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Šikula, Vincent: Not Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining (Nebýva na každom vŕškou hostinec in English)

Portre of Šikula, Vincent

Nebýva na každom vŕškou hostinec (Slovak)

(úryvok)

Bola hora, v hore skala, pod skalou jedlička, pod jedľou chalúpka, od chalupy chodník.
Od chalupy chodník a pomedzi vinice a polia, Jano, Fero, kapsa, tak ako vždy, chodievali žobráci, čo stratili v Čiernej hore alebo pri Pijave ruku, nohu, alebo len čiapku. Neprestali hľadať. Hej, hľadali po slovenských dedinách i mestečkách. A kde boli hody, a kde bola púť, všade, všade putovali žobráci. Sedávali v zaprášených priekopách, otŕčali holé ruky sedliakom, čo sa viezli na drevených rebrinákoch, vrchovato naložených obilím či debničkami hrozna. Z času na čas zletel strapec, z času na čas šesták. Ak nezletel, nuž sa sypal jačmeň z deravého vreca a žobráci našli cestu aj do takého mesta, v ktorom predtým nikdy neboli. A o sedliakovi, ktorý im nehodil ani len mizernú kôrku, celkom spokojne mohli povedať, že ho potrestal svätý Vendelín (ak niekomu skapal vôl), svätý Urban, svätý Marek alebo sám Ježiš Kristus, ten, čo bol najväčším žobrákom všetkých čias, lebo celý život chodil pešo ako tie božie mravce, čo putujú pred dažďom, alebo ako dážďovky, čo padajú s každým dažďom z neba, aby kyprili zem a pútnikom ukazovali cestu.
A z Báhoňa každým rokom slepci putovali do všetkých svetových strán tak ako svätí apoštoli, ktorých rozoslal on, keď povedal: Choďte do celého sveta, učte všetky národy, krstite ich v mene Otca, v mene Syna i v mene Ducha svätého.
Bola hora, v hore vŕšok a na vŕšku kostol. Chodievali muzikanti, strýc Jano, strýc Štefan, chodievali cez polhoru. Kde je hora? Kde je vŕšok? Kam sa podel, kam sa podel patrón všetkých roztúlancov?
A bol jeden tulák, volal sa Hejgeš. Chodieval do Šaštína, do Mariatálu i do Nitry. Ba až pri Levoči sa tri či štyri razy potuloval. Ľudia vravievali, že sa mu nijaký iný tulák nevyrovná, pretože Hejgeš, verte či neverte, vedel hrať na klarinete. Keďže je spev dvojnásobnou modlitbou, hra na klarinete musí byť aspoň trojnásobnou. Žobráci, mrzáci, otrhanci a celá tá túlavá háveď Hejgeša nenávidela. Nadávali naňho, ohovárali, všeličo naňho vedeli povymýšľať. Vraj pochádzal z bohatej rodiny, zdedil po otcovi mlyn. Mlel síce málo, pretože v tej dedine boli dva mlyny, horný a dolný, a väčšina dedinčanov chodila do horného. Horný mlynár sa volal Zúbek, nosil rajtky a vŕzgavé čižmy. Hejgeš tiež musel mať rajtky, aj vŕzgavé čižmy si musel zaobstarať. Tamten si kúpil guľovnicu a poľovnícku knižku. Dolný mlynár sa o tom dozvedel a už pred najbližšou nedeľou vyšiel z dvora s guľovnicou, ba navyše na hlavu si narafičil poľovnícky klobúk. Prešiel sa cez dedinu a vtedy, pravdaže, musel mať v ústach voňavú cigaretu, hoci doma nikdy nefajčil. Takto to šlo ďalej a ďalej. Horný mlynár bol výmyselník, vo voľnom čase nič nerobil, len vymýšľal, na čo by ešte Hejgeša vyprovokoval. Kúpil si päť úľov včiel, Hejgeš ich kúpil desať. Objednal tucet maďarských časopisov, Hejgeš si objednal o dva viac. Dal postaviť pred kostol drevený kríž, Hejgeš dal v kostole opraviť bočný oltár. Tamten si kúpil flautu, Hejgeš zas kdesi splašil klarinet. Tamten daroval flautu tovarišovi a Hejgeš, keďže nijakého nemal, musel tudlikovať sám. Horný mlynár mlel, dolný tudlikoval. Zo dňa na deň bol horný mlynár bohatší, dolný tudlikoval, tudlikoval. Vlastne mu už ani nič iné neostávalo.
