Necessary Errors: A Novel (61 page)

“I don’t think so,” Jacob said.

“No, I thought as much,” Henry said. “It’s like that, isn’t it. Either you’re interested or you’re not, if you’re a bloke.”

Having said no, Jacob could no longer see a reason for his refusal. They were all going to lose one another.

Melinda came quickly down the stairs, and as Jacob turned to hear her news, Henry excused himself.

“I’m taking Annie to the
,” Melinda said. “I’m so sorry about this.”

“Why are
you
apologizing?”

“I said to Henry the other day I thought you’d be good for a snog. How was I to know that he would consult Annie of all people?”

“A what?”

“Jesus. ‘Kissing.’ How you Americans can bear to speak with such shameless clarity.…I should have thought of Annie but I didn’t.”

It was painful, as Carl, Thom, and Jacob left the building, to have to walk past Annie, who had not been able to bring herself to leave, despite Melinda’s coaxing, but was twisting against a brick wall outside.

“She’s in a bad way,” said Thom. “I hope it’s no more than a broken heart.”

Not having anyone had been Jacob’s way of keeping them all—it had been five months, he realized, since he had gone to bed with anyone—and now he was losing them anyway, without being ready to. As the tram pulled away, he could not help but watch Annie through the window. She was still twisting restlessly, though now in Melinda’s arms.

*   *   *

The next morning, Jacob heard voices; someone was in Carl’s room. With a sturdy knock, the person strode into Jacob’s, and Jacob fumblingly armed himself with his glasses. It was Honza, the plumber. He held a bottle without a label; shot glasses thimbled his fingers. His shirt was unbuttoned, exposing a modest pot belly; beneath that, he was wearing a sagging, yellowing pair of underwear and gray socks. A
disheveled elf. He must have crept in the back way, through the door that communicated between their rooms and his.

—You must toast me, the plumber said, pouring a clear liquid and approaching Jacob, who propped himself up in his makeshift bed and accepted the drink helplessly. —I am ———, Honza said. Jacob didn’t recognize the verb. The root was the word for “woman”; the form was reflexive. Turning into a woman? Honza’s eyes were red and rheumy; he had evidently been drinking all night. He was nodding at Jacob with a somewhat desperate smile.

—You are…, Jacob echoed, puzzledly.

—Today is wedding, Honza said.

—You’re getting married, Jacob at last understood. He was
taking
a woman. —And what is this? Jacob asked, raising his glass.

—It is homemade.

—I already have a hangover, Jacob objected.

—So for you it is all one! Honza encouraged.

Jacob drank.

“It’s Everclear,” said Carl, from the doorway, wearing his blanket and holding an empty glass. “Homemade Everclear. We’ve been poisoned.” To Honza, he added, cheerily, “It’s
great!
Congratulations!”

Honza eagerly refilled Carl’s glass, his own, and Jacob’s. “Oh god,” Carl groaned. “Not again, no, please.”

Honza was chattering manically, faster than Jacob could altogether understand. He was getting married, no man should do such a thing without drinking himself blind, it was the duty of comrades to become equally drunk. The still that he had inherited from his mother was the most potent in Moravia, and it was always a treat to have a taste of such a liquor, at any hour of the day or night.

Jacob compliantly raised his glass a second time but only pretended to sip. Carl tried the same ruse.

—No, no, boys! Honza protested. —Drink it all at once, so it smashes you.

—I’m drinking, Jacob lied. He had to teach at the language school in a couple of hours.

—Honza, where’d you go? a woman’s voice called from the room at the other end of the floor. Jacob hadn’t realized that the plumbing there now ran well enough for a woman to spend the night, or that Mr. Stehlík had
been willing to grant Honza permission to have a woman there. Of course, if Honza were marrying today, Mr. Stehlík could hardly forbid him his bride-to-be. —Honza, where are you? the woman called again.

“You’re in trouble now,” said Carl.

—I’m with the boys! I’m coming! caroled Honza. Then he pointed to the ceiling and grimaced, abashed and entertained by the thought that his bride’s questions and his own answers might have been audible to the Stehlíks. He shrugged and padded back to his room.

“So much for today,” Carl said.

