My translation – in the form of a play – of Karel Čapek‘s short story Rekord, which was published in Povídky z jedné kapsy in 1929.
Dramatis Personae
HEJDA, police sergeant
TUČEK, magistrate
VÁCLAV (Vašek Lysický), the accused
SCENE: Magistrate’s office.
TUČEK is sitting behind his desk. Enter HEJDA.
HEJDA.
I’ve got a case of grievous bodily harm here, sir… My God, isn’t it hot!”
TUČEK.
Just take it easy, Hejda.
HEJDA.
[Puts a bundle on the floor by the door, chucks his helmet down beside it, puts his firearm on a table in the corner of the room and unbuttons his coat.] Phew! The wretched scoundrel! I’ve never had a case like it, sir. Just take a look at this. [Picks up bundle, places it on Tuček’s desk and undoes it.]
TUČEK.
[Pokes the stone with a pencil.] What’s that meant to be? A cobblestone or something?
HEJDA.
Yes, a big one, 5 kilo 940 grams. It’s like this, sir. This Václav Lysický, bricklayer, nineteen years old, lives in the brickworks, right? He hits František Pudil, landlord, No. 14 Dolní Újezd, right? in left shoulder, causing breakage of clavical and shoulder joint with accompanying bleeding wound and torn muscles, tendons and surronding tissue. Right?
TUČEK.
Right. But what’s so unusual about all that?
HEJDA.
Just you wait and see, sir. I’ll tell you precisely what’s so unusual about all that. Three days ago that Pudil sends for me. You know him, don’t you, sir?
TUČEK.
I do. He was here once on account of extortion, and then… hm…
HEJDA.
That was the poker game. Yes, that Pudil. He’s got a cherry orchard going down to the river, right? That’s where the Sázava bends, so it’s wider there. So, Pudil sends for me one morning, saying something’s happened. I find him in bed, groaning and cursing. He says he went down the orchard the previous evening, to have a look at the cherries, and he catches this boy up a tree, stuffing his pockets with cherries. Well, you know what a ruffian that Pudil is. He takes off his belt, grabs the lad’s leg, pulls him down from the tree and whips him with the belt. But then someone yells at him from across the river: “Leave that boy alone, Pudil!” Well, Pudil, he doesn’t see too well – on account of his drinking, I think. All he can see is someone standing on the other bank staring at him. So, just to make sure, he shouts, “What’s it got to do with you, bonehead?!” and carries on whipping the boy even harder. “Pudil!” shouts the fellow on the other bank. “Leave that boy alone, I tell you!” Well, Pudil thinks to himself he can’t do much, over there, so he shouts, “Get stuffed, you interfering idiot!” But no sooner has he said that than he’s lying on the ground with a terrible pain in his left shoulder. And the fellow on the other bank says, “I’ll show you what for, you big bully!” So, listen, they have to carry Pudil away, coz he can’t stand up. And lying on the ground beside him is this here stone. They send someone to get the doctor that same night, and the doctor wants to send Pudil to the hospital, but Pudil won’t go, on account of it being harvest time. So he sends for me this morning and tells me I’ve got to arrest that scumbag, that toerag. So…
TUČEK.
Look, Hejda. That has to be impossible. Nineteen metres is quite some distance. Are you sure the fellow wouldn’t have been standing in the water? In the middle of the river, say?
HEJDA.
That did occur to me as well, sir. But the middle of the river is 2 metres deep at that point coz of the bend. And there’s a hole in the embankment where that stone was. You see, they built up the embankment a bit there to stop flooding. The fellow pulled this stone out of it and he must have thrown it from the path coz the river was too deep and he’d have slipped if he was standing on the embankment. So, that means he threw it 19.27 metres. What do you say to that?
TUČEK.
Erm… Perhaps he used a sling?
HEJDA.
[Looking askance at Tuček.] You’ve never used a sling, have you, sir? Just try shooting a 12-pound stone from a sling. It would have to be some sling! I tried it out over two days, sir. I made one and tried, but that stone would fall out of any sling, sir. No, it was thrown by hand. And do you know… do you know what that means? A world record! That’s what it means!
TUČEK.
[Amazed.] Steady on!
HEJDA.
Yes, a world record. The ball used in shot put is heavier – 7 kilo. And this year’s shot-put record is just a few centimetres short of 16 metres. The previous record of 15.5 metres had lasted for nineteen years, sir. But, this year, some American, can’t remember his name, Kuck or Hirschfeld or something, did a throw of almost 16. So, with a 16-kilo ball that would mean 18 or 19 metres. And here we have 0.27 of a metre more! That fellow, sir, would be able to throw a shot put at least 16.25 metres, even without training. Jesus! Sixteen and a quarter metres! I used to do shot putting myself, sir. In Siberia, the lads were always shouting, “Hejda, throw it over there.” A handgrenade, that’s to say. And in Vladivostok I threw with American sailors. I managed 14 metres, but their chaplain did 15.5. Fourteen and a half was all I could manage. So, 19 metres! Damn it, I said to myself, I have to find that chap. He’ll get us a world record. Just imagine, snuffing out the Americans’ record!”
TUČEK
And what about Pudil?
HEJDA.
Sod Pudil! The man I’m searching for, sir, is the unknown fellow who – so to speak – has infringed the world record. That’s a matter of national interest, wouldn’t you say? So, the first thing I do is guarantee him immunity for what happened to Pudil.
TUČEK.
I beg your pardon?
HEJDA.