Z tohto všetkého nemusí byť ani len polovica pravdy. Tuláci poroztriasali po svete kadejaké nezmysly a ostatní ľudia k tým nezmyslom ešte viac popridávali. Aspoň toľko na vysvetlenie.
– Odkiaľ ste, dedo? – pridali sa mu v Levoči dvaja takí chlapci, čo sa dali na tuláctvo možno iba z pasie. Hádam ušli zo školy alebo z učenia, nechcelo sa im poslúchať. Kdekto sa vtedy vláčil po cestách, vysedával pri kostoloch alebo sa na výročných jarmokoch plietol jarmočníkom pod nohy.
Hejgeš ani len hlavu nezdvihol, ani mu na um nezišlo odpovedať takým strapatým usmrkancom. Už dávnejšie sa mu zlomila na nástrojikovová klapka, nuž musel namiesto nej inú vystrúhať. Z lipového dreva ju vystrúhal a prišibrinkoval k ostatným.
– Odkiaľ ste, dedo? – spýtali sa poznove.
Pozrel na jedného i na druhého, potom rozkázal tomu prvému, vysokému pehavému blondiakovi, aby mu podržal nástroj v takej polohe, ako bude potrebovať. Chlapec poslúchol.
Druhý bol menší, zavalitý a fučal za troch. Ten sa tiež zohol, aspoň tak sa zúčastňoval na oprave.
– Aké je to lepidlo? – fučal. Dotkol sa plechovej mištičky, do ktorej Hejgeš pred chvíľou namočil prst.
– Čože? – vytiahol z vrecka malilinkú koženú poduštičku, hádam nie väčšiu než šošovička, z jednej strany ju natrel lepidlom a iba potom ju opatrne podložil pod klapku. – Nahni! – rozkázal pehavému.
– Aké je to lepidlo?
– Šelak. – Poduštička bola na mieste. Mohol teda stlačiť klapku, stlačil a poduštička prikryla dieročku.
– Šelak? A načo je šelak?
– Vidíš, nie? – nechával klapku stlačenú a dával pozor, aby ani trošičku nepohol prstom. – Vlastne to nie je šelak. Ale mal by to byť šelak.
– Ktovie, či by sa tým nedali prilepiť podošvy?!
– Somár! Veď je to šusterský glej!
– Naozaj?
– Odkiaľ ste, dedo? – spýtal sa pehavý už po tretí raz.
– Odtiaľ! – ukázal hlavou na doštený plot. Za plotom bola záhrada, ďalej polia a ešte ďalej sa vyvaľovali kopce.
– Od hôr ste prišli? – spýtal sa pehavý.
– Aj od hôr, – prisvedčil. – Slnko vychádza na východe a zapadá na západe. Každá rastlinka sa ráno otvára a večer sa zatvára. Keď začne medovať čistec, včely a čmeliaky sa musia unaviť skôr, ako keď meduje agát.
– Ako kde! – fučal ten druhý. Pehavý nevedel, čo si má z takej odpovede vybrať.
– Hady a jašterice sa vyhrievajú na slnku. No ak cítiť, že zima je blízko, zalezú do dier a stuhnú. Vtedy začnú žltnúť tekvice a lastovičky odletujú na juh.
– Vy ste ako prorok! – zasmial sa zavalitý.
– Viete o dákom úli? – spýtal sa pehavý.
– Neviete sa modliť! – pohrozil chlapcom, hoci aj jemu samému bývali niektoré modlitby na smiech. Modlitba nie je smiešna dovtedy, kým nie je otrepaná.
– Dedo, dedo, môžeme ísť s vami? – začali dotierať, keď videli, že starý už začal bliť.
– So mnou? A kam? – Mištičku so šusterským glejom pozakrúcal do novinového papiera a vložil do plátennej kapsy. Nožík strčil do vrecka.
– S vami.
