t stink. Let me tell you, Joe, I’ve shared a bathroom with him in the Embassy -- his shit stinks plenty. Anyway, I’ve seen many like him before. More often than not they end up in the back of a trunk with a bullet in the back of their head. Sooner or later they piss off the wrong person.

"You see, Joe, in many ways, working in the Foreign Service is a lot like working anywhere else. You have to work with a lot of assholes and idiots. And don’t ask me which of the two is worse. But the difference between the Foreign Service and the business world is that at least we’re always involved in something interesting."

When we came to the beer stand, Alex offered to buy me a beer.

"Well, I was actually planning on boycotting it because of the price."

"Oh, come on. It’s for a good cause. All the proceeds are going to the Marine Ball. You know, I was a Marine."

"Okay, I’ll have one."

Alex bought a couple of beers; and after he handed me one, he talked with the Marines for a few minutes.

"Great bunch of guys those Marines," Alex chuckled as we walked away. "You know, there used to be a saying: if you kill for money, you’re a mercenary; if you kill for fun, you’re a sadist; and if you kill for both, you’re a Marine. . . . Just a great bunch of guys."

We soon passed by Matt, who was talking to a large balding man in his mid-fifties.

"Look at that guy," Alex whispered, shaking his head. "Gabbing to the director of Proctor & Gamble like he’s someone important. You know, Matt really thinks he’s some kind of player here in Prague. But in truth, he’s nothing but a chump."

I laughed so hard that I spilled most of my beer.

"Easy there, sport -- you just lost your beer!"

"Excuse me," I said as, regaining my composure.

"It’s really amusing to watch him," Alex continued. "Doesn’t he realize there isn’t a respectable businessman in Prague who’d touch him? Unfortunately, it’s the unrespectable businessmen I’m worried about. Speaking of which, Mindy mentioned to me you saw Václav Hedvábný at the office."

I nodded.

"I already knew about their relationship. It’s all in Matt’s FBI file. Hedvábný convinced him to come out here, probably because knew he was too green to take full advantage of all the opportunities. We haven’t yet figured out how their two companies interrelate, but we will.

"I tell you, Joe, that Hedvábný has to be one of the most corrupt men in the Czech Republic. You should see some of the loan arrangements he has managed to finagle from the large banks, some of which he actually controls. Loans that he hasn’t neither the means nor the intention of paying back."

"So how come the Czech government isn’t going after him?"

"The Justice Ministry is aware of his activities, but he hasn’t done anything illegal yet. Also, Hedvábný is a big supporter of ODS; they’re the ruling party in the governing coalition. And as you could understand, they certainly don’t want to piss the guy off unless they have to. Tell me, do you know any of Matt’s other clients?"

"Well, there’s this lady -- if you could call her that -- her name is Helena Čubková."

"Yeah, I know about her, too. But she’s mostly interested in getting fucked. And while she’s also pretty corrupt, it’s mostly penny-ante shit."

"There was this other woman in the office the other day. A real nasty little bitch. I think her name was Tyson."

"Ruth Tyson?"

"Yeah, that’s it."

"Well, that’s one I didn’t know about. Now we’re talking some serious shit. You definitely got it right when you called her a bitch. She’s one mean old bitch, all right. She’s Clinton’s economic advisor for Central and Eastern Europe. She’s supposed to be helping companies in the region, especially high-tech companies, gain US-government-funded aid projects, mostly via USAID. Secretly, though, she owns most of these companies. So the profit gets siphoned off directly back to her."

"Why doesn’t someone do something about it?"

"No one cares. Especially with all the scandals in Washington. It wouldn’t even make the back page of The Washington Post."

"Well, what could be her connection with Matt?"

"I don’t know -- maybe he’s helping her purchase some companies. . . . Is there anything else you can tell me? Have you seen anything suspicious?"

"Possibly. I’m not sure if it’s important or not, but by chance, I happened to find what could be a secret door into Matt’s computer system. I was just playing around with the keyboard one day when all of a sudden a dialog box appeared, prompting me to enter a password. I talked to this guy Jan about it. He used to work there -- and he knows the system really well. And he told me he had never seen it before."

"That’s interesting. Maybe behind this door there’s additional information -- information Matt doesn’t want his employees to see. Of course, the problem will be finding a way through this door."

"Maybe Jan could help?"

"I don’t know. I really don’t want to get a local involved -- especially one I don’t know."

"Once, I met this guy named Nick, who told me he built Matt’s computer system. I think Mindy knows him pretty well. Maybe we could ask him about it?"

"That’s not such a good idea either. I know this Nick guy, too. I don’t trust him. However, I do know a really good computer expert. Maybe I’ll have him give you a call; he just might know some way of breaking into the system."

As we continued walking, Mindy came up from behind and grabbed us.

"So, how are my two men doing?" she asked.

"Wonderful," I replied. "Are you having a good time?"

"As good as can be expected."

"I see that all our favorite assholes are here today," Alex smiled.

"And then some."

"You know, Joe, you should really meet some of the characters here. Lots of very colorful people, let me tell you. For example, see that stumpy guy over there with the goatee? . . . He was actually the head of a major Hollywood film studio. Whatever you do, though, don’t ever mention Heaven’s Gate to him. . . . And that friendly little old man standing by the picnic table -- he’s actually a major Semtex smuggler. . . . Oh, and that tall blond guy standing over there -- he runs the Peace Corps program here. I was talking to him a little bit earlier today. He told me he can’t wait until his tour is over. He said that with his Peace Corps experience, he’ll be able to get an even higher-paying job than the one he had before he joined the Corps. It’s really great to see that Peace Corps volunteers haven’t lost any of their tireless idealism."

"The problem with you, Alex," Mindy smiled, "is that you’re a cynic."

"Me? Why, Mindy, you must have me confused with some other jaded Foreign Service officer. Anyway, I think you’ve done your duty for today. Why don’t you two take off. I’ll take care of things from here. Wow. Look at that fat German banker over there. Can you believe he’s actually wearing lederhosen?"

"Are you still interested in going to Kolín tomorrow?" she asked me after Alex left.

"I guess so."

"Great, we’ll leave first thing in the morning."

"I’ve really got to do some laundry tomorrow morning."

"Do you go to Laundry Kings?"

"Not anymore. I got really pissed off the last time I was there, so now I just do it in my bathtub."

"In your bathtub?"

"Yeah, in my bathtub. Everything comes out okay."

"I bet. I tell you what: why don’t you go home right now and bring your laundry over to my place. That’ll give me time to finish up here. And first thing tomorrow morning, you can use my washer and dryer."

When I arrived at Mindy’s apartment an hour later, I knocked on the door. She shouted that it was open. I walked inside and saw her lying naked on the couch, holding a large slab of pepperoni.

"Gee," I smiled, "when you said you wanted to play ‘hide the pepperoni,’ I didn’t think you meant literally."

We made love all evening, mostly to Smetana’s Má vlast. As Mindy had said, it really was good "fucking" music.

I did my laundry early the following morning before Mindy awoke; and a little after ten, we left for nádraží Holešovice to take the train to Kolín. I sat on a bench in the waiting area while she went to buy the tickets.

"Bad news," she said when she came back. "We just missed the rychlík."

"And that means?"

"That means we’ll have to take an osobák."

"Which means?"

"Which means it’ll take all morning to get there."

Twenty minutes later, we stepped onto the train and found an empty compartment. As the train left the station, I soon understood what Mindy had meant. The train was traveling slower than a bicycle.

"You know," Mindy said toward the end of the trip, as she laid her head on my shoulder, "I told this Czech woman yesterday at the party that we’d be going to Kolín today. She thought that we were going to Germany."

"Why is that?"

"There’s a Kolín there as well. Only we call it ‘Cologne.’ She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to go to this Kolín."

"And why are we going to this Kolín?"

"The bears, silly."

"That’s right -- the bears."

As we reached the outskirts of Kolín, Mindy smiled.

"Did you know there’s even a song about this city?" she asked.

"You don’t say."

"Yeah, my Czech teacher taught it to me. it’s called ‘Kolíne, Kolíne.’"

She started singing. Her voice was soft and angelic.

Kolíne, Kolíne: stojíš v pěkné rovině.
Šenkuje tam má milá, má panenka rozmilá.
Šenkuje tam ve vině.
I didn’t understand a word, but it was beautiful.

While she sang, an old man stopped by our open compartment door, and started smiling at her. And as she began the second verse, he joined her. And at the beginning of the third verse, another man from the opposite side of the car joined in as well. I giggled, until Mindy elbowed me in the chest.

At the end of the song, the man tipped his hat to us and continued toward the exit. The train had just pulled into the station.

Leaving the station, I could see why the Czech woman didn’t understand our desire to visit Kolín. Old, decrepit, and gray, Kolín was a dreary town. Mindy, though, was thrilled and excited, and she led me hand-in-hand throughout the city center. She was anxious to find those bears; but unfortunately, none could be found.

"They must be somewhere!" she smiled while we waited for lunch in an outdoor café off the main square.

"Maybe they’re on holiday," I chuckled. "Hey, why don’t you ask the waitress."

"That’s a great idea."

When the waitress brought us our food, two plates of lukewarm fried cheese, Mindy turned to her and sincerely asked where the bears were.

"Prosím vás, nevíte náhodou kde jsou ty medvědy?"

"Medvědy?" the waitress replied, as if she had misunderstood the question.

"Ano, medvědy. Určitě znáte; ty medvědy z večerníčku."

The waitress politely smiled and nodded at Mindy, slowly inching backward, as if in the presence of a madwoman; and once at a safe distance, she turned rushed inside the restaurant.

"I guess she doesn’t know either," I said.

"I guess not."

Soon, we heard a chorus of laughter coming from inside the restaurant.

After lunch, we continued through Kolín in search of the bears, but all we found were Gypsy children begging for money. Lots of them.

"I hope you’re not too disappointed," I said to her as we waited for the train back to Prague.

"I guess I’ll get over it," she smiled. "I got over Santa Claus, I’ll get over this."

She leaned up against me and put her head on my shoulder. I kissed her forehead and smiled.

"I love you," I whispered in her ear.

15

2006-06-06T18:33:00.000-07:00

15

The Warmth of the Tundra

The train from Poland arrived in Prague at six in the morning. Matt, who was still mad about getting mugged, told me to be in the office at 9:00 A.M.

"Today’s no holiday," he said as we left the station.

Apart from taking a much needed shower, there was no purpose in going home, especially as I was carrying the stacks of information Matt had given me the day before. I went directly to the office, dropped off my bag and all the paperwork, and went to New York Pizza for their breakfast special, which was surprisingly edible. More importantly, it was one of the few places in Prague offering a bottomless cup of coffee.

After five or six cups of strong black coffee, I grudgingly went back to the office. It was just before nine. Dana smiled at me as I walked in.

"Oh, you are here," she said. "Matt was wondering if you would be here on time. He said that I should make sure to let him know when you came."

I crept to my office, and as soon as I sat down, the telephone rang.

"Did you miss me?" Mindy asked.

"What do you think? When did you get back?"

"Saturday morning. I tried to call you yesterday, but the secretary told me you were out of town."

"Yeah. Matt and I were in Poland yesterday."

"Poland? How was it?"

"It was bullshit -- that’s how it was. I’ll tell you about it later. How was your trip?"

"It was very nice. I wish I had had time to visit my parents, but still, it was nice. I thought about you a lot, though."

"Yeah? And what kind of thoughts did you have?"

"Oh, very naughty ones, I’m afraid. The kind of thoughts you can’t discuss over the phone."

"Well, I think we should get together real soon so we can carefully discuss these ‘thoughts’ in person."

"How about tomorrow night?"

"Okay. What about seven?"

"That sounds great. I’ll probably be working fairly late myself; I have a lot of things to catch up on. So, why don’t I meet you at your office. . . . And, Joe, make sure you get lots of sleep tonight."

Andrea, who had walked into the office in the middle of the conversation, smiled at me as I hung up the telephone.

"Was that your girlfriend?" she asked.

"Yes."

"What is her name?"

"Mindy."

"Mindy? Oh, that is such a pretty name. Do you think that I will meet her soon?"

"I doubt it," I replied, praying Andrea wouldn’t be in the office the following evening at seven. "Well, I’ve got to use the scanner; I’ll see you in a few minutes."

I grabbed some of the documents relating to the Polish company and walked to Dana’s desk.

"You really look tired," Dana said to me as I started feeding paper into the scanner.

"That’s what happens when you don’t sleep."

"So, was that your girlfriend on the phone?"

"Yes," I smiled.

"She called for you yesterday. You know, she sounds really nice. And her Czech is very good. She has an accent, of course, but otherwise, she is very good."

"Dana, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"No."

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

"Well," she said, her eyes unconsciously wandering toward Matt’s door, "yes, but I do not think he is very serious."

Just then the doorbell rang, and Dana quickly pressed the button to release the lock.

"Dobrý den," a tall, well-built man with a deep voice said as he swaggered inside.

"Dobrý den, pane Hedvábný," Dana nervously smiled. "Pan Andrews vás čeká."

As the man approached Matt’s office, he suspiciously glared at me. He knocked on Matt’s door, and without waiting for a reply, he let himself in.

"Čest práci, soudruhu!" Matt cried out.

"Very funny, Comrade," the man replied, as he closed the door behind himself. "Can we get down to business now?"

"Who is that guy?" I asked.

"You do not know who that is? That is Václav Hedvábný."

"Oh, I think Jan mentioned him once. He manages some kind of investment fund, right?"

"Yes. It is called Yale Investments; they are probably the best investment fund in the country. Even I put my shares from the Privatization in it. And I am very happy with it."

She slowly shook her head, starry-eyed.

"He is so beautiful," she continued. "I would do anything for a man like that. Unfortunately, he only likes models. Like this děvka."

She handed me a copy of Blesk, a popular Czech tabloid. Hedvábný was on the cover, with a beautiful blonde draped over him.

When Hedvábný came out of the office ten minutes later, I was still feeding pages into the scanner. Again, he glared at me suspiciously; and as he was leaving the office, he turned back once more to look at me.

"That guy’s really strange," I said after he left.

"Maybe, but he is really good looking."

Andrea, thankfully, left the office at 6:30 the following evening. The entire office was empty by the time Mindy rang the doorbell a little after seven. Instead of buzzing her in, I opened the door myself.

"Ahoj!" she smiled as she gave me a kiss.

"Ahoj! Just let me lock up and then we can go."

"What, you’re not going to show me around?"

"There really isn’t much to see. But if you insist . . ."

I led her through the reception area and into my office.

"It’s very nice," she said.

"It’s a dump."

"No, it’s not. Believe me, I’ve seen plenty worse. The furniture’s pretty ugly, that’s for sure, but it’s a nice office. And this is a beautiful building. It must be six hundred years old."

"You could be right. Anyway, if the tour’s over, where would you like to go tonight?"

"Well, I was thinking about cooking something at my apartment. Something simple. But, if you prefer, we could go to a restaurant."

"No, your place sounds great. Just as long as you don’t make any sauerkraut."

It was a beautiful evening, so we walked to her place, stopping on the way for a bottle of white wine.

"Why don’t you make yourself at home," she said as we walked inside her apartment.

I sat down on her couch and she went into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

"I’m just going to heat up some fish fillets. I hope that’ll be okay."

"That’ll be fine," I replied, sifting through the magazines on her coffee table, most of which were in Czech. There was also a book, Osudy dobrého vojáka Švejka. "What’s this book you’re reading?"

"Švejk?"

"I guess."

"Oh, it’s a real classic here. It’s about this dumb fat guy who sort of passively resists during the first World War, in his own picaresque way. He’s kind of the Czech anti-hero. I’ll tell you -- it’s fucking hilarious. Unfortunately, the English translation cuts all the fun out of it."

A few moments later, she walked into the living room and smiled.

"It’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes. Why don’t you open the wine. There’s a bottle opener over there on the table.

After a quick glass of wine, dinner was ready.

"How is it?" she asked as I took a bite.

"Good," I replied. "I guess there’s not too many adjectives to describe fish fillets, good or bad."

"I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook. Fortunately, I have other talents."

"Really, it’s not bad at all. In fact, it’s even better than hot dogs."

"You know, you really should be careful about those hot dogs. God only knows what they’re made from. I mean, there’s not the same kind of regulation of meat processing here as there is in America -- and you know what kind of garbage is in those hot dogs back home. You could get yourself really sick."

"Oh, come on. How could something that tastes so good be bad for you?"

"Okay. But just don’t come running to me when it kicks back on you."

"Changing the subject a little, I guess you know I had a talk with Alex."

"Yes, I know. And I just want to say that I had no idea why Alex was helping Matt look for an employee. I thought he was just helping out a friend. I hope you don’t think I was using you."

"Well, to be honest, that was the first thought that crossed my mind."

"I swear I didn’t know anything about it until just before I left for America. I asked Alex about Matt just like I told you I would, and he told me the whole story. I was really pissed off. You were not the only person who felt used. You do believe me, don’t you?"

"Yes, I believe you."

"Good."

"Did Alex tell you that he wants me to watch Matt?"

"Yes. What do you think about it? I’d certainly understand if you didn’t want to do it."

"I don’t know. I don’t even know if Matt is up to anything. But there are a few things that make me suspicious."

"Like what?"

"Like, an unusual log-on screen I found last week while I was playing around with the keyboard. And then yesterday. There was this guy at the office. I think his name is Hedvábný. Anyway, he was acting really strange -- like a little boy trying to cover up something he was knowingly doing wrong."

"Václav Hedvábný?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

"I know of him. Everybody here does. He’s like the Czech equivalent of Donald Trump."

"So I’ve heard."

"Yeah, and from what I’ve read, he has a real colorful story. He grew up somewhere in Northern Bohemia, where his father was a local Communist leader. As his family was very privileged, he was able to get the best of everything -- including the ability to study abroad. He went to Yale; I think in the mid-eighties.

"After he graduated, he stayed in the U.S. I believe he worked for Drexel Burnham. Supposedly, they were one of the really big firms on Wall Street at the time. By 1989, when the Velvet Revolution happened, he was already a pretty big trader. I don’t remember where he was working at the time, but I’m sure he was making a ton of money.

"Anyway, after the Revolution, he knew there would be lots of opportunities back here for a guy like himself. I mean, how many Czechs knew even the slightest thing about finance? Almost none. At first, he landed some really lucrative government consulting contracts, and he also made a few very sharp real estate investments here and there. Let me tell you, you should have seen the prices they were asking for buildings on Wenceslas Square a few years back. They were practically giving them away to people with the right contacts.

"I think Hedvábný was probably the first truly wealthy Czech. I mean, besides all those tennis and hockey players. He’s like a movie star here; he drives expensive German cars, wears only the best custom-made Italian suits, and owns perhaps the most outlandish villa in Prague. It’s in Prague 6, not too far from where the American ambassador lives.

"1992, though, was when he really hit it big. You see, this is when the Privatization Plan was initiated by the government. Every Czechoslovak citizen was sold voucher coupons at a very nominal price. These coupons, in turn, were then used to purchase stock in state companies. Of course, no one knew anything about investing. That’s when the investment funds came in. They made offers of tremendous return in exchange for the coupons.

"As you would expect, most of these funds were created and managed by the major banks; but a few private funds were also formed. Hedvábný started the most prominent of these funds, Yale Investments, named after his alma mater. They promised investors, can you believe it, a 20,000 percent return on their investment. Who could turn down an offer like that? Within the first year, with an expensive advertising and marketing plan, Yale Investments was the largest fund in the country. In fact, today they control a significant number of large Czech companies."

"What do you think he’s doing with Matt?"

"I don’t know. Maybe Alex knows."

After dinner, while I returned to the couch, Mindy cleared the table and went into the kitchen to wash the dishes.

"Hey, would you like to listen to some music?" she asked.

"Sure."

"The stereo is on your left by the fireplace. Why don’t you put a CD on?"

By the fireplace, there was a small portable stereo and a stack of CDs.

"Patsy Cline?" I sarcastically remarked, looking at a collection of her greatest hits. "You’ve got to be kidding. Did Alex give you this?"

"No, I bought it myself. You know, I kind of like it. Alex played it so much at the office that it started to grow on me."

"You mean, like bacteria?"

"Very funny. Why don’t you put some Smetana on."

"Who?"

"Smetana. He’s kind of like a Czech version of Beethoven. It’s really great fucking music."

"Do you mean that it’s really good music, or that it’s . . ."

She peeked her head out from the kitchen and smiled.

"What do you think I meant? . . . Look, why don’t you just put on the Landa CD. You liked the music at the club, didn’t you?"

"Yeah, he wasn’t bad at all."

I looked through the CDs and found Chciply dobrý vily, putting it on just as she walked into the living room. She poured herself another glass of wine and sat down next to me on the couch.

"You know," she smiled, "it seems like we always talk about me. I really don’t know much about you at all."

"What would you like to know?"

"For example, where did you grow up? What are your parents like? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Well, I was born in Manhattan, and I’m an only child. From a typical Catholic family, I guess you’d say. Supposedly, I’m even remotely related to Al Smith."

"The Al Smith?"

"That’s right -- the Al Smith, the man who should’ve been president. But then again, probably every Catholic in America named Smith claims to be related to the man. Anyway, my father was a manager at some insurance company. Unfortunately, I never got to know either of my parents really well. They died in a car crash when I was just four. And after they died, I went to live with my Uncle Jim in Ilium, New York. Have you ever heard of Ilium, New York?"

"I can’t say that I have."

"Well, it’s only real claim to fame is that Billy Pilgrim is from there."

"Who’s Billy Pilgrim?"

"He’s the guy from Slaughterhouse Five. Can you believe it -- our city’s one claim to fame is a fictional character?"

"So, what was it like living with your uncle?"

"Not too enjoyable. Old Jim was a loner who never married, and he wasn’t exactly the most affectionate person. And I always felt I was a burden to him; which, of course, I was. He treated me okay, though. I mean, he put a roof over my head and fed me, and he never complained.

"But I can’t tell you how happy I was to get out of Ilium. Probably the same way you were happy to Kansas. I went to NYU, which meant returning to Manhattan, where I always thought I belonged.

"NYU was great, but of course, it was expensive. Jim helped me as much as he could, but I had to take out a lot of loans, which I’m still paying off. In fact, I paid a year off ahead of time just before I moved here."

"So, what happened to Jim?"

"Oh, he died a few years back. I remember the funeral. I was the only one there, other than the priest and the few old women who go to every funeral."

"What about girlfriends?"

"Uncle Jim?"

"No -- you."

"Oh, I’ve had a few. The last was pretty typical. Kathy. A real pretty girl . . . and frigid like a tundra. We saw each other somewhat exclusively for the last few years, but there was never really anything there. It was just comfortable. I remember when I told her I was moving to Prague. She just said that I was crazy. No ‘please don’t go’ or ‘I love you.’ Just ‘You’re crazy.’

"You know, I really envied some of the guys I worked with in New York. I mean, they weren’t any better looking than me, they weren’t making any more money than I was, and they certainly didn’t have great personalities either. But for some reason, women would always throw themselves at them with such passion. Passion I can’t even imagine. And these guys, in turn they would treat these women like shit. And the more badly they treated them, the more passion these women seemed to feel."

"Well, some women are kooky."

"Some?"

"Okay, all. But you guys aren’t any better."

"Maybe. But I just wish I could understand you better."

"Perhaps that’s your problem. Maybe you shouldn’t try to understand us. We don’t even understand ourselves."

"Then, what should I do with you?"

"Love us," she whispered, softly caressing my cheek with the back of her hand. "Just love us."

We kissed, lovingly at first, but then aggressively.

"How’s this for passion?" she cooed.

I answered her by unbuttoning her blouse. She grabbed my hand.

"The bedroom," she whined. "The bedroom."

She stood up, grabbing my hand; and then quietly led me into the bedroom. In front of her bed she stopped, and I ripped her blouse off; and with it, a few buttons. She answered by ripping my shirt off. And all my buttons came off.

After some awkward pawing, we lay on her bed naked -- each waiting for the other to initiate contact. Finally, she rolled on top of me, and with one stroke, my erection was pressed up against her backside. I don’t know if I pushed myself inside her or if she simply swallowed me, but we soon became a mass of flesh, twisting incoherently, pounding into each other to the rhythm and beat of Landa’s "Zapalte hranice."

Such lovemaking should’ve lasted only minutes, but it went on for hours. When we both brutally climaxed together, she threw her head back and howled; I grabbed her, thrusting her chest into mine. I felt her heart pound, her moist flesh quiver.

When we finally calmed down, she gently chewed on my earlobe, before softly whispering into my ear.

"Not exactly a tundra, eh?"

14

2006-06-06T18:04:00.000-07:00

14

Polish Holiday

Another week with nothing to do.

Either I would work 12-16 hours per day, or I would just stare at my monitor for 40 hours. I got so bored that I went to The Globe and bought a Polish phrase book for my trip to Poland.

Sunday evening at eight, I left for the Main Train Station to meet Matt; and once there, I walked through the immense lobby toward the center, to wait for Matt by a bank of television monitors.

Prague’s Main Train Station was like most other train stations, in that the lowest elements of society congregated there. They congregated there, looking almost as if they anticipated going somewhere. Anywhere.

The large complex and the small surrounding park (what Jan had called "Sherwood Forest"), was home to dozens of Gypsies, who aimlessly roamed about it in packs. They were juxtaposed by the drunks and other destitutes, who, being more individualistic, mostly roamed alone, or with one or two others at the most. And all of them were engaged in an eternal cat-and-mouse game with the police, who knew they were fighting a quixotic battle, chasing windmills in a hurricane.

I was a half-hour early, so I decided to walk around. It probably wasn’t a particularly smart idea, but it was worse than being a standing target in the middle of the lobby.

As I approached one of the side staircases, I saw a sign for a sex shop. It pointed toward the second floor. I looked at my watch. I still had twenty minutes to kill.

Inside the "shop" was a bar, and behind it a man was selling pornographic magazines and various sexual paraphernalia. At the end of the bar, there was an adjoining room, closed off by a red curtain, and loud grunting sounds emanated from within it. I walked toward the entrance and peeked behind the velvet curtain, where a half-dozen middle-aged men were attentively watching a German pornographic video.

"Ja, Ja!" the woman on the screen howled. "Zehr gut!"

It was a pitiful site: a handful of men, inside a small room engulfed by the stench of alcohol and semen, immodestly masturbating to the beat of the soundtrack.

"Dvacet korun," the man from behind the bar said to me, grabbing my shoulder from behind.

"What?" I asked, somewhat startled.

"Twenty crowns," he repeated in English.

I politely smiled, and quickly left.

When I came back down to the main lobby, I saw Matt waiting for me by the television sets. He repeatedly looked at his watch every few seconds.

"Oh, there you are," he smiled when he saw me approach. "I was wondering when you’d get here. I was really starting to worry. I thought you might’ve had some trouble finding the place."

"Not at all. This is where I arrived in Prague."

The train was not leaving for another fifteen minutes, but we rushed to the platform.

"This train will arrive at Katowice at about 4:00 A.M.," he said to me as we climbed the stairs to the platform. "From there, we’ll go to an apartment of an associate of mine. We can relax there a bit, as well as shower and change. At eight, we’ll take the local train to Krakow. Our meetings are in a factory just outside the city."

In the front of the train, he handed me an envelop.

"So," he said, "here is your ticket and seat reservation."

"You mean we’re not sitting together?"

"No. You’ll be in one of the second-class compartments, while I’ll be staying in the first-class sleeper car."

I gave him a quizzical look.

"What?" he smiled, sensing I was perturbed. "You’re a young guy. You don’t need to be in first-class. Besides, no real bohemian like yourself stays in first-class, or sleeps in a sleeper car. . . . See you in Katowice."

I watched him as he walked away, a balding little man waddling toward the front of the train, barely able to carry his small travel bag.

I boarded the train and entered my compartment, where two grubby-looking Czechs were sitting across from each other, sharing a large plastic container of rancid head cheese. I put my bag on the seat rack and sat down next to the window, as far away from them as possible.

Wiping the sweat from my head, I imagined the temperature being more than 100 degrees. I opened the window, but it quickly closed by itself as soon as I released the handle; and it refused to stay open regardless of what I tried. The two Czechs heartily laughed at my futile attempts.

Within the first hour of the journey, both passports and tickets were checked, and I figured I’d probably have a few hours of sleep before the Polish authorities came aboard. My new Czech friends must’ve had the same thought. They took a couple of pillows from their bags and tried to make themselves comfortable.

One of the men soon developed a bad case of flatulence, probably due to the head cheese he was still eating; and was rather immodest about it.

I curled up in the corner by the window; and ten or fifteen minutes later, I started to doze off. Then, almost in unison, the two men began loudly snoring. I sat up and looked out the window in despair.

Early in the morning, we reached the Polish border, and the border guards came aboard. For some reason, they had to check everyone’s passport three separate times.

By the time the train arrived in Katowice at a quarter to four, I had slept no more than a few hours. I drowsily stepped off the train, and waited on the platform for Matt. And not only was I tired, but my back was in excruciating pain. Moments later, I saw Matt slowly approaching. The bastard looked as if he had spent a night in a first-class hotel.

"How was your trip?" he smiled at me.

"Okay," I lied. "And yours?"

"Fantastic," he yawned as he stretched his arms.

After leaving the station, we jumped into one of the waiting taxis, and Matt told him where to go.

"You speak Polish?" I asked.

"Only a little. I was speaking to him just now in Czech. The languages, actually, are not all that different; although if you were to listen to a Czech or a Pole, you’d think they were as different as Swahili is to Latin. The biggest difference, if you ask me, is the accent."

In front of the apartment building, Matt pulled out a large wad of Polish money from his pants pocket.

