Someone pulled at his sleeve. “Well, well,” said this someone, “we
mustn’t sleep any more, eh?” Prokop opened his eyes and saw an old
gentleman with a pink-bald head and a white beard, gold spectacles up on
his forehead, and an extraordinarily bright look in his eyes. “No more
sleep, my friend,” he said. “You’ve done that long enough; you don’t want
to wake up in the next world.”
Prokop looked darkly at the old gentleman; he wanted to dream on a little
longer. “What do you want?” he said finally in an irritated tone. “And
... with whom have I the honour?...”
The old gentleman burst out laughing. “Dr. Thomas, if you please.... You
haven’t yet deigned to recognize me, eh? But don’t bother about that.
What may your name be?”
“Prokop,” said the invalid ungraciously.
“Well, well,” said the doctor contentedly. “I thought that you were the
Sleeping Beauty. And now, Mr. Engineer,” he said energetically, “we must
have a look at you. Don’t get cross.” He whisked a thermometer from under
Prokop’s armpit and made a self-satisfied noise. “Ninety-nine. You’re
like a fly, man. We must feed you up, what? Don’t move.”
Prokop felt on his chest a bald pate and a cold ear, which moved from one
shoulder to the other and from his stomach to his neck, accompanied by
an animated grunting.
“Well, thank God,” said the doctor finally, and settled his spectacles
on his nose. “We’ll fix up that little wheezing in the chest, and the
heart—well, that’ll adjust itself, eh?” He bent over Prokop, poked his
fingers through his hair and raised and lowered his eyelids with his
finger. “No more sleeping, see?” he said, and at the same time looked at
the pupils of his eyes. “We’ll get some books and do some reading. We’ll
eat a little, drink a glass of wine and keep still. I shan’t bite you.”
“What’s the matter with me?” asked Prokop timidly. The doctor drew
himself up. “Well, nothing now. Listen, where did you come from?”
“What?”
“We picked you up from the floor, and ... where did you come from, man?”
“I don’t know. From Prague, perhaps,” Prokop recalled.
The doctor shook his head. “By train from Prague! With the membrane of
your brain inflamed? Were you mad? Do you know what it is?”
“What?”
“Meningitis. The sleeping form of it, and added to that inflammation of
the lungs. 104, eh? My friend, one doesn’t go out on expeditions when one
has that sort of thing. And do you know that—well, shew me your right
hand, quick!”
“That ... was only a scratch,” Prokop justified himself.
“A nice sort of scratch. Blood poisoning, you understand? When you
are well I shall tell you that you were ... an ass. Forgive me,” he
said with dignified warmth. “I very nearly said something stronger. An
educated man, and he doesn’t know that he’s ill enough for three! How
were you able anyway to keep on your feet?”
“I don’t know,” whispered Prokop, ashamed.
The doctor wished to go on talking but instead grunted and waved his
hand. “And how do you feel?” he said sternly. “A little drunk, eh? No
memory, eh? And,” he tapped his forehead, “a little weak, eh?”
Prokop remained silent.
“And now, Mr. Engineer,” said the doctor, “don’t do anything about it.
It will last for some time. You understand me? You mustn’t over-work
your head. No thinking. It’ll come back ... in bits. Only a temporary
disturbance, a slight loss of memory, you see?”
The doctor shouted, sweated and grew agitated as if he were struggling
with a deaf-mute. Prokop continued to watch him and then said quietly,
“Shall I remain always weak-minded?”
“But no, no, no,” said the doctor excitedly. “Completely out of the
question. Simply ... for a certain time ... a disturbance of the memory,
disassociation, exhaustion and certain symptoms, you understand me?
Irregularities in co-ordination, see? Rest. Quiet. Do nothing. You must
thank God, my friend.”