– Blázni! Kamže by ste so mnou šli? – pozrel okolo seba, či náhodou nezostalo ležať niečo na zemi.
– Aspoň skúsiť! – obaja boli neodbytní.
– Poďme! – Kapsu si prehodil cez plece, klarinet niesol v ruke.
Nešli na juh, ale na západ. Prišli do najbližšej dediny, zastali hneď pri prvom domci. Hejgeš hral a chlapci pri ňom spievali:
Nám je daný, narodený z čistej Panny Boh a kráľ, chodieval po tejto zemi, zrnká pravdy rozsieval, chvíľam svojich dobrodení potom divný záver dal...
Obkolesili ich dedinčania. Decká povyliezali na stromy, hádzali na nich lipové halúzky.
Pri poslednom zmrkávaní s bratmi k stolu zasadol, po patričnom rozdávaní jedál, jak už zákon bol, za pokrm sám seba pravý dvanástim sa ponúkol...
– Čo nejdete robiť? – osopil sa na nich sedliak. Viezol fúru ďateliny a div, že niektorého zo žobrákov nedočiahol vidlami.
– Robiť? A kde?
Akási žena vybrala zo zásterky kúsok cigórie a podala Hejgešovi.
Sedliak si to všimol a vyrazil mu ju z ruky.
Pehavý ozelenel.
– Imro! – zafučal zavalitý.
– No, čo je?
Obaja chlapci priskočili k sedliakovi. Jeden ho za vidly ťahal, druhý ho zase štuchal do chrbta.
– Chlapci, chlapci! – Hejgeš len tak oči vydúval.
Dedinčania, pravdaže, začali brániť sedliaka. Strhla sa mela. Chlapci sa trmancovali, ženy výskali a decká, popriliepané na strome, čušali ako netopiere.
– Jebemtidušu! Jebemtidušu! – odpľúval sedliak. Podarilo sa mu vyšmyknúť. Rozháňal sa vidlami na všetky strany, takže dočahoval aj svojich. Zbadal pehavého, rozbehol sa proti nemu, chcel ho napichnúť. Ten však stihol odskočiť. Mykol za rukáv svojho kamaráta a hybaj!
Hejgeš sa rozbehol za nimi. Lenže on nemal také dobré nohy. Raz-dva boli dedinčania pri ňom. Tĺkli ho, buchnátovali a niekto ho tri alebo štyri razy kopol do zadku. Ba aj potom, keď už bol dosť ďaleko, každú chvíľku musel odskakovať, aby ho niektoré decko netrafilo kameňom.
Šiel sám. Podvečer sa pritáral do susednej dediny. Vlastne ju obchádzal. Šiel popri plotoch, nakúkal do humien, hľadal stoh alebo dáku strechu, pod ktorou by mohol prenocovať. Našiel kopu sena. Zhodil kapsu, položil na ňu klarinet, potom vyzliekol kabát, ktorý sa mu zdal z celého jeho majetku najťažší. No v zime je taký kabát dobrý. Aj v lete je dobrý, pretože sa ním možno hocikedy prikryť.
Sadol si pod kôpku. Vytiahol krajec chleba, prelomil napoly a pomaly jedol. Zjedol len striedku, kôrky odložil do vrecka. Poutieral si ústa a zase začal majstrovať okolo nástroja. Pohladil drevenú klapku, dotkol sa aj tenučkého okraja koženej poduštičky. Oblizol drevený plátok a skúsil vyfúknuť tón. Nepozdával sa mu. Rozuzľoval motúz, ktorým mal poobkrúcanú dolnú časť hlavice, vybral plátok a obtrel ho o nohavice. Zhľadúval po vreckách šesták, potom zápalky.
Práve vtedy, nevedno odkiaľ, prikvitli chlapci. Prisadli si akoby nič.
Pehavý fajčil, druhý sa napchával zelenými marhuľami.
Nevšímal si ich. Priložil plátok k šestáku. Pravou rukou nahmatal škatuľku, vybral z nej zápalku, škrtol a opatrne priložil k peniazu, aby plameň dočiahol len vyštrbený okraj plátku.
– Chcete spáliť pizgor?
– Nefuč! – odhodil zápalku. Prezeral plátok, oblizol a zase prezeral.
– Kto vás to naučil? – spýtal sa pehavý.