"I know someone on the black-market in Prague who gave me a really good deal on zlotys," he said to me as he paid the taxi driver what seemed to be an exorbitant sum of money.

"Inflation here is unbelievable," he continued as he kept paying the man. "You know, at one time the zloty was roughly equal to the crown, but now it’s 700 to the crown. Supposedly, they’re going to change the money very soon. It won’t be soon enough for me."

After Matt finished paying, the taxi driver recounted the money, and then resolutely shook his head. It took two more rounds of paying before they finally agreed Matt had paid enough -- or at least, close enough.

As the cab left, Matt showed me his wad of cash.

"This isn’t even 100 dollars," he smiled, stuffing it back into his pants.

We entered the building and walked upstairs to an apartment on the fourth floor. The apartment itself was beautiful, especially in comparison with the building.

"There’s two bedrooms," Matt said, pointing to the back of the apartment. "Why don’t you get a few hours of sleep -- you really look horrible. I’ll wake you up when it’s time."

I quickly walked into the first bedroom and collapsed on the bed, without even taking my clothes off. I fell asleep immediately.

An hour later, though, I was rudely awoken.

"Let’s go, go, go!" Matt shouted from the bedroom door. "The shower is down the hall."

I somehow felt even worse than I had before I fell asleep, and it took me a full minute just to get out of bed. After quickly showering and dressing, I met Matt in the living room.

"Well, don’t you look nice," he quipped. "We’re coming back here tonight before we go back to Prague, so you can leave your stuff here if you’d like."

At the train station, Matt bought two tickets to Krakow and three cups of bad coffee. Two of them were for him, and he drank both in one gulp, even though they were piping hot. As we were early, we had to wait half an hour -- it was time I could’ve better spent sleeping.

There was no first-class compartment on the local train to Krakow, so Matt and I sat together.

"You know," he said to me as the train pulled away, "Krakow is pretty close, but this train moves so slow that it’ll take an hour to get there. Still, it’s better than driving here from Prague."

For most of the hour, I gazed out the window at the picturesque Polish countryside, while Matt pretended to read a Polish newspaper.

"We once had a client interested in buying land not too far from here," he said to me when he noticed I was staring.

"Really?"

"Yeah. He was some rich oil man from Texas, but he had long been out of the oil business and had been diversifying into many different types of activities. He thought this area would be a perfect location for a theme park; it’s close to both Germany and what was then Czechoslovakia -- not to mention southern Poland. That may all be true, I told him, but the highways are awful, and of course, you can’t open a theme park so close to Aushweitz. ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘Do they already have one?’"

"Are we really that close to Aushweitz?"

"No more than a hundred miles or so."

We arrived in Krakow at about nine; and from the station, we took a taxi to a large factory outside the city limits called Prezerwatywa S.A. In my Polish phrase book, I read that a "w" in Polish is like a "v" in English, so I assumed they manufactured food preservatives. After we signed in at the reception area, we walked up to the second floor, where the director’s secretariat was located. Once inside, the heavy, middle-aged secretary called the director on the intercom. His office was located in an adjoining room.

"Dzień dobry!" Matt cried out when the director, a large man in his mid-fifties, came out to greet us.

"Good day to you, my friend," the man smiled as he walked up to Matt and shook his hand. "How are you?"

"Very good as usual. Please, let me introduce you to our new senior analyst, Joe Smith."

"Very nice to meet you," he said, shaking my hand. "My name is Jerzy."

"Nice to meet you, too."

"Joe, why don’t you wait out here," Matt said as the two of them walked into Jerzy’s office. "I’ll be in meetings all morning. And you won’t understand a thing, so you might as well just wait out here."

Great, I thought as I sat down and politely smiled at the secretary. I came all the way to Poland to sit on a bench.

At around noon, Matt came back into the secretariat and smiled.

"So, are you ready for some lunch?" he asked me.

"Yes. I’m starving."

"Well, here’s some money. The secretary will show you to the cafeteria downstairs. And don’t forget to get a receipt. Right now, I’m going to have lunch with some of the executives, and then we’ll be in meetings all afternoon. So, I’ll meet you here at around six. Then, I’ll take you out for a nice dinner in Krakow. How does that sound?"

I grudgingly nodded my head and took the money.

As the secretary and I walked downstairs together, she smiled at me.

"Sorry," she said, "very little English."

"That’s okay," I smiled back. "No Polish."

We walked into a large cafeteria, one that fed the 1,000 employees who worked three shifts at the plant. It was almost empty. We walked up to the counter in the back of the room, where a man gave me a kielbasa smothered in sauerkraut. If sauerkraut was any indication, Czechs and Poles were quite alike. Almost every meal in Prague came with sauerkraut, lots of it; and here it was again. I paid the man five thousand zloty, and then the secretary and I each grabbed a glass of milk. We took a seat across from each other at a table a few feet away.

"It is good, yes?" she said as I took a bite of the cold, greasy sausage, quickly washing it down with the lukewarm powdered milk.

I nodded my head and smiled, trying my best to swallow. This required my full concentration.

After we finished, she picked up the trays and told me to wait. She dropped them off by the dishwasher and went back to the food counter, where she gave the man some money. In return, he passed her a small bottle.

"Dessert!" she smiled when she came back to the table with the bottle of vodka and two empty glasses.

For the next few hours, we sat and drank while she told me her life story in broken English. Her most fascinating tale was how she came in second place in the factory’s beauty contest back in 1974.

"I was so pretty," she broadly smiled, when I noticed she was missing one tooth on her front molar, and at least two on her bottom one. "But that Ewa won. . . . She sleep with the director, you know."

I politely smiled while forcing the violently strong vodka down my throat. By the time the bottle was finished, we were both drunk.

"I get another?" she asked as she stood up.

"No," I slurred, grabbing her arm. "You don’t get another."

She shrugged her shoulders and stared at me.

"So, you know what we make here?" she finally asked.

"Preservatives?"

"Yes!" she smiled. "Would you like to see one?"

"What’s to see?"

She went back to the food counter and the man handed her something. When she came back, she opened a small package of condoms. I looked at her blankly.

"Here!" she said.

"Here what?"

"Here -- this our prezerwatywa. This what we make here."

The Polish etymology of the word, I realized, is slightly different than our own.

"So," she smiled, "you like to try it?" She nodded toward a door in the corner of the cafeteria.

"No, thank you," I politely smiled.

She shrugged her shoulders and we returned to the secretariat, where I quickly passed out on one of the hard wooden chairs. When Matt finally came to pick me up at 6:30, I was alone in the dark.

"What are you doing sleeping here in the dark?" he asked.

"Oh, the secretary left for the day, so I decided to catch some sleep. I’m really tired."

Fortunately, he didn’t come too close to me, and my breath.

Matt had a large stack of papers and books in his arms, and he quickly set them down on the desk, before asking me to carry them. Finally I understood what my purpose was on this trip: to be his valet.

We found a taxi across the street from the factory and drove into Krakow, where we ate at a little restaurant on the main square.

"How are you enjoying your trip to Poland?" he asked me after we ordered.

"I guess it’s okay," I answered. I had a pounding headache.

"Our client wants us to do a thorough study on this company we visited today. So, I want you to do some analysis on that stack of information I just gave you. You can start on the way back. You know what kind of stuff I want to see: profitability, cash flow, asset quality. We can discuss the format of the report when we get back to Prague.

After dinner, Matt asked me if I would like to try some of the local vodka. I quickly shook my head.

"Are you sure? They really make some great vodka here."

"That’s okay," I replied, feeling quite nauseous. "No vodka."

"It’s your loss. Hey, before I forget, could I get your lunch receipt?"

"I’m sorry," I replied as I handed him the change from lunch, "I forgot. But it was only five thousand zloty."

"Well, I guess I’ll let it slip this time. But in the future, if you don’t have receipts, it’ll come out of your own pocket."

After leaving the restaurant, we walked to the train station. But we must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere. By the time we finally found the station, we only had a few minutes to catch the train. We rushed around looking for the right train; and when we found it, we saw that it was pulling away. We ran alongside it, and Matt shouted to the conductor to confirm it was the correct train. The conductor nodded, and we jumped on just as it was picking up speed.

We were both out of breath and sweating profusely as we found two open seats together.

"It’s a good thing we caught this train," he said after catching his breath. "If we had missed it, we would’ve had to stay in Poland for the night."

A cool breeze soon filled the train, and I felt good for the first time since leaving Prague.

"Trips like this, unfortunately, will be rare in the future," he said. "Now that the Stock Exchange is getting into full swing, we’ll really have to concentrate on it.

"You know, there’s a lot of really good opportunities in the Exchange. As you’ve probably heard or read, right now, prices are falling, as the fundamental data doesn’t support the prices being asked. The P/Es are just ridiculous. It’ll stabilize, though; and that’s when things will really start hopping."

As he stretched out, Matt pulled some Czech book from his bag and began reading.

"You know," I said, "I’m thinking about taking some Czech lessons myself."

"Well, that’s your choice," he replied, his eyes remaining focused on his book. "I mean, it’s your money -- you can do with it what you’d like. But don’t kid yourself -- you’ll never learn Czech. And you know, if you can afford to throw money away like that, I must be paying you too much."

I couldn’t understand why he was so perturbed. He seemed almost insulted.

"I know Czech is a difficult language," I said. "And I know I’ll never learn to speak it as well as you do. But I really want to try."

"Hey, it’s your money; it’s your time. End of discussion."

After arriving in Katowice, we went back to the apartment to pick up our things and change, before hurrying back to the train station, where we had to wait an hour for the arrival of the train to Prague.

"It’s a good thing I have a sleeper," Matt boasted as we walked toward the platform. "I’m really exhausted. . . . You probably can’t wait to sleep, too. I bet those seats in second-class are pretty comfortable, eh? I bet you can even lie down on them. Oh, I forgot -- you already slept this afternoon at the factory."

I really wanted to tell Matt to go fuck himself, but I didn’t. I just wished him a goodnight and climbed onto the train.

For the trip back, I didn’t have a seat reservation, as Matt told me it wasn’t necessary. I tried to find an empty compartment, but the best I could find was one with a single person inside, a homely-looking Polish woman in her late thirties. She didn’t even seem to notice when I entered and sat down by the window across from her.

After the train left, various border guards and conductors entered the compartment to check passports and tickets. One quite large Polish conductor, after looking through my documents, asked me something in Polish. When I didn’t reply, he asked again, only louder.

"He wants to see your seat reservation," the woman said.

"But my boss told me I didn’t need one."

"Well, sometimes you need one and sometimes you do not. It all depends on if the conductors are thirsty or not."

"Thirsty?"

"Yes. If you do not have a seat reservation, you will have to pay him something as a penalty, which he will use to buy a beer."

"How much will this "beer" cost me?"

She asked the conductor and then turned back to me.

"50,000 zloty."

"But I don’t have any Polish money."

"What do you have?"

"Only Czech money."

"Oh, that is even better. Czech beer is better than Polish beer."

I gave the conductor a one hundred crown note. He smiled and tipped his cap to me before leaving.

At the Czech border, Czech conductors replaced the Polish ones; and as soon as we passed through to the Czech side, a couple of passengers started carrying brown packages from inside their compartment to the front of the car. They went back and forth at least ten times.

"What are they doing?" I asked the woman.

"Smuggling. Probably cigarettes from Lithuania."

The train personnel must’ve been in on it, because a few minutes after the men had finished carrying everything to the front of the car, the train stopped somewhere in the middle of the forest; and the two men quickly jumped off with their goods.

I was tired, so I lay down across the seat and I tried to get some sleep. At dawn, which was only a few hours later, I heard screaming in the corridor. I walked out and saw Matt chasing one of the conductors.

"Hey, my wallet was stolen!" Matt screamed at the man. "Don’t walk away from me!"

"Promiňte, pane," the conductor replied, "ale já vám nerozumím ani slovo!"

"Bullshit, you don’t understand!" Matt cried. "You fucking rozumíš me perfectly!"

The conductor shook his head and continued walking toward the next car.

"What happened?" I asked Matt.

"My fucking wallet was stolen -- that’s what fucking happened! It was three Gypsies. I didn’t get a good look at them, but they were Gypsies all right. They came into my compartment and cut the back pocket of my jeans off. See? . . . By the time I woke up, it was too late. . . . And this motherfucking conductor won’t do a goddamn thing about it. He’s probably getting a cut."

"Well, we were both ripped off tonight. Some fat polack made me pay him 100 crowns because I didn’t have a seat reservation. I thought you told me I didn’t need one."

"Listen, Joe, I don’t think you can compare what happened to me with you having to pay some polack a few crowns. Goodnight!"

I went back to my compartment, and couldn’t help but giggle. That motherfucker got what he deserved. Maybe there was a God.

13

2006-06-06T17:39:00.000-07:00

13

Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

I had Friday off from work, and I slept late. Waking up a little after eleven, I went into the city; and once in the center, I bought a copy of The Prague Post and stopped in a nearby pub to have lunch and a beer.

I read in the newspaper an article about a new English-language bookstore, The Globe, which had just opened in Prague 7. Part curious, part bored, I took a twenty-minute tram ride to see it myself.

The Globe was part bookstore and part café. The bookstore half was fairly small, and didn’t have much of a selection; but still probably had the largest collection of English-language books outside of the City Library.

Looking in a section containing translations of famous Czech writers, I found a few books by Hrabal. As Jiří had said he was a great writer, I was curious; even if his works were untranslatable. I bought a copy of I Served the King of England, and walked into the café.

Although it was an early Friday afternoon, the café was packed with young Americans. It seemed as if every guy were dressed in black and sporting a goatee, and every woman, overweight and dressed like Momma Cass.

I was still hungry, so I ordered a sandwich.

While eating, I noticed a bottle of absinthe by the bar. Absinthe was supposedly a favorite of French artists, but I had never even seen it sold. After finishing my sandwich, I ordered a large glass and began reading my book.

I spent the entire afternoon and a good part of the evening at The Globe, reading Hrabal and drinking absinthe. I couldn’t stop either. Jiří was wrong about Hrabal. Even in translation, his writing was something special. It had a lyrical quality that transcended language; and many of the eccentric characters were unforgettable. And the story was both moving and powerful. During the course of reading this little book, I experienced every emotion I knew, and a few I couldn’t even describe.

Before I left, I bought their three remaining books by Hrabal: Closely Watched Trains, Dancing Lessons for the Advanced in Age, and Too Loud a Solitude; and I stayed up past three in the morning reading them. I was in love.

I had fallen in love four times in three weeks: with Mindy, with utopence, with Becherovka, and now with Hrabal. I hadn’t fallen in love that many times in my first 1,300 weeks combined. Maybe it was the water.

I went to Jan’s apartment late Sunday afternoon. I followed his directions, getting off the bus where he had told me, but there was no supermarket and no telephone booth. I waited for the next bus; and at the following stop, I found both landmarks.

"Prosím," Jan answered the phone.

"Is that you, Jan?"

"Yes. Are you at the supermarket?"

"Yeah."

"Great, I’ll be there in five minutes."

A few minutes later, I saw him quickly crossing the street toward me.

"Did you have any trouble getting here?" he asked.

"A little. I think this is actually the fifth stop from Kačerov."

"That could be. I have trouble remembering whether it’s four or five."

I was glad we met at the supermarket, because I truly wouldn’t have found his apartment building otherwise. We crossed fields and dirt paths, and most of the streets didn’t even have signs.

"The kids steal them," he said.

After walking inside his apartment, we removed our shoes at the door. Jan then introduced me to his wife, Dagmar, who was cradling their young daughter, Dita, in her arms. Dagmar was a tall, beautiful blonde; and as Jan had said, she didn’t look particularly bright. Still, I couldn’t see how Jan cheated on her.

"Unfortunately, Dagmar doesn’t speak English," Jan said to me as I shook her hand.

"Dobrý den," I poorly enunciated.

She politely smiled without replying.

Jan chuckled a little, and then lead me into the living room, where I took a seat on an expensive leather couch.

"Can I offer you something to drink? Perhaps a beer?"

"You don’t by chance have any of that . . . Becherovka?"

"Of course I do. I’ll be right back."

While he was gone, I looked around the living room. It was furnished Spartanly, apart from the leather couch and a large-screen television.

He came back with a cold bottle of Becherovka and two glasses; and he poured both of us two large shots. As he finished, Dita crawled into the living room and smiled at me. I smiled back. But Jan wasn’t too happy -- he immediately called out to Dagmar.

"Prosím tě -- pojď sem! Dituška je tady."

Dagmar rushed in, and she smiled as she picked Dita up off the floor.

"Kalupinko moje!" she whispered to Dita, in that condescending tone of voice universal to mothers. "Co tady děláš?"

Jan, using his hand, motioned Dagmar to leave, and she quietly obeyed. He then slammed the door behind her.

"You really have a beautiful family," I said to Jan.

"Thank you. I must agree. That is, when they are not crying. A man can take only so much of these ženských."

We toasted, and I finished the entire shot.

"You’re supposed to drink it slowly," Jan smiled. "This stuff can be dangerous."

"I’m sorry, but I just can’t help myself."

Jan picked up his glass and walked to the window, where he opened it and lit a cigarette.

"So tell me, Jan, why’d you quit?"

"I had to, man. That job was killing me. I was working like a dog for that asshole, and he had the nerve to call me into his office on a Sunday and tell me I wasn’t doing a good enough job. The motherfucker also told me I had a poor working attitude. Fuck him! If I were you, Joe, I’d be very careful. Now that I’m gone, you’ll be the one he shits on."

"That’s okay. Believe me, I’m used to working for jackasses. But what about you? Have you found another job?"

"Not yet. But I think I’ll get one pretty soon. With zero unemployment in Prague, it’s not that hard to find a job. In fact, I already have a few offers. Unfortunately, they don’t pay nearly as well as Matt did. Somehow, though, we’ll get by."

"Now that you’re gone, do you mind if I ask you how much money you were making?"

"Thirty-five thousand a month."

"How much?"

"Thirty-five thousand crowns a month. Why? How much are you making?"

"Ten thousand. And that’s with the raise I just got."

Jan started laughing.

"Man, he is really dicking you. I guess you were really the wrong person at the wrong time. You see, when Matt hired me, he was just starting up. He needed someone who could speak both English and Czech, and understood finance. Also, I went to Yale just like he did. It was easy getting what I wanted. He didn’t even haggle. Hell, I probably could’ve gotten even more.

"But you were totally different. You just wandered in from the street. You needed this job, and he knew it. He could’ve offered you anything and you would’ve probably taken it. And if you hadn’t, some other stupid American would have. You know, I know some Americans working in Prague who are actually losing money working here. I’ll never understand it.

"But, now you’re in a much better situation. You’ve proven you can do the work despite not speaking Czech; and more importantly, you’ve shown you can survive in this kind of working environment. Believe me, very few people in Prague could. And now that I’m gone, he will really need you. I bet you could get him to pay you a lot more money if you pushed it."

"Maybe."

Just then, there was a timid knock on the door.

"Dále," Jan replied.

Dagmar walked into the room carrying a tray of food and two bottles of beer. She laid the tray on the coffee table and handed each of us a plate of pork steak, sauerkraut, and potato dumplings.

"Díky," Jan stoically said to her without making eye contact.

"Prosím," she smiled. She then left, quietly closing the door behind herself.

With a large piece of pork stuck on his fork, Jan turned to me and smiled.

"Dobrou chuť!" he said.

"Same to you," I smiled back.

After we finished, Dagmar walked back into the room and picked up the dishes.

"How about some coffee?" Jan asked.

"Okay -- if it’s not too much trouble."

"Don’t be silly."

"Dvě kavy?" she asked.

Jan nodded his head and she left.

"See, Joe, this is the kind of woman you need. She knows how to behave herself. I mean, she acts like a real woman. Not like those bitches you have in America. Why, half of them think they have testicles, and the other half wish they had. . . . I sure didn’t mind fucking them, though."

While he said this, Dagmar brought in the coffee.

"You’re lucky your wife doesn’t understand English," I smiled after Dagmar left.

"You’re telling me," he chuckled. "If she had understood what I just said, she would’ve scratched my eyes out right here, regardless of you being here. Anyway, getting back to what I was saying, we are really lucky we don’t have any of that feminist shit here.

"It’s not like some of the American women living here haven’t tried poisoning our women. Fortunately, our women are too smart for such nonsense. They know these feminists are nothing but lesbians.

"And then, these same American women wonder why Czech men don’t want to date them. I tell you, Joe, there are only two types of Czechs who would date an American woman: losers who can’t get a good Czech woman, and those seeking a ‘blue’ passport. Personally, though, I think that any Czech who wants to live in America permanently is crazy. Life is much better here if you ask me."

"Well, maybe some American women are . . . not so great, but certainly not all of them. You know, the longer I’ve been living here the more I’m convinced people are the same everywhere. And I’m sure you have more than your share of bitches. And, my girlfriend Mindy isn’t anything like the stereotype you have of American women. She’s wonderful."

"Maybe. Maybe you have the best of the litter."

"That I can certainly agree with you."

"Of course, the worst is when you have a combination of a Czech and an American."

"You mean like Helena Čubková?"

"You know Helena?"

"Yeah, she was in the office earlier this week. And I met her once before."

"What a cunt! You know, we have an expression in Czech for people like her: she’s an Američan z vysočan. It literally means an ‘American from the highlands.’ If refers to a Czech, who for whatever reason, emigrated to America and now thinks he or she is somehow better than the rest of us slobs. They look down at us as if from the highlands. They think they’re better educated, better cultured, and more enlightened because of their stay in America. What bullshit! Firstly, the education system is much better here than in America. Every single Czech knows how to read, write, and perform arithmetic. I read once that only a third of Americans are functionally literate. Also, everyone of us can find New York on a map. How many Americans can say that?"

"Probably not that many. Including many of those who live in New York."

"Secondly, during the year I lived in America, nothing gave me the impression you are superior to us in terms of culture. And as for being more enlightened, all I can say is that you were enlightened enough to live in the wealthiest country on earth."

"Getting back to Helena, tell me, what exactly is her story?"

"Well, as far as I know, she and her family left just after sixty-eight. Their family owned a tool company about thirty miles outside of Prague; and although it had long been nationalized, they must’ve figured things would soon really get rough on them. I guess Helena must’ve been young then -- no older than 10, if that old. That’s why her Czech is far from perfect.

"Anyway, after the Revolution, her family got most of their personal property back, and she’s been in Prague to complete the restitution process for the tool plant. That’s what Matt’s helping her with. He’s trying to arrange for some investors; because even though it’s being restituted back to her, she still has to put up quite a bit of money herself. And once it is finally returned to her, she’ll have to make quite a significant investment to improve it. Boy, you should see the place. If I were her, I’d just let the government keep it. The place is completely falling apart, and most of the people who work there are just worthless drunks. Once I visited the place with Matt. It was early in the morning, no later than 8:00 A.M. I went to the canteen to buy some water, and there was a guy passed out on the floor. And there were empty beer bottles lying all around him. You won’t believe this, but even though a lot of heavy machinery is operated in the plant, the canteen actually sells beer. Supposedly, there’s a guy working there they call ‘Mr. Nine Liters,’ because that’s how much beer he drinks every day at work. Man, what a place. It seemed like half the people there were missing at least one finger."

"Have you ever noticed that Helena’s kind of . . . oversexed?"

"Noticed? I’ve fucked her a few times. She’s pretty ugly, especially without her makeup; but you know, you would think she’d at least be a good lay. But she’s awful!"

"So why’d you fuck her more than once?"

"The question is why I fucked her at all. . . . I’m not proud of it, but I did it for the money. Matt gave me a really nice bonus each time I did. You should ask him about it -- he’d probably give you a nice bonus as well."

"I’m not gonna fuck her!"

"Is that so?" he smiled. "I’d like to see you turn her down."

"There must be something I can do."

"Well, try to act Czech. She dislikes anything Czech. However, it didn’t stop her from coming on to me. And you certainly won’t get any help from Matt."

"Speaking of Matt," I said, purposely trying to change the subject, "tell me, do you think he’s honest?"

"I guess it all depends on what you mean by ‘honest.’"

"Well, I’ve heard some stories about him. Did you know he worked for Ivan Boesky in the 1980s, and that he was mixed up in all those insider trading scandals?"

"Of course I knew. But quite honestly, I don’t think he really had much to do with it. I mean, I think Matt is more of a technical guy than a real deal maker. I think what happened was he just got caught up in something way over his head. From what I heard, he wasn’t even arrested. . . . Matt is certainly a fucking asshole, but I don’t think he’s a crook."

"Well, some people think he’s up to something here."

"If he is, I certainly don’t know anything about it."

"Don’t you think that there’s an awful lot of security around the office for a financial research company? I mean, all those locks in the computer room. And what about all the security around the computer programs?"

"What do you mean? There’s just a simple password dialog box."

"That’s not true. The other day I was playing around with the keyboard, when by accident, I entered Ctrl-Shift-A. Suddenly, a dialog box appeared asking me for a password, a completely different dialog box than the normal log-on screen."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"I don’t know anything about that, and I thought I knew the computer programs as well as Matt. I was involved in the entire development process. . . . Maybe it’s just some glitch."

"Maybe. Well, I guess it’s not that important. Let me tell you though, I’m going to be real careful. I certainly don’t want to take a fall for this shithead if he’s doing something illegal."

"Of course not," he replied with a pensive expression on his face. "Let me know if you hear or see anything else. Maybe I could be of help somehow. I can’t think of anything that would make me happier than to see that asshole get in trouble."

Jan asked me if I wanted another drink, but I was getting tired (and drunk), so I decided to go home. After saying goodnight to Dagmar and Dita, who was fast asleep in her mother’s arms, Jan and I put our shoes back on, and he walked me back to the bus stop.

"By the way," I said to Jan as we crossed the street, "Matt’s taking me to Poland next week to check out some company."

Jan laughed as he lit a cigarette.

"What’s so funny?"

"I went to Poland with him a few times. It was really awful. I don’t envy you, Joe."

"I actually think it might be interesting. I mean, I would definitely like to do some traveling while I’m living in Europe."

"Just wait," he smiled. "Just wait."

When we got to the bus stop, Jan looked at his watch and checked the bus schedule.

"You’ll probably have to wait ten minutes or so," he said, offering me his hand. "So, I should be getting home now."

"Thanks for everything, Jan. Let’s try to stay in touch. And, I really hope everything works out for you."

"I’m sure it will."

He walked off, but abruptly stopped after crossing the street. He turned back to me.

"Be careful, Joe," he said.

I smiled and nodded my head, and he slowly disappeared into the night. I think we both knew we would never see each other again.

12

2006-06-05T18:36:00.000-07:00

12

Self-Hatred

I went to work early the following morning to make a second attempt at getting my residence visa and working permit. When I arrived a little after 7:00 A.M., Dana was double-checking the paperwork to make certain it was in order. She also made certain to bring exactly three photographs -- no more, no less.

Although we arrived at the foreigners police fifteen minutes before it opened, a long line of Asians were already waiting outside. As soon as the doors opened at eight o’clock, there was a mad rush inside.

As we didn’t want to get the same jerk we had before, Dana looked around and found an office were a middle-aged woman worked. An hour and a half later, we made it to the front of the line; and once inside, the woman quietly processed my paperwork without any problems. She gave me a temporary visa and told us that the actual visa would be ready three months later.

"That wasn’t so bad," I said to Dana as we left.

"We were lucky that we got a nice person this time. I will tell you, I am really glad that it is all done. This place makes me very nervous. Unfortunately, we will have to do this for you every year."

When we returned, I went to my office and saw Andrea patiently waiting for me.

"Where were you?" she asked. "You are late."

"I had a good excuse," I replied, as I sat down at my desk and started working. "I had to go to the foreigners police to get my visa and working permit."

I had a lot of work to do, but it was difficult concentrating with Andrea sitting so close by, especially as she would use any excuse to brush up against me. I was semi-erect the entire day. And she knew it.

That evening, after returning from her dinner break, she walked into the room and smiled.

"Dana and Matt just left," she cooed.

"That’s nice," I said, staring at my monitor in a vain attempt to ignore her.

She walked to her desk and turned to me.

"Pepíčku," she enticingly whispered.

"Yes," I nonchalantly replied, turning toward her. "What is it?"

As she had done the night before, she grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt and began pulling it over her head. This time, though, I couldn’t grab her arms; she was too far away.

Her breasts were more beautiful than I imagined. I couldn’t breathe.

"You like?" she asked, glancing down at her chest.

When I didn’t reply, she began slowly pulling her jeans down. And then her panties. Her body was simple perfection.

She let me stare at her for a few moments before she leaned over her desk and turned back to me.

"Pojď!" she whispered, motioning me toward her with her index finger. "Pojď!"

I wanted to refuse. I didn’t want to move. But I couldn’t. I stood up and slowly began walking toward her, carelessly removing my clothes. Once fully naked, I stood directly behind her and waited.

"No tak," she cried out, frustrated with my delay, "Dělej!"

I grabbed her shoulder with my left hand while grabbing her left breast with my right; and quickly thrust myself inside her.

"Pane Bože!" she screamed.

The pleasure was unbearable; but despite this, I hated myself. I wanted it to end. I quickly plowed myself into her, attempting to bring about a quick release. But she wouldn’t cooperate. Her muscles contracted and released to regulate my movements. I wasn’t fucking her. She was fucking me.

Maybe it lasted ten minutes; maybe it lasted an hour. I can’t really say; I felt disconnected from the act. She finally climaxed; and with it, her concentration was broken. I was free to release.

She let me lay quietly on top of her for a few moments, before gently pushing me back as she stood up. She then gave me a little kiss on my nose and began dressing.

"Did you like that?" she smiled as she put on her T-shirt.

