Vitezslav Nezval - Valerie and Her Week of Wonders

Vtzslav Nezval

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders

A GOTHIC NOVEL

Translated from the Czech by David Short

Twisted Spoon Press
Prague

Copyright 1945, 2005 by Estate of Vtzslav Nezval
English translation copyright 2005 by David Short
Illustration copyright 1945, 2005 by Estate of Kamil Lhotk
This edition copyright 2005 by Twisted Spoon Press
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be used or reproduced in any form, except in the context of reviews, without written permission from the Publisher.
Originally published in Czech as Valerie a tden div , illustrated by Kamil Lhotk (Prague: F.J. Mller, 1945)
The translation was made possible by a grant from the Ministry of Culture of the Czech Republic.
Cover and frontispiece image by Kamil Lhotk
Design by Jed Slast
First published in English in 2005 by Twisted Spoon Press
P.O. Box 21Preslova 12, 150 21 Prague 5, Czech Republic
www.twistedspoon.com
ISBN 978-80-86264-19-6 (paperback)
ISBN 978-80-86264-69-1 (e-book)

FOREWORD

I wrote this novel out of a love of the mystique in those ancient tales, superstitions and romances, printed in Gothic script, which used to flit before my eyes and declined to convey to me their content. It strikes me that the poetic art is no more and no less than the repayment of old debts to life and to the mystery of life. Not wishing to lead anyone astray by my Gothic novel (least of all those who are afraid to look beyond the boundaries of the present), I am appealing to those who, like myself, gladly pause at times over the secrets of certain old courtyards, vaults, summer houses and those mental loops which gyrate around the mysterious. If, with this book, I will have given them an evocation of the rare and tenuous sensations which compelled me to write a story that borders on the ridiculous and trite, I shall be satisfied.

The Author

Chapter I
A MAGICAL YARD

Valerie, an oil lamp in her hand, entered the yard. The moon was full ... Her bare feet touched the moonlight. She could also detect the scent of the garden. The noise from the poultry was unceasing. With her right hand she clasped her bed jacket to her.

Whos up there? she called and took a step towards the henhouse.

A moth circled the lamp. Then a second, and a third.

Its a polecat, she told herself.

But suddenly she noticed that the yard was unrecognizable.

Wheres my apple tree?

But the woodshed had also disappeared, and the wall was twice as high as usual. She thought she heard the well winch squeak.

Then she heard the following conversation:

Have pity on me.

Where did you put her earrings?

But you know Ive been with you the whole time.

Im warning you again.

When did you stop trusting me, Constable?

Dont mock me.

Im innocent.

Well see whos master!

For Gods sake, surely you dont mean to ... ?

Youll be put to the water torture.

Tyrant!

Valerie thought she heard a groan. Involuntarily, she put her right hand to her ear as if to check that her earrings were in place. Both were gone. She stepped up close to the henhouse from where the two arguing voices and the terrified cheeping of the birds were coming. Suddenly a hand reached out towards her lamp, and before she could cry out in horror she felt someone fixing her lost earrings back in place. At once she saw the apple tree and woodshed and the voices fell silent. Her hand fell to her breast. Beneath its gentle curve her heart pounded as if she had run a long way. Why was she holding a lamp when there were so many stars overhead? Not that the lamp could be recognized: swirling about it were moths from all the surrounding gardens. She set it down on the step and sat down herself. Her ears still rang with the voice that had uttered that desperate word: Tyrant. And the words about a water torture still clung to her mind.

She took off her right earring and toyed with it. The silence was so intense she could hear the brook running. Somewhere water was dripping. The sound was intolerable, and she shuddered. The hens were sleeping again.

Im not going back to bed now, she said aloud, and leaving the lamp in the doorway, she went to the other end of the yard. The carriage stood there with its hood clipped in place. She sat in it and looked at the sky.

The moon played with her earrings. She saw a ray of light jetting off them onto the carriage hood. She wished she could hear the two bickering voices.

I wonder what will happen if I take my earrings off.

Constable, she heard the moment the golden ray of light stopped playing in the carriage. Constable, I confess everything.

Who would have thought, the other man growled, that Orlk would one day become my sworn enemy.

Youre wrong, Constable. Orlk knows he is bound to you by a debt of gratitude.

Some gratitude!

I didnt know those trinkets meant so much to you.

Liar!

Youve made me pay for it!

Next time Ill double the torture.

Terrified of hearing more, Valerie put her earrings back in.

So, its Orlk!

At that moment, the frightened cries of the chickens came again from the henhouse and the voices continued talking.

Get down, Orlk, and hold the ladder for me.

Youre acting like a right old man, Constable.

Silence, you seventeen-year-old cub!

My age exactly, thought Valerie.

Theres no ladder here, Constable.

Dont go hoping Ill break my neck!

Fine things you suspect me of, guardian.

In disbelief Valerie could hear the conversation despite having her earrings in. It made no difference whether she had them in or out, the voices were clearly audible either way.

Oh well, Ill get down then, Constable.

The girl huddled under the carriage hood, and although she was afraid they would find her there, she tilted her head out a little to observe what was happening at the foot of the henhouse. The story was not long in unfolding. A young man, a few inches taller than Valerie, jumped down and donned a straw boater.

Orlk, came a voice from above, stoop over so I can climb down your back.

Are you really so weak, Constable?

Are you asking for the water torture again?

That seemed to strike fear in the young man. He stooped, presenting his back to the huge boots of his superior. Then, gradually and gently, he bent lower and Valerie saw a stout man emerge, borne aloft on Orlks back beneath the opening of the henhouse. Orlks face was concealed from sight, leaving Valerie ample opportunity to inspect the other, who, to judge from what she had heard said, enjoyed unlimited power over the younger man. The moon shone straight into the face of the man descending from the henhouse. It was not a human face. It was the face of a polecat.

Constable, said Orlk, where have you left the birds you strangled?

But just then the Polecat gave a tug on a string he was holding and, as if it were a truss of partridges, several strangled chickens sprang into Valeries sight.

My speckled hen with the crest is dead, the girl sighed. She wanted to shout Thieves! but her voice stuck in her throat.

The man who let himself be addressed as Constable and Orlk strolled across the yard towards the gate, impervious to anything.

Thieves! the girl shouted.

But it was too late. The gate had closed and the nocturnal visitors had disappeared among the gardens.

In the distance a cock crowed. Then a second, and a third.

Orlk, Valerie said to herself.

She stretched out in the carriage as if on a bed and began to inspect her bare feet in the moonlight.

As she was examining them, she felt that a tiny spider was spinning a thread down the inner side of her thigh. She raised her eyes to the sky and thought no more of the unusual sensation.