“Survived,” he went on after a moment and in his delight blew his nose
loudly. “Listen, I’ve never had such a case before. You arrived here
completely delirious, crashed on to the ground and _finis_! What was I
to do with you? It’s a long way to the hospital and the girl howled so
much, and besides you came as a guest ... to see George, eh? So we left
you, you understand? Well, it didn’t bother us. But I’ve never had such
an entertaining guest before. To sleep for twenty days! When my colleague
cut your hand open you didn’t even stir, what do you think of that? A
quiet patient, upon my soul. But that’s nothing, the great thing is that
you are out of it.” The doctor slapped his thigh. “But, for God’s sake,
no more sleeping! My friend, you might have gone to sleep for good and
all, do you hear? For goodness’ sake try and get yourself under control!
Drop it, see?”
Prokop nodded his head weakly; he felt as if a curtain had been drawn
between him and actuality, a curtain which shrouded, disturbed and muted
everything.
“Annie!” came an agitated voice. “The wine! Bring the wine!” Some quick
steps, a conversation which seemed to be going on under water, and the
cool flavour of wine caressed his throat. He opened his eyes and saw the
girl bending over him. “You mustn’t sleep,” she said excitedly and her
long hair trembled as if to the beating of her heart.
“I won’t sleep any more,” said Prokop submissively.
“I should like you not to,” said the doctor gruffly from the end of the
bed. “A specialist is coming from the town for a consultation. We’ll let
him see that we provincial medicos know something, too, eh? You must
behave yourself nicely.” With unexpected dexterity he lifted Prokop
up and thrust a pillow behind his back. “There, now you can sit up;
and you won’t want to sleep until after dinner, what? I must go to my
patients. And you, Annie, sit down now and gossip about something or
other. Generally your mouth goes like a wheelbarrow, eh? And if he tries
to sleep, call me. I shall know how to deal with him.” In the doorway
he turned round and grunted.... “But ... I’m glad about it, see? So be
careful!”
Prokop’s eyes wandered to the girl. She sat a short distance away, her
hands in her lap, and for the life of her could not think what to talk
about. Then she raised her head and opened her lips slightly. One heard
that she was saying something, but she was confused, gulped, and lowered
her head still more. Her long eyelashes trembled on her cheeks.
“Father is so abrupt,” she said finally. “He’s so used to shouting ... to
scolding ... the patients.” Here, unfortunately, she ran out of material;
on the other hand—as if by a happy inspiration—she became conscious of
her apron between her fingers, and began to arrange it in all sorts of
interesting folds, her eyelashes still trembling.
“What’s that noise?” asked Prokop after a long pause.
She turned her head to the window; she had beautiful light hair and her
lips were attractively moist. “It’s the cows,” she said with relief.
“There’s a yard there, you see? Father has a horse and cart there.... His
name is Fritz.”
“Whose?”
“The horse. You’ve never been to Tynice, have you? There’s nothing
here. Only avenues and fields.... When mummy was still alive it was more
cheerful; George used to come here.... But he hasn’t been here for over
a year. He had a quarrel with father and ... he doesn’t even write. We
aren’t even allowed to speak of him—do you see him often?”
Prokop shook his head decidedly.
The girl sighed and became reflective. “He’s ... I don’t know. Funny,
somehow. He did nothing but go about with his hands in his pockets,
yawning. I know that’s nothing, but yet.... Father is so glad that you
are with us,” she concluded quickly and somewhat disconnectedly.
Somewhere outside a young cock began to crow hoarsely and comically.
Immediately afterwards all the chickens became very excited and one
could hear a wild “ko-ko-ko” and the triumphant yelping of a dog. The
girl sprang up. “Honzik is chasing the chickens!” But she sat down again
at once, having resolved to leave them to their fate. It was pleasantly
silent.
“I don’t know what to talk about,” she said with the most beautiful
simplicity. “Would you like me to read you the paper?”
Prokop smiled. She fetched the paper and started confidently on the
leading article. The financial equilibrium, the Budget, uncovered
credits ... her charming and uncertain voice quietly read out these
extraordinarily important items, and Prokop, who simply was not listening
at all, was better off than if he had been soundly asleep.