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t.

"Well, I certainly did."

She briefly caressed my cheek before leaving.

"I will see you tomorrow, Pepíček," she whispered as she closed the door behind herself.

I stood there naked for a time, insensible. Soon, though, I regained my composure and dressed myself; and when I went back to work, I was finally able to concentrate. By the time I left a little after eleven, I had finished my project.

On the Metro ride back home, I felt disgusted with myself. Although Mindy and I were not yet lovers, I had betrayed her. But this wasn’t what disgusted me. I had never had the kind of sexual experience I had with Andrea, and I wanted it to happen again. This is what disgusted me.

The next morning, when Andrea calmly walked into the office, I began reciting the speech I had rehearsed all morning.

"About last night," I said after she walked to her desk, "I’m really sorry, but I have a girlfriend. And I really like -- "

"So?" she interrupted. "I have a boyfriend, too. His name is Ota. In fact, we will probably be married one day."

"I don’t understand."

"What do you not understand? We made love last night. I make love with a lot of boys; my boyfriend makes love with a lot of girls. So? It does not mean that I love you; it does not mean that you love me. Maybe we will never make love again."

I still didn’t understand, but I smiled at her and went back to work, again wondering who had fucked whom.

"You’re kidding," Matt said when I gave him the report. "You’ve finished already?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

He carefully looked at the report for a few minutes and then smiled.

"This is excellent work, Joe. You never cease to amaze me. I tell you what, why don’t you take tomorrow off. You deserve it."

As I was leaving his office, he suddenly stopped me.

"By the way, Joe, the following Sunday I’ll be taking a trip to Poland to visit a company one of our clients is evaluating. I’d like you to come with me. We’ll only be there for a day, but I think it would be really good for you to go with me. I’d like you to get a feel for this part of the business."

"The following Sunday?"

"That’s right. By train."

I still had some time before visiting Jiří, so I went back to my office. I started playing around with the computer; and as I randomly entered keystrokes, a dialog box appeared on the computer screen. It was from the Popis program, requesting a user name and password. It was a dialog box I had never seen before. After clearing it with the Escape key, I started entering different key combinations. When I pressed Ctrl-Shift-A, the dialog box appeared again.

I looked up at the clock and saw that it was getting close to seven, so I pressed the Escape key and left.

Arriving at Jiří’s apartment building in Josefov a few minutes later, I rang the bell by the front door. Almost immediately, the buzzer sounded releasing the lock, as if Jiří had been waiting by his front door. His apartment number was 15, but I had no idea which floor he lived on. I had to check each floor until finally finding it on the third floor. I knocked on the door, and he quickly opened it.

"Hello, my friend," he smiled. "Please come in."

As I walked inside, he put his hand on my shoulder.

"I do not know if you know this, Joe, but in this country it is custom for you to take off your shoes before entering someone’s home."

I took off my shoes in the hallway by the front door, and he led me into the living room. I was startled; I had never seen a room with so many books, other than perhaps a library or a bookstore. All four walls were covered with bookshelves from the floor to the ceiling; and still, many of them were strewn across the floor.

"You’ve got some collection," I said.

"Yes, I do," he smiled. "You know, these books are my best friends. May I show you them?"

I nodded.

"I am a very avid reader. And I like to read works in their original. The books here are categorized by language. On this shelf, you will find ones in Ancient Greek: Homer, Aristophanes, Sophocles, Lucian. Down here, Latin: Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Plautus, Petronius."

"Here," he said as we walked across the room, "you will find more modern writers. French: Rabelais, Moliere, Voltaire, Hugo, Proust; German: Goethe, Schiller, Mann, Brecht; Russian: Pushkin, Gogol, Dostoevsky, Bulgakov, Voinovich; English: Shakespeare, Fielding, Byron, Dickens. I even have some American writers in that corner over there. But none of them are very good -- except Jack London, of course."

"How many languages do you speak?" I asked.

"Only a few. Let’s see: Czech, German, Russian, English, and French. The other languages you see here I can only read. You know, living in Europe is not like living in America -- you have to be able to communicate in many different languages. Imagine if the people in New York spoke a different language than the people in California."

"Some would say they do."

He politely smiled and showed me his extensive collection of Czech literature.

"I have been collecting these books since I was a child. In fact, I have a complete collection of all the major Czech writers: Neruda, Čapek, Hašek, . . . Seifert, Kundera, Škvorecký."

"What about Kafka?"

"Ah," he smiled, "this is a mistake all you Americans seem to make. Kafka wasn’t a Czech writer, he was a German writer. His books are there with the other Germans. For all I know, he couldn’t even write Czech, besides perhaps a few love letters. In his time, you could live quite comfortably in Prague speaking only German."

He smiled as he gently ran his hand across his books.

"A lot of these books are first editions," he continued, "and many were banned at one time or another. One of the good things about working for the StB was that they always had the best collection of books in the country. And I never had any problem ‘borrowing’ them. . . . Of course, these books here are the best I own; they are the ones written by Hrabal. Have you ever heard of Hrabal, Joe?"

"No, I’m afraid I haven’t."

"It does not surprise me. While a few of his books are available in English, they are not so easily translated as, say, Kundera or Škvorecký. In fact, some would say that they are not translatable at all. And I am one of them. But, in my opinion, they are some of the greatest works written in any language. I wish I could describe to you the beauty of his writing, but it is not possible. Not even in Czech. . . . He is also a great screenwriter. Did you ever see Closely Watched Trains?"

I shook my head.

"You should have. It won an Academy Award for Best Foreign Film. But even that film can’t compare to Skřivanci na niti. I am not sure how the title is translated into English. It is these birds that like to sing, and they are on a . . . string. Anyway, the title is not important. This was a great film. It is the best I have ever seen. Can you believe that almost no one saw it until twenty years after it was made? Fortunately for me, the StB also had a fine collection of films. I had a projector in my private office, and every year to commemorate ‘Victory February,’ I would watch this film. And every year I would sit in the dark and cry."

He led me to a corner of the living room, where an ornate chess set was set up upon an old wooden table. The chess pieces were meticulously carved out of wood. It was the kind of chess set only rich people or serious enthusiasts own. And Jiří wasn’t rich.

"Can I offer you some Becherovka?" he asked as I sat down in an old wooden chair.

"Becher what?"

"Becherovka. Do not tell me that you have spent all this time in our country and have not tried Becherovka?"

I shook my head. Jiří quickly walked into the adjoining kitchen, where he took a large blue-labeled bottle from the freezer. He then took two glasses from the kitchen sink and washed them, before walking back toward me, bottle and glasses in hand. He sat across from me and poured us two large glasses of the golden liqueur. We toasted, and I took a timid sip, uncertain what to expect. It was sweet, spicy, and tasty. I was in love. After my second "sip," nothing remained in my glass.

"It seems that you like it," he smiled.

"Can I have another?"

"Have as much as you would like. I have many bottles in the freezer. To be honest, it is the only thing I have in the freezer. You know, according to the legend, an English physician invented this drink. He was visiting Karlovy Vary -- at that time it was called Carlsbad -- to take the waters. And during his visit, he came upon the recipe. And before he left, he gave the recipe to a local pharmacist, Jan Becher, who soon bottled it. . . . This, Joe, is a very special drink, let me tell you. It can cure many things. I know whenever I feel a little sick, I take a little -- or perhaps a lot -- and I feel much better the next day. Becherovka is in fact one of our great national treasures. Only a few people even know how it is made -- something like your Coca-Cola. Do you know, I had a top position in the secret police for years, and even I was not allowed to know what was in it."

He poured me another glass of Becherovka as I looked over the chess set.

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen a set like this," I said.

"Yes, it is very nice. I bought it years ago when I had an opportunity to visit West Berlin. It was very expensive, but well worth the price."

"You must be quite a player."

"I am not bad. When I was child, though, I was a prodigy. And if not for the events of my youth, I probably could have become a master. But I have never lost the love of this game. Chess, in many ways, is like life. The strategies, the dangers, the thrills. So, since you are the guest, I think you should open."

I knew I’d be slaughtered, but I didn’t know how badly. I always thought I was a decent chess player, but I had never played against someone like Jiří. It didn’t seem as if he even gave thought to his moves; and by the time he had made his seventh or eighth move, I was in checkmate.

"Jesus Christ!" I cried after his final move, shaking my head in disbelief. "I suck."

"Not at all. You are actually quite good. That was a really excellent opening you made. Otherwise, I would have won much earlier."

"Very funny."

"I am serious. You could become a good player, but you need to make better use of your knights. They are important for any winning strategy. I know how to use my knights very well. They are cunning and unpredictable, traits everyone in my profession must possess. As I said, chess and life can be very similar. So, shall we play another?"

"I don’t think so. I’m certainly no competition for you. But I’ll have another Becherovka."

He poured each of us another drink before leaning back in his chair.

"I am so rude," he said. "I never even asked you how you are doing."

"Oh, I’m fine. I had a pretty tough week at work, but other than that, everything’s just fine."

"What exactly is it that you do again?"

"I work for an American financial research company."

"You mean, like Wall Street?"

"Kind of."

"I once visited Wall Street. All those rich Jews. You know, Joe, you think that you live in a democracy, but really it is the rich Jews who control everything."

"I don’t know about that."

"Well, I do. Take, for example, George Soroš. He has such a tight grip on the world’s currency markets that he is more powerful than your president.

"I hate the Jews," he continued, shaking his head. "Such a pathetic, weak people. They always think that their money will protect them. This is because they do not have the courage to protect themselves."

I couldn’t understand how someone as obviously intelligent, well-educated, and cultured as Jiří could be anti-Semitic. I looked blankly at him. I didn’t know what to say.

"You are wondering why I hate the Jews so much, right? I will tell you why. I hate the Jews because I had the incredible misfortune to be born one."

I was shocked.

"Yes," he continued, "I am a Jew. I was born Jewish in this very flat, almost seventy years ago. Here I lived with my parents and my sister. My father, whose family had lived in Prague for generations, owned a small watch repair shop around the corner.

"My family was actually quite religious. Except for me. I never wanted to be a Jew. I wanted to be a Czech. I wanted to play football with the other children on Saturday. I never wanted to learn that silly language. You will not see even one book in Hebrew here -- not even the Bible -- because I refused to learn it. It made my father furious; and I rather liked making my father furious. He called me ‘wicked’ and ‘evil’ and said God would punish me one day. Well, God had already punished me.

"I was a very smart kid, Joe. And I am not talking only about chess. I could have had a bright future. I could have been anything I wanted; if not for one thing: I was a Jew. I do not know how much you know about our country’s history, Joe, but it is a very sad one. In 1938, the Munich Agreement allowed the filthy Germans into the Sudatenland. We should have fought them; we had one of the strongest armies in Europe. But we were outnumbered, the army was full of traitorous Germans, and most importantly, we were cowards. We were cowards. Did you know that the Czech army has not fought anyone in more than 300 years? True, the last time we fought, we were slaughtered; but why even have an army if you will never use it?

"Anyway, the Germans soon took the rest of the country. There was nothing left to stop them. I remember arguing with my father in this very room, pleading with him to leave the country. ‘No,’ he insisted, ‘our family has lived through tough times before, and with the help of God, we will live through this as well.’ I was not so certain, apart from knowing we would not get any help from God.

"Being a Jew at this time was very difficult for me, especially as I was small for my age. Everyone like to beat on me: Czechs, Germans, even other Jews. Then, a few months before the Germans entered Prague, I met Karel. He was the leader of a gang of youth. They went around Prague attacking Germans. They were not cowards.

"Karel was everything I was not: he was tall with blond hair and blue eyes; he was a very good-looking boy. And was he strong! He could fight three guys at once, and sometimes would. Especially if they were Germans. He hated Germans almost as much as I did. Maybe that is why he liked me. I never knew for sure.

"Karel, in many ways, was the best friend I ever had. He was like a brother. Not only did he protect me, he also taught me how to fight. Do you know that at the time I could not even throw a punch? Thirteen years old and I did not know how to punch! Your father should teach you such things, but all my father wanted to teach me was how to pray in synagogue.

"When the Nazis marched into Prague, Karel was one of the few willing to fight them. I so much wanted to go with him and fight too. I wanted to kill Germans just like him. ‘No,’ he told me. ‘You are too young. And, you have a brain. It is a waste for you to fight them with your fists; you will fight them with your head.’

"I cried. I did not want to use my head. I wanted to use my fists! The next day, Karel was killed, along with a few others, in the street. I would have died with him. He saved my life, but I would have rather died with him. That afternoon, I pleaded with my father for the last time to leave the country. In this very spot, I saw my mother sewing Stars of David into our clothes. I grabbed my clothes from her before she could sew any of those hideous patches into them. And then I ran. And I never saw my family again."

"Your entire family was killed?"

"I never knew for certain, but I suppose so. They probably died in some camp, just like lamb in a slaughterhouse. I suppose that they did not have a Golem or some other messiah to save them. They, like all Jews, needed only some spine and guns. Of course, they did not have much of either. However, I did get this apartment back after the war. It is not much, as you can see, but it is comfortable, and it is mine."

"It seems like you almost blame the Jews for the Holocaust."

"You are a naive young man, Joe. Nobody can do anything to you unless you allow them to. The Jews, like all the other people the Germans slaughtered, allowed themselves to be slaughtered. They are just as guilty."

"I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can hate your own people so much."

He laughed.

"I guess it is difficult to explain. It is difficult to explain how one can hate one’s own people. It is self-hatred in its finest form."

"Where did you go after you ran away from home?"

"Well, after I ran away, I had to leave Prague. There was nowhere to hide in Prague. In the mountains, though, they would never think to look for a Jew. Well, it was easy enough to hide up there, but not so easy to live. I had no money and no way of earning any. I had to beg, forage, and steal just to survive -- especially in the winter. Tell me, do you know what it is like to be cold and hungry? I mean really hungry. I do not mean having a ‘Big Mac Attack.’ Well, I will tell you: it greatly affects your mind, especially when you are young.

"Believe it or not, I killed my first person when I was only fifteen. A peasant caught me stealing one of his chickens and he chased me with a shovel. He swung and missed, and lost his balance. I was able to push him to the ground. I then picked up a stone and hit his head with it. And I kept hitting his head with it. Soon, warm blood flowed over my frozen hands. It felt good, better than any orgasm I have experienced since. You know, once a dog tastes blood for the first time, he will thirst for it. I was no different.

"I guess it was a few years later when I joined the Resistance. It was not very big, but we had courage. They actually did not want me at first; I was still a teenager. And of course, I was a Jew as well. But they had to let me in when they saw how good I was at killing Germans -- how much I liked it, how little I feared. They taught me to be a sniper. This was fun. Of course, I was supposed to kill only soldiers; but I killed any German I had a chance to kill. Soldiers, civilians, women, children -- it did not matter. If they were German, they deserved to die.

"When the War finally ended, I became an officer in the new Czechoslovak Army. One of my first tasks was the removal of Germans from the Sudatenland. A task? Imagine, I even received a salary! I was especially grateful when I was given reason to kill one of those bastards. Believe me, I did not need much reason. You know, these people, they cheered Hitler as a hero when he came in 1938. Let me tell you, Joe, they were not cheering then. They most certainly were not.

"I steadily rose in the Army. It looked as if it would be my future; and in late 1947, when it became obvious that the Communists would take power, I joined the Party. Not that I was a believer -- even then, only the very foolish were true believers. But it was a smart move, because a few months later, we had ‘Victory February,’ and the Communists were here for good.

"Shortly after that, the Slanský trials came about. Slanský was the leader of the Communist Party at the beginning of the new government. He was also a Jew. At the same time, Stalin was purging high-ranking Jews in the Soviet Union; and of course, Czechoslovakia had to do the same. Top Jews were charged with treason, and most were hung. It was so ridiculous. I was lucky I survived. I only survived because I was a war hero and not yet a member of the elite. It also helped that I knew President Gottwald personally. . . . The drunken bastard. So, I survived -- but just. My rank, though, was reduced and my future looked very bleak indeed. Everything was bleak at that time. The early 1950s were not a good time for smart people anywhere in the world. It was best to be stupid -- or at least to appear stupid.

"Things improved somewhat in the 1960s. The reformers came to power, and my position in the Party was returned to its previous level. And because of my language skills and my reputation for brutality, I was recruited and trained by the StB. Soon, I got a foreign assignment -- in your country, as a matter of fact. This is why I speak English so well. I lived in America for almost five years.

"In 1968, what was called the ‘Prague Spring’ took place. There was freedom of press, freedom of speech, freedom of expression. At least, relatively. And it was doomed from the beginning. The Soviets could not tolerate it. It could have been very dangerous for them. They also knew that Czechs were weak; they knew they could easily put down the reforms without so much as a fight.

"Just before the tanks rolled in, I had a meeting in Washington with some of my Soviet ‘comrades.’ They told me what would happen, and they told me they would need loyal Communists to replace the traitors who were currently in power. They told me I would have a high position in the StB if I cooperated with them.

"What was I to say? I knew the Prague Spring would fail, with or without my support. So why should I not profit from it? If not me, it would have been someone else. So why not me?

"Well, it is one thing to logically come to this decision, but it is quite another thing to see an army march into your homeland, especially an army of ‘Brother Slavs’: Russians, Ukrainians, Belorussians, Poles; not to mention the rest of our socialist ‘friends.’ It reminded me of when the Germans came. I was disgusted. I wanted to fight them. I wanted the Czechs to fight them. But I knew they would not. Yes, they screamed and shouted. Some idiots even immolated themselves in protest. But no one really fought. Not really.

"After everything calmed down, we had here what was called ‘Normalization.’ I was sent back to Prague, and I quickly rose in the Organization; and a few years later, I was running all domestic operations. It was a big increase in rank, but I had a lot more fun as a spy. Czechoslovakia had become a country of collaborators. Neighbor collaborating against neighbor, wife collaborating against husband, children collaborating against parents. It was awful. And boring. Who really cares who is sleeping with whom; or if some former official called President Husák a bastard? I called him a bastard myself. And often.

"Then, there were the dissenters. Why we spent so much time worrying about them I will never understand. They were just a bunch of fools. Like, for example, that drunken womanizer, Havel. And they call him a playwright. Have you ever seen any of his plays? They are awful! You would fall asleep. And we made that stupid bourgeois appear important. We made him a martyr. You know, I still remember watching our men interrogate this pitiful little man. Sometimes, they would get so mad at him that they would spit in his face. And do you know what he would do? He would just smile back at them! Such arrogance! To think that this ‘man’ is the president of our country is beyond what I can imagine.

"Well, I am sure you know the rest of the story. You Americans finally realized you could bankrupt us by starting an arms race we could not possibly win; and soon everything collapsed. And just before everything completely fell apart, they made me the head of StB. It was pretty convenient, was it not?

"And now, everyone is happy. We are a country controlled by Western imperialists and Jewish financiers; and drugs, prostitutes, and Gypsies rule our streets.

"Of course, this was not good enough. Soon, everyone began looking for people to blame for forty years of Communism. They could not blame themselves after all. I mean, they voted for the Communists, they supported the Communists, and they collaborated with the Communists. But how can one blame oneself? It must be all my fault! Yes, I am the person responsible for everything bad in this country! I am the devil that caused all their suffering and misery! I must be the one punished!

"I really should not complain, though. I only had to serve six months in prison for ‘crimes against the people.’ And now I have the last laugh, as you Americans say. They are paying me a pension, small as it may be."

He was visibly upset. I didn’t know what to say to him; I just looked at my watch and made a gesture to leave.

"What, must you leave so soon?" he asked, obviously perturbed.

"I think so. I’m pretty tired."

"Fine! Shall I show you out?"

"No, that won’t be necessary."

"Fine!"

At the front door, I briefly turned around to say goodnight. He was staring pensively at his chess board, as if contemplating his next move. I left without saying a word.

11

2006-06-04T11:10:00.000-07:00

11

Every Man is Available

I still felt the effects of my sickness on the way to work Monday morning, but at least my fever had broke, and I was capable of working. That is, if there would be any work to do.

"Good morning," I smiled at Dana as I walked into the office.

"Good morning," she replied, obviously a little upset. "Matt wants to see you in his office right now."

Not knowing what could be wrong, I gingerly walked up to Matt’s door and knocked.

When I entered his office, he looked up at me and smiled.

"How was your weekend?" he asked.

"It was fine, other than being a little under the weather. How was your trip?"

"Excellent. I got some really good information on a number of companies. I think our clients will be very interested in the results I’ve found."

Matt paused for a few moments, as a serious expression came across his face.

"Yesterday," he continued, "I reviewed the information the analysts entered into the computer last week. It looks really good. In fact, much better than usual. You know, you’re really doing quite a job for us."

"Thanks. But it was the students -- I mean, the analysts -- who entered the data. I just helped them a little by putting things in the right places."

"Don’t be so modest. Any monkey can enter numbers into a computer, but it takes real skill to make certain they’re entered correctly. Our clients pay us what they do solely because we have a reputation for offering the most accurate information available. And reputation is everything."

You should know, I thought.

"Anyway, the real reason I wanted to see you this morning is because there’s going to be some major changes around here. Your role will increase significantly, as . . . Jan is no longer with the company."

"Really?" I interrupted. "What happened?"

"Well, as I told you before, Jan did not have a good working attitude. He’s unquestionably a bright guy, but it takes a lot more than brains to succeed. You as much as anyone should know that. You need to be dedicated, and you need to have a positive attitude about your work. Jan did not have either of those things. . . . I think you have it, though. That’s why I’m giving you his job. I’m also promoting Andrea to be your assistant. She’s kind of a tabula rasa, but she’s pretty smart. So, what do you think?"

"I don’t know. What kind of responsibilities will I have?"

"Well, you’re now the senior analyst. That means you will be involved in all the top projects, and you will also be in charge of quality control. Oh, by the way, I’m also giving you a raise. Your new salary will be 10,000 crowns a month, after taxes. I’m sure you’ll really appreciate that."

Matt, who was once making millions of dollars a year, condescendingly smiled at me, expecting me to be impressed with a lousy $150-per-month raise.

"In the future it might even be more," he continued. "In fact, if your work continues to impress me, we may even have to consider a junior partnership for you, sometime real soon. . . . I tell you what, after I finish up a few things, I’ll meet you in your office to discuss a new project. Let’s say, in fifteen minutes."

As I stood up, Matt got up as well and offered me his hand.

"Congratulations, Senior Analyst!" he smiled.

"Thanks," I politely smiled back.

After closing Matt’s door, I walked up to Dana.

"Did you know Jan left?" I whispered.

"Yes. He quit yesterday."

"He quit? Matt said he was fired."

"Uhh, I really don’t know."

"Hey, do you have Jan’s home phone number?"

She went into one of her drawers and pulled out some document, and then wrote out Jan’s phone number on a scrap of paper.

"Here," she said as she handed it to me. "Joe, could you do me a favor and please not tell Matt that I told you Jan quit."

"No problem," I smiled.

As soon as I walked into my office, Andrea stood up and smiled.

"Hello, boss!" she bellowed, offering me her hand. "Congratulations!"

"Same to you," I smiled back as I shook her hand.

"I cannot wait to work with you. I think that we will be a really good team."

"So, what do you think about Jan leaving?"

"I am happy. To tell the truth, I never liked Jan much. He is not so nice. Truthfully, most Czech men are not so nice. At least not like you Americans. You Americans are all nice."

"Well, not all of us."

"I do not agree. I think that you are all nice. And good looking."

I sat down at my desk and called Jan. His wife answered the telephone.

"Moment," she replied.

"Hello," Jan said when he picked up the telephone.

"Hi, it’s me -- Joe. What happened?"

"It’s a long story. That motherfucker just pushed me too far this time. I’m sorry, Joe, but I really don’t want to talk about it now."

"I guess I can understand. I wish you the best of luck."

"You too. You’ll need it. . . . Hey, would you like to come to our house for dinner one night?"

"Sure."

"How about Sunday evening? Let’s say around six?"

"That’ll be fine."

"Good. Here, let me give you directions. You better grab a pen and paper. . . . First, take the Metro to Kačerov. It’s a few stops before Háje. When you get out of the Metro, you’ll see a bus stop. Actually, you’ll see a number of bus stops. You want to take bus number 119. Take it four stops. There, you’ll see a supermarket to your right, and outside the supermarket you’ll see a phone booth. Give me a call. I’d give you directions to my apartment, but there’s no way you’d find it. I’m not even sure my street is on the map."

"Great. I’ll see you Sunday."

As I hung up the telephone, Matt walked in.

"Joe, if you don’t mind, please limit the number of personal calls you make at the office. Unfortunately, I was only able to get two phone lines for the office, in addition to my mobile phone; and it’s not nearly enough. Especially with all the faxing we do. So, it’s really important that the lines are kept free for our clients."

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know."

"Don’t get me wrong now, I’m not saying you can’t make a personal call when you absolutely need to. All I’m saying is you should limit it."

"Okay, I understand."

"Good. Hey, there’s someone here I want you to meet."

Matt went back into the hallway, and moments later, he came back in with a familiar-looking brunette. It was Helen, the woman I had met a month earlier in the restaurant on Wenceslas Square.

"Joe, this is Helena Čubková. She’s one of our best clients."

"Matt," Helen replied, grabbing his wrist, "please call me Helen. ‘Helena’ sounds so Czech."

"I’m sorry," he smiled. "Helen, please let me introduce you to Joe. He’s now the senior analyst. And despite appearances, he’s actually a very bright young man."

"Oh, I’ve already met Joe. We had lunch together not too long ago."

"Is that so? Joe, I had no idea you got around so much."

I stood up and shook her hand.

"You know," she smiled at me, "we’ll probably be seeing each other quite regularly now. I often need information on the spur of the moment. I may even come to you directly."

"By all means," Matt smiled. "Feel free to come to Joe. And please feel free to come as often as you need to come."

Helen giggled.

"Oh, you’re awful, Matt," she blushed, gently slapping his wrist. "I didn’t mean it like that."

I’m sure I had quite a stupid grin on my face. I was uncertain what to think.

"Oh, will you look at the time!" she cried out, looking at her watch. "I’m late for my next meeting. I’ve really got to run. I’ll see you on Thursday, Matt. And, Joe, I hope to be seeing you again, real soon."

"Wow," Matt said after she left, "Helena seems to have really taken a liking to you."

"You think so?" I gingerly replied.

"Absolutely. Don’t forget, Joe: we must do whatever is necessary to keep our clients happy."

"You’re joking, right?"

"Of course. Well, maybe. Anyway, back to business."

Matt and I sat down, and he handed me a set of papers.

"This is your next project. A client of ours, a large American institutional investor, wants us to analyze a set of companies they’re interested in purchasing. Here are the companies, and here are the line items and ratios I want to see. You can pull all the base information from the system, and you’ll find the rest of the data in the documents I’ve just given you. And make sure you put plenty of graphs in the report. These guys have very short attention spans -- they like to see pictures. I think there’s about ten companies here, so that should keep you busy until the end of the week. It must be completed no later than Friday morning. Any questions?"

"I don’t think so."

"Great," he smiled as he left.

I looked over the papers Matt gave me and wondered how I would be able to finish the project by Friday. It was going to be a week of sixteen-hour days, at a very minimum.

"What should I be doing?" Andrea asked me as she slowly came toward me.

"I don’t know. What can you do?"

"I can do many things," she smiled.

"I bet you can," I smiled back. "Do you know how to make graphs on the computer?"

"No."

"Do you know how to use a spreadsheet?"

"No."

"Do you know how to use a word processor?"

"No."

"Then, what can you do?"

"I can do many things," she smiled.

"Great. I tell you what: you can be my translator when I don’t understand something."

Later that day, just after I returned from lunch, the telephone rang. Dana told me I had a call, and she patched it in.

"Hello," a man’s voice spoke out.

"Hello, this is Joe Smith. Can I help you?"

"You don’t recognize me, Joe? This is Alex -- you know, from the Commercial Section of the Embassy."

"Oh, hi. How you doing?"

"I’m doing very well. The question is, how are you doing? Mindy was telling me that you’re having a rough time working for Matt."

"It has its ups and downs, but I’m going to keep at it. In fact, I just got a promotion."

"That’s wonderful! Hey, I was wondering if we could meet today, perhaps for dinner. I have some things I would like to talk to you about."

"I don’t know. I’m really swamped with work. What do you want to talk about?"

"I really don’t want to discuss it over the phone, but it’s very important. Can’t you find an hour or so tonight?"

"I guess I could. But we better make it late in the evening. Nine o’clock should be okay."

"Great. Where would you like to meet?"

"How about U Hýnků? It’s just around the corner from me."

"I know the place well. I’ll see you then."

Just as I put the telephone down, Matt peaked his head in.

"Joe!" he cried out. "What did I just tell you this morning about personal calls?"

"I’m sorry," I replied, more than a bit agitated, "but this guy called me. What was I supposed to do -- hang up on him?"

"Don’t be so touchy," he said as he closed the door behind himself.

I stared at the door for a few moments, almost certain Matt was standing behind it, waiting to see whether I’d use the telephone again.

A little after eight, I could tell Andrea was getting bored. I didn’t have any work for her, as there was nothing left to translate.

"Why don’t you just go home," I said to her.

"I cannot. Matt said that I must stay here with you the entire week. I cannot go home until you go home."

I continued working, but it was difficult concentrating with her sitting so close to me, especially as her eyes were constantly on me. Soon, she started loudly sighing. I turned to her and smiled.

"Pepíčku," she cooed, like a little child, "co mám dělat?"

"I’m sorry, but I don’t understand you."

"What should I be doing?" she cried.

"I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I have nothing for you to do."

"Ách jo," she sighed as she slouched over her knees in frustration.

