Krakatit

I

With the evening the fog of the cold, damp day grew thicker. You felt as if you were making your way through some thin, moist substance which closed behind you again for good. You wished you were at home. At home by your lamp in a box of four walls. Never before had you felt so forsaken.

Prokop felt his way along the embankment. He was chilled and his forehead was damp with the sweat of weakness; he wanted to sit down on that wet seat but he was afraid of the policemen. He felt as if he was twisting round; yes, near the Old Town mill a man made a detour to avoid him as though he were a drunkard. He exerted all his strength to walk straight. And now there came another man, walking towards him with his hat drawn down over his eyes and his collar turned up. Prokop set his teeth, furrowed his brow and strained all his muscles in the attempt to pass him successfully. But when he was just a step away from the other there was suddenly a darkness inside his head and the whole world began to revolve with him; suddenly he saw ever so near a pair of penetrating eyes which were fixed on him. He struck against someone’s shoulder, murmured a word of apology and moved away with a sort of convulsive dignity. A few paces further he stopped and looked round. The other man stood regarding him fixedly. Prokop pulled himself together and moved off a little more quickly; but it was no good, he was obliged to give another glance back. The man was still standing and watching him, sticking his head out of his collar like a tortoise. “Let him look,” thought Prokop uneasily, “now I shan’t turn round again.” And he went on as best he could. The man with the turned-up collar followed him. It seemed that he was running. Prokop took to flight in terror.

The world again began to revolve with him. Breathing heavily, with chattering teeth, he leaned against a tree and closed his eyes. He felt horribly ill and was afraid that he would fall, that his heart would burst and that the blood would spurt out of his lips. When he opened his eyes he saw the man with the turned-up collar standing right in front of him.

“Aren’t you Engineer Prokop?” asked the man, as though repeating the question.

“I … I haven’t been there,” answered Prokop, trying to lie.

“Where?” asked the man.

“There,” said Prokop, and indicated with his head some place in the direction of Strahov. “What do you want of me?”

“Don’t you know me? I’m Thomas. Thomas from the Polytechnic. Don’t you know, now?”

“Thomas,” repeated Prokop, utterly indifferent to what the name might signify. “Yes, Thomas, of course. And what do you want from me?”

The man with the turned-up collar seized him by the arm. “Wait, first of all you must sit down. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Prokop, and allowed himself to be led to a seat. “I … that is to say … I’m not well, you see.” He suddenly drew out of his pocket a hand bound up with a piece of dirty rag. “Wounded, see? A confounded business.”

“And doesn’t your head ache?” asked the man.

“It does.”

“Now listen, Prokop,” said the other. “You’ve got a fever or something of the sort. You must go to the hospital, see? Anyone can tell you’re in a bad way. But at least do remember that we know one another. I’m Thomas. We did chemistry together. My dear fellow, do remember!”

“I know Thomas,” echoed Prokop weakly. “That rotter. What about him?”

“Nothing,” said Thomas. “He is talking to you. You must go to bed, see? Where do you live?”

“There,” Prokop attempted to say, and made a gesture with his head. “Near … near Hybsmonka.” Suddenly he attempted to stand up. “I don’t want to go there! Not there! There—there is … there is. …”

“What?”

“Krakatit,” breathed Prokop.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. I shan’t say. No one must go there. Or … Or. …”

“What?”

“Ffft, bang!” said Prokop, and threw his hand up in the air.

“What’s that?”

“Krakatoe. Kra‑ka‑tau. A volcano, see? It … tore off my finger. I don’t know what. …” He stopped and added slowly: “A frightful thing, you know.”

Thomas watched him carefully as if he were waiting for something. “And so,” he began after a moment, “you’re still on explosives?”

“Yes, always have been.”

“With success?”

Prokop gave a queer kind of laugh. “You’d like to know, eh? No, my friend, it won’t do that way … not that way,” he repeated, swaying his head in a drunken manner. “My friend, by itself—by itself—it. …”

“What?”

“Kra‑ka‑tit. Krakatit. Krrakatitt. And by itself—I only left a little powder on the table, see? All the rest I col—collected in a snuffbox. There was only a l‑l—little powder left on the table, and suddenly. …”

“It exploded.”