“CROUCHING, I WAITED in the bushes. Already though I was aware of a faint burning smell drifting over. Everyone in the house seemed to be asleep. The horse rubbed itself against the walls of the stable, its tail whisking restlessly against the wood. All the geese were awake in their coops and started to cackle softly. Animals sense fire and fear it. Anxiously I longed to race over to the barn, to view the fire, my fire, from close up. I knew I had to stay put, though. The reek of burning grew stronger and stronger. It constricted my chest, almost choking me and my heart beat wildly. Finally the dual tones of the fire siren sounded from the village. The farmer must have heard them as well for they were piercing. However, he took his time. I heard a mass of people rushing in the dark towards the fire and only then did the creaking front-door open slowly. The farmer stood on the threshold, and I saw her little pale hand passing him his helmet and the belt with its heavy hatchet. He was certainly taking his time. Even now! Why did I not understand? Why did we not understand? The glow of the fire was clearly visible. He must have realised long ago it was coming from his own barn, and yet he moved without any obvious urgency. First he pulled his belt too tight, then he loosened it again. I was trembling with agitation. My blood was on fire, burning more fervently than the dry hay out in the barn. He marched off at last clad in black boots and drill tunic to join the local fire-men at their assembly point by the fire-station in the main square of the village. I emerged from the bushes. I was only two steps from the door when a girl in a dark head-scarf appeared next to me and grabbed my arm. It was Maruschka. She had looked for me at my place and then run to her brother-in-law’s. ‘But why are you here, don’t you know there’s a fire?’ she asked me tenderly, slipping her arm through mine. She had wanted to keep Jarmila company, and could only be dissuaded with some difficulty. Fortunately her curiosity gained the upper hand and she ran off to ogle her brother-in-law’s misfortune from close up. The barn was now brightly ablaze. She dragged me along. Many women and children were now running towards the fire. I managed to lose her in the commotion and hastened back to Jarmila.
The fire seemed to gain in ferocity and sparks flew towards the village which is almost entirely thatched. However, I was concerned with only one thing and shameful though it is to admit I hungered for Jarmila as never before. I was certain of two things. Firstly, the farmer would be away for at least three hours for when a job was done the firemen always had a drink in the inn. Secondly this would be our last meeting in this country. Only a few minutes could have passed since Maruschka dragged me from the house, no more than five or six, less than ten in any case. Possessed by a dreadful premonition, I hammered on Jarmila’s door and received no answer. All I could hear was the squawking of my child calling for his mother and the second farm-hand trying to comfort him. I choose to call it dreadful, because both can be dreadful, anticipation of exquisite joy as well as the premonition of acute pain. The bedroom was dark, the beds piled high, lit only by the glow from the fire. The flickering seeped through the window, falling on the couple’s bed and the child’s cot and lit up the second farm-hand’s long, bearded face with its simple expression. Actually older than the first farm-hand but never having attained that position due to his retarded mind, he was doggedly devoted to Jarmila. His apparent simpleness hid a profound craftiness, a talent for lying, and a stubborn streak. He would confess to nothing, and swear to anything. Thus he had often rescued Jarmila and me from the jealous husband’s reprisals.”