I looked down at her and saw the outline of her backbone stretching her tight white T-shirt. I tried to work, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off her back; and without being fully conscious of it, I began methodically tracing my capped pen along her spine.

"Oh, that feels good," she whimpered.

I did this to her, over and over again. I couldn’t help myself. Up and down, down and up, and then up and down once again. Suddenly, I snapped out of it and quickly stopped.

"Don’t stop!" she cried. "It feels so good."

"I’m sorry, but I have a lot of worked to do."

"It can wait," she smiled as she leaned back in her chair, grabbing the bottom of her T-shirt, as if she were about to pull it over her head.

"What are you doing?" I screamed, grabbing her arms.

"We are going to make love now," she matter-of-factly replied, as if I had asked a dumb question.

"No, we are not going to make love now. Not now and not ever."

"But why?"

"Why? Well, for starters, I have a girlfriend."

"So? In Czech, we say that every man is available."

"So I’ve heard. But I’m not."

"Oh, please. I really want to. You know, I am really good. You can ask Matt."

"Or Dana?"

"Oh," she blushed, "that was just once. . . . And who told you about it?"

"It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, Andrea. It’s not that I don’t find you attractive. It’s just that I can only deal with one woman at a time."

She looked disappointed.

"Ale mám pro tebe mokrou kundíčku, Pepíčku!" she pleaded.

"I don’t understand what you’re saying!"

"I have . . . for you . . . a wet . . . oh, I forget how to say ‘kundíčka’ in English." She pointed toward her crotch with her index finger and blushed.

"I think I’ve got it," I smiled, grabbing her finger.

I looked at my watch and saw that it was almost nine.

"Well, I’ve got to go somewhere; so I guess that means you can leave without getting into trouble."

As we walked out of the building together, I could sense she was upset. I had hurt her feelings.

"I’m sorry, Andy," I said to her in front of the building, as I gently caressed her cheek with the back of my hand. "It’s nothing personal."

She quickly grabbed me and started kissing me. It wasn’t an ordinary kiss. She kissed me like no other girl had ever kissed me. Her tongue was doing things I never knew a tongue capable. And I couldn’t help myself. We intensely mauled each other for a short eternity before she abruptly broke our embrace.

"You have to go somewhere, remember?" she smiled.

"What? . . . Oh, yeah . . . go somewhere."

"I will see you tomorrow, Pepíček."

"Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow."

I somehow pulled myself together and walked to U Hýnků. Inside, Alex was waiting for me. He was drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette, and a full beer stood in front of the seat across from him.

"Hi," I smiled as I sat down. "I’m sorry I’m a little late. I got tied up."

"I haven’t been waiting long at all," he smiled.

"Is this beer for me?"

"Why, yes. I heard you really enjoy Czech beer."

"I enjoy all beer. . . . So, what’s up? Matt gave me a really large project today that I have to finish this week. So, if you don’t mind, this has to be really quick."

"Well, first let’s get something to eat; I’m starved. Do you want a menu?"

"No. I’ll just have a couple of those . . . uto . . ."

"Utopence?"

"Yeah, that’s it. They’re really great."

"Wow, I’m impressed, Joe. You’re becoming a real local."

Alex called the waiter over and ordered us four utopence.

"So," I said, "why did you want to see me?"

"Well," he replied as he lit another cigarette, "Mindy mentioned to me a few things about how your job’s been going. By the way, she also told me that the two of you are seeing each other. I think that’s great. She’s really a fantastic girl. Anyway, she told me you were somewhat unhappy with your job; and before she left on her trip, she also asked me a few questions regarding Matt’s past. It seems the two of you ran into someone who knew of Matt in New York."

"Did you know Matt was involved with Boesky?"

"Yes, I knew."

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"Would it have made any difference?"

"It certainly might have."

"Oh, come on, Joe. You would’ve taken any job that was offered; and you know it. Don’t get all ‘high and mighty’ on me."

"Still, you should’ve told me."

"Okay, I should’ve told you. I apologize. But to be honest, that wasn’t the only thing I wasn’t up front about. You see, I had ulterior motives when I set you up with this job.

"As you could probably imagine, based upon Matt’s past ‘indiscretions,’ the Embassy is quite concerned about his activities. As an American citizen, if he does something illegal -- or terribly unethical -- it’ll reflect very negatively back on us. So, when Matt asked me if I knew of a smart young person with Western financial experience, who was looking for a job, I leaped. I asked Mindy if she knew anyone, and a week or so later, she met you. I want to tell you, though, she knew nothing about my motives -- or Matt’s past. I just informed her about it before she left. . . . I thought you would like to know that."

"I don’t understand. Did you arrange all of this so I could spy on Matt?"

"Not exactly. I just wanted to know someone working there, just in case there would be trouble."

"And is there?"

"Not yet. However, last week a representative from the Ministry of Finance came to see me. As you can understand, they’re not nearly as sophisticated as our SEC is, and they’re quite worried about the possibility of trading -- how should I put it -- ‘irregularities.’ They know of Matt’s reputation, and they’re more than a little bit suspicious; especially as he has dealings with some of the most important companies in the country. With the equities market just recently opened, they realize they’re over their head when it comes to someone like Matt; and they’re very worried about some kind of serious scandal erupting, a scandal which of course could cause them serious political damage."

"So, what exactly do you want me to do?"

"Nothing. Just keep doing what you’re doing. The only thing I ask is that if you see something out of the ordinary, or if you have strong reason to believe Matt is doing something illegal or unethical, you let me know. I’ll take care of it from there."

"I just don’t know. I don’t like this at all. I mean, I’m no spy. In fact, I might be nothing after this. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to get another job in finance after working for Matt."

"Well, to be perfectly blunt, Joe, it doesn’t seem to me that you’ve been angling for a long-term career in finance. I mean, you couldn’t have possibly expected to get a job in finance over here. Did you think you’d bartend in Prague for a few years and then be welcomed back with open arms on Wall Street? If you did, you were kidding yourself. You’ll never work there again, and you know it."

"Is this your way of trying to make me feel good?"

"Not at all. I’m just telling you the facts. Facts you already know. Besides, it would seem to me that you’re not really interested in a career in finance anyway. If you were, you wouldn’t be here right now. . . . And who knows, you just might find yourself a better career path."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it’s got to be pretty dull pushing numbers around all day. I know that I would go out of my mind. Nothing to look forward to, other than watching yourself become fat and bald, watching your hair turn gray in some sterile cubicle. No, that’s not a life for people like you and me. Well, Joe, if you could help me out, I just may be able to help you out as well. You see, at my level, I have considerable influence over the hiring of Foreign Service officers. I don’t know if you know this, but it’s very difficult to get into the Foreign Service these days. It’s certainly a lot harder than it was when I was your age. The competition is unbelievably fierce. But with my strong recommendation, I can almost guarantee you a spot. Think about it: you’d get to travel around the world, and at the same time, you would get great benefits and a decent salary. And no more busting your ass twelve, fourteen hours a day to make some rich fat cat like Matt even richer. You’d be doing something important -- something with real value."

"I still don’t know. I really need some time to think about it."

"Take all the time you need. There’s no rush. Just remember, you really don’t need to do much at all. Just tell me or Mindy if you discover Matt is up to something. If you think about it, it’s really the right thing to do. I mean, this guy has tons of experience -- and believe me, he knows every dirty trick and scam that’s ever been pulled. He also knows that the Czech authorities are effectively clueless at this point; he can easily take advantage of them. Not only is this not right, but it makes all of us as Americans look bad."

"But what if Matt is not up to anything? You said yourself you have no proof."

"That’s right -- I have no proof. But I’m pretty confident that Matt is up to something. How? I’ll tell you. In Czech, there’s a saying: ani kuře zdarmo nehrabe. It means: ‘not even a chicken scratches for nothing.’ And Matt is like a chicken -- if he’s scratching around Prague, there must be some reason why. Count on it."

"Okay, I’ll think about it."

"Great. Look, we’ve been so busy that we’ve forgotten about our utopence. Can I get you another beer?"

"Sure."

"Ještě jedno," Alex said to the waiter, pointing to me.

Before taking his first bite of sausage, Alex looked at me and smiled. "Dobrou chuť!"

"I guess you speak Czech pretty well?" I asked, not even attempting to repeat what he had said.

"I guess so. This is my second tour in Prague, so I’ve spent a lot of time here. What about yourself? Have you started taking Czech lessons?"

"No. Matt told me not to; he said I couldn’t possibly learn it, no matter how hard I tried."

"Don’t believe it. Anyone can learn Czech. Now, I’m certainly not saying it’s an easy language, because it’s not. But if you put your mind to it, you can learn it. And believe me, Joe, it’s worth the effort. I’ve been all over the world and I can honestly say I haven’t heard a prettier language than Czech. If you ask me, it makes French sound like Pig Latin. And it’s especially wonderful listening to how it’s spoken here in Prague. People sing when they speak. What I really love is sitting in on a large meeting; it’s like listening to an opera, complete with arias. And that’s just the beginning. If you can read Czech, you can read some of the world’s greatest literature in its original. Hašek, Čapek, Hrabal -- you can read masterpieces no translation can touch. Why, it’s worth learning Czech just for that reason alone."

"Can you recommend me a class?"

"The National Language School on Národní třída has some good courses."

"I’ll give it a try."

"And if one day you really feel like dedicating yourself to learning Czech, I can recommend you to my private tutor, Dr. Alena Vachoušková. She’s probably the best Czech teacher in Prague -- if not the world. But she only works with students that are really dedicated. To her, the Czech language means a lot more than just a few crowns from some snot-nosed foreigner."

"I just might take you up on that. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be able to speak Czech as well as Matt."

"Let’s hope you’ll speak it a lot better than that," Alex smiled.

"What? You don’t think Matt speaks Czech well?"

"You’re joking! I bet he probably told you something about how he speaks Czech like God, didn’t he?"

"Yeah, I think he said something like that."

"Well, actually it could be true. Unfortunately for Matt, God most likely doesn’t speak Czech very well."

Alex motioned the waiter for the bill.

"Tell me," I said, "how long have you been here?"

"Like I said, this is my second tour in Prague. I spent two years here during the early eighties, and I’ve been here now for almost a year."

"Things have changed a lot since your first tour, eh?"

"It’s almost a completely different city. Things certainly have changed. In many ways, it’s much better. Everything is far more modern, and people have opportunities they couldn’t have even imagined back then. But in a lot of other ways, it’s far worse. The price of almost everything is too high, and there’s too many goddamn tourists. And what’s worse than the tourists is all these spoiled rich kids that come here from America on permanent vacations."

"I hope you’re not referring to me."

"Well, I certainly had my doubts about you at first. But I must admit you’ve genuinely surprised me."

"Alex, how long have you been in the Foreign Service?"

"Ever since the War ended."

"You mean Vietnam?"

"That’s right. I was there for four years."

"What was it like?"

"Horrible, of course. I could try to explain it to you, but you couldn’t possibly understand."

"I guess not. . . . Do you like working in the Foreign Service?"

"Quite honestly, I love it. Mind you, it’s not perfect, but I can’t imagine having done anything else. The people I’ve met, the places I’ve been -- the things I’ve seen. It’s the kind of experience I could’ve never gotten working for some faceless corporation. Like I said, though, it has its drawbacks. I’ve been divorced twice, and I haven’t made nearly as much money as I could’ve made in the private sector. But, do you want to know what? When I’m on my deathbed, I’ll know I’ve accomplished something. I’ll know my life had meaning. I’ll know I served a purpose. You really can’t put a price on something like that, can you?"

After Alex paid the bill, we walked outside together. It was pouring rain, and I didn’t have an umbrella.

"Can I drop you off somewhere?" he asked.

"No, I’m just going back to the office."

"At this time of night?"

"Yeah, I’ve got a big project to finish by Friday. . . . So, do you want me to call you?"

"It’s up to you, Joe. Just think about what I said. We only want to know if he’s doing something illegal or unethical. That’s all."

I went back to the office, but there was far too much on my mind to get any real work done, especially after a couple of beers. So, I just cleaned up a few things and left.

On the Metro home, I was deep in thought. I thought about spying on Matt. And I thought about a career in the Foreign Service. But most of all, I thought about Andrea’s back.

10

2006-06-04T08:10:00.000-07:00

10

The Amík

As I slowly awoke, I raised my head toward the alarm clock next to my bed. It was already 5:30 P.M. I felt horrible as I slithered into the bathroom to take a shower. I turned on the water, stepped inside, and came to a disturbing discovery: there was no hot water. I screamed and cursed for a few moments, before retreating into the kitchen to boil some water.

Taking a sponge bath wasn’t exactly a thrilling experience, but it accomplished the task adequately; and afterward, I felt at least marginally better. I quickly dressed and left my apartment, making it to the Thirsty Dog a few minutes before seven.

The Thirsty Dog was another American expatriate bar. Larger than Jo’s Bar and not quite as chic, it attracted English teachers and young, hippie-want-to-be Czechs, as well as a few lost tourists. Mindy hadn’t arrived yet, so I bought a beer at the bar and waited for her by one of the tables near the entrance. Before I could take my first sip, she walked in.

"Ahoj!" she smiled before kissing me on the cheek.

"Hi," I smiled back, trying to feign wellness.

"What’s the matter? Don’t you feel well?"

"I’m okay."

"Are you sure? You certainly don’t look well."

"Oh, I’m just a little under the weather."

"Maybe we should do this some other time."

"No, really -- I’m fine."

"I bet it’s all those hot dogs you’ve been eating," she smiled as she walked to the bar to buy herself a beer.

"So," she said, returning with a beer, "why don’t we finish these beers and go down the street to Red, Hot and Blues for dinner."

"What kind of restaurant is that?"

"It’s this overpriced Cajun restaurant that just recently opened. And not only is it overpriced, but the service really sucks too."

"Sounds just wonderful," I smiled.

"Well, it’s far from perfect, but at least it serves spicy food. I just can’t stand Czech food, especially here in Prague. It’s all so bland, without any taste whatsoever."

We smiled blankly at each other for a few moments as the conversation lulled.

"So, how was your week?" I asked.

"The usual nonsense. Lots of people complaining. Like I said, the usual nonsense. What about yourself?"

"Not bad. I didn’t have much to do this week, but I tried at least to keep myself busy."

"You’re still not thinking about leaving, are you?"

"No. I thought about what you said. And you were right; I should give it some more time."

"I think that’s a very smart idea. . . . Well, what do you think about this place?"

"It’s not bad. The beer is certainly cheap."

"You know, I just heard a really funny story about this pub. Right across the street over there is the Hotel Paříž; it’s one of the most expensive hotels in Prague. Well, this place and the bar next door, the Alkohol Klub, used to be open until five in the morning; and supposedly, there was a lot of noise and broken glass at all hours of the morning. It got so bad the manager of the hotel had to tell them to be quieter, as the noise was disturbing the guests. The owner of this place replied that noise was part of its atmosphere, that there was nothing he could do about it. Well, the hotel manager told him if the noise didn’t cease, he would shut this place down. The pub owner replied that he couldn’t do that -- that only the government could shut his bar down. ‘I am the government!’ the hotel manager snarled before storming away. Two weeks later, both these bars were shut down. And now they both close a lot earlier, and they also keep everyone off the street."

We finished our beers and went to Red, Hot and Blues. Like the Thirsty Dog and Jo’s Bar, it catered mostly to foreigners. Even a couple of waitresses were Americans.

"Hey, Mindy!" a balding little man at the bar said when he saw us walk in. He was probably in his late twenties, but his voice was so high-pitched that he sounded as if he were still in puberty.

"Hi, Michael," Mindy politely smiled as she shook his hand. "Joe, this is Michael. He does some investment banking here in Prague, mostly for ČEZ, the state electric company."

"Really?" I smiled. "I used to work for an investment bank in New York -- Miller Rubenstein."

"I know them well," he smirked. "Excellent company."

"And I’ve just started working for Andrews & Soudruzi."

"Is that so?" he condescendingly remarked, as if he thought he were clearly superior to me. "Hey, I have to leave pretty soon -- I’ve got a really hot date -- but why don’t we have a beer together before I leave."

"I guess we could," Mindy replied, obviously not too enthusiastic about the idea.

"Great. Let me take care of my tab and I’ll meet you inside in a few minutes."

We sat down at a table in the next room, and the waitress brought us menus.

"There’s something I should tell you about Michael," she said to me. "I guess he’s an okay kind of guy, but he’s really boring."

"That I could tell. But it’s only one beer; and I’m kind of interested in knowing what type of stuff he’s doing here."

Moments later, Michael sat down.

"They have a really good beer here, Joe," Mindy said as we looked through the menus. "It’s called Pardubický Porter, and kind of difficult to find in Prague. It’s a nineteen-degree beer."

"What exactly does that mean?" I asked. "I’ve seen the degree sign written on beer labels here, but I have no idea what it means. Does it have something to do with the percent of alcohol?"

"You surprise me, Joe. I thought you were a real beer connoisseur. Don’t you know how they grade beers in Europe? They grade them by degrees, which is actually the density of the beer. The higher the density, the higher the percentage of alcohol. However, some beers can have the same density, but differing percentages of alcohol. 19 degrees is a really outrageous number. Normally, Czech beer comes in either 10 degrees or 12 degrees. I think this porter is something like 7 percent alcohol."

"You’re kidding! That’s almost like wine. Let’s get some of those."

"Okay, but after a few of them, I may not be responsible for my actions."

"That’s what I’m hoping for."

Michael cleared his throat, probably feeling a little embarrassed. The waitress came by, and we ordered 3 porters.

"So, Joe, . . ." Michael said, "that is your name, right? You said you’re working at Andrews & Soudruzi. Wow, Matt Andrews. You know, I was really happy to hear that he was able to get back on his feet. He was sort of a hero of mine when I first started working on the Street."

"What do you mean by ‘getting back on his feet’?" I asked, before turning to Mindy. Her face was expressionless.

"What?" he smiled. "You don’t know about Matt’s past?"

"No."

"Well, Matt was really big on the Street in the eighties. He was Ivan Boesky’s right-hand man. Shit, he was involved in some really big deals. I mean, really big deals. You know, when he started with Boesky he was only in his twenties, probably not much older than you, if that old. Someone once told me that, with the bonuses he was making, one year he pulled in close to eight figures. And that was just what he was reporting. Can you imagine that? Of course, when Boesky went down, so did Matt. And boy did he go. I bet he couldn’t get a job shining shoes in front of the Exchange. And as far as I know, he hasn’t been doing squat until he showed up here.

"Man, I was really surprised when I saw him at an AmCham event a few months ago. I tell you, it was a real thrill getting a chance to speak with him. It was like an aspiring painter getting a chance to talk with Picasso. . . . You wouldn’t believe the stories he told me. Like, for instance, he once asked Boesky why Boesky showered the traders with so much money when they weren’t worth jackshit. ‘I want to make them feel they’re important,’ Boesky told him. Damn, I would give my right arm to have lived through those times. I mean, a few months after I graduated college, the fucking stock market crashed. And it’s been a long, uphill climb ever since."

I smiled awkwardly at Michael as the beers came. I didn’t know quite what to say. I was embarrassed that I didn’t know about Matt’s past. I felt like a fool.

"I must say," he continued, "I’m glad to see he’s back in the game. But it’s going to be really tough for him. Even in a place like this, everyone knows his reputation. It’s hard to imagine he could get any serious business. You know, it’s kind of sad. He told me that he’d like to do some business with my company, and I had to brush him off. Imagine telling your hero no. But I had to do it -- I have my company’s reputation to think of. I can’t be associated with a guy like that. Pretty sad, don’t you think?"

My look of embarrassment was quickly turning into a look of anger; and sensing this, Mindy interrupted.

"Don’t you have to be going, Michael?" she said.

"What?"

"That hot date of yours?"

"Oh, that; I almost forgot. Well, I guess I’ll be a little late. But, who cares? It’s not like I’m not going to get any if I show up a little late."

He slowly got up from the table, before pulling out a hundred-crown note from his wallet and firmly placing it on the table.

"This is way too much," Mindy said, attempting to give him back the money. "You only had one beer."

"Forget it; there’s plenty more. . . . Have a good evening, guys. And good luck, Joe. Believe me, you’ll need it."

As soon as he left, I quietly erupted.

"Why didn’t you tell me about Matt?"

"This is the first I’ve heard of it. I swear to God. You know, I’m not exactly an expert on Wall Street. Hell, this is your own profession and you didn’t even know. Besides, maybe that little prick was just exaggerating. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. He goes around Prague acting as if he were Warren Buffet -- but he’s just penny-ante; he’s just another lousy Amík."

"A what?"

"An Amík. That’s what Czechs call all these silly little Americans running around Prague. I tell you what though, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll ask Alex about it. I’m sure there’s an explanation. You know, I really hope you’re not going to let that jerk ruin our evening."

"No," I replied as I put my hand on hers.

After dinner, while we were finishing our coffee, Mindy smiled at me.

"So how are you feeling?"

"A little better."

"I guess it’s the weather. It affects everyone."

"You’re probably right. I shouldn’t have taken that walk around the city today in the rain. I had a pretty interesting time, though. I met this great old guy in the park. He was really fascinating -- although, I really didn’t understand a lot of what he was talking about, especially when he started talking about ‘little pearls on the bottom.’ I even had a nightmare about it while taking a nap this afternoon. He said he was a ‘pábitel’ or something like that."

"A ‘pábitel’? Why, I’ve never heard of that word before. Are you sure you’re not mispronouncing it?"

"Probably. Anyway, then I saw these dogs doing handstands in Old Town Square. It was worse than those stupid pet tricks on Letterman."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s pretty cruel, if you ask me. I guess they don’t have an ASPCA around here. Wait until you see what they do to carp around Christmas time."

"And then, then I come home to find I have no hot water."

"Where do you live?"

"In Háje."

"Oh, you live in a sídliště. Well, every year in places like that they have to turn off the hot water for a few weeks to clean the pipes. It’s a real hassle. I’m really glad I don’t have to go through that."

"You mean, I won’t have hot water for a few weeks?"

"Most likely. Although, I’ve heard people say that the amount of time without hot water will be lessened this year. So, maybe you’ll get lucky."

"Just great."

"Hey, what did you expect? Did you think when you moved here you’d have all the conveniences of home?"

"After all, we are in the Czech Republic," I smiled.

"Exactly," she smiled back.

After we paid the bill, I asked her what she wanted to do next.

"Well, if you’re up to it -- and only if you’re up to it -- I would really like to go to Borat tonight. It’s a club in Malá Strana. I heard Daniel Landa will be playing there tonight with his new band. Have you heard of him?"

"No."

"He’s fucking awesome."

"What kind of music is it?"

"I guess you would classify it as alternative."

"You mean like Nirvana?"

"Much better. I bought the CD a few weeks ago, and I can’t stop listening to it."

We took a taxi across town and walked inside the dark, decrepit club. Although it was still early, it was already packed with young people. We bought a couple of beers at the bar upstairs and then went back downstairs to the main room, where the warm-up band was playing. The heat in the room, combined with the loud music, quickly made my temperature rise and my head spin.

"This place is really famous," she shouted to me in my ear. "It was a big underground hangout before the Revolution. And now a lot of great Czech bands play here."

Moments later, the band finished its set, and the lights were turned on. As most of the people were dressed punkish, I stood out wearing a white button-down oxford, a tie, and khaki pants; and I got more than the usual amount of silly stares. We went back upstairs for another beer, and by the time we had squeezed back into the room downstairs, Daniel Landa and his band were coming onstage.

Midway through their set, they began playing a slow song; and the crowd went crazy.

"This is the best song on the album," Mindy said. "‘Ztracení hoši.’ Let’s dance!"

"To this song?"

"Don’t worry -- it gets a lot faster."

"Well, I think I’ll sit this one out. But hey, don’t let me stop you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes -- go on!"

As Mindy approached the stage, the music suddenly got faster, much faster; and she started dancing provocatively with two or three young Czech guys. It looked as if she were having sex with them. Up until then, I hadn’t thought of Mindy being wild. It made me feel both uncomfortable and unexplainably excited to see her dance like that. She was dancing like a banshee, and the entire crowd seemed to be in an induced frenzy.

As the song climaxed, I felt worse. I was drenched in sweat and felt as if I would pass out. Suddenly, someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around and saw Bohumil, the old man I had met in the park earlier that day. He was swaying to the music as if he were really enjoying it. He smiled at me, before pulling out a little pearl from his pants pocket.

"I must be losing my mind," I said to myself, wiping the sweat from my eyes. When I looked again, Bohumil was gone.

Mindy came back at the end of the song, and even in the dark, she could tell I wasn’t well.

"I tell you what," she said as she caressed my cheek, "why don’t we call it a night."

"I’m all right," I insisted.

"No you’re not. You’re burning up. I’m taking you back to my place. I have a spare bed and you can crash there for the night. In the mean time, I’ll pump you up with some of my chicken soup."

I just smiled at her in reply. I was in love. And she knew it.

We took the tram to her apartment, which was a few blocks from náměstí Míru; and as soon as we entered her nicely-furnished apartment, she gave me a couple of aspirins and told me to lie on the couch while she warmed up the soup. I soon fell asleep as I stared at the beautiful painting hanging above her couch.

The next morning, I awoke on the couch with a couple of blankets covering me. Mindy was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea.

"You’re alive!" she smiled.

"Barely," I groaned.

"Oh, my poor baby. I wish I didn’t have to leave on a business trip this afternoon. I’m going to the States for the next two weeks. Otherwise, I’d take care of you today."

"That’s okay," I said as I slowly got up. "I have to do some laundry anyway."

I quickly went to the bathroom, before she walked me out of her building.

"I’ll give you a call as soon as I get back," she said to me while we waited for the tram. "Hopefully, you’ll be in better health for our next date. Believe me, you’ll need to be in your absolute best condition if you expect to survive an entire evening with me."

If I had felt better, I’m sure I would’ve blushed, at least a little. But all I could manage was a polite smile.

When I got home, I quickly remembered I didn’t have hot water. I cursed myself for not taking a shower at Mindy’s.

I didn’t even bother sponge bathing myself, I just dumped my dirty clothes into my backpack and went to Laundry Kings. When I walked inside, I saw that it was packed with tourists.

"There is a long wait," the attendant said to me.

"How long is a ‘long wait’?"

"Probably three hours. But maybe longer."

"That’s just fucking great!"

"I’m sorry. But after all, this is the Czech Republic."

"So I’ve heard."

I put my name on the waiting list and sat down in the last free lawn chair.

"Hey, dude!" someone cried out.

I turned around and saw Karl sitting behind me.

I was in no mood for Karl.

"How’s it going?" he continued. "What’s going on in the world of capitalism? Exploiting lots of Czechs lately?"

He was just joking, but I didn’t care.

"Why don’t you just fuck off!" I whispered.

"What’s the matter? Are we a little sensitive today? You know, if you ask me, you business people are really destroying this city."

"Hey," I hollered, "how would you like me to fucking destroy you, you fucking spoiled brat!"

Just then, a thin middle-aged man with a thick beard slowly strolled into the waiting area. By the way he walked, and by the expression on his face, he must’ve been wearing his shorts too tight for the past two decades.

"What’s all the shouting about?" he asked with a deep southern accent.

"Nothing!" I replied.

"Jesus Christ, you boys have youth and health, and you just waste your time yelling at each other. It just makes no sense. While others of us are struggling just to survive, struggling to find an operative kidney. I guess neither of you would be interested in selling a kidney, would you?"

"What?" I screamed.

"I’m asking if either of you would be interested in selling a kidney. A good friend of mine is in need of one, and he’s willing to pay $10,000. Hell, that’s an awful lot of money. And not only would you get $10,000, you’d get to spend an entire week in a first-class hotel after the operation. I think that’s a pretty good deal."

"Excuse me, but are you completely out of your fucking mind?"

"Hey, I don’t like that kind of language in my store. So, if you haven’t started your wash as of yet, I’ll have to kindly ask you to leave. But you can come back again when you bring a better attitude."

"Come back? I’m never coming back to this shithole again! I don’t care if I have to wash my clothes in the fucking bathtub!"

And that’s what I did. I went home, emptied my clothes in the bathtub, added some laundry detergent, turned on the ice-cold water, and kind of mixed everything about with my hands. I kept telling myself that my great grandmother probably didn’t have a laundry machine either.

I scrubbed and scrubbed; and after letting the clothes soak for half an hour, I made a valiant attempt to squeeze the water out. But everything was still wet; and although I left the clothes to dry above the bathtub the entire day, they were not dry until the following morning. And then, only marginally dry.

Still, I gained a certain satisfaction from doing this. I wasn’t just another Amík. I didn’t need Western comforts. I could adjust to all adversities -- all trials and tribulations.

9

2006-06-04T07:47:00.000-07:00

9

The Little Pearl on the Bottom

Dana was waiting at her desk when I arrived at the office early the following morning.

"Did Jan tell you that we must go to the foreigners police this morning?" she asked.

"Yes, that’s why I’m here early."

"Do you have your passport with you?"

"Yes."

"Good. We just need to complete some forms and then we will go. Oh, do you have three small photographs?"

"No, I don’t. At least not with me. I had extra photos from the time I got my Metro pass, but they’re home. Jan didn’t tell me I needed to bring photographs."

"That’s okay; we will stop somewhere on the way."

I sat down next to her desk; and for the next twenty minutes, we filled out a variety of forms, most of which requested the same information over and over again. Once we finished, we walked to the photo booth in the Můstek Metro station and bought a set of four photographs, before taking tram number 9 to the foreigners police in Prague 3.

The foreigners police station, a large and gloomy government office building, was a sea of humanity -- with representatives from all over the world, including Americans and other Westerners, Russians and other peoples from the former Soviet Union, and Asians and Africans. Inside the main lobby there were a dozen doors; and in front of half of them, long lines of people. And the lines were formed in all shapes and manners. At least half the people waiting were Asian, and they all seemed to know each other.