Hold on, Sir. Immunity on condition he really can throw a 6-kilo stone across the Sázava. I told the local mayors what an extraordinary achievement that is – one that’d be famous throughout the world. He’d make thousands of pounds from it. And, upon my soul, no sooner had I let it be known, than lads from the whole region left off havesting and hurried off to that river bank to try and throw stones across to the other side. There are hardly any stones left in the embankmnet wall now, so they’re searching for more from field boundaries. They’ve even started knocking down walls. And little boys – the rascals – have started throwing stones in their villages. Lots of chickens killed as a consequence. And of course I goes to the embankment to watch, but none of them manage to throw further than half way across. The river must be half-full of stones by now, sir.
Yesterday afternoon they brings me a lad who, they says, is the one who hit Pudil with the stone. You’ll see the rascal in a minute, sir, he’s waiting outside. “So, Lysický,” I says to him. “Was it you who threw this stone at Pudil?” “Yeah,” he says. “Pudil swore at me, so my blood gets up and I grabs it and throws it.” “Right,” says I, “so now come with me and throw it across the river. And if you can’t I’ll give you what for.” So, off we goes, he stands there on the bank, I gives him the stone – he’s got hands like shovels – he stands there and aims… I must say, no points for technique or style, he don’t even move his legs or his hips. And then – plop! – he throws it maybe 14 metres. Not bad, but… Alright, so I shows him. “Look here, you good-for-nothing! You have to stand like this, right shoulder back, and when you throws you got to whip the shoulder forward, understand?” “Yeah,” he say. Then he twists himself up like St Jan Nepomucký, and – plop! Ten metres.You know, that really made me mad. “You bastard!” I shouts at him. “So, you hit Pudil, did you?! Lying bastard!” “As God is my witness, Sergeant,” he says, “I did hit him. Honest. If he was standing there now I’d hit him again, the swine.” So, when I hears that, sir, I runs round to Pudil and says to him, “Please, Mr Pudil, look, there’s a chance of a world record. Come and swear again from your side of the bank, and that bricklayer will have another go.” But, you’d hardly believe it, sir, Pudil says no, he won’t go there for love nor money. You see, that sort of person only thinks about themselves.So I goes to talk to that Vašek again, the bricklayer. “You swindler,” I says to him. “It weren’t you who knocked down Pudil. Pudil says it were someone else.” Lysický says that’s not true, it really were him. “Show me then,” says I, “that you really can throw that far.” At which, Vašek scratches his head and laughs. “Sergeant,” he says, “I can’t do it cold. I’d have to have Pudil standing there. If he was, I’d hit him every time.” So, I puts it to him straight: “Vašek,” I says, “If you manage it, I’ll let you go. If you don’t, you’ll be done for grievous bodily harm, for crippling Pudil. That’d see you behind bars for half a year, you brute.” And all he says is, “That’s alright, Sergeant. I don’t mind spending the winter in prison.” At which I arrests him in the name of the law.
He’s waiting in the corridor now, sir. Maybe you could find out if he really did throw the stone, or if he’s just boasting. I think you might put the fear of God in him and he’ll admit it weren’t him. In which case, the scoundrel should get at least a month in jail for deceiving the statumentary authorities. Sportsmen aren’t allowed to lie and they should be properly punished if they does. I’ll bring him in.
[Exit HEJDA, returning with VAŠEK.]
TUČEK.
So, you’re Václav Lysický. You admit that you threw this stone at František Pudil with the intention of harming him, do you?
VAŠEK
Let me explain, Yer Honour. It was like this: That Pudil is beating a boy and I shouts at him across the river to stop it and he starts swearing at me…
TUČEK.
Did you throw the stone or not?
VAŠEK.
Yes, Yer Honour, but he were swearing at me and so I grabs the stone…
TUČEK.
Blast it! Why are you lying, man? Don’t you know it’s a serious crime to obstruct the course of justice? We are well aware that you didn’t throw the stone.”
VAŠEK.
But I did, Yer Honour. Coz Pudil told me to go and get…
TUČEK
[Pointing at Vašek.] Take off your clothes.
[VAŠEK starts to undress.]
And your trousers.
[VAŠEK takes off his trousers. Shivers.]
Look at his deltoids, Hejda. And that long muscle… What do you call it?
HEJDA.
That one’s alright, but the muscles of his abdomen aren’t defined enough. You need those muscles for shot putting, sir, for swinging your body. If you’d allow me to show you my abdomen…
TUČEK.
No, I don’t think that will be necessary. Well, never mind his stomach, but – my God! – just look at his chest. [Poking his finger into the abundant hairs on Vašek’s chest.] But his legs are weak. These country boys always have bad legs.
HEJDA.
Coz they don’t bend them, sir. They’re no good. A shot putter has to have really strong legs.
TUČEK.
Turn round…
[VAŠEK turns round.]
What about his back, Hejda?
HEJDA.
The upper half is good, but the lower half… far from it. His torso isn’t strong enough. I think it can’t have been him who threw it, sir.
TUČEK.
[To Vašek.] Get dressed then.
[VAŠEK gets dressed.]
One last chance: did you throw this stone or not?
VAŠEK
[Mumbling, recalcitrant.]
Yes. I did.
TUČEK.
You ass! You threw it, so that’s grievous bodily harm and that means the regional court, where they’ll sentence you to several months, do you understand? So, stop this boasting and admit it: you made it all up. I’ll sentence you to three days for obstruction of justice and then you can go. So, for the very last time, did you strike Pudil with this stone or not?”
VAŠEK.
Yes. Coz he starts swearing at me from…
TUČEK.
Take him away. The damned liar!
[Exit HEJDA with VAŠEK.]
HEJDA
[Sticking his head through the door.] You forgot to add damage to other people’s property, sir. He took the stone from the embankment, didn’t he? And now there’s none left.
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