And Mr Cimbura was glad as well. He lay in some blankets, and said straight away, ‘Hi, sonny… you made it!’
He propped himself up on one elbow. I had recognized him in the flickering candlelight, even before he had spoken. So Mr Cimbura and Páta have made up, I thought to myself.
Then Mr Cimbura yattered on, ‘So, sonny, you thought you’d escape from your very own village on a tank, did you? Just like your old man, though he tried it by plane.’
In the bunker-like darkness, relieved only by the candles, I checked again that it was Mr Cimbura that I was seeing and hearing. I clenched my fist. I didn’t want to hear any more of his or anyone else’s fairy stories… Then I saw that there was somebody else there… I was so glad to see Sister Alberta again. She was sitting in a snug of rags, looking at me. She was pleased too, I think.
‘Well, here we all are, come together like one happy family,’ said Mr Cimbura. ‘You know, sonny, how I used to look after you as best I could, seeing as you’re the bastard sprog of an aristo, but I couldn’t look out for the little ’un, you know that yerself.’
‘I saw it! I saw Monkeyface fall all by himself!’ Páta blurted out, and I said, ‘So did Karel!’ and I stamped my foot.
‘Ah well, we looked after you under all them bosses that evil times inflicted on us, sonny. Everyone in Siřem took real good care of you… but then, you’re our lord and master, kid… We always kept an eye on you, ever since I dragged you out of that plane in flames as a screaming wee thing. The eyes of all us folk, Siřem folk, kept a close watch on you. I was afraid you’d never ever get over all that gormless gawping you did, but you have. Our Hanka used to keep us up to date! It weren’t easy for her, obviously, to keep up with some neglected, delinquent kid. She’s a lovely girl really, but then she had to see to the wellbeing of the young squire. She had that explained to her proper like!’
Mr Cimbura sat up. I could see his face was terribly burnt, the light from the candles gliding over the craters in its ancient skin. He was covered in filthy bandages, and though it probably isn’t right to say this of an old person, he stank. No matter how many times I’d been in combat, I’d never realized that burns could smell so bad.
‘Well, sonny, you never needed as much protecting as when them red communards betrayed the Czech people and threw in their lot with the Moskies. If you’d been a growing, aristo orphan, you’d have been for it. Much better to be a retard. That was a damn good idea we had! And the popular masses put the frighteners on the Muscovite and now our victory’s in tatters, but we’ll pull through. We’ll lie low in our cellars and pull through. There’s always someone survives, that’s a known fact. So, sonny, you’ve grown into a fine upstanding son of Czechia, a stalwart soldier in the Czech cause. You didn’t get far from your native Siřem on that tank. And now you’re back with us. Welcome home!’
Sister Alberta was smiling, like she was welcoming me back too, and she pat-patted her ancient hands. Páta was laughing and invited me to sit. I sat down on a length of timber. It was the shelf which had collapsed that time when I kicked everything off it. Mr Cimbura struggled across to me. He was offering me something… and he straightened up and bellowed, like he used to in the square, when everyone gathered round him: ‘Little Ilya’s the squire now!’ and Mr Cimbura spluttered with laughter as he spoke. He could probably see I was looking at him real angry, like, so he pretended to have a bad coughing fit. But he stuck a half-rotten cucumber in my right hand and a potato in my left, and he started messing about. He bowed to me like I was a king being crowned on the telly in some fairy tale for the masses. Páta was giggling and did the bowing-before-the-king thing after Mr Cimbura, while Sister Alberta kept on clapping, and then she said, ‘Welcome, lad!’
‘Your dad, sonny,’ said Mr Cimbura, ‘brought back from his travels this weird woman. God alone knows in what deserted wilderness he picked her up. Your mother was a vile-looking creature, I can tell you… Well, because of that ugly mug of hers, you and your kid brother turned out how you fucking did — not your fault, my lad… The Jerries wanted to chop your dad’s head off, but he got round ’em by letting on about all sorts of secret hideouts. But he couldn’t get round the Commies. They went after his aristocratic blood like leeches… So, now he’s enjoying his eternal rest in his Siřem tomb.
‘The truth is, your dad decided to make a run for it, but his plane flopped down into the mud, and the mud of Siřem and the water of Siřem put the flames out, and we, the people of Siřem, we pulled you and your kid brother out. Your brother came off bad, like, we know. Your parents died inside the plane. It ain’t true they didn’t give a damn about you. All they did was die, and that’s all there is to it!’
There were masses of candles in the vault. It had been a long while since I’d seen people sitting in the half-light, their shadows flitting all over the wall whenever someone moved… The shadows were bigger than the people… My own shadow looked enormous above me the moment I changed position… It crossed my mind that as soon as I grew as big as that myself, all these fairy stories would finally come to an end.
‘How come my dad crashed his plane?’ I asked, putting on a really deep voice.
‘Good question,’ squeaked Mr Cimbura from his pallet of rags. ‘Rumour has it that all the Siřem folk took it real bad that the squire wanted to do a runner and leave us here. That wasn’t right, now, was it? So you see, it turned out we were right. He shouldn’t have run away from his people… He came a cropper! It’s possible someone drilled a hole in the fuel tank, making it burst, so the plane took off and fell right back down in a blaze… Who could have done such a thing? Wicked undercover fascists? Evil commies? Some local with a grievance?… But listen, sonny, that was all a long time ago!’
‘How long?’ I asked.
Mr Cimbura said that we were not going to argue over time. When the Good Lord — or whoever it was — had created time, He had made plenty of it, and Mr Cimbura went on to say that all that mattered now was that I had survived everything and that I was finally home, and when the Czechs were once more their own masters, I would be the one and only lord and master of Siřem — me and me alone. ‘And that’s exactly what we’re celebrating right now, sonny,’ said Mr Cimbura.
I was squatting on the collapsed shelf, the cucumber in one hand and the potato in the other… and Mr Cimbura bowed to me again, as if to his lord and master, and giggled, though I well remembered how he had always hated the nobility… I didn’t believe a word Mr Cimbura said. I wanted to get away.
So I didn’t toss aside the things they had used for my mock coronation, but I placed them on the ground next to me. Páta handed me a jar of sweetcorn. They had tomatoes and bread and salami as well, so we ate.
I put some salami and lots of bread in my pockets. I watched Páta while I did it. He gave me the nod. So they had plenty. I grabbed the cucumber and potato while I was at it.
Once we had finished eating I asked Mr Cimbura, ‘Where are the girls?’
‘This here is the girls’ bunker, sonny,’ he said, ‘but you went and frightened ’em off, staring in on ’em like that, just as they was working on it.’
‘Where are the girls?’ I asked again, because he hadn’t answered. Obviously, I had only one girl in mind.