"Fucking Vietnamese," Dana whispered to me while we waited in the information line. "These gooks, they are probably all ‘working’ at the same Chinese restaurant. I cannot stand them. They all have crooked eyes."

It was uncomfortable listening to her, to hear such irrational venom coming from such a sweet-looking girl. Blind hatred beamed from her eyes.

At the information booth, we purchased some kind of stamp; and after placing it on one of the application forms, we walked to the end of one of the lines.

"It is impossible to tell which line will be faster," Dana whispered to me, "so you stay here and I will stand in that line over there, and we will see which one moves faster."

We waited and waited, and then, waited a little more. We must’ve stood in line for more than two hours before Dana reached the head of her line. There were still three people in front of me.

"Joe, come on!" she screamed.

I rushed over to her, and ten minutes later, we finally entered the office, where a heavy-set, middle-aged man sat and contemptuously stared at us.

We sat down and Dana politely presented him our documentation. A few minutes into the conversation, it became clear that something wasn’t right. Dana’s voice went from being polite, to being slightly perturbed, to finally being angered.

The man shook his head.

"What’s wrong?" I asked.

"There is a problem with one of your documents," she replied. "It is the document from your landlord. It states that you have been living there since the beginning of the month, but it does not state until when you will be living there."

"That’s ridiculous!"

"That is our bureaucrats."

"A další věc." the man added, "Jsou tady čtyři fotka. Potrebujete tři!" As he said this, he raised three fingers.

"Now what’s he saying?" I asked Dana.

"It is unbelievable," she cried as she shook her head. "He says that we are required to have three photographs, but that we have four photographs."

I quickly grabbed one of the photographs and put it in my jacket pocket.

"Now there’s only three."

"Ne, ne, ne!" the man screamed at me. "Já jsem viděl. Byli čtyři fotka!"

"He says that he saw four photographs," Dana translated.

"Well, he can go fuck himself!"

"Hey, I understand English," the man said. "You should show me respect. After all, you are a guest in this country."

"He speaks English? Why the hell didn’t we just speak English from the beginning?"

"Úřední řeč tady je čestina," he proudly said.

"He says that Czech is the official language here," she translated.

"Great. So now what do we do?"

"We have to come back here again with a new document from your landlord that states until when you will be staying. And, of course, only three photographs."

"What? You mean we have to go through this bullshit all over again."

"That is right," the bureaucrat smiled.

He was still grinning as we were leaving. I turned to Dana and whispered into her ear.

"Could you please do me a favor and tell this son-of-a-bitch to go fuck off -- in the official Czech language, of course."

"With pleasure. . . . Dějte do prdele!" Dana thrust her middle finger at him, like a true New Yorker.

"Nashledanou, slečno," he continued smiling. "Příjďte zas!"

"Oh, I hate those people!" she screamed as we walked back to the tram stop. "I want to fucking kill them all!"

"You know," I said, "I can see now where Kafka was coming from. I mean, his novels probably weren’t meant to be absurd at all, but just a realistic view of Prague."

I awoke the following morning to the sound of thunder. It was raining. I looked at the thermometer that hung outside my bedroom window. It read 10 degrees Celsius. A quick calculation in my head told me it was somewhere in the forties. Not particularly warm weather for June.

After showering and dressing, despite the weather, I had an urge to take a walk around the neighborhood; as although I had already lived in Háje for a few weeks, I hadn’t yet seen Háje.

I was surprised when, a quarter of a mile from my apartment, I found something besides the paneláks: a pretty river, surrounded by a woodland reservation. As I walked through the fields, meadows, and forests, I almost forgot where I was. It was beautiful, even in the rain. However, I happened to turn around toward the paneláks and the spell was quickly broken. I headed for Old Town.

Walking through Old Town, I recalled that Jiří’s apartment was somewhere nearby. So, after finding an awning to stand under, I pulled out Jiří’s card, and looked for his address on my map. His apartment was in an adjoining section of Prague called Josefov.

When I finally found his building, I wondered whether it was worth the effort. It was old and gray, and dilapidated.

I continued walking through Josefov, and as the rain let up, I came to a small park. The only other person there was a tall old man, who was sitting on the only bench in the park feeding pigeons. I sat down next to him and politely smiled.

"Dobré ráno," he warmly smiled back.

"Dobré ráno," I poorly repeated.

"Where are you from?" he asked with a quizzical expression on his face.

"America."

"America? Where in America?"

"New York."

"Ah, the Big Apple. Tell me, I have always wanted to know why they call it the ‘Big Apple’."

"Actually, I don’t know."

"That is okay. You know, they call Prague ‘Zlatá Praha,’ or ‘The Golden Prague.’ And it is not particularly golden at all. . . . Are you visiting our city?"

"No, I just moved here. I work for a financial research company off Old Town Square."

"Financial research company? That sounds very interesting. Of course, I know nothing of such things. I have had many jobs in my life, but I have never worked for a financial research company."

"Yeah? What kind of jobs have you had?"

"Oh, there are too many to mention. Let me see: I have worked on the railroad, I have worked as a salesman, I have worked with steel. I have had many jobs. Of course, now I am just a useless old man. I do not do much anymore besides feeding pigeons. Just an old pábitel who has outgrown his existence. . . . I do not know how to say ‘pábitel’ in English. I do not suppose you know how to translate it?"

"I can barely count in Czech."

"Well, a ‘pábitel’ is someone who truly loves life. Loves life despite how vile it can often be. It is someone who really lives every day and never forgets the beauty of being alive. Please, are there many pábitelé where you are from?"

"Probably not. Our lives can certainly be vile, but I don’t know too many people who actually enjoy them in spite of it."

"That is too bad. There is not much reason for life if it is not enjoyed, that and the remarkable people and events surrounding you. Every day that I am alive I find something that surprises me, something that brings a smile to my face. And I will tell you, my friend, the day this stops will be the day life stops having value. Until that day, though, I will continue seeking out the wonders of life; continue searching for those little pearls on the bottom."

"Little pearls?"

"Yes, little pearls on the bottom. You see, most things of value are not directly in your sight. You must know where to look for them; you must find them yourself. Sometimes you have to dig and dig and dig; but if you are lucky, you will find that precious little pearl on the bottom. And when you find one of these pearls, you become very rich, sometimes richer than you ever thought was possible."

"I’m afraid you’ve lost me."

"Ah, one day maybe you will understand. And let us hope it is before you are as old as I am."

"I guess you’ve seen an awful lot over the years."

"Yes. I have seen very much during my life. Do you know that I have lived in the same country my whole life, but at the same time, I have been a citizen of five different countries?

"I was born during World War I. The Great War, as they called it. At that time, these lands were part of the old Austrian Empire, Rakousko-Uhersko. And then, after the War, the First Czechoslovak Republic was established. What a time that was to grow up. For the first time in almost three hundred years we were a free people. Can you imagine that? Three hundred years! And not only were we free -- this was a country of such optimism and ingenuity. We were one of the most successful countries in the world."

"My boss mentioned something about that."

"Your boss was right. We were so successful that even the Swiss were envious of us.

"Then, came Munich. First, the Germans took the northern part of our country, the Sudatenland, as they called it. Then, soon after, they took the rest of our country. It is then that I became a citizen of the German Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia. Let me tell you, this was not a very pleasant time in our history. Unlike other countries, like Poland, we do not have many physical scars; but we have emotional scars that will never heal. For example, did you know that before the War one-quarter of this city was Jewish? In fact, where we are sitting right now used to be the Jewish section of Prague. And today, they’re almost all gone.

"After the war, everything got better. This is when I obtained my fourth citizenship, that of the Second Czechoslovak Republic. Our happiness, though, didn’t last long. The Communists came to power a few years later. More misery, more sadness. And all for no reason. It was awful.

"Then, almost like magic, everything got better. Perhaps you have heard about this time in our history; it was called The Prague Spring. 1968. What a lovely time. For a few short months, we had created what we thought was a utopia: Socialism with a Human Face, as they called it. The Russian tanks came in that August. And then everything was almost as bad as it was before. This was another sad time in our history. A lot of brave men protested and fought. In fact, a student, Jan Palach, set himself on fire on Wenceslas Square in protest. The protests and our freedom were muffled, though. Muffled, but not silenced. Never silenced.

"1989. The Berlin Wall fell. And soon after, our young people marched on Wenceslas Square. This time we would not be muffled. This was our Velvet Revolution. As they called it.

"And now I have just received my fifth citizenship. Now I am a citizen of the Czech Republic. Five citizenships, you know, is too much for one lifetime. I shall not accept a sixth."

"Wow," was all I could say.

"Wow indeed. By the way, what is your name, young man?"

"Joe."

"It is a pleasure meeting you, Joe," he said as he offered me his hand. "My name is Bohumil. Unfortunately, Joe, I must be going now. Otherwise, I would have talked with you some more. Perhaps we shall meet again one day."

He slowly stood up, and with the help of his cane, he began walking away. As he reached the end of the park, he stopped, turned back toward me, and waved. His smile was so penetrating that I could feel it. I smiled and waved back to him.

As soon as he was out of sight, the rain began again, almost as if it had paused for him. Soon, it began pouring hard. I got up and quickly walked to Old Town Square to buy some hot dogs.

On the way to the hot dog stand, I stopped by a small side show in the middle of the square. A middle-aged man was doing stupid tricks with three of the ugliest, scrawniest little mutts I had ever seen. They were especially ugly drenched with rain, looking more like rats than dogs.

The show was more sad than funny, especially when the man had them perform handstands. After they finished, he took off his hat and went through the crowd asking for money in broken German.

As he approached me, I walked away and bought two hot dogs and two beers.

"How are you doing today?" Tonda asked as he prepared the hot dogs.

"Not bad, apart from the weather."

"Get used to it. It will be like this every day for month, maybe two."

I quickly finished my lunch and walked to the Metro. Being outside in the rain all morning was starting to affect me; and by the time the train left for Háje, I was feeling warm. I guess a wet foreigner was even stranger to a Czech than a dry one; it seemed as if the entire car was staring at me. As soon as I got home, I went to the medicine cabinet to look for some aspirin. I couldn’t find any, but I did find a thermometer.

It read 37.5, but being in no mood to try to convert it to Fahrenheit, I just went to bed.

I fell asleep almost immediately; but I quickly awoke when I felt something enter my mouth. When I opened my eyes, I saw Bohumil. He was standing over me. He was smiling and his hand was down my throat.

"What are you doing?" I asked, speaking clearly despite his arm being in my mouth.

"I’m looking for one of those little pearls on the bottom," he whispered. "Just a moment . . . I think I might have found one. . . . Yes, here is one!"

I started choking as he struggled to pull it out. Then, I woke up. This time for real. I was sweating profusely. I felt horrible.

I looked at my watch and saw that it was 2:30. I still had a few hours before I was to meet Mindy, but if I had had her home number, I would’ve almost certainly called her to cancel our date. In the condition I was in, there was no way I was getting laid.

8

2006-06-03T11:30:00.000-07:00

8

The Spy Who Came into the Cold

A pair of suitcases were lying by the front door when I came to work on Monday morning. As I closed the door behind myself, Matt came out of his office and walked toward me.

"Good morning, Joe," he smiled.

"Good morning."

"Wow," he said as he looked at his watch, "you’re actually here on time."

"Yes, I am. Are you going somewhere?"

"I’m going to Northern Moravia for the week to check out some companies."

"What should I be doing while you’re gone?"

"Why don’t you talk to Jan. I’m sure he’ll find something interesting for you to do."

I walked into my office, and I saw Jan sitting in front of his computer smoking a cigarette. It was exactly the way I had left him on Friday.

"Hi," I said, sitting down at my desk. "How was your weekend?"

"I was here all fucking weekend -- that’s how it was. What about yourself? Did you have a good time?"

"Excellent."

"How was your date?" Andrea asked.

"None of your business," I smiled.

"You should have come to see me at Radost on Friday. You would have not regretted it."

"I guess you know Matt will be gone all week," I said, turning to Jan.

"It’s too bad that he won’t be gone forever."

"He said you’d tell me what to do."

"Well, a couple of students -- I mean, ‘analysts’ -- will be coming in later this morning to enter financials into the database. When they get here, you can control their work. You’ll just have to keep yourself busy until then; I really need to get something finished this morning."

I sat and stared at my computer monitor all morning. By 11:30, the "analysts" still hadn’t arrived, so I went to the hot dog stand for some lunch. When I returned, Jan turned toward me.

"The analysts are in the next room," he said. "I was waiting for you to get back before I gave them their work."

Jan took a stack of papers from his desk drawer and handed them to me.

"This is financial information we have received from companies, either through visits Matt has made or through the mail. These documents cannot be read by Můstek. It’s the analysts’ job to enter the information into the system; and your responsibility will be to make certain they do it correctly."

"This is all in Czech," I said as I looked through the documents.

"What do you expect? After all, we are in the Czech Republic."

"That’s just fucking great. How can I make sure they’re entering everything correctly when I don’t understand anything?"

"Here’s some dictionaries," he said, handing me a thick set of books. "If you can’t find something, just ask me or Andrea."

Jan and I walked next door to the room where the analysts were waiting. It was actually more like a closet than a room, with barely enough space for two wooden chairs and a small desk, on which stood two old computers.

"Hello, guys," Jan said to them. "Let me introduce you to Joe; he’s from America. He’ll be your new supervisor."

"Hello," a very young man said to me as he stood up to shake my hand. "My name is Radek."

"And I’m Pavel," the other man added.

"So," I said, "you guys are students?"

"That is right," Radek replied. "We are students at VŠE. It is the Economics University, if you do not know it. We work here just ten hours a week."

Jan left and I followed him out.

"Jan," I said as I closed the door behind myself, "what exactly should I be doing with these guys?"

"I don’t know; I just work here. To be truly honest with you, I don’t even know why Matt hired you in the first place. But please don’t think this means I have something personal against you, because I don’t. I don’t understand why any of you Americans are in Prague. You don’t speak the language; you don’t understand the culture. It’s insane."

"Gee, thanks. I like you too, Jan."

"Look, here’s what I’d do: look at how the information is organized in the system; and when they finish entering the data, compare it with the reports. Use your own judgment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of my own work to do."

I walked back into the students’ room and gave them the documents.

"I guess you guys know what to do," I said.

"Of course," Radek replied as he split the stack of documents between him and Pavel.

"When you finish entering all the data, why don’t we have a little meeting to discuss what you’ve done."

"Okay, Joe. But probably we will not finish until Wednesday. Pavel and I work here only three days a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday."

"Fine, just let me know when you’re done."

I went back to my office and resumed staring at my monitor.

"Hey, Joe," Jan said to me while he continued working, "I’m sorry that I’m such a dick today. It’s just that I have so much work to do. I didn’t mean half of what I said."

"Which half?"

Jan smiled.

"It’s okay," I said. "I understand. I’ve worked on Wall Street; I know how it can get to you. Hey, do you have an old report I could look at? I’d really like to get a better feel for the structure of things."

"Sure," he replied, taking an annual report from the file cabinet and handing it to me.

The report was from a company called Pražský pivovar. I couldn’t find the word ‘Pražský’ in the dictionary I was using, but I found ‘pivovar.’ It was a brewery. Finally, something interesting.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon reading the report. Most of this time was spent translating terminology into English, with the help of Andrea. As Matt had said, the quality of financial information was certainly not up to American standards, but it was at least possible to get a basic feel for the health of the company.

That night, I went home early and spent most of the evening sitting in my living room drinking beer and eating rolls, while watching American television shows like Beverly Hills 90120 dubbed into Czech. Although I couldn’t understand what the characters were saying, I was surprised by the quality of the dubbing. Everyone’s lips seemed to be in perfect sync, despite the considerable differences between Czech and English. I was also surprised that I could easily follow the plots without understanding a single word.

After finishing my final beer, I went to bed, even though it wasn’t even ten o’clock. It certainly wasn’t the life I envisioned when moving to Prague.

Almost as soon as I arrived at the office the following day, I called Mindy.

"Mindy Forsyth," she answered. "How can I help you?"

"Oh, I’m sure I can think of something."

"Hey, how’s it going?"

"Oh, the usual. Matt’s out this week, so at least no one will be yelling at me for a few days. . . . The reason I’m calling is to ask if you’d like to get together this weekend. You know, like we talked about Saturday."

"Sure. Why don’t we meet at the Thirsty Dog this Saturday, let’s say, at five o’clock."

"Okay. But where’s the Thirsty Dog?"

"It’s right off náměstí Republiky, across the street from the Hotel Paříž."

After hanging up, I began staring at my monitor again. Somehow I would have to keep myself busy until Saturday.

But even with long lunches and many breaks, the next two days dragged on and on. Late Wednesday afternoon, the students finished entering the data into the computer. They smiled as they walked up to my desk.

"So," Radek said as he returned the documents to me, "we just finished. Do you want to have that meeting now?"

"Yeah. Why don’t you guys pull up a couple of chairs and we’ll take a look at what you’ve done."

They sat down next to me and described how they entered the information.

"Over the next few days I’ll check what you’ve entered," I said after we went through one sample. "But judging by this one report, everything seems to be okay. Do you guys have any other work to do?"

"Oh, yes," Radek replied, nodding his head. "Matt has many things for us to do when we are not entering data."

"Believe me, I really envy you."

"So, is this meeting ended?"

"Yes, this meeting is ended."

The following day, I slowly and carefully checked the data the students had entered. I found only a few minor mistakes, mostly misplaced line items. I wanted to draw out the work long enough to last the remainder of the week, but I barely made it through to the end of the day; and after leaving the students a list of changes late that afternoon, I started to leave. Jan stopped me.

"Do you still want to go out for drinks tonight?" he asked.

"Yeah. I almost forgot about it; I’ve been so busy."

"Well, I still have a lot of work to finish. Is eight o’clock too late for you?"

"Not at all. Somehow though, I’ll have to kill a couple of hours, and I have absolutely nothing to do right now. I tell you what, why don’t I grab a bite to eat and come back here before eight."

A few hot dogs later, I still had a lot of time, so I decided to take a short walk around Old Town. Although I had already lived in Prague for almost a month, I was still getting lost at almost every turn. At one point, I decided to walk toward the Charles Bridge, but I ended up making a full circle back toward the office. It was a little before eight. When I walked back upstairs, Jan was still busy working.

"Are you almost done?" I asked.

"Yeah, I just need another ten minutes."

"You know, if you’re too busy tonight, we can always do this some other time."

"I’ll be done in ten minutes -- I promise."

Half an hour later, we finally left.

"Where to?" I asked in front of the building.

"I know a really good pub just around the corner. It’s one of the few pubs left in Old Town that is still for Czechs. And not only do they have really good beer, but it’s also not too expensive. At least, relatively. First, though, I need to buy some cigarettes."

As we walked a few blocks past the square to a tobacco shop, we passed a corner where a couple of prostitutes were openly offering their services.

"Wow," I whispered to Jan. "It’s still light out."

"It doesn’t matter to them. Damn kurvy!"

"What’d you call them?"

"Kurvy. They’re the worst of the whores: cheap, dirty, and ugly."

Jan bought a pack of Rothman’s King Size, and we walked back toward the square; and on one of the small side streets, entered a small pub called U Hýnků.

U Hýnků was another typical Czech pub, lined with picnic tables and engulfed by cigarette smoke. We took a seat at a table near the entrance and Jan ordered us a couple of beers.

"Before I forget," Jan said to me as we waited, "Dana told me today -- while you were out on one of your ‘breaks’ -- that she is preparing your paperwork so you can get your work and residency permit. You’ll have to go with her tomorrow to the foreigners police to process everything. So, make sure to bring your passport with you tomorrow. She also said that you should meet her in the office no later than eight."

Jan opened his pack of cigarettes and offered me one.

"No thanks," I replied. "I don’t smoke."

"That is a pity. You know, we have a saying here: žena je žena, ale cigareta . . . je cigareta!"

"And what does that mean?"

"A woman is a woman, but a cigarette . . . is a cigarette!"

At the same time the waiter brought us our beers, he gave the guy sitting next to us a plate of two small, but fat kielbasas.

"Have you ever had an utopenec?" Jan asked.

"Is that what it’s called?"

"Yes. It translates to a ‘drowned man.’ What you do is you take some kielbasas, add onions and peppers, and then pickle them in a jar of vinegar for a few weeks. It’s very common Czech pub food. Unfortunately, making them is quickly becoming a lost art form. Most of the places that still make them don’t pickle them nearly long enough. This place, though, is an exception. They’ve got the best in Prague, if you ask me. Care to try one?"

"Sure, why not? It certainly can’t be any worse than the hot dogs I’ve been eating."

From the moment I took my first bite of an utopenec, I was in love. It was much tastier than a hot dog; and although it gave me severe heartburn almost immediately after eating it, I promised myself to make it a regular staple of my diet.

"Tell me," I said to Jan after we ordered our second round of beers, "how is it that you speak English so well?"

"Well, after I graduated from VŠE, I went to Yale as part of an international finance exchange program. This was not too long after the Revolution. I already spoke English fairly well beforehand, but I was really able to improve during the year that I lived in New Haven. You know, it’s there that I met Matt. He went to Yale as well at one time."

"And what did you think of America?"

"Oh, I had a great time. Man, there were lots of good-looking women, and they were really fascinated that I was from Czechoslovakia. Kind of like the way Czech women are fascinated with you Americans. As you say in America, I had the pick of the litter."

"How did you meet Matt?"

"I met him through this Czech guy I knew: Václav Hedvábný. He was also an alumni of Yale. Perhaps you have heard of him; he owns Yale Capital. It was one of the first and the most successful of the investment funds. Václav and Matt have known each other for a long time, and I think they have some kind of business relationship together. Supposedly, Václav was the one who convinced Matt to open a business here. Anyway, at the time I was finishing the program, Matt was in the planning stage of his big scheme, and he was looking for someone who spoke both Czech and English, and had a good understanding of finance. I was introduced to Matt via Václav, and Matt told me that I could have a job with him as soon as his business was set up. And he kept his word. I tell you, Matt is a real motherfucker, but at least he keeps his word. And I really needed the job. Almost as soon as I returned to Prague, my wife got pregnant."

"I didn’t even know you were married."

"Well, I don’t advertise it. I actually got married a few months before I left for America. Her name is Dagmar. . . . She’s not a particularly smart girl, but who needs a woman with brains? Man, she’s got a really hot body, even after having a baby. And she’s only twenty, so I figure she’s got at least another five or six good years left in her."

Just then, two pretty Czech girls entered the pub. They were both tall and blonde -- dressed provocatively with thin, low-cut sweaters that exposed their navels, and tight black cotton skirts that barely covered their asses.

"Look at that!" Jan loudly whispered to me. "Joe, man, if we play it out correctly, we might be able to get some pussy tonight."

"What about your wife?" I smiled.

"Joe, in the Czech Republic, all men are available. . . . You wait here, and I’ll see what I can do."

Jan walked to the girls’ table and started talking with them, frequently pointing back toward me. Ten minutes later, Jan came back. He seemed disappointed.

"Sorry, Joe," he said as he sat down. "I couldn’t make it happen. At least not tonight."

"That’s okay. I’m kind of seeing someone anyway."

"Yeah, so I’ve heard. What’s her name?"

"Mindy."

"Mindy? Why, that’s not a Czech name."

"It’s not a Czech name because she’s not Czech; she’s an American."

"What? An American woman? Are you crazy? Why would you want to date an American woman when you’re living in Prague? It’s like drinking Coors instead of Prazdroj."

"She’s really a great girl."

"Well, maybe. But I still think you’re crazy. You know, there are quite a few American women living here, but most of them are simply fat, ugly, vegetarian feminists. Who would want that? American guys certainly don’t seem interested in them, and most Czech men would sooner become celibate than date one."

"Changing the subject a little, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Who is Matt’s partner, and how come I’ve never seen him?"

"Partner? What partner? Matt doesn’t have a partner."

"Then, why is the company called Andrews & Soudruzi?"

Jan started laughing.

"What’s so funny?" I asked.

"The name, that’s what so funny. Don’t you know what ‘soudruzi’ means?"

"No."

"It’s the Czech word for ‘comrades.’ And it’s a word that is rarely used here since the end of Communism. In fact, it makes my skin crawl every time I hear it. Matt thinks it’s a funny name. ‘Andrews & Comrades’ instead of ‘Andrews & Associates.’ He thinks he’s funny, but really he’s only an asshole."

As soon as Jan ordered another round of beers, the two girls started to leave.

"Čau, Honzo!" one of them smiled at Jan.

"Why did she call you ‘Honzo’?" I asked.

"‘Honza’ is the diminutive of ‘Jan.’ Just like you’re ‘Pepíček.’" He started to giggle. "You know, Andrea really likes you."

"You’ve noticed."

"You should really give her a try. I mean, she’s a really good fuck. One time with her and you’ll forget all about this American girl."

"You’ve slept with her?"

"Everyone in the office has fucked her. I think even Dana has slept with her."

"Are you serious?"

"I would swear to God, if I believed in him."

Jan quickly finished his beer and stood up to go to the bathroom.

"Hey, Joe -- do you have a crown for the hajzlbaba?"

"The who?"

"The hajzlbaba. That’s what you call the old woman sitting by the bathroom collecting money. However, don’t ever call her that to her face."

While Jan was gone, an old man gingerly walked into the pub. He was a few inches under 6 feet tall, but looked much shorter as he slouched considerably. He walked passed me and sat down by himself in the farthest corner of the pub. When Jan came back, he immediately noticed him.

"Ty vole!" Jan cried out as he sat down and glared at the old man. "What the hell is that bastard doing here?"

"Who is he?" I asked.

Jan shook his head.

"That fucking asshole was the head of the StB. They were the secret police during Communism. That bastard made life hell for a lot of good people, including President Havel. And that’s probably minor compared to all the shit he was doing when he was a spy overseas. And for all that, he didn’t even serve a full six months in prison. . . . He has no right to live!"

Jan slammed his beer on the table.

I looked over at the old man; I was somehow intrigued by him. He didn’t look like a secret policeman or a spy. He simply looked like an old man, like someone’s grandfather.

"What’s his name?" I asked.

"Jiří David. But please, don’t ask me anymore about him. I hate him. He makes me sick."

Jan quickly stood up.

"I’m sorry, Joe, but the evening is spoiled for me. I must go home now."

"Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay here for a while. It’s still kind of early, and I don’t want to go home just yet."

"Suit yourself. We’ll split the bill, and you can start a new one if you’d like."

The waiter came by and counted the number of marks on the thin strip of paper that served as the bill. We paid him, and Jan began to leave. Before he left, though, he overtly spit on the floor in the direction of the old man.

I don’t know why, but I stared at the man. Maybe it was because I had never seen a spy before. Not a real one. As I stared, the waiter walked toward him carrying a beer. He angrily dropped the mug on the table in front of him, spilling a large amount of beer. The old man looked up at the waiter and smiled.

"Děkuju," he politely said.

"Prosím!" the waiter nastily replied.

I continued staring, and soon, he realized he had an audience. He stared back at me for a few moments before motioning me toward him with his index finger. I looked around and then inquisitively pointed to myself. He nodded, and I hesitantly walked over to his table.

"Na co koukáte?" he asked, after I sat down across from him.

"I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Czech."

He paused pensively momentarily before continuing.

"You are an American, right?"

"Yes. My name is Joe."

I offered him my hand and he shook it.

"My name is Jiří. In English, it is George." He slowly took a sip of beer before smiling at me.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"Well, my friend said you were the head of the secret police. He also said you were a spy."

"Your friend is correct. And it seems that your friend is a great admirer of mine."

"Excuse me?"

"Your friend -- he is an admirer of mine, just like all my other friends at this pub. You see, I am a štamgast here. I do not know how you say it in English, but it means a customer of a pub who is there all the time, like the stump of a tree. Did you not see the respect the waiter just showed me? He only treats a true štamgast like that. . . . Tell me something, young man, why do you find me so fascinating?"

"I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you are fascinating."

"And it does not bother you that some people may not understand why you are speaking with me?"

"I really don’t care what other people think. . . . You know, I am really surprised by how many Czechs speak English so well."

"Well, there are so many of you Americans here in Prague that people feel that they must learn to speak English. You are certainly not going to start speaking Czech. As for me, I have spoken English for a long time. It was a necessity for my work."

"I bet you have a lot of great stories."

"Not really," he smiled. "Unfortunately, there was nothing particularly romantic about my job. It was not like those James Bond films you Americans love. My work was rarely pretty. In fact, I destroyed the lives of many people, sometimes literally. And now I pay the price. I live in exile in my own country . . . persona non grata."

"Have you thought about leaving?"

"Leaving?" he angrily replied. "And go where? To North Korea? To Cuba? Where? There is nowhere for me to go. I was born here in Prague and I will die here."

I began to think I was bothering him, so I gestured to leave.

"Please, do not go yet," he said as he gently grabbed my arm. "It is not often that I get to talk with someone intelligently. Truthfully, it is not often that I get to talk with someone at all."

I smiled at him and ordered a beer.

"Tell me, Jiří," I said, terribly mispronouncing his name, "what do you think about all the changes here?"

"I do not really have an opinion. I was never a real believer in communism, not like many of the ‘businessmen’ in Prague who now earn millions of crowns. But at least back then we had order. We had dignity. There was a certain pride we felt that is almost entirely gone. Most of us now are in reality nothing but servants for rich foreigners like yourself."

"Well, I can’t speak for the other foreigners, but I’m not rich, and I certainly don’t consider anyone my servant."