Because Carl had no plans, he ceded the shower to Jacob. In the bathroom, after Jacob had stripped, he hunched over the tub, waiting for the water to warm before he plugged the drain. Because of his nakedness and his awkward posture, he was acutely aware of the jitters that Honza’s liquor, coming on top of his hangover, had given him. His toes were so numb from the cold tiles that as he stepped gingerly into the tub he could not at first gauge the temperature of the water. He crouched, pointing the nozzle at his toes, which reddened in the heat. Then he held the nozzle over a shoulder so that the water fell on the nape of his neck, where, he had once read, young animals find it soothing to be seized, because their parents hold them by it in the wild. He made an effort to relax into the loss of control that the drink had forced on him. He kept his eyes closed. He didn’t think Henry would want to talk about what had happened between them, but he would have to talk about it with Annie.

The rooms were still cold, and Jacob dressed quickly. Still draped in his blanket, Carl sat reading an old magazine at the kitchen table, and Jacob set out two plates, the foil of butter, and a jar of apricot preserves. Their store of
rohlíky
had staled, but they were still soft enough to be torn open. Jacob brewed tea.

“What are you going to do today?” Jacob asked.

Carl shrugged. “Be in Prague.”

“What does that entail lately?”

Carl looked at Jacob apologetically. “It’s so trite.”

“What is?”

“I go to places we went together. Yesterday I went to Vyšehrad. Don’t tell her, please.”

“I won’t.”

“There’s still snow under the trees up there. I’ll forget her once I’m back in America.”

Jacob didn’t reply.

“I only have a few more weeks here,” Carl added. “I think about that when I’m tempted to break form.”

Maybe Jacob would give up Carl’s bedroom after Carl left. Honza might want to rent it. As if cued by this unvoiced possibility, Honza, with a strange, silent, speed-walking gait, stole back into their rooms, darted through the kitchen, and vanished into the bathroom. Through the closed bathroom door, the friends heard him retching. Evidently the plumbing wasn’t fully operational yet on Honza’s side of the floor after all.

After a minute had gone by, Jacob tapped lightly on the bathroom door. Honza opened it quickly. —Silence, Honza whispered. —They’re outside.

—Do you want water? Jacob asked. —Milk? Bread?

—No, no, Honza answered. Despite his haste, he had thought to bring a comb, and he now wetted it under the faucet and combed his short hair. —But water, yeah. That will doctor me perhaps. If it isn’t a bother.

—Not at all, said Jacob.

Jacob brought Honza a glass of water and then packed his own satchel. He wished Honza luck. Before leaving, he mimed a warning that he was about to open the door. “See you, Carl,” he then added, audibly.

In the corridor outside, the Stehlíks were grouped around Honza’s door, waiting for Honza to emerge. The opening of Jacob’s door startled them. Standing with the Stehlíks was a tall, buxom woman in her thirties with dyed blond hair. Since the only hair dye regularly available in former Warsaw Pact nations was an unnatural henna, a bottle blonde was a woman with connections. Her clothes were loud, and she looked as if she was enjoying an enormous joke. The Stehlíks were dressed nicely—the women in white blouses and skirts, Mr. Stehlík in a thick-braided cardigan sweater—and their smiles were nervous. The service was going to take place at the offices of the District National Committee,
explained.

—Have yourselves a pretty time, Jacob wished them.

—Definitely,
with mocking gravity replied, answering for the group, who then turned away to stare again at Honza’s door.

*   *   *

Melinda caught Jacob on his way to the teacher’s lounge and pulled him into the unused shower where they smoked. He still felt light-headed from Honza’s moonshine.

“You handle your liquor so well,” she assured him. “You have the makings of a great alcoholic.”

“Except for that incident at the Jazz Club.”

“I’d forgotten. That is a spot on your record, isn’t it.”

Against the rules of the
, Melinda had spent the night in Annie’s room. The two women had been yelled at the next morning by one of the house matrons—overnight guests were not allowed unless they had been registered twenty-four hours in advance—but Melinda had seen Annie through the worst of her anguish. In the sober light of morning, Annie felt sheepish about her attack on Jacob. By way of mending fences, she had thought of showing Jacob a new foreign-language bookstore in Wenceslas Square, which had just opened in a glass-front emporium vacated by some dying socialist agency or other. The store had hundreds of brand-new paperbacks in English—the whole thing seemed to have been arranged by a British publisher. She would be there at three that afternoon, if Jacob was willing to meet her.