What is this? Are they here on a visit? They have guns in their hands, dogs at their sides, grenades in their pockets and they're ringing the bell? Maybe they don't want to disturb anyone. They'd rather he opened the door, bowed and then politely put up his hands. But that won't happen. They can find him here lying dead, but he'll make damn sure that his hands are by his side.
He leans against the pictures stuck to the door of the cupboard. The woman beside him is trembling and sobbing loudly. Let them hear her; at least they'll know she's here before they begin to shoot. Where will it come from? Through the door? Through the window? But there's nowhere they could take up a position opposite the window, unless it's on the roof of that warehouse where he'd taken shelter earlier that day. But they probably won't shoot. They'll break down the door and a whole platoon of them will force their way in. But they won't get him alive. He reaches into his pocket and feels the knife for reassurance. This time they won't trick him. He won't even talk to them. Not a word!
Suddenly the buzzer stops, and even the dogs are quiet. Maybe they've taken them away. She's beside him, her shoulders trembling. 'Let them in,' she whispers, 'There's no point. Let them in.'
'Ask them what they want.'
'They want to get in.'
'I'm not asking you, bitch.'
She turns her head towards the cupboard, opens her mouth and then closes it again.
'Go on, ask them!'
'Who is it?' she says in a faint voice.
'Speak up, damn it!'
'Who's there?'
He hears some male voices. Then a strange, yet familiar voice, the same voice that had yelled at him in the children's home and in the army and in prison. 'Security. Open up!'
She turns to him. She's pale and her earrings are trembling.
'Say you won't open up. Say you're a hostage.'
She repeats his words.
'Say I'm going to kill you.'
Silence.
'Say I'll kill you if they don't give us a car and let us out.'
Silence.
'Say something, bitch!'
She sobs.
A voice from outside: 'Bartoš. We know you're inside. Open up!'
'Repeat what I said, bitch, or I'll kill you.'
'He says that he'll kill me if you don't let us leave.'
'Bartoš, the president of the republic has decided to grant you clemency. It's in your own interest not to do anything to make him change his mind.'
'Tell them they're a bunch of fucking liars.'
Silence. The woman's whole body is shaking, and she's sobbing. She turns her moist face to him. One cheek is beginning to swell. 'Leave me alone. Let me go.'
He bursts out laughing. They sentenced him to death when he hadn't hurt a soul, when he let all those kids go free on the strength of a promise. Now, when he's sent a whole carload of escorts to hell, they're granting him clemency. Maybe they think the car went out of control on a slippery road. That makes him want to laugh even more. He laughs so hard that they must be able to hear him outside. Let them know how much he's enjoying this.
'Bartoš, I'll give you three minutes to open up.'
He laughs.
'Then we'll break the door down.'
'Bartoš? Were you the one who hijacked that school
bus?' She looks at him in astonishment. 'Let me go. You let them go.'
'That was the stupidest thing we ever did. If they touch that door. . ' He pulls out the knife and holds it up in front of her face. 'Go on, tell them what will happen.'
'Two more minutes, Bartoš.'
He puts the knife away. 'Tell them!'
'For God's sake, please go away. Leave us alone. He'll kill me.'
'Bartoš, if you lay a finger on that woman, you won't get out of here alive.'
He laughs.
'Tell them to get lost. I want a car for the two of us and I want a green light all the way to the line.'
'It's your last minute, Bartoš.'
'Let me go, you're crazy, they'll never give you a car, but they will give you clemency. You heard them.'
He laughs. 'Clemency?'
'I have an old mother. She's alone and she's sick. Let me go. It's not my fault they want you. . please. I've given you food. I've bandaged your leg. I could have called for help, but I didn't want to betray you.'
He laughs.
'I felt sorry for you. I feel sorry for you now. I'd like to help you if I could but. . '
'Keep your fucking mouth shut, you stupid bitch.'
'Bartoš, your time is up!'
They begin fiddling with the lock.
He grabs her arm, twists it and pulls her away.
'My God, he's going to kill me! Help! Help!'
He puts his hand over her mouth and tries to drag her away from the door.
She resists. She tries to kick him and bite him. He twists her arm harder, and now she really starts screaming, in real terror. He pushes her in front of him into another room. He hits her so hard she falls over, and the kerchief flies off her head. She has almost no hair. He turns away, disgusted, and closes the door and locks it.
He hears something snapping in the hallway but he doesn't care any more. If they want him they can have him.
He flings himself on her and grabs her throat. She kicks, she pounds at his stomach, scratches his face, but he is scarcely aware of it. He doesn't care. Nothing matters any more. He throws her to the floor, digs his knees into her breasts, grabs that strange hairless head and begins pounding it against the floor. The body beneath him thrashes about and groans. It makes him even more furious and he pounds it like a madman. Finally, she stops struggling and is silent. He pulls out the knife and holds it against her throat. He'll wait for them in this position so they'll see that all it will take is a single movement. .
He can hear them now, outside the door, the whine of a drill.
He looks into the woman's blank face. Her pale forehead is wet with sweat. She's not moving. What if he's overdone it? What good is a dead hostage? He leans down and tries to hear her breathing, but he can't hear anything over the hellish buzzing of the drill.
Fear chokes him, and he shudders with the cold. They've got him after all. He didn't escape them. He shakes her lifeless head. Speak, say something. This is not what he wanted. He just wanted to get away from here, where everyone. . where no one ever. . He was always. . like now: completely alone. It wasn't me, it was them, so you shouldn't think that I. . the key on the floor behind him, another couple of seconds and then they'll drag him off to the waiting gallows, but they won't get him alive. He stares at the knife, which won't save him now unless he stabs himself with it, but suddenly he doesn't have the strength, he doesn't even know where to plunge in the blade. But the window's open. You can all kiss my arse. I shit on your world. And as though he were scaling a very low wall, he climbs on to the window-sill, not looking down but staring straight ahead, the warehouse roof and the dark sky beyond, a sky without stars. He takes a single step, a quite ordinary step, as though he had solid ground under him, as though he were still running, continuing on his impossible journey to cross the uncrossable line.
III
Fuka is asleep in his mother's flat when the telephone wakes him up. He fumbles for the receiver. 'Who is it?'
'Darling, it's me, Ella. Thank God you're there. They're waiting for you. . '
'Who's waiting for me? You're crazy to call me with them listening.'
'It's not them. Not the ones you think. They're supposed to take you to him.'
'Where?'
'To the Castle. To the president. Just like I told you. He's going to receive you!' Ella is shouting.
'When?'
'Now, right now.'
'I'm not going anywhere. I just want to sleep. I didn't ask you to do this.'