"You know, Joe," he said, nodding his head as he smiled, "I like you. What are you doing in Prague? Are you teaching English?"

I repeated my story once again, expecting once again to be chastised.

"I understand you," he said after he thought about it for a few moments. "If I were you, I would have probably done something similar. There is nothing worse than being bored. Believe me, I know. There is no reason to wake up each morning if you have nothing to look forward to. . . . Tell me, do you play chests?"

"Only if they’re on a woman," I smiled.

He looked confused.

"Excuse me," he said when he realized his mistake. "It has been a number of years since I last spoke English; my pronunciation has suffered greatly. I meant to say ‘chess.’ Do you play chess?"

"A little. But I’m not that great. How about yourself?"

"I play very well. When I was young, I was a prodigy."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Maybe one day you could come to my apartment and we could play together. I live only a few blocks from here."

"I don’t know. I don’t think I’d be any competition for you."

"Oh, I think that you would be. I am not as good as I used to be. Unfortunately, I do not have an opportunity to play anymore."

"Okay -- sure, why not?"

"Great! Let us meet next Thursday at seven o’clock. I will give you my visit card."

He handed me an old business card, which had his business address crossed out. On the lower right-hand side of the card his home address and telephone number were written.

I quickly finished my beer and stood up.

"I should be going," I smiled as I put my hand in my pocket to grab my wallet.

"Forget it," he said as he grabbed my arm, "I will pay for it."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you. I have not had such a good time in years. I will see you on Thursday, Joe."

I was almost in shock as I walked to the Metro. I was actually going to play chess with a spy. It wasn’t often I kept such company in Greenwich Village. At least not on a Thursday night.

7

2006-06-03T10:55:00.000-07:00

7

They Speak Czech Here, Don't They?

The week passed quickly as I rushed to finish the research report. Every day I worked from 9:00 A.M. to 11:00 P.M., pausing only long enough to inhale a few hot dogs. Finally, early Friday morning, I finished; and I walked to Matt’s office to show him the report. As usual, his door was closed, so I knocked. I knocked very softly. And I wasn’t going to knock twice -- even if I had to stand there for half an hour.

"Come in," Matt shouted.

I walked inside, smiled, and handed him the report.

"You’re done already?" he asked. "Why don’t you take a seat while I look through it."

For the next ten minutes, he carefully reviewed the report; and after he finished, he turned to me and smiled.

"Joe, I must say I’m impressed. This is top-quality work. You know, I had my doubts about you. I really wasn’t sure you had what it takes. But I was wrong. Congratulations."

He leaned over his desk to shake my hand.

"If you keep up this kind of work, I might have to promote you soon. Very soon.

"Let me tell you, things will really start moving around here shortly. Next Tuesday, the Exchange will finally start trading equities. In fact, I’ve just arranged for a closing feed from the Exchange. Exchange data will automatically flow into the database; and so we’ll always have the latest pricing information available. Pretty neat, eh?

"Oh, and before I forget, there’s something I would like to talk to you about. It’s about Jan. I’m sure by now you can tell he doesn’t exactly have the best working attitude. You see, although Jan has lived in America, I’m afraid he has the same standard work ethic that, unfortunately, is all too common around here. Forty years of Communism did almost irreparable damage in this country. And I’m not talking about tangible damage like buildings, factories, and the environment. These things can easily be fixed, repaired, or rebuilt. No, I’m talking about values, ethics, and basic core beliefs. These things aren’t so easy to repair. And it’s not something that can be simply fixed by investment, or even education. It’ll probably take them generations to get back to where they were before the War. Did you know that Czechoslovakia had the seventh largest industrial economy before World War II? Think about it, if there had been a G7 back then, they would’ve been a member. Anyway, I just want to make sure that the attitude of pan inženýr Bohužel doesn’t rub off on you."

"The attitude of whom?"

"Pan inženýr Bohužel. It translates to ‘Engineer Unfortunately.’ Engineer is Jan’s academic title and ‘unfortunately’ is the first word of almost every sentence he begins in response to a request from me. Just keep mindful of his attitude and avoid emulating it."

"I’ll do my best."

"I tell you what: why don’t you take the rest of the day off. You know, I like to reward my people when they do a good job. Believe it or not, Joe, I’m not a dick all the time. Just most of the time."

"Thanks," I said, standing up. "I really appreciate it."

"Have a great weekend," he smiled as I walked out the door. "Oh, Joe, don’t forget to be here at 9:00 A.M. sharp on Monday."

Before I left, I went back to my office to wish Jan and Andrea a good weekend.

"Oh, so you got that report done on time?" Jan said as I turned off my computer.

"Yeah," I nonchalantly replied, not wanting to appear gloating. It was obvious Jan still had a lot of work to do and that he’d probably be working through the weekend.

"Well," he smiled, "have a nice weekend. At least, have a nicer weekend than I will. Hey, maybe next Thursday we can go to that pub together."

"Sounds great."

"So, what are you doing this weekend?" Andrea asked me.

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that."

"I bet you have a date with your girlfriend."

I just smiled.

"Well, if you are free tonight, you should come to Radost. My friends and I are there every weekend. I promise you that you will have a really good time if you come."

"I don’t know. What is Radost -- some kind of club?"

"Yes, it is the best club in Prague. It is across the street from I.P. Parlova. So, will you be there tonight?"

"I don’t know; we’ll see. Hey, do either of you know where a restaurant called Pizza Taxi is?"

They both shook their heads.

"Why don’t you ask Dana," Jan said. "She knows all the nouveau-riche places in Prague."

On my way out, I stopped by Dana’s desk to ask her.

"Oh, yes," she replied. "It is located on Karlovo náměstí. I will show you it on a map."

I gave her my map and she circled a large square about a half mile from the office.

"So, what do they call this square?"

"Excuse me?"

"Jan told me the other day that most of the squares in Prague have slang expressions."

"Oh -- it is called ‘Karlák.’ But I really do not like it when people use such expressions. I think it is not very proper. Anyway, the food at Pizza Taxi is very good. Why do you ask?"

"I’m meeting someone there tomorrow night."

"I am sure that she will like it," Dana smiled.

After a lunch of a few hot dogs, I went home to Háje. A few blocks from my apartment, I saw a grocery store. I walked inside, but was quickly stopped by the checkout girl. I couldn’t understand what she said, so she pointed to a stack of shopping baskets. I picked up one and continued inside.

I was hoping they sold beer, and was pleasantly surprised to find a whole aisle dedicated to my favorite bubbly elixir. There were so many that it took more than ten minutes to choose.

At the checkout counter, the girl counted my half-dozen bottles and said, "Osmdesát pět, padesát."

"I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you just said."

She repeated herself a few times, before writing "85,50" on a piece of paper and handing it to me. She was quite annoyed.

I paid her, but she didn’t give me a bag; and as I didn’t know how to ask for one, I had to carry the bottles in my arms. I only dropped one. Once home, I started putting the bottles in the refrigerator, but quickly changed my mind and put most of them in the freezer.

The rest of the afternoon I spent drinking, occasionally watching television, occasionally reading Lawrence Block’s The Canceled Czech, a novel I had brought with me from America. By early evening, I was fairly drunk; and, having not much else to do, I fell asleep.

Early the following morning, I awoke; and after cleaning out the beer bottle that had exploded in my freezer, I collected my dirty clothes and went to Laundry Kings, which was packed with dozens of young Americans.

"I’m sorry," the girl said to me, "but you will probably have to wait two hours."

"Two hours?" I replied. "You’ve got to be kidding!"

"Unfortunately, no. You see, we have no competition."

"That’s just great," I said as I sat down and waited in one of the plastic lawn chairs.

I spent almost the entire afternoon at Laundry Kings, and by the time I finally got home, it was almost five. I unpacked my clothes, changed, and went to meet Mindy.

Walking along Karlovo nám?stí, a square the size of a football field, I tried to find Pizza Taxi. I was still more than forty minutes early when I finally did. So, I walked inside and ordered a beer.

Pizza Taxi was a small, tastefully decorated Italian restaurant. It wasn’t elegant, but it had charm. And cold beer.

"I’m sorry I’m late," Mindy apologized when she came in. She was wearing a bright yellow blouse with plenty of cleavage, and a pair of tight blue jeans. "You know women," she smiled as she sat down.

The waitress came by and gave us menus, menus that were written in both English and Czech.

"This is one of my favorite restaurants," Mindy said, putting down the menu. "I just love Italian food. Of course, for the sake of my hips, I don’t indulge my passion too often."

"From where I’m sitting, I don’t think you have anything to worry about."

"Flattery, Mr. Smith, will not get you very far. But it is appreciated."

"Tell me," I said, looking at the menu, "what’s good here?"

"Almost everything; but I particularly like the lasagna."

We both ordered the lasagna in addition to a bottle of red wine.

"Oh, I was hoping you would order something different," she said after the waitress left, "so I could have a little nibble."

"Next time," I smiled.

Moments later, the waitress brought us the wine, and we made a small toast. The conversation then suddenly fell quiet.

"So," I said, breaking almost a minute of silence, "I really don’t know much about you."

"There’s not too much to know. I was born and raised in a small town in Kansas that most people even in Kansas have never heard of. It was everything you would picture Kansas: farms, general stores, and cow tipping. Boy, I can’t tell you how I looked forward to getting out. From the time I was a little girl I had sympathized with Dorothy. The only difference between us is that I always knew there were plenty of places better than home. I still remember the day I got accepted at Georgetown. I was literally bursting. I studied International Relations there. For both my undergraduate and graduate degrees. And after college, I went directly into the Foreign Service. It was the obvious choice for me. What better way to see the world, and actually get paid for it. And Prague has been my first assignment. Let me tell you, I was really lucky to get it; I thought I’d get stuck in some little country in Africa. . . . But enough about me. You never told me how your job is going."

"Not so well I’m afraid."

"Why is that?"

"Well, Matt is a real asshole. I mean, I’ve worked for some jerks before, but he’s absolutely the worst. When he’s not insulting me, in his not so subtle manner of his, he’s screaming at me. And he treats the other people in the office even worse. It’s just not worth a lousy $200 a month. I’m seriously considering looking for a new job."

"Getting a good job here is not so easy," she said, slowly shaking her head. "Especially when you can’t speak the language. You were very lucky that Alex and I were able to find you this one. You know, Joe, you really need to ask yourself if you’re serious about staying in Prague. I mean, a lot of young people come here thinking that this city will be their own private Euro Disney. Most of them are just plain losers. They stay here until their money -- or more likely -- daddy’s money runs out, and then they head home, backpacks and all, with their tails between their legs. I really thought you were different."

What she said made me feel bad, especially as there was a lot of truth to it. The silence between us quickly returned.

"I don’t know," I finally said. "I guess I could give it a few more weeks. Maybe one week is not a long enough period of time to make a good judgment."

"That’s a good idea," she smiled. "Just remember, there’s no such thing as a perfect job. Often, even I feel my job sucks. It’s not always exciting; a lot of it is pretty dreary. In fact, when I first came here I was stamping passports. And don’t think I don’t get shit from my superiors, because I do. However, I know I’m getting great experience, and if I do a good job, I’ll get where I want to go. And that’s all that matters."

The waitress brought us our food. As I still felt kind of embarrassed about the way Mindy had talked to me, the conversation was pretty flat during most of dinner. I think she sensed this herself and was looking for a way to ease the tension between us.

"After dinner," she said, "why don’t we go to Jo’s Bar. A lot of American ex-pats hang out there."

Just then, a couple of American tourists sat down at the table next to us. By the way they were dressed, it was clear they were college students.

"So," one said to the other while they waited for the waitress, "they speak Czech here, don’t they?"

Mindy and I looked at each other and started grinning. The tension was finally broken.

After we split the check, we walked across the square to the tram stop to catch the number 22.

"Well," I said as we waited, "it was good to get away from hot dogs."

"You really like those hot dogs, don’t you?"

"Of course. Who doesn’t like hot dogs?"

"Most of the Americans that live here. I’ve never met so many vegetarians in my whole life. It’s really strange, especially as this country is probably the pork capital of the world. You know, to most Czechs, vegetarian food means fried cheese. There’s now a couple of vegetarian places in Prague, including the place we’re going, but all of them are geared toward foreigners."

We got off the tram at Malostranské náměstí. She smiled warmly at me.

"Do you remember this stop?" she asked. "This is where we met. The American Embassy is just up the street over there. I was there that day for a meeting."

We walked a block up to Jo’s Bar, which, while having two floors, was relatively small. Not many people were there, but it looked packed because of its size and shape. After ordering a couple of beers at the bar, we heard someone scream from behind us.

"Ahoj, Mindy!" a well-dressed guy shouted from the corner table. Three other well-dressed guys were sitting with him, and they all seemed drunk.

"Hi, guys," Mindy said as we walked toward their table.

"Why don’t you two join us," the man smiled. "There’s a couple of free chairs over there."

I grabbed two chairs and we crowded in with them.

"Joe," Mindy said, "let me introduce you. This is Robert -- he works in Real Estate. This is Stuart -- he imports various consumer goods. Over here is David -- he works in advertising. And last, but certainly not least, this is Nick -- he’s a computer consultant."

"So, Joe," David, a short man with a deep tan, said, "what are you doing here in Prague?"

"I work for a financial research company: Andrews & Soudruzi."

"Really?" Nick, a slightly overweight man with curly brown hair, interrupted. "You know, I set up their computer system. In fact, I was just there a few weeks ago to install a module to read pricing data from the Exchange. Listening to Matt, though, you’d probably think he did it all himself."

"I certainly got that impression. You know, I must say, those programs are really impressive. I worked on Wall Street for years, and I never saw anything like it."

"I worked on Wall Street, too. That’s how I got the project; I did a lot of shit for Matt’s company in New York years back. He’s a real prick, but at least he pays well. That is to say, he pays well when he knows he has no other choice."

"I know Matt as well," David said. "He’s got a pretty good company going. That is, for one that’s just a front for the CIA."

"David here has this conspiracy theory," Mindy smiled. "He thinks all American companies operating in Prague are just fronts for the CIA."

"Not all of them," David defensively replied. "Just the successful ones!"

"Tell me, Joe," Robert, a slender man in his late thirties, said, "what do you think of Prague?"

"So far I really love it. It’s really an exciting and beautiful place."

"Don’t worry," David smiled, "you’ll get over it."

"Maybe, but I can’t see myself ever getting bored here. Everything is a challenge."

"You can say that again," Nick interrupted. "And you don’t know just how challenging it is until you start a business. It’s just one bitch after another; everything from completing the endless paperwork, to getting a phone line, to finding and keeping decent employees."

"You know, Joe," Mindy said, "you’re in the presence of some real entrepreneurs. All these guys have their own businesses. I bet you’ve probably heard Prague being compared to Paris of the twenties. The difference is, unlike Paris, great artists and writers haven’t come to Prague, but instead, young business people have flocked here."

"I’m sure that there’s some great American artists and writers here as well," Robert said. "We just don’t know about them yet."

"I don’t believe it. Don’t get me wrong now, without a doubt there’s great artists and writers in Prague. But without exception they’re all Czech."

"Joe," Stuart, a tall blond-haired man said, after swallowing a large mouthful of tortilla chips, "how long are you planning to stay here?"

"I’m here for the long haul," I replied, smiling at Mindy.

"Well, it’s good to see that you’re serious and not just one of the many Americans that have come here escaping the recession."

"You mean, like us?" Nick quipped.

"Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m here for the opportunities."

"Now, Stu, old boy, I was just kidding. Don’t take it personally. You wouldn’t want all that blue blood of yours to start to boil. We all know you didn’t come here to escape the recession. We all know you came here waiting for your trust fund to come in."

Stuart got angry and quickly rose from the table.

"First of all, jackass, my name is Stuart, not ‘Stu.’ And secondly, I don’t have a trust fund. You know, one of these days your big fucking mouth is going to get you seriously hurt."

Stuart wiped his face with a napkin and threw it on the table.

"Bye, guys," he said as he walked away.

"Bye, Stu," Nick smiled. "Let’s get together again real soon, buddy."

"You better be careful, Nick," Mindy smiled after Stuart left, "one of these days he might really deck you."

"Never. Why, he could tear some skin off his precious hand. He could even bleed. And we all know how anemic royalty is."

David ordered another round of beers, and minutes later, the waitress brought us bottles of Czech Budweiser.

"This sure beats the American stuff," I said after taking a sip.

"You think so?" Nick asked. "I actually prefer American Budweiser. If you ask me, this is far from the best Czech beer. It’s mostly for tourists and the export market. If you ask me, the best Czech beer is Plzeňský Prazdroj. In America they call it "Pilsner Urquell." Last month, I was in Pilsen, and I had a beer in a pub that actually has a direct connection to the brewery. It was the best beer I ever had."

"Personally," David interjected, "I prefer Gambrinus."

"Tell me something," I asked, "do you guys speak Czech?"

"None of us speak it very well," David replied. "Besides Mindy, of course. It’s part of her job. For us, it isn’t quite as necessary. We have Czech employees to handle everything. Thank God. Because not only is Czech way too complicated, it’s just about unpronounceable. In fact, there’s a long-standing rumor about how only four Americans in Prague can speak Czech well."

"That’s garbage," Nick replied. "I know more than a dozen Americans who can speak Czech reasonably well. This rumor about how there is only four Americans who speak Czech is just an excuse to be lazy about learning the language. It’s simply easier to waste your time in a dump like this."

"Well, I don’t hear you speaking great Czech," Robert said.

"Exactly. I’m just as lazy as the rest of you. . . . Have you started taking lessons, Joe?"

"No. Matt told me it wouldn’t be necessary. He also said that I probably couldn’t learn it even if I tried."

"Well, it’s certainly a difficult language," Mindy said. "There are seven grammatical cases, which means nouns, pronouns, and adjectives can change their form up to 7 different ways; and there’s an additional six cases in plural. And that’s just the beginning. In English, for example, perfection and imperfection is handled as a verb tense, but in Czech, it’s usually completely different verbs. And, they also have different verbs to represent the same basic action, only done slightly differently. I mean, there must be at least a half-dozen verbs for eating. And like David said, pronunciation is very difficult, especially the ‘ř.’ It’s just a completely unnatural sound. In fact, I know this Czech guy named Jiří who told me that he couldn’t even pronounce his own name properly until he was five years old."

When we ordered yet another round of beers, we made a toast.

"Nádraží!" Nick said, raising his bottle.

Mindy laughed.

"It’s not ‘nádraží,’ silly -- it’s ‘na zdraví.’ ‘Nádraží’ is a train or bus station."

"Who cares? Let’s toast to a train station. Everyone: Hlavní nádraží!"

"Masarýkovo nádraží!" Mindy added.

"Nádraží Holešovice!" David and Robert shouted in unison.

After Mindy finished her beer, she yawned.

"Excuse me, guys," she said as she looked at her watch, "but I’m really tired. I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’m going home. But, Joe, you can stay if you want to."

"That’s okay; I’m kind of tired as well."

We said our good-byes to them and walked to the tram stop.

"To be honest with you," she whispered to me while we waited for the tram, "I really don’t like that place at all."

"So why did we go there?"

"Well, I thought you’d like it, considering all the Americans that hang out there. You must be getting a little homesick, aren’t you?"

"Not really. But why don’t you like it?"

"Oh, it’s mainly because of the morons who hang out there -- like those phony entrepreneurs we were sitting with. I don’t know who’s worse: the English teachers or the entrepreneurs. All of them are just wasting their time here. . . . They’re just another lost generation."

When number 22 came, we stepped inside and found two empty seats together.

"You can take this to I.P. Parlova, where you can catch the C," she said as we sat down.

"So . . . what’s the verdict?"

"The verdict?"

"Yeah, the verdict. Do I get another date?"

"Hmm. You know, I’ve never saw myself as a judge before. Let me see. . . . I guess I could give you another trial visitation. Why don’t you give me a call sometime this week, and we’ll do something next weekend. Who knows -- if you behave yourself, you might even get yourself laid."

I was more than a little surprised by her use of language; I didn’t quite know how to reply.

"Oh, look," she said while I hesitated. "Here’s your stop. You better hurry."

I kissed her on the cheek and stood up.

"I’ll call you in a few days," I shouted as I stepped off.

"You do that."

I waited until the tram was completely out of sight before I walked downstairs to the Metro; and I had a smile on my face the entire way back to Háje. It was not a bad first date. Not bad at all.

6

2006-06-03T08:42:00.000-07:00

6

The Hajzl

I took my time getting to work the following day, as I had nothing to do. After buzzing in a few minutes after nine, I waved to Dana, who was talking on the telephone.

"Wait a minute, Joe!" she shouted, quickly putting down the receiver. "Matt is waiting for you in his office."

I walked up to Matt’s door and knocked.

"Yes, come on in," he replied.

I walked inside and he told me to take a seat.

"In the future, Joe, I want to see you here on time. That means no later than 9:00 A.M."

"Sorry. I . . ."

"Just be here on time. Anyway, today I’m going to thoroughly show you our computer system and give you a better feel for what your responsibilities will be. Why don’t you pull up your chair beside me.

"Well," he continued, his eyes keenly focused on the monitor, "this is our main database system. It’s called Popis. Perhaps yesterday you saw an icon for it on your computer, but you couldn’t access it. This program contains a description of the companies we analyze. This includes organizational information, detailed financial data, news, stock prices (once they’re available), as well as free-form notes."

For the next hour, he demonstrated how the program worked. It was Windows-based and much easier to use than most financial programs I had worked with before. In addition to the access program, he showed me how to build live data connections within an Excel spreadsheet. A user could enter a stock symbol in a spreadsheet, and after entering simple database commands Matt called "SQL," the spreadsheet would automatically access the latest financial and pricing information from the database without having to directly use the access program.

"This is certainly impressive," I said, after he finished his demonstration. "It matches or exceeds anything I’ve worked with in New York."

"You haven’t seen anything yet," he smiled, obviously proud. "It’s also capable of automatically producing very sophisticated financial models and graphs. The modeling aspect will be especially important once there is a sufficient amount of high-quality historical data. Of course, this system is only a tool. It’s only as good as the people using it. Human beings must make the decisions. There’s no artificial intelligence or any other kind of bullshit involved."

"Where do you get the raw data?"

"I’m glad you asked. We have a number of ways of collecting data. We receive printed data from government sources and directly from some of the larger companies. However, corporate governance is still in its infancy here; and as I told you before, accounting rules and procedures are still quite suspect. So, periodically, we visit the top companies we cover. We look at their books, and then we manually enter this information into the system. In terms of printed information, obviously, we are talking about a lot of data. It isn’t feasible for us to enter all this information ourselves. This is where our second computer program, Můstek, comes into play. Using a scanner, this program reads financial documents before converting the information into a form readable by the computer. This information is then transferred to Popis."

Matt had a grin on his face as he described his computer programs, the kind of grin a father has when talking about his children.

"Let’s now go into the computer room," he said, jumping off his chair, "so I can show you the heart of the systems."

We walked down the hallway to a small room just a few feet away from the front door.

"This room stays locked at all times," he said, unlocking the door, "and I’m the only one who has a key to it."

The room was amassed with computer equipment.

"This is the network server," he said as we walked inside, pointing to a computer secured with at least three sets of locks. "It allows everyone in the office to share the same files, and also controls the three printers we have: the one in my office, the one next to Dana, and the one in your office. And this computer here is the database server, where Popis data is stored." It was even more secure than the network server.

"You should never have any reason to be in this room," he said as we walked out, "but I thought you should know how everything worked."

We walked back to the reception area. Matt smiled at Dana.

"Why don’t you go outside for a cigarette," he said to her. "I want to show Joe here the Můstek program."

We sat down at Dana’s desk and Matt explained to me how to use the scanner.

"This is my pride and joy," he smiled. "You feed documents into the scanner like this. After you launch the Můstek program on Dana’s computer, you need to describe the information: the type of document, the name of the company, and so on; there’s plenty of pick lists to help you. Then, press the "Start" button and the program will suck the document in, before converting it into graphic images. These graphic images are then translated into simple text files, which are imported into the database. As you can see, our system is completely paperless. . . . Any questions?"

"Not really. I mean, I can’t say I fully understand everything, but I guess it’ll become clearer once I start working with it."

"And that’ll be immediately. I have a big project for you. I need a research report completed for a company called Železárna, a.s. They’re an ironworks in Northern Bohemia. The name might sound familiar to you; the name of our street is a derivation of the same word. What I want you to do is put together a standard research report, based upon an example you can get from Jan. It’s got to look very professional."

He handed me a set of documents.

"Here’s their corporate summary. If you have any questions Jan can’t answer, ask me. But please, try to keep the stupid questions to a minimum; I’m very busy today. I have to make some very important conference calls."

"When do you need it completed by?"

"Well, considering it’s your first report and that you’re new to the system, I’ll give you until the end of the week. In the future, though, you’ll have to complete something like this within a day -- sometimes even within a few hours."

As I walked away, I stopped and turned back to Matt.

"By the way, I moved into the apartment last night. I really like it. However, I have a question."

"What’s that?"

"How do I pay for it?"

"Oh, don’t worry about it. We’ll just deduct it from your paycheck."

A four-thousand-crown monthly paycheck. And I’d be working as hard as I had worked in New York, if not harder. I was beginning to feel indentured.

"I see you’ve got your first assignment," Jan said to me when I entered my room. "Let me take a look at it."

I handed him the information.

"He wants me to create a standard research report for this company. He said that you could show me an example."

Jan started laughing.

"Wow, he really gave it to you, considering you’re new here. When do you have to have it finished?"

"By Friday, he said. He said he was giving me extra time because I’m new."

"Well, it looks like I’ll have some company in the evenings this week."

He walked to the file cabinet and pulled out a document.

"Here’s an example you can use," he said as he handed me the sample research report. "And I think everything is up-to-date in the system for that particular company."

After I launched the Popis program, it prompted me for a user name and a password, neither of which I had.

"I guess you don’t know what my user name and a password is?" I asked Jan.

He shook his head.

"You think that asshole would consider this a ‘stupid’ question?"

"Probably."

I knocked on Matt’s door, but there was no answer, even though I could hear him moving around. Dana wasn’t at her desk, so I didn’t know if he were busy, or if he just didn’t hear me knock. I waited a few moments, and then knocked again. This time a little louder.

"Malý moment!" he screamed at me as he thrust the door open, before slamming it back in my face.

I momentarily stood in front of his door with a stupid expression on my face. I was embarrassed. I was angry.

I hurriedly walked back to my room; and when I returned to my desk, I contemplated writing out my resignation letter, despite the many complications it would create. A few minutes later, Matt walked in.

"I’m sorry for that little misunderstanding we had back there," he apologized. "But I was on a really important conference call."

"I just wanted to know was what my user name and password is. I can’t do anything without it."

He took a pen from his jacket and wrote something on a scrap of paper.

"Here," he said, handing me the paper. "Memorize this information and destroy it immediately. And don’t divulge it to anyone -- not even Jan or Andrea. Is there anything else?"

"No."

As he was leaving, he suddenly stopped, turned to Jan, and smiled.

"Jan, how’s our little project going?"

"Not bad," Jan answered, his eyes remaining focused on his computer.

"Not bad? It’ll be done by tomorrow, right?"

"I don’t know. I’ll try, but unfortunately, there is still a lot of work to do, and I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to finish it by tomorrow."

"What do you mean, you won’t have enough time? There’s twenty-four hours every single day. Even here in the Czech Republic. You have plenty of time."

Jan didn’t reply.

"Jan, I’m talking to you. Look at me!"

Jan reluctantly turned around.

"The project will be done by tomorrow morning, right?"

"Right," Jan mumbled.

"Great," Matt smiled. "Problem solved. If only all my problems could be solved so easily."

Matt left and closed the door behind himself. Moments later, Jan started screaming toward the door.

"Ty hajzle!" He then turned to me. "I’ll tell you, Joe, if I didn’t need this fucking job, I’d quit right now. . . . That little motherfucker. One day, he’ll get what’s coming to him."

"What did you just call him?"

"A ‘hajzl.’ It’s what you flush down the toilet."

"That says it all," I smiled.

I spent the rest of the day diligently working on the report; I didn’t even have lunch. And I spent as much time getting familiar with the Popis program as I did collecting information for the report. At around 6:30, I needed a break. I went to my favorite hot dog stand and ordered three hot dogs.

"And a Coke?" Tonda asked.

"No Coke today. I need a beer."

I quickly ate and hurried back to the office. Both Jan and I worked throughout the evening until a little after eleven.

"We better finish up soon," he said, looking up at the clock on the wall. "You know, the Metro stops running at midnight. And if we miss the last Metro, we’ll have to take the night bus. And that could be dangerous."

"Dangerous? What do you mean?"

"Lots of crazy people, drunks, and thieves take the night bus. Not to mention the Gypsies, who share all those wonderful attributes and then some. You know, I’ve heard some really terrible stories about foreigners getting mugged taking the night bus; you should be very careful if you ever have to take one."

As we left the office, Jan locked the front door.

"Do you have keys yet?" he asked.

"Not yet."

"Well, make sure you get a set of keys from Dana tomorrow," he said to me as he set both locks. "You never know, maybe one day you’ll have to work later than me. However, I highly doubt it."

After locking the door, Jan set the alarm.

"It’s very easy turning on and off the alarm. Just enter the following word on the keypad: P-O-D-V-O-D. Can you remember that?"

"‘PODVOD’? I guess so."

Instead of taking the Metro at Můstek and switching trains, we walked directly up Wenceslas Square to the Muzeum station, as the trains didn’t run so often that time of night.

Wenceslas Square was still crowded with tourists, not to mention the large groups of Gypsies and prostitutes eyeing their prey.

"You know," Jan said to me, "only a few years ago you could walk up and down Václavák at any time of the day and find nothing but calm. Not anymore. . . . To je demokracie!"

