Time's Magpie - Myla Goldberg [25]
I crossed the street in search of the ATM and, sure enough, there was one exactly where The Mole had said there would be. I withdrew two hundred crowns, hoping it would arrive in one-hundred-crown bills, but instead a single two-hundred-crown bill emerged from the slot, complicating the backup plan I had just concocted.
By the time I returned to the scene of the crime, Dim and The Mole had nabbed two more tourists, an older man and a woman, neither at all clear about why they had been stopped. My return was cause for great excitement between The Mole and Dim and caused The Mole to rush across the street, where I stood waiting to launch my final gambit.
I am a nice girl, I told him. Please, one hundred crowns only. The Mole smiled and I got the distinct impression this was his favorite part, the part where the mouse pleaded with the raptor. One hundred crowns, I told him, and I’ll write about you in my book.
The Mole shook his head. You will write bad things, he said.
No, I assured him. For one hundred crowns I will write good things.
The older couple had crossed the street with The Mole, perhaps thinking they were meant to follow, only to realize that they had been unexpectedly reprieved: The Mole was now far too busy with me to deal with them, and Dim was still on the far side of the street, keeping an eye on the passage as if it might move if he turned his back on it. The couple walked away, waving.
I took out my digital camera. Your picture, I offered.
The Mole made as if to refuse and then cooperatively posed. As soon as I snapped the shot he was at my side. When his grinning face appeared on the screen he shook his head and grabbed the camera from me, bending down with the camera as if to smash it. I think I knew he was not really going to crush my camera under his boot, but there was a moment when we were no longer on a Prague street: we were in any schoolyard anywhere in the world. The camera had become a hat, a coat, a book, and he the kid who already had hair sprouting above his lip, the bully who trafficked in his own strength. Then the moment passed. The Mole returned my camera to me.
I must consult with my partner, he said. You stay here: it is too dangerous for you to cross the street. Dim still had my driver’s license and it occurred to me—in a slight variation on the previous moment’s schoolyard scenario—that the two of them could dash through the passageway, laughing. I would never see my license again.
Instead The Mole returned to my side of the street with Dim in tow and informed his partner that I would pay one hundred crowns. The pad into which Dim had been so assiduously writing had vanished. There was no ticket to be issued, just The Mole’s waiting palm. I reached into my pocket, produced the two-hundred-crown note, and asked for change. To my utter astonishment The Mole actually took the bill and gave me a hundred-crown note in return.
Here is the nice thing I will say about The Mole, as promised: He was a man of his word.
Dim relinquished my driver’s license. I was returning my license to my wallet when The Mole asked me if I was married or single. I didn’t understand the question and he repeated, in English, Miss or Mrs.? Mrs., I told him, as Ms. is not a concept that exists in the Czech Republic. Do you like beer? The Mole asked. Where do you live? he asked.
Goodbye, I said, walking away.
Goodbye, answered The Mole, waving.
Visiting the Dead
KAREL APEK
Vyšehrad Cemetery requires a lengthier