The Graveyard Read Free Page A

sold it to pay for his drinks, and was afraid to admit it to his wife. “Damn the whole business,” Franciszek thought. “If that’s the way they’re going to act, I’ll tell them what I think of all this.” He moved closer to the railing and saw that the policeman seated at the desk was also a mere corporal. This took him completely by surprise; he had thought that the men who had brought him here were talking with a lieutenant.
    “I beg your pardon,” he said loudly, moving to the middle of the room. “Could I speak to the chief?”
    The policemen went on talking with the seated corporal for a while, then turned toward him.
    “I’d like to speak to the chief,” Franciszek repeated.
    “Oh, yes,” said the sergeant. He turned to the corporal at the desk. “I suppose we’ll put this citizen in temporary. How are things in there today?”
    “A bit crowded,” said the man behind the desk. He cast a quick glance at Franciszek. “But there’ll be plenty of room for him too.”
    “What temporary?” Franciszek asked.
    “Take your things off,” the sergeant said. He turned again, and Franciszek saw only his broad back crossed by a diagonal leather strap.
    “What?” he asked.
    “Didn’t you hear me, Citizen? Take your things off, please. Your belt, scarf, shoelaces, and papers. And empty your pockets.”
    “We’ve given you the papers,” said the corporal who had escorted Franciszek to the station.
    “But why, damnit?” Franciszek asked.
    The sergeant turned and looked at Franciszek with impatience. “What do you mean ‘why’? You’re under arrest,” he said peremptorily. “Or do you think we’ve brought you here just to shake your noble hand?”
    The three of them laughed uproariously. Franciszek was so startled that he did not even notice their laughter. “Under arrest?” he said. “What for?”
    “Don’t you know?”
    “No,” Franciszek said resolutely. He came close to the railing, and put his hands on it. “I do not know. I remember that I somehow flew off the handle, but it seems to me that’s no good reason for keeping me locked up all night.”
    “No good reason?” the sergeant drawled. “And what about the things you shouted? Don’t you remember what you shouted?”
    The three of them stared at him, and Franciszek suddenly shriveled. For a moment they were all silent; the man asleep on the bench was breathing heavily.
    “No,” Franciszek said after a while. He passed his hand over his forehead. “I don’t remember.”
    “Well, then, we’ll talk after you’ve sobered up and can remember everything exactly,” said the sergeant. “Then you’ll sign a statement, and we’ll let you go.”
    “Couldn’t that be done now?” Franciszek asked.
    The corporal at the desk laughed. “How can you make a statement,” he inquired, “when you say yourself that you don’t remember anything?”
    “What do you mean? I remember everything.”
    “Everything?” asked the sergeant mockingly.
    Franciszek’s face fell. “Everything,” he said in an uncertain voice, looking at the sergeant pleadingly. “Everything—except the exact words I shouted. I can’t repeat them exactly, but if you remind me …” He made a vague gesture with his hand.
    “We’ll remind you in the morning,” said the sergeant. “It’s those words we’re interested in. And now, that’ll be enough, Citizen. Please hand us your belt, shoelaces, scarf, and everything you have in your pockets.” He cast a reproachful glance at Franciszek, and added gently, “Don’t make it hard for us, Citizen.”
    “But—” Franciszek began.
    The corporal behind the railing banged his fist on the desk. “Do you or do you not understand human speech? Hand over your things, and don’t talk so much, or you’ll be sorry!”
    With trembling hands Franciszek began to remove his things from his pockets and put them on the desk—ahandkerchief, a comb, a little mirror, a fountain pen, and a pencil. The corporal