"What did you just call this street?"

"Václavák. You see, most of the squares in Prague have slang terms. Wenceslas Square, or ‘Václavské náměstí’ in Czech, is ‘Václavák.’ Old Town Square, or ‘Staromětské náměstí’ in Czech, is ‘Staromák.’ ‘Paláckého náměstí’ is ‘Paláčák,’ and so on and so forth. Do you know what they call I.P. Parlova?"

"What?"

"Well, you can call it ‘Parlák,’ but you can also call it ‘Slinák.’ Loosely translated, it means the ‘Slobber Square.’ You know, Pavlov was that Russian guy with the dogs."

At the top of the square, a couple of fat Gypsy women rushed up to us when they heard English.

"Sex!" one of them loudly whispered. "Best blow job in Prague."

"Vypadněte!" Jan screamed at them. They reluctantly walked away. "Fucking Gypsies," he whispered to me as he shook his head.

"What do you have against Gypsies?" I smiled.

"I can’t stand them. You know, they’re not like the Gypsies you have in America. They’re much worse. I mean, they’re nothing but a bunch of pickpockets, whores, and scumbags. Be very careful when you walk up this street at night; always keep an eye on your wallet. And believe it or not, this isn’t even the worst area. The worst spot is the park by the Main Train Station over there. It’s so bad they call it ‘Sherwood Forest.’"

After I got home, although it was already past midnight, I decided to turn on the television. It was actually the first time I had turned it on; and I was surprised when I found CNN. A few minutes later, though, I had to turn it off. War, famine, corruption -- it was the only thing more depressing than my job.

5

2006-06-02T18:52:00.000-07:00

5

Pepíček Has a Girlfriend

While waiting in front of the office building on my first day of work, I was almost trampled by a sea of tourists passing through the narrow street on their way to Old Town Square. They spoke variety of languages: English, German, French, and some I couldn’t even recognize. The center of Prague was almost like a Tower of Babel.

At nine, I walked upstairs and rang the doorbell, and the secretary buzzed me in.

"Oh, hello, Joe," she smiled. "Good morning. And welcome."

"Thank you. By the way, I don’t think I caught your name when I was here for my interview."

"It is Dana."

"Well, it’s nice to meet you, Dana."

"It is nice to meet you, too. Matt is waiting for you."

I knocked on Matt’s door. He told me to come in.

"Good morning, Joe," Matt smiled as he got up from his desk to shake my hand. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you. I’m really excited about working here. I -- "

"That’s just great," he interrupted. "Unfortunately, I don’t have any time for you this morning. So, I’m going to hand you over to one of my assistants, Jan."

We walked out of his office together, down the corridor toward the front door. At the entrance, we turned left into another corridor, which led to a few doors. In front of the last door, Matt stopped and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Joe," he whispered, "didn’t I talk to you about wearing nicer suits? You still look like a fucking Czech."

"I’m sorry, Matt, but unfortunately, I didn’t bring any of my suits when I moved here. This type of suit was the best I could find."

Matt sighed and shook his head, before opening the door. We walked inside the room together, where Jan, a man in his late twenties was sitting in front of a computer, alongside a girl who couldn’t have been older than eighteen or nineteen. Like everywhere else in the office, the room was furnished with cheap brown furniture.

"No nazdar!" Matt smiled at Jan.

"Nazdar," Jan unenthusiastically replied without turning his head, in between drags of a cigarette. Jan was a tall man with short, light-brown hair; and he didn’t appear to be very happy.

"Joe, I would like to introduce you to Jan Novák. He’s our senior analyst. He’ll be directly responsible for your activities."

"It’s nice to meet you," I smiled as I offered him my hand.

"Yeah," he replied as he turned in his chair to begrudgingly shake my hand. "It’s a real pleasure." He then quickly turned his attention back to his computer.

"And this beautiful creature," Matt continued, "is Andrea Kamenická. She’s our office assistant. She also does some research on some of our more complex projects."

"It is nice to meet you, Joe," Andrea smiled as she stood up and shook my hand. A very sexy-looking brunette, Andrea wasn’t wearing a bra, and her tight white T-shirt exposed her large erect nipples. "Wow, it is amazing -- all you Americans are so good looking."

"Oh, come on, Andrea," Matt joked. "You find every man good looking."

"That is not true, Matt. Well, maybe it is."

"Jan," Matt said, "I’m short of time this morning so I want you to show Joe around."

As Matt was leaving, I quickly stopped him.

"Excuse me."

"What?" he replied, a little perturbed. "What is it?"

"About that apartment you mentioned. I could really use it as soon as possible. The place I’m staying in is costing me a fortune."

"Jan, later today I want you to show Joe the apartment I found him in Háje. I’ll leave the address and the keys by Dana. Is there anything else, Joe?"

"No, I’m all set. Thanks."

"Good. I’ve really got to run right now, but tomorrow, hopefully, I’ll have some more time so we can have ourselves a little chat."

I sat down by the only free desk, in front of an old, dusty computer. A few moments later, I leaned back in my chair against the wall.

"Be careful!" Andrea cried out.

"What?" I replied as I jumped forward in my chair. "Why?"

"The paint!"

I turned around and saw that the shoulder of my jacket was covered with white paint dust. I put my finger on the wall. The paint was of such low quality that it peeled when touched.

"Just great," I said as I brushed off my back.

"Here, let me do that," she said as she came toward me and began brushing my back off.

"Ježíšmarjá," she exclaimed, "taková špina!"

"So," I said to Jan as she finished, "where should we begin?"

"Well," he replied as he lit another cigarette, "I guess you should set up your computer first. You do know how to use a computer, don’t you?"

"Yes."

"Good," he said as he took out some software packages from his desk draw and handed them to me. "Why don’t you install this wonderful pirated software on your computer."

As I was installing Microsoft Word, Excel, and Powerpoint, I turned to Jan.

"How do you like working here?"

"It fucking sucks. Any more bright questions?"

"No, not at the moment."

"Good, because I’ve really got to finish this project for that fucking asshole this morning."

"I thought Matt said you’d show me around."

"Well, I certainly can’t do two fucking things at once, can I?"

"I guess not."

I sat and stared at my computer for the remainder of the morning, until I thought I would go crazy with boredom.

"I think I’ll get some lunch," I finally said, a little before noon.

"Fine," Jan replied, not turning his eyes away from his computer. "I should have this project done by one, and then I can show you your apartment."

"Where are you going for lunch?" Andrea asked.

"Oh, probably just around the corner for some hot dogs."

"Do you mind if I go with you?"

"Not at all."

As we walked to the hot dog stand together, she wrapped her arm around mine.

"‘Joe,’" she said. "That is a nice name. It is short for ‘Joseph,’ right?"

"Yes."

"Did you know that we have the same name in Czech? Only we say ‘Josef.’"

As in "Jan," the "J" in "Josef" was pronounced like a "Y" in English.

"And do you know what the diminutive form is for ‘Josef’? . . . ‘Pepa.’ And a really small ‘Josef’ is ‘Pepíček.’ You do not mind if I call you ‘Pepíček,’ do you?"

"I guess not."

"Good. And you can call me Andy. All my friends call me Andy."

"Okay."

"Myslím si, že budeme velmi dobří milenci," she smiled.

"I’m sorry, but I don’t understand Czech. What did you just say?"

"It does not matter," she continued smiling. "You do not need to know everything, do you?"

While we were waiting in the hot dog line together, Andrea suddenly frowned.

"You know," she said, "I really do not have a taste right now for hot dogs. I think I will just go around the corner and buy some ice cream. I will be back in a few minutes."

"You’re going to have ice cream for lunch?"

"Do you think that it is worse than eating those hot dogs?"

Seconds later, I was at the front of the line. Tonda smiled at me.

"Hello, my friend," he said. "You want two hot dogs and a beer, right?"

"Not today, Tonda. I’m working right now. You better just make it two hot dogs and a Coke."

"Oh, so you work here in Prague. Where?"

"Right around the corner, on Železná."

"That is good. I see you here everyday then."

"Yes, you see me here everyday."

I walked to the corner and began eating. As I swallowed my first bite, I saw a familiar face walk by.

"Hey, Mindy!" I shouted.

Somewhat startled, she turned toward me.

"Oh, it’s you, Joe," she smiled. "How you doing? How’s the new job going?"

"Well, today is my first day so I can’t really tell. I think it has its possibilities, though."

"That’s great. You know, from what Alex has told me, Matt might be a little hard to work for. Alex even felt a little sorry for you. But don’t get discouraged -- this could be a real super opportunity for you."

"I know. And believe me, I really appreciate what you guys did for me."

"Changing the subject a little, I see you’re actually eating one of those hot dogs. Tell me, how are they?"

"They’re pretty good, all things considered. And they’re certainly cheap."

"You know, I’ve always wanted to try one, but I’ve never had the nerve. You must be quite a brave man, Joe. God only knows what they’re made out of."

Our conversation suddenly fell silent. Staring into those blue eyes, I decided it was time.

"Mindy, what would you say to dinner this weekend?"

"Oh," she replied, seemingly surprised by my proposal, "I don’t know. To be honest, I’m not so sure it would be a good idea. I just broke up with a guy recently, and I don’t think I want to get involved again so soon."

"Who’s talking about getting involved? I’m just talking about dinner. We can discuss marriage on our second date."

"I just don’t know," she smiled.

"Oh, come on. What do you have to lose? Who knows, you might even have a good time."

"Well, . . . I guess it’ll be okay. But no hot dogs!"

"We can go wherever you want."

"Do you know where Pizza Taxi is? It’s a really nice Italian restaurant on Karlovo náměstí."

"I’ll find it."

"Okay. Let’s meet Saturday night, say around seven, in front of the restaurant. . . . Well, I guess I should be getting back to work. See you later."

I watched her as she walked down one of the many side streets off Old Town Square. I was excited about having a date with her, especially as it had been more than a month since being with my old girlfriend. I was pretty horny.

"Who was that?" Andrea asked as she came up to me eating an ice cream sandwich.

"Who was who?"

"That girl you were talking with."

"Oh, her. She’s just a friend."

"A friend? Or is she a girlfriend?"

"Only time will tell, Andy. Only time will tell."

"Pepíček has a girlfriend!" she teased me as if she were ten years old. "Pepíček has a girlfriend!"

"Okay, okay. You know, I think it’s time to get back to work."

When we returned, Jan was not around, so I just sat in front of my computer and stared out into space. Eventually, I started dozing off; but I was woken up when Jan burst into the room and slammed the door.

"Do prdele práci!" he screamed. He then turned to me and glared.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "Everything is just peachy, fucking keen."

"Excuse me, but . . . do you have a problem with me?"

"No," he calmed down. "I have no problem with you. You’re not the one who is a fucking asshole. . . . Do you want to see your apartment now?"

"That would be nice."

We walked out together toward the reception area.

"Dana," he said, "do you have the keys and the address of Joe’s apartment?"

"Yes," she replied as she took out a set of keys and a piece of paper from her drawer and handed them to Jan.

"Plickova 567?" he said as he read the address. "Where the fuck is Plickova?"

"It is in some sidliště in Háje."

"Just fucking great. We better take a map. Even I get lost in those fucking paneláks."

As the two of us walked out of the office, Jan stopped and turned back to Dana.

"If Matt asks you, tell him we’ll be back in about two or three hours. Maybe four."

As we left the building, I turned to Jan and smiled.

"How come you and Dana speak English to one another?"

"Well, Dana wants to improve her English, and I don’t mind, as I don’t particularly want to lose my English either."

"Trust me, Jan -- your English is just fine."

We walked to the Můstek Metro station and waited for the next train.

"I don’t know how familiar you are with the Metro yet," he said to me, "but this is the A line, the Green line. Your apartment is in Háje, which is the last stop of the C line, the Red line. So, we’ll have to transfer to the C at Muzeum.

Once we stepped on the C-line train, we found a couple of empty seats and sat down together.

"You know," he said, "I’d really like to apologize about the way I’ve acted today. It’s just been a really bad day. In fact, it’s been a really bad year."

"Hey, I understand," I replied. "I’ve been there before. I used to work on Wall Street; and for even bigger dicks than Matt."

"Such a thing is not possible."

"Well, maybe you’re right. But they certainly weren’t any better, believe me."

After we walked out of the Háje Metro station, Jan took out the map.

"Well," he said, "it looks as if it’s about a fifteen-minute walk. Pay close attention to how we get there, because it’s real easy to get lost in these paneláks."

"What’s a ‘panelák’?"

"It’s these ugly prefabricated concrete apartment buildings, all of which look exactly alike. You’ll find them all over the outskirts of Prague and other industrial cities. All throughout Eastern Europe, in fact. It’s one of the legacies from our 40 years of communistic bliss. We’ll have these wonderful buildings to look at for the rest of eternity to remind us of how great things were."

We passed through a long line of stores and shops, before entering a maze of paneláks. It didn’t even seem as if there were even proper streets, just randomly-placed, sanitary-looking concrete blocks posing as apartment buildings. Jan couldn’t find Plickova Street at first, but after we cut through some bushes and dirt paths, he eventually found it.

"How did you figure that out?" I asked as we stood in front of the apartment building.

"It takes some practice," he smiled. "Not to mention, luck."

Jan unlocked the front door and then called the elevator.

"With an elevator like this," he said to me, "you should expect to walk at least once a week."

After stepping off the elevator on the sixth floor, we quickly found my apartment, number 16. Jan unlocked both the dead-bolt and the lower lock, and we walked inside the small, Spartanly-furnished apartment.

"This is what we call a ‘2+1,’" he said as he showed me around. That’s because there are two rooms and a kitchen. I must say, though, this is the smallest ‘2+1’ I have ever seen. How much are you paying?"

"2,000 crowns."

"Well, I guess that’s not too bad. . . . It’s not too good, either. But finding a decent apartment in Prague is really difficult, especially with all the foreigners living here. Even Czechs have a difficult time."

Jan handed me the keys and we left. As we were walking back to the Metro, we passed a restaurant.

"Hey, Joe, what do you say to a beer?"

"You read my mind, friend. But don’t we have to get back to work?"

"Joe, we had an awfully difficult time finding this apartment, didn’t we? It took us well over an hour once we got here, right?"

"Well over an hour," I smiled.

We walked into the restaurant and sat down by a table in the back. While we waited for our beers, I noticed that most of the people there were staring at me.

"Don’t worry about them," Jan smiled. "Most likely, they’ve not seen too many foreigners in this part of Prague before."

"I’ve noticed that people seem to stare at me wherever I go."

"Well, you have to understand that you are something very unusual to us."

Moments later, the waiter brought us the beers.

"Na zdraví!" Jan toasted.

"Nazadravi," I toasted back.

Jan loudly laughed.

"Pretty bad, eh?" I asked.

"No. Actually it wasn’t bad at all. It wasn’t particularly good, but it wasn’t bad. Pronouncing Czech takes a good deal of practice."

We quickly finished our first round and ordered a second.

"I guess you like Czech beer?" Jan asked me.

"It’s excellent."

"You know, some people think we have the best beer in the world; and I’m one of them. Did you know we are now the biggest beer drinking country in the world per capita?"

"No, I didn’t."

"We used to be number two or three, but since we split off from Slovakia we’ve shot up to number one. It’s good to be number one in at least something."

"That’s quite a distinction. Hey, I read about Czechoslovakia splitting up in the papers, but why did you split up?"

"It’s very simple. We drink beer, and those motherfuckers drink wine. Of course, it’s a little more complicated than that. You see, having a similar language doesn’t guarantee compatibility. If you ask me, we probably should’ve never formed a federation with them in the first place; and we certainly shouldn’t have re-formed the Federation after they betrayed us during World War II."

After a few more rounds of beer, we left the restaurant and headed back to work.

"I really needed that," he said to me as the train left Háje. "You know, Joe, you’re not such a bad guy."

"Thanks," I smiled. "You’re not so bad either."

"I tell you what, next week, why don’t the two of us go drinking after work. I know of some really good pubs by the office."

"Sounds good to me."

When we got back to the office, Jan asked Dana if Matt was in.

"No," she replied. "He has not been in the office all afternoon."

We walked back to our room and Jan immediately started working on his computer.

"I think I’ll just take off," I said as I looked at my watch and saw that it was 4:30.

"That’s a good idea," he replied. "It’s not like you have any work to do; and besides, you have to move. Unfortunately, I’ll probably be stuck here half the night."

"I’m sure, before long, I’ll be joining you," I said as I left. "See you tomorrow."

"Ahoj."

I went back to my apartment and packed my things. I couldn’t fit my new suits comfortably in my backpack, so I just folded them under my arms. After leaving, I dropped the keys under the door of the accommodation office and walked to the Metro.

It was rush hour, so, unlike the trip to Háje earlier in the day, the train was packed with people. I had to stand, squeezed tightly against the door. It was even worse than the New York Subway.

On the streets of Háje, just as in restaurant earlier in the day, everyone seemed to stare at me -- especially the young children, who looked at me as if I had just dropped off Mars. They gazed at me wide-eyed with mouths wide open.

I found my apartment without much difficulty, which surprised me, despite being there only a few hours earlier. Walking inside, I dropped my backpack on the floor and hung my suits up in the closet, before collapsing head-first on the cheap worn sofa in the living room.

I was home.

4

2006-06-02T18:41:00.000-07:00

4

How Much Does a Brick Weigh?

Železná 17 was the address of Andrews & Soudruzi. For a few moments I sat on my bed and stared at the piece of paper Alex gave me, before looking it up on my map. It was no more than 100 yards from my apartment.

I left the apartment and, surprisingly, quickly found the street. Lined with beautiful boutiques and shops, it must’ve been one of the most expensive streets in Prague. On one end of it was a beautiful baroque theater, the Theater of the Estates. According to my guidebook, many of Mozart’s best operas opened there, including Don Giovanni.

I was early, so waited outside number 17, a decrepit building that couldn’t have been less than five hundred years old, until it was time. At exactly 9:00 A.M., I went inside and walked up to the first floor. Adjacent to the only door on the floor was a large bronze plaque, "Andrews & Soudruzi s.r.o." I tried to open the door, but it was locked. Beside the door was a rectangular plastic bell; and when I pressed it, it made a loud buzzing sound, a sound that somewhat startled me. It was soon followed by another buzzing sound, releasing the lock.

"Dobrý den," a beautiful blonde in her early twenties loudly said to me as I walked inside. Her desk was at least 15 yards from the door.

"Hi," I replied as I walked toward her. "My name is Joe Smith. I’m here to see Mr. Andrews; I have an appointment with him."

As I approached her desk, I noticed that the office was pretty drab looking. The furniture was cheap and shoddy, the imitation wood paneling on the walls was peeling, and the linoleum on the floor was worn and cracking.

"Just a moment," she said as she picked up an old rotary telephone. "Matt, you have a visitor. He says that his name is Joe Smith. . . . Okay, bye. Yes, Mr. Smith, he will see you now."

She stood up and led me to the door of his office.

"Could I get you some coffee?" she asked. "Or perhaps tea? Or perhaps you would prefer some mineral water?"

"No, thank you," I smiled.

I walked into the neighboring office, where Matthew Andrews, a small, heavy-set man, was sitting behind an expensive desk. The leather chair he was sitting in was so large that it made him appear even smaller than he actually was. Apart from these two pieces, though, the office contained the same horrible furniture that cluttered the reception area, including an old desk lined up perpendicular against his, forming a T-shape.

Matthew Andrews, who was either in his late thirties or his early forties, had thinning hair, and an overly serious expression on his face. His Armani suit, Rolex watch, and large Yale ring gave him the appearance of the stereotypical investment banker. The large mobile phone lying on top of his desk completed the stereotype.

"Matt Andrews," he said as he stood up to shake my hand. "Please take a seat," he said firmly.

"Do you have a CV?" he asked, even before I had sat down in front of the old desk.

I handed him my CV.

He spent the next few minutes carefully reviewing and annotating it. Occasionally, a surprised expression would come across his face.

"So tell me," he finally said, "why exactly did you come to Prague?"

As I told my story for the third time, I wondered whether I should’ve made a tape of it.

"You’ve moved to Prague, you don’t speak Czech, you don’t have a job, and you don’t have any family or friends here."

"That’s right," I replied.

He shook his head before returning his attention to my CV.

"Well, your CV seems quite impressive," he said after he finished reading it. "Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your responsibilities at Miller Rubenstein."

"I was kind of a research analyst. I helped the senior banking analyst collect and analyze data so that he could make decisions about the quality of the stocks he covered. Basically, I would collect data from various publications and databases, and then create spreadsheets, reports, and graphs based on his specifications."

"I presume you understand GAAP accounting and reporting thoroughly."

"Absolutely."

"It’s too bad they don’t follow GAAP here. The Czechs are moving toward international accounting standards, which isn’t too far from GAAP; but right now, it’s just a mess. I mean, it’s a very difficult task converting what they call ‘accounting’ to GAAP standards. But hell, that’s one of the reasons why people are willing to pay us an awful lot of money for the information we provide."

He briefly glanced once again at my CV.

"How well can you work with computers?" he continued.

"I know PCs really well. I mean, I can create spreadsheets and documents, and stuff like that. I also know how to work with a lot of financial database products."

"You know, I knew Mark Miller while I was working on Wall Street. You don’t mind if I contact him about you, do you?"

"Not at all," I replied, even though I didn’t know whether the president of Miller Rubenstein even knew me, let alone whether he’d give me a good recommendation.

"Okay then, I just have one last question: if a brick weighs a pound and half a brick, how much does a brick weigh?"

"Excuse me?" I replied, completely taken back.

"What, don’t you understand English? If a brick weighs a pound and half a brick, how much does a brick weigh?"

"Uhh, I don’t know. . . . I guess, one and a half pounds."

"No," he replied as he shook his head. "Why don’t you think about it for a minute or two before answering. Your generation is far too quick to come up with solutions before you even understand the problem. Try to think it through algebraically."

"Let me see . . . X = 1 + 1/2X. Therefore, X equals 2. The brick weighs 2 pounds."

"Very good," he giggled. "See, it wasn’t so difficult."

What a dick, I thought. What kind of fucking interview question was that?

"Now let me tell you a little something about our company. Andrews & Soudruzi is a -- "

He was interrupted by the ringing of his mobile phone.

"Excuse me for a minute. . . . Prosím? . . . Á, čest práci, soudruhu!"

He talked on the telephone in Czech for about ten minutes.

"Sorry about that," he smiled. "That was a very important client of ours. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, I was telling you a little bit about our company. Andrews & Soudruzi is a financial research company. We analyze local companies from the Czech Republic, and from a few other Central European countries, to determine whether they would make good investments, in particular for large Western institutional investors. We’re especially interested in the companies that will be trading on the Prague Stock Exchange in a few weeks, once the exchange starts trading equities.

"As you can imagine, good financial information about Czech companies is pretty hard to come by right now. We have to take any information we receive directly from companies with a large grain of salt. Actually, a whole tub of it. So, we do a lot of traveling, visiting these companies in person to see firsthand how they are doing. I have also developed a state-of-the-art computer system to help us track and analyze these companies."

"And what exactly would be my responsibilities here?"

"Well, we employ a number of Czech analysts -- one in fact even has some Western experience. However, while they are all very sharp, I really need someone who thoroughly understands financial accounting; I need someone who is capable of performing some real analysis. Your responsibilities would be twofold. First, you’d make sure our Czech analysts are inputting data correctly; and second, and more importantly, you’d be working with our computer system to create reports and sophisticated real-time spreadsheets, to help both me and our clients make better decisions."

"Would it be possible to take a look at your computer system?"

"Not yet. Right now, I don’t know you from Adam’s house cat. But if you check out and eventually join our team, you’ll get to know the system inside and out. You’ll have to if you want to be successful here. Do you have any other questions?"

"Yes. When would I start?"

"Assuming you check out, you could start as soon as next week. There’s a lot of paper work my bookkeeper would have to take care of, and we would also have to set you up with a desk and a computer; but I think a week is a realistic time frame. Any other questions?"

"Not at the moment."

"I guess you’re probably wondering about the starting salary. Well, I can’t offer you a lot right now. We’ve just started, so there’s not a lot of money coming in just yet. Your monthly salary -- after the excessive amount of taxes you must pay -- would be 6,000 crowns, which doesn’t include a year-end bonus based both on your performance and on the performance of the company as a whole.

"I can see you’re trying to calculate in your head how much money that is. Well, I’ll save you the trouble. It’s about 200 dollars. I know that doesn’t seem like a lot of money, but believe it or not, it’s higher than the average wage in Prague. Of course, you’ll never get rich, but you’ll be surprised how cheap it is to live here if you make an effort at it. And hopefully, in the very near future, I’ll be able to pay you even more. Also, I can get you a very inexpensive apartment. It’s not particularly large or beautiful, but it’s only 2,000 crowns per month. Hell, I knew people in Manhattan who spent more than half their paycheck on their apartments, so you’ll be well ahead of the game."

I never imagined I’d ever work for 200 dollars a month. But as long as it paid my expenses, . . .

"And you’d also get twenty vacation days a year. Of course, each weekend you’ll lose two days of it, he-he-he. . . . So, are you still interested?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

We both got up, and Matt led me down the hallway to the front door.

"You know," he said as he put his hand on my shoulder, "I usually only hire Ivy League graduates, but I guess NYU is okay. . . . I’ll give you a call shortly. You’ll need to give me a number where I can reach you."

"Unfortunately, I don’t have a telephone where I’m staying."

"I see. Well then, give me a call in a few days and I’ll let you know. Here’s my card."

"So, if I get the job," I said as I put his card in my jacket pocket, "will I have to learn Czech?"

"Oh, no," he smiled. "You probably couldn’t learn Czech even if you tried. In fact, to become fluent I had to take months upon months of intensive Czech in a small village, where no one spoke a single word of English. Let me tell you, it was one of the most difficult challenges of my life. And believe me, that’s really saying something. It was all worth it, though, as today I can speak Czech like God. But then again, I have great linguistic abilities. I’m a polyglot, you know. I can speak five languages. I bet you can’t speak anything other than English, right? And you probably don’t even speak that a hundred percent correctly. No, if I were you, Joe, I wouldn’t worry about trying to learn Czech, but instead concentrate on the few things you’re actually good at. So, give me a call in a few days. It was great meeting you."

He gently shoved me out the entranceway and closed the door.

"What a dick," I whispered to myself as I stood in front of the door. But it was a job, so I tried telling myself.

After leaving the building, I walked to the Můstek Metro station to call Alex as I had promised.

"Commercial Section, can I help you?" a Czech woman answered.

"Yes, I would like to speak to Alex Walters."

"And who should I say is calling?"

"Joe Smith."

"Just a moment."

"Alex Walters here. How can I help you?"

"Hi, this is Joe. Joe Smith."

"Hey, Joe -- how’s it going? How was the interview?"

"I guess it went okay. He said he would have to check me out, though."

"Oh, don’t worry about that," he chuckled. "You’ll get the job. Trust me. Joe, you’ll have to excuse me, but I’ve got to take care of some things right now. I tell you what though, in a few weeks, after you’re all settled in the job, I’ll give you a call to see how things are going. How does that sound?"

"Great. I’ll talk to you then. And hey, thanks for everything."

"Don’t mention it. Remember, while this isn’t exactly what we normally do, the Embassy is here to serve our citizens."

The next few days I did very little besides drinking. The only thing in Prague of any significance I hadn’t yet seen was Vyšehrad Castle, and based on the description in my guidebook, cold Czech beer was a little more interesting.

When it was time, I walked to my favorite telephone booth in the Metro station to call Matt. Even though it was only a lousy $200-per-month job, I was nervous about getting it. I was already down to $2,500, and at my current pace, I would soon be in trouble.

I called Matt, and the secretary answered the telephone.

"Hello, Mr. Smith," she answered. "Matt has been waiting for your call. I will get him right away."

"Hi, Joe," Matt said as he picked up the telephone. "I was wondering when you’d be calling. I think I’ve got some good news for you. You checked out. So, can you start, let’s say, on Monday?"

"No problem."

"That’s great. So I’ll see you here Monday morning at nine o’clock sharp. Oh, by the way, try to dress a little better than you did the other day. The suit you were wearing looked very Czech, and that just doesn’t fit the corporate image we’re trying to develop here. Well, I’ve got another call; I’ll see you on Monday."

I didn’t know whether I should’ve been happy or sad. And where was I going to buy nicer suits? And how would I afford them on a fucking $200-per-month salary? These were questions I didn’t have answers to, so I decided to get shitfaced instead.

I went back to the accommodation office the following morning to rent a few more days at my apartment, before going back to Krone to buy some suits that hopefully didn’t make me look so "Czech." But nothing looked particularly "Western." I bought the three least-offensive suits I could find, hoping Matt might not notice.

After returning to the apartment, I realized I needed to wash some clothes, and remembered reading an advertisement in The Prague Post about a laundromat. I picked up the newspaper from beside my bed and turned to the classifieds section. The place was called Laundry Kings; and supposedly, they had real Western washers and dryers.

I packed my dirty clothes into my backpack and took the Metro to the Hradčaská Metro station, which was a few blocks from Laundry Kings. When I walked inside the laundromat, I saw a few people reading English-language newspapers and magazines in the waiting area, which was a small room furnished entirely with cheap lawn furniture.

"Can I help you?" a shabbily-dressed young Czech girl asked me as she walked into the waiting area from the back of the laundromat.

"Yes," I replied. "I would like to do some laundry."

"Do you want to do it yourself? Or do you want to leave it here for us to do?"

"I guess I’ll do it myself."

She led me into the laundry area and showed me how to use the machines.

"Now, you go to the waiting area," she said after I put the token I had bought from her into the washing machine. "It will take an hour."

