Nothing reveals more clearly the passage of time than our children. Where is that young Frankie whom we left (not so long ago, really) pouring over the left-bank tributaries of the Danube?
‘Where the devil is that Frankie again?’ Mr Povondra growled, opening up his evening paper.
‘You know - same as always,’ said Mrs Povondra, bent over her darning.
‘Chasing some girl again,’ Papa Povondra remarked disapprovingly. ‘Damn that boy! Hardly thirty yet and won’t stay home a single evening!’
‘The socks he wears out,’ sighed Mrs Povondra, pulling another hopeless sock over her wooden mushroom. ‘What am I to do with this?’ she asked, contemplating an extensive hole in the heel, its shape reminiscent of Ceylon. ‘Should really throw it away,’ she observed critically, but after some lengthy strategic consideration she resolutely stuck her needle into the southern coast of Ceylon.
There was a dignified family silence, so dear to Papa Povondra’s heart; only his newspaper rustled, and to it responded a quickly drawn thread.
‘Have they got him yet?’ Mrs Povondra inquired.
‘Got who?’
‘That murderer - man who killed that woman.’
‘Not worrying about your murderer,’ Mr Povondra growled with some distaste. ‘It says here that tension has broken out between Japan and China. Now that’s a serious matter. Over there it’s always a serious matter.’
‘I don’t believe they’ll catch him now,’ Mrs Povondra opined.
‘Catch who?’
‘That murderer. When a fellow kills a woman they hardly ever catch him.’
‘Japan doesn’t like to see China regulating the Yellow River. That’s politics for you. So long as that Yellow River’s a nuisance out there, flooding every other moment and causing hunger in China, well that weakens China, see? Lend me those scissors, Mother, I’m cutting it out.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it says here that 2 million Newts are working on the Yellow River.’
‘That’s a lot, isn’t it?’
‘You can say that again! But I bet the Americans are paying for it all. That’s why the Mikado would like to employ his own Newts there. - Why, just look at that!’
‘What does it say then?’
‘It’s the Petit Parisien saying that France won’t put up with it. Too right! I wouldn’t put up with it either.’ ‘What wouldn’t you put up with?’
‘Italy enlarging the island of Lampedusa. That’s a terribly important strategic base, see? From Lampedusa the Italians could threaten Tunis. Petit Parisien says that Italy would like to turn that Lampedusa into a full-size naval base. Said to have 60,000 armed Newts there. Makes you think, don’t it? Sixty thousand, that’s three divisions, Mother. I’m telling you, something’s going to happen in that Mediterranean one day. Gimme them, I’m cutting it out.’
Ceylon, meanwhile, was disappearing under Mrs Povondra’s industrious fingers: it had now shrunk to the size of Rhodes.
‘And England too,’ Papa Povondra meditated; ‘she’s in for trouble too. Someone’s been saying in the House of Commons that Great Britain’s lagging behind other countries in these underwater constructions. That other colonial powers are feverishly constructing new shorelines and continents, while the British Government, with its conservative mistrust of the Newts - That’s the truth, Mother. Those English are terribly conservative. I knew a footmen from the British Legation once and for the love of God he wouldn’t let a Czech liver sausage pass his lips. Said they didn’t eat that sort of stuff at home and so he wouldn’t eat it here either. No wonder other countries are overtaking them.’ Mr Povondra shook his head gravely. ‘And France is extending her coast at Calais. Now the British papers are raising merry hell that France will be able to fire across the Channel if it gets narrower. That’s all they get out of it. They could extend their own coast at Dover and shoot at France.’
‘And why must they shoot at all?’ asked Mrs Povondra.
‘You don’t understand these things. These are military considerations. Shouldn’t be surprised if the balloon doesn’t go up there one day. There or somewhere else. Stands to reason, now what with those Newts the world situation is quite different, Mother. Quite different.’
‘You think there’ll be a war?’ Mrs Povondra sounded worried. ‘You know, because of our Frankie. Wouldn’t want him to have to go off.’
‘War?’ Papa Povondra reflected. ‘There’ll have to be a world war so the states can share out the sea between them. But we’ll remain neutral. Somebody’s got to be neutral so they can supply arms and the like to the others. That’s how it is,’ Mr Povondra decided. ‘But you womenfolk don’t understand.’
Mrs Povondra pressed her lips together and with rapid stitches completed the liquidation of Ceylon from young Frankie’s sock.
‘And to think,’ Papa Povondra spoke up again with barely muted pride, ‘that this threatening situation wouldn’t have come about without me! If I hadn’t taken that captain to see Mr Bondy the whole of history would look different now. Some other doorman mightn’t have let him in even, but I said to myself, I’ll chance it. And now look at the trouble some countries are in because of it, like England or France! And we don’t even know where it all may lead to … ‘Mr Povondra excitedly puffed at his pipe. ‘That’s how it is, my girl. Papers are full of those Newts. Here again … ‘Papa Povondra put down his pipe. ‘Here it says that near the town of Kankesanturai in Ceylon the Newts have raided a village. Seems the natives had killed some Newts there first. The police were called out as well as a company of native troops,’ Mr Povondra read aloud, ‘whereupon a regular exchange of fire developed between Newts and humans. Several soldiers were wounded … ‘Papa Povondra put down his paper. ‘I don’t like the look of it, Mother.’
‘Why not?’ Mrs Povondra was surprised. Carefully and with satisfaction she tapped the area where the island of Ceylon had been with the handles of her scissors. ‘Surely there’s nothing to it!’
‘I don’t know,’ Papa Povondra burst out and started excitedly to pace the room. ‘But I don’t like the look of it. No, I don’t. An exchange of fire between humans and Newts - no, that shouldn’t be.’
‘Maybe those Newts were only defending themselves,’ Mrs Povondra said soothingly and put the socks away.
‘That’s just it,’ Mr Povondra muttered uneasily. ‘Once those brutes start to defend themselves it’ll be a sad day. This is the first time they’ve done it … Dammit, I don’t like the look of it!’ Mr Povondra stopped and hesitated. ‘I don’t know, but … maybe I shouldn’t have let that captain in to see Mr Bondy!’