Neodpovedal ani tomu. Z vrecka vyložil nožík, oškrabal drevo, aby bol plátok tenučký, pretože hrubým plátkom nemožno vylúdiť mäkký tón.
A zase obkrúcal hlavicu ufúľaným motúzom. Z času na čas skúsil fúknuť, či z nástroja nevychádzajú len priškrtené, piskľavé tóny.
Medzitým sa začalo stmievať. Chlapci sa zaryli do kôpky jeden pri druhom, len nohy im trčali a zavše vykukla niektorému hlava.
– Dedo, a spať ešte nejdete?
– Spať? A načo?
– A vy, dedo, nespávate?
– Spávam.
– Tak teda si ľahnite!
Už ani dobre nevidel. Zauzľoval motúz. Naslinil plátok a dva razy napľul pod drevenú klapku. Zahral stupnicu. Preberal chvíľu len naprázdno. Pozeral na poduštičku. Zase preberal. Prefúkol dieročku, ktorú predtým naslinil. Zahral. Už svietil mesiac.
Odložil nástroj a prikryl sa pozlátaným kabátom.
Ešte ani poriadne nesvitlo, už bol na nohách.
– Vstávajte, chlapci! Ideme ďalej – začal hurtovať.
Z krovia vybehol zajac.
– Chlapci!
Zajac prebehol cez lúku, potom zmenil smer.
Tráva bola rosná, aj seno v kôpke zvrchu navlhlo.
Hejgeš sa obzrel, chlapci boli preč. Nepodarkovia sú to! Azda ráňajú v záhradách zelené ovocie. Ešte bude mať kvôli nim vytriasačky. Hádam by sa ich mal hneď za rána zbaviť. Čože sa má vláčiť so sopliakmi? Pôjde si svojou cestou, veď tí sa už o seba postarajú.
Obliekol si kabát a iba vtedy zbadal, že z jeho kôpky zostal len chlebník a palica. Klarinet zmizol. Aj čiapka zmizla.
Celý vyjašený pobehoval sem i tam. Chcel zakričať, ale nevedel, na ktorú stranu. Schmatol chlebník, palicu a hnal sa k záhradám.
– Kamže tak bežíte? – priplietol sa mu do cesty dedinčan.
– Tadeto... tadeto... – dýchal nahlas.
– Čože sa stalo?
– Okradli ma, bože! Ako to len mohli? – lomil sa mu hlas.
– A kto? Kto vás okradol? – usmieval sa dedinčan.
Ten mi nepomôže! pomyslel si Hejgeš. Zalamentoval a zase sa hnal ďalej.
Dedinčan pozeral za ním.
– Heéj! – zakričal.
Hejgeš sa obzrel.
– Druhý dom skraja. Tam sa zastavte a nech vám dačo dajú. – Potom sám pre seba: – Žobráka okradli. Bude zlý rok!


PublisherNebýva na každom vŕšku hostinec, Slovesnký sipsovateľ 1966

Not Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining (English)

(extract)

There was a forest, in the forest there was a small hill there stood a church. There were musicians, uncle Jano and uncle Štefan, they used to pass through the woods. Where is the forest? Where is the hill? Where is it and where is he, the patron saint of all roaming souls?
And there was this wanderer, his name was Hejgeš. He used to go to Šaštín, to Mariatál, even to Nitra. And, what was more, he was seen three or four times wandering near distant Levoča. They said that there was no other wanderer in the world like him, because He) geš, believe it or not, could play the clarinet. You know, singing is thought to be a double prayer, therefore clarinet-play must be at least a triple. Beggars, cripples, all that ragged wandering riffraff hated Hejgeš more than hell itself. They cursed him, slandered him, invented whatever malicious things they pleased about him. They spread rumours that he came from a rich family and had inherited a whole mill from his father. Well, that mill of his was not very