I walked back into the waiting area, and sat down in one of the plastic lawn chairs. It was going to be a long hour.

"Hey, dude, how’s it going?" a young blond-haired man said to me when he noticed I was sitting in front of him. Dressed entirely in black, he had multiple earrings and was sporting a goatee. He was Generation X incarnate.

"Hi," I smiled.

"Is this your first time here?"

"Yes, it is."

"I thought so. You certainly look like a neophyte. So, did you move here or are you just visiting?"

"I just moved here."

"That’s great. Let me introduce myself. My name is Karl."

"Nice to meet you. I’m Joe."

"And what are you doing in Prague?"

I told him about my new job.

"Wow, a real businessman. You know, I haven’t met any business people here yet. Unless you count my friend Pat who works at The Prague Post. But I really wouldn’t consider that a business."

"And what do you do, Karl?"

"Oh, I’m an English teacher. You know, there must be hundreds of us in Prague. We’re all over the place. And who can blame us? This place is fucking amazing. I mean, there’s so much atmosphere, so much excitement. Never mind all the cheap beer and women. You know, this place is almost Kafkaesque. Get it?"

"Cute."

Looking at Karl and listening to him speak, I tried to determine whether he was a spoiled rich kid looking for thrills, or just simply an idiot. I was mildly amused by him, though. But only mildly.

"Hey, Joe," he sang to me, to the tune of that lousy Jimi Hendrix song, after I put my clothes in the dryer. "Did you know that they’ve just opened a sports bar here in Prague? A businessman like yourself is probably really into sports and shit, right?"

"I guess so."

"Well, you should definitely stop by. All the ex-pats are hanging out there. It’s right on top of New York Pizza, another expatriate institution."

"Maybe I’ll give it a try," I lied.

"You do that, Joe. I’ll keep an eye out for you."

As Karl was leaving, he turned to me and smiled.

"Take care of yourself, Joe. And don’t forget to kick some capitalist butt out there."

"I’ll do that, Karl."

"Cool."

On the way home, I stopped off at the hot dog stand on Old Town Square for a bite to eat. Hot dogs had become the main staple of my diet since moving to Prague.

"Come back again," the guy behind the counter smiled at me as he handed me two hot dogs and a beer.

"Oh, I’ll definitely be back. You know, I really love these dogs. And your beer ain’t bad either."

"I am glad you appreciate them. I see you here often. By the way, my name is Tonda."

We shook hands.

I went back to my apartment, unpacked my things, and lay across the bed. I soon started staring at the ceiling. I didn’t know exactly what I was feeling. Perhaps it was angst.

3

2006-06-02T18:25:00.000-07:00

3

Stop, Look and Listen

Only a marginal pool of water remained on the floor the following morning after my shower. Another proof of the progress I was making.

After drying myself off, I stood in front of a near empty closet deciding what to wear. I hadn’t brought any suits with me. I didn’t think I would need any. I thought I’d work as a bartender, or something similarly bohemian. Never did I imagine I could find a job in finance. Nor did I really want to find one. I didn’t like finance; and I liked the people who worked in finance even less. But it was a job, something I needed.

I put on a white button-down oxford and a solid dark-blue tie -- the closest I could come to looking marginally professional.

After dressing, I took out Mindy’s business card and my indispensable map. The address of the Embassy’s Commercial Section was Hybernská 7a, only a ten-minute walk from the apartment. Theoretically. Based on experience, I gave myself twenty minutes to find the place. It took twenty-five.

After finding the entrance, which was no simple task, I walked inside and asked one of the security guards for Mindy’s office.

"It’s on the second floor," he pointed.

I walked up the spiral staircase to the second floor, where I saw the following sign:

IN EUROPE THIS IS CONSIDERED THE FIRST FLOOR. SO IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR THE SECOND FLOOR, YOU MUST WALK AN ADDITIONAL FLIGHT UP.

On the second floor, in front of the staircase, there was a thick metal door leading into the commercial library. It was locked, so I rang the doorbell and waited. A few moments later, Mindy came to the door and let me in.

"Hi," I smiled.

"Oh, hi," she replied, with a somewhat serious expression on her face. "I was wondering if you’d show up. I spoke to the commercial attaché, Alex Walters, about you earlier this morning. He told me you might be a good fit for that job I was telling you about. It’s in a local investment research firm. He said that he wanted to see you as soon as you got here."

"That’s great."

She led me halfway down the hallway before suddenly stopping. She turned back to me and grabbed my arm.

"There’s something I should tell you about Mr. Walters," she whispered. "He’s a really great guy, but . . . he’s a little eccentric. But don’t let that fool you, he’s probably as sharp as anyone you knew on Wall Street. Well, here’s his door, so good luck. My office is just down the hallway, the last door on the left. Stop by after you talk to him and let me know how it went."

I knocked on Mr. Walters’s door. There was no answer, so I knocked louder.

"Come on in," a voice shouted from behind the door.

I walked inside to a beautifully decorated office. It had an unusually high ceiling, which had some kind of art work painted on it. Probably because of this, instead of light fixtures, rows of small light bulbs, similar to Christmas tree lights, were strung from one wall to the other. At the far end of the office, a tall man was sitting behind a large oak desk with his back to the door. A small portable stereo was on his desk, and it was loudly playing country music, to which the man was singing along with a strong female voice.

You better stop, look, and listen -- hey, you don’t know what you’re missing.
You better stop, look, and listen -- ’cause you might be missing kissin’.
If you’re traveling slow, you’ll go a long, long way.

"Eccentric," I thought. "Excuse me," I said, after clearing my throat. "Are you Mr. Walters? My name is Joe Smith."

He leaned over toward the stereo and turned it off. He then turned around in his chair and smiled at me.

"Stop, look, and listen," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"‘Stop, Look and Listen,’ by Miss Patsy Cline. Boy, I don’t know what I’d do here without Patsy. She’s my salvation. Regardless of where I’m stationed, I just turn up one of these fine tunes, and it’s just as if I were back home in Kentucky. What do you think of her, Joe?"

"I guess she’s okay."

"Just okay? Why, son, she’s a whole lot better than just okay, believe you me. And she’s certainly a lot better than the crap they play around here. Joe, do you know what kind of music they listen to in Prague? . . . Abba. Can you believe it? Abba? I mean, even Abba must be sick of listening to themselves. You know, you can’t go anywhere in this damn city without hearing it. Why, I swear to God, every time I’ve been in McDonald’s they’ve been playing ‘Dancing Queen.’ It’s enough to drive a man to drink. . . . Anyway, why don’t you come over here and take a seat."

As I walked toward him, I saw that he was in his early fifties and about 6 feet tall; and although he had a small paunch, it was obvious he was in good shape for a man his age.

"It’s nice to meet you, Joe," he said as he stood up to shake my hand. His smile was omnipresent.

"Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself," he continued as we both sat down.

"Well, I graduated from NYU with a BS in Finance in eighty-nine; and after I graduated, I worked at Chase Manhattan for a couple of years as a junior analyst. For the last two years I’ve worked at Miller Rubenstein. They’re a small investment bank in New York."

"Chase Manhattan, you say. Wow, that’s pretty impressive." He paused for a moment as he lit a cigarette. "Tell me," he continued after taking a deep drag, "what brings you to Prague (besides the beer and women, of course)?"

I repeated the story that I already told twice. And not to be disappointed, I got the same reply I had received before.

"You’ve moved to Prague, but you don’t speak Czech, you don’t have a job, and you don’t have any friends or family here. Another crazy American, eh?"

I just shrugged my shoulders.

"Well, I don’t know exactly what you’re expecting, but I know of a company that just might be able to use someone like yourself. First, let me say: we’re not an employment agency; we’re not in the business of finding people jobs. It just so happens though, a local American businessman asked me -- as a personal favor -- if I knew someone with a financial background who was looking for a job. Before I go any further, I should warn you that the pay is really bad. It may just be enough to get you by. And then again, it may not be. However, he did say he’d be willing to get the right candidate a cheap apartment."

"That sounds fine to me. To be honest, I didn’t come here to get rich. Just as long as it’s a decent job. But could you tell me more about it?"

"Well, Mr. Andrews, the president of the company, would have to give you all the particulars. What I can tell you is this: the company is called Andrews & Soudruzi (he-he-he, what a stupid name.) Anyway, it’s a financial research company here in Prague. They’re located about ten minutes from here. What they do is analyze companies, especially ones that’ll be trading soon on the Prague Stock Exchange. Tell me, have you ever heard of Matthew Andrews?"

I shook my head.

"That’s pretty surprising, considering you worked on the Street and all. Supposedly, he was a really big name there for a long while, especially in arbitrage. But maybe he was a little before your time. Anyway, I think you’ll really like him; he’s a pretty sharp guy. And you know what? It could be a damn good experience for you."

"It sounds wonderful."

"Great. I’ll give Matt a call."

He picked up his telephone, flipped through his Rolodex, dialed a number, and spoke to someone in Czech. During a short pause on the line, he winked at me.

"Oh, hi Matt," he said moments later. "This is Alex Walters from the Embassy. I think I may have found you a good candidate for that job we were talking about. His name is Joe Smith and he’s sitting here in my office right this minute. And he looks pretty sharp. . . . Hold on a second, I’ll ask him. Joe, how’s nine A.M. tomorrow?"

"That’s fine."

"No problem, Matt. I’ll give him your address and he’ll be there bright and early tomorrow morning. I’ll talk to you later; take care of yourself. Ahoj."

Alex hung up the telephone and looked me over.

"You do have a suit to wear for tomorrow, don’t you?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Oh, and don’t forget to bring a résumé. In fact, a CV would be better if you have one."

"No problem."

"Great. Let me write down his address for you. . . . And make sure you’re there tomorrow morning on time. Matt’s very punctual."

He handed me Matt’s address, and stood up to shake my hand good-bye.

"It was really a pleasure meeting you, Joe. Do me a favor -- give me a call after the interview and let me know how it went."

"Will do," I smiled as I walked toward the door. As I was leaving, Alex sat down at his desk and once again began blasting country music on his portable stereo.

After closing the door behind myself, I shook my head. I then walked down the hall to Mindy’s open office.

"So how did it go?" she smiled.

"I’m not sure," I whispered back. "He’s really strange."

"Now, now -- we call that ‘eccentricity’ around here."

"Well, you can call it whatever you’d like, but he’s still strange. But he did arrange an interview for me for tomorrow morning."

"That’s terrific."

"One question, though: what’s a ‘CV’?"

"Oh, it’s just a pretentious word for a résumé. Just take your résumé, make it appear as if you’re more important than you actually are, and voilá -- you’ve got yourself a CV."

"Unfortunately, I don’t even have a résumé."

"Don’t worry -- there’s a copy shop just down the street, and they’ll let you use one of their computers for a small hourly fee. I’ll write down the address for you."

After she handed me the address of the shop, she stood up from her desk.

"Well, I’ve got to be getting back to work, but I’ll show you out."

As we walked toward the entrance, she gave me a quick tour of the offices, including the small commercial library.

"So, what do you think of this place?" she asked.

"It’s really nice."

"We just moved here. It’s a beautiful building, isn’t it? We actually share it with the Social Democrats. They’re the left-wing opposition party. You know, you would never believe this building used to house the Lenin Museum, would you?"

"No, I wouldn’t."

"Yeah, it’s pretty ironical, don’t you think? But this pales in comparison to what I saw in Albania last summer. The American Center in Tirana is actually located in Hoxha’s former mausoleum."

We stopped in front of the staircase and she offered me her hand.

"It was great meeting you, Joe. I really hope everything works out. And who knows, I wouldn’t be surprised if we were to run into each other again. Prague is actually a pretty small town."

As I slowly walked down the stairs, I wondered whether I should’ve asked her out.

There’ll be other chances, I thought. At least I hoped.

After leaving the building, I walked down the street to Copia, the copy shop Mindy recommended. No one there spoke much English; but I was getting really good at using body language to express what I wanted. I paid roughly two dollars for the use of one of their Macintosh computers and began typing out my résumé; and as I didn’t want to go through the rigmarole of paying for an additional hour, I made certain to finish the résumé within the hour. When it was done, it may not have been the best-looking résumé, nor "pretentious" enough to be an actual CV, but it was passable.

Afterward, I walked to the I.P. Parlova Metro station to buy a monthly transportation ticket. I went downstairs and waited in line by the ticket booth. When it was my turn, I found the woman behind the booth didn’t speak any English; and my body language wasn’t getting me anywhere.

"You need to buy photograph first," a woman standing behind me said. "She is saying you that you need to buy photograph. After you buy photograph, she will sell you pass, and stamp good for this month."

"Where can I get a photograph taken?"

"There is place in Můstek Metro station."

Although it would’ve seemed logical to sell photographs in the same station that sold tickets, it was only a ten-minute walk to Můstek. In the hallway of the station, I bought a set of four instant photographs. I also bought a telephone card as well. I then walked back to I.P. Parlova and bought the ticket.

I still needed to buy a suit, but I figured it could wait until after lunch, and after a few beers. As I was looking for a pub, I passed a newsstand and saw an English-language newspaper on sale, The Prague Post. I bought a copy and walked into a nearby pub. While I was waiting for my order, a tall brunette in her early thirties walked up to my table.

"Is this seat free?" she asked me, in a heavy New York accent.

"Yes," I smiled.

As she sat down, I glanced at her face, which was covered in thick layers of makeup, in a vain attempt to cover years of overexposure to the sun.

I bet she looks pretty dastardly without all that makeup, I thought as I smiled at her.

"Oh, I see you’re reading The Prague Post," she remarked.

"Yeah. It’s pretty interesting. You know, it kind of reminds me of the high school newspaper I used to work on."

"That’s a good word for it. ‘Interesting.’ But I have a better word for it -- ‘trash.’"

"It’s not that bad."

"Actually, it’s not bad at all. In fact, it’s absolutely perfect. Did you know they never print mistakes? . . . They don’t print retractions, therefore, it follows they never print mistakes."

"I guess you really don’t like it."

"You’ve guessed right. In fact, if I ever run into that little Jewess who runs the paper, I’ll scratch her fucking eyes out. It’ll serve her right for all the lies she prints about me. . . . By the way, my name is Helen."

"Joe. Joe Smith. I guess you live in Prague."

"Unfortunately, Joe, I do. But only for as long as it takes me to complete the business I have here. And then I’ll be out of Prague faster than a Jew picking a penny off the street. What about yourself?"

"Well, I just moved here. In fact, tomorrow I have my first job interview."

"My condolences. But I wish you luck -- believe me, you’ll need it if you plan to live any length of time in this fucking hell hole. Let me tell you, Czechs are nothing but a bunch of ungrateful thieves."

As soon as she finished her lunch, she looked at her watch.

"Shit!" she screamed. "I’m really late for an important meeting; I’ve got to get out of here."

She literally grabbed the waiter.

"Zaplatím," she said to him in Czech. Before, she had spoken to him only in English. "Strašně spěchu!"

"Dobře," he replied, trying to brush her off. "Za chvílíčku."

"Ne ‘za chvílíčku.’ Hned!"

"Wow," I said to her after the waiter took her money, "you really speak Czech well."

"And so I should," she matter-of-factly replied. "I am Czech."

She picked up her purse and smiled at me.

"Well, Joe, it was certainly nice meeting you. Hopefully, it won’t be for the last time."

After lunch, I went across the street to a large department store called Krone to buy a suit. While I didn’t find any of the suits particularly attractive, I really couldn’t be picky. At least they weren’t too expensive. The only problem was sizes. The measurements were in centimeters. I looked around for someone to help me, but the employees seemed to keep as far away from me as possible, as if I had the plague or some other equally terrifying disease.

In frustration, I used a "trial and error" method to find my correct size; and after about four attempts, I finally found something that nearly fit.

While in Krone, I also visited the supermarket downstairs, where I bought some beer; and that evening, I stayed home and drank it, while staring aimlessly out onto the courtyard, occasionally thinking about the interview, but mostly thinking about Mindy.

2

2006-06-01T19:18:00.000-07:00

2

The Revizor

When I finally awoke, I wiped the sleep off my eyes and looked at my watch. It was 11:00 A.M. Having slept a full twenty hours, I decided to get out of bed. I walked to the window, stretched my arms, and looked out into the empty courtyard. It was a beautiful morning.

I went to the bathroom, but something was wrong. There was a bathtub and a sink, but no toilet.

"I wonder which one I'm supposed to piss in?" I asked myself.

I vaguely remembered Miloš showing me a toilet in the hallway. I hoped it was only a bad dream. But it wasn't. After checking a few locked doors, I found a small closet containing a decrepit old toilet.

"Man," I said to myself, holding my breath, "someone’s going to make a killing here importing Ty-D-Bol."

Before I left, I looked at the toilet paper. It was like sandpaper. I cringed.

After returning, it was time for a shower. But while there was a bathtub, it had no shower fixture, only a long hose attached to the faucet. There wasn’t even a shower curtain.

I tried to shower myself without soaking the entire bathroom floor. This attempt, however gallant, was entirely unsuccessful; I stepped out of the tub into a large pool of water.

After dressing, I took out the city map and the tourist guide I had bought the day before. Or was it two days before?

While I needed to find a job and a permanent place to live, these things could wait. I wanted to see my new hometown.

Looking through the map and the guide, I carefully planned my itinerary for the day: Old Town Square, followed by the Charles Bridge, and then finally, Prague Castle.

When I finally found my way through the maze-like courtyard to the entrance of the building, I was amazed. Actually, "amazed" wasn't the right word. I was awed. I had never seen anything as beautiful as Old Town Square. I hardly even noticed it when I arrived, as tired as was.

On one side of the large, well-preserved cobblestone square stood the Týn Church, a mammoth edifice direct from the middle ages. It appeared as if it were tilted somehow, but it was probably just an optical illusion. On another corner of the square stood a statue of Jan Hus, a fifteenth-century Protestant leader, regarded as a Czech national hero according to my guidebook. And in the center of the square was Old Town Hall, a large baroque structure with a golden astronomical clock on its roof.

Even the ordinary buildings in the square were far from ordinary.

Walking around, I noticed a little shop. In its window was a picture of something vaguely resembling a hot dog.

And I thought I wouldn't like the food.

Not having eaten for a while, I ordered four hot dogs. And a can of beer. Things were looking up.

I paid the young man behind the counter roughly two dollars for the meal, and then sat on a nearby stoop, where I quietly ate as a crowd formed around Town Hall. A few minutes after the hour, the bell in the tower chimed, followed by the appearance of a ring of small miniatures from inside the clock. It was cute; but judging by the expressions of the crowd, you’d think they were witnessing the Second Coming.

After lunch, I cautiously approached the church. I hadn’t been in one in a long while, and I felt a little guilty. As I stepped across the threshold, I saw an old priest sitting in the last pew. He turned to me and smiled. We starred at each other for a few seconds before he whispered in perfect English, "It has been a long time, am I correct?" I nervously smiled back and slowly stepped backward.

I began walking toward the Charles Bridge. According to my map, it should've been a short walk, but, as I was quickly learning, getting anywhere in Old Town was never simple. The roads curved in so many directions that I became dizzy. And I had to check my map at every other corner just to be certain I was still walking in the right direction. Often, I was not.

I eventually found the ancient cobblestone bridge, a bridge that spanned the Vltava River, a river that effectively and effortlessly split the city in two. Walking across it, I was mesmerized by the large, intricate statues of saints and martyrs on its sides.

A quarter of the way across, I saw Prague Castle for the first time, and almost expected to see Tinkerbell flying around it, its appearance being so similar to the Disney Castle.

Along the bridge, an assortment of street vendors, portrait artists, musicians, and beggars sold their wares, most of which was of questionable quality, especially the cheap Russian military hats and the fake ceramic eggs. The only vendor selling anything useful was a man selling half-warm cans of beer. It was considerably overpriced, but I bought one anyway; and had long finished it by the time I made my way through the sea of tourists to the other side.

Once across the bridge, I tried to find my way to the Castle. But the path wasn't obvious, and I often had to refer to my map. Eventually, I reached a steep set of concrete steps leading toward the castle. Halfway up and fully exhausted, I stopped at a small outdoor café for a pit-stop. I ordered a beer and paid the waiter ten crowns, as was written on the sign.

"Ne," he shook his head. "Musíte navíc zaplatit dvoukorunovou zálohu."

"I don't understand."

He stuck two fingers out. I still owed him a couple of crowns.

"But why?" I replied, pointing to the sign. "The sign says ‘10 crowns.’"

"Je záloha na láhev!"

"I don't understand."

For the next few minutes, he tried in vain to explain why I had to pay the additional money; but finally, completely exasperated, he threw his hands up and walked back into the café. A man at a nearby table turned to me and smiled.

"He wanted you to pay a deposit on the bottle," he said in a thick accent.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Why? Well, I must say, I found it terribly amusing."

Near the top of the stairs, I found a path circling around the hill toward the castle. Alongside it was a tall concrete wall, and on the wall someone had spray-painted: "KOMUNISMUS = FAŠISMUS."

From the top of the hill, I stared at the castle, again in awe. Directly behind it was St. Vitus Cathedral, another mammoth edifice -- not unlike the Týn Church -- which towered over the castle. In front of the castle stood two ceremonial guards, not unlike the ones who stand in front of Buckingham Palace. Unlike their British counterparts, though, they didn't seem to take their job so seriously. I even saw one of them smile when a small child walked up to take their picture.

Walking around the castle, I found Zlatá ulička, or the "Little Golden Street," as my guidebook called it. But it was more like an alley than a street. The tiny houses, which were crouched up against each other, were painted with brilliant pastel colors, making the street appear as something from the canvas of Monet.

I began getting hungry again; and of course, thirsty. I walked down a street, in the opposite direction of the castle, and found a small pub called U Černého vola. I walked inside, where a half-dozen picnic-style tables offered communal seating in a fog of cigarette smoke. I took a seat in front of a friendly-looking old man and smiled at him.

"Prosím," the gruff-looking waiter growled at me moments later.

"Do you speak English?" I asked.

"Beer you want?" he sighed, as if making a great sacrifice speaking to me in my native tongue.

"Yes, beer I want."

"Light or black?"

"Uhh . . . black."

"Prosím," he said again as he left.

"Wait -- do you have any food?"

"Yes. You want eggs or sausage?"

"I want sausage."

The waiter soon brought me the beer, and I tipped my glass to the old man.

"Na zdraví!" he smiled.

I was getting tired (and buzzed), so after I left the pub, I decided to go back to the apartment. I walked down the concrete steps and soon found myself on Malostranské náměstí, a small square diagonally cut in half by tram tracks. At the stop, I looked at my map and concluded that number 18 would take me reasonably close to the apartment. I then looked up at the schedule, which was written using the 24-hour time system.

While I tried to compute "16:00" in my head, the number 18 came around the corner. As it stopped, I hurriedly looked for some way to buy a ticket, but couldn’t find any. I quickly stepped inside, hoping to buy one on the tram, but all I saw were a few small mechanical devices, attached to a couple of poles. A few people, but not everyone, placed small strips of paper into the devices, before pulling down the attached lever and taking the piece of paper back out. They were paying somehow, this I knew; but as I didn't know how, I just took a seat and not-so-innocently smiled.

As the tram was leaving, a young woman jumped onboard, moments before the doors closed; and she took a seat directly in front of me. She was about 5 feet 2 inches with long blond hair and deep blue eyes. This along with her powerful figure gave her a Saturn-like quality.

I couldn't break my stare; I was entranced by her. She was ignorant of this, too busy reading her Czech newspaper to notice she had an admirer.

Consumed by this woman, my concentration was only broken when a middle-aged man walked up to me holding a small plastic badge.

"Prosím vás, pane," he politely said, "můžete mi ukázat svou jízdenku?"

What did he want? Didn't he see I was a man in love? Or, at the very least, in lust?

The man repeated his question, this time with a much sterner voice. I looked at his badge and presumed he was just another peddler, trying to sell me some worthless piece of junk.

"No," I said shaking my head, "I'm not interested in buying it."

"Ježíšmarjá!" he screamed. "Ti blbí cizáci! Asi nerozumíš mi ani slovo, že jo? . . . Ukáž mi svou jízdenku, ty hajzlíku!"

I became nervous, especially as many people were staring at me.

"He wants to see your ticket," the woman in front of me said, with an unmistakable American accent, her eyes remaining focused on her newspaper.

"What?" I whispered as I leaned toward her.

"He's a revizor -- he wants to see your ticket," she repeated as she turned back to me. "You know, you really pissed him off. You should hear the things he's calling you."

"But, I don't have a ticket. I couldn't figure out how to buy one."

"Well, then you'll have to pay a fine."

"How much?"

"Jízdenku on nemá," she said to the revizor. "Kolik bude stát pokuta?"

"Dvě stě korun," he answered.

"Two hundred crowns," she said, turning back toward me.

I took out two one-hundred-crown bills from my wallet and handed it to the man.

"Děkuji vám, pane," he condescendingly smiled before walking away.

"Thanks a lot," I said to her.

"You're welcome. If I were you though, I'd buy myself a ticket."

"Where can I buy them?"

"It all depends on how long you're staying in Prague."

"I just moved here."

"Then, what you should do is go to the I.P. Parlova Metro station. You can buy a monthly ticket there for all public transportation for only 200 crowns. That's equal to the fine you just paid. After June, you can start buying three-month tickets for 500 crowns; and if you should stay so long, you can buy a year-long ticket at the beginning of the year."

I tried to attentively listen to her, but I couldn't concentrate -- I was lost in her eyes. When she noticed my not-so-innocent stare, she blushed a little.

"So, what are you doing in Prague?" she asked.

I told her my story.

"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "You've moved to Prague, but you don't speak Czech, you don't have a job, and you don't have any family or friends here. You must be crazy!"

"So I've been told," I smiled, a little embarrassed.

"Tell me, do you have any special skills or talents? You know, they're always looking for English teachers here. And based on the few I've met, a mastery of the English language doesn't seem to be a prerequisite."

"Well, I've been working on Wall Street as a financial analyst for an investment bank. So I have a pretty strong background in finance, and I also know my way around a computer. But I guess that won't help me here."

"Don't be so sure," she pensively replied. "Did you know they just opened a stock exchange in Prague? It's understandably pretty small at the moment, especially in comparison with what you're used to; but believe it or not, I might have a good lead for you. You see, I work at the American Embassy as the assistant commercial attaché, and we just got some information about a job opening. Why don't you stop by our office tomorrow at around nine, and I'll give you some more information. Here's my card."

"They really have a stock exchange in Prague?" I said as I quickly stuffed her card in my back pocket. "What could they possibly trade?"

"Right now I think they're only trading a few fixed-income securities, and only once a week. But supposedly, they'll be trading equities very shortly; and eventually, every day."

"That's unbelievable!"

"Actually, it's really not all that remarkable. The Czechs have come a long way in the few years since the Revolution. Despite what you and most Americans might think, this place is really happening. I mean, there's a lot of money in Prague. You know, if you were looking for bread lines and hyperinflation, you should get on the train and head east. Because this, my friend, is Central Europe. It's not Eastern Europe anymore."

I was impressed. Not only was she pretty and smart, but she had a spirit, something sorely lacking in most of my old girlfriends. More importantly, she had a job lead -- a good job lead.

"Tell me," I said to her, "what exactly do you do?"

"Like I just said, I'm the assistant commercial attaché at the American Embassy. However, I don't work directly at the Embassy anymore; we just opened a new office in the center of town. My responsibility is as the Embassy contact for the local business community, both American and Czech."

"And do you like working here?"

"I absolutely love it."

"I guess you must speak Czech fluently?" I said, pointing to her newspaper.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say ‘fluently.’ But I certainly speak it well enough to get by. Obviously, it's pretty useful for the work I do. Before I came here, I had to take intensive language training in Washington. For more than three months all I did was learn Czech. And I'm still learning. I take lessons with a really great teacher once a week. Who knows, maybe one day I will actually be fluent. Of course, to the locals I will never speak anything but 'broken' Czech."

Just then, she looked out the window.

"Oh, this is my stop," she said as she stood up. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Absolutely," I said as she quickly walked toward the exit. "Wait a minute, I don't even know your name."

"It's on my card, silly. . . . It's Mindy. Mindy Forsyth."

"Nice to meet you. My name is Joe Smith."

"It was very nice meeting you too, Joe Smith. I'll see you tomorrow morning. And don't forget to buy that ticket!"

I watched her as she stepped off the tram, and I continued watching her until the tram turned the corner. I then realized I had long since missed my own stop. And I didn't care.

I got off at the following stop and waited for the number 18 traveling in the opposite direction. I still didn't have a ticket, nor a way of purchasing one, but I was confident I wouldn’t get checked twice in one day. I kept two hundred crowns in my shirt pocket, though, just in case.

From my stop it was only a few minute walk to the apartment; I didn't even have to look at my map. I was proud of myself, and not just because of this seemingly minor accomplishment. Everything was coming into place, coming into place better than I could've planned -- that is, if I actually had a plan.

Frauds, Thieves, and other Podvodniks (DRAFT)

Table of Contents

22

22The Night Shift

21

21Sinking

20

20Cunts

19

19Love is Love

18

18Betrayal

17

17The Information Age Society

16

16The Kolín Bears

15

15The Warmth of the Tundra

14

14Polish Holiday

13

13Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

12

12Self-Hatred

11

11Every Man is Available

10

10The Amík

9

9The Little Pearl on the Bottom

8

8The Spy Who Came into the Cold

7

7They Speak Czech Here, Don't They?

6

6The Hajzl

5

5Pepíček Has a Girlfriend

4

4How Much Does a Brick Weigh?

3

3Stop, Look and Listen

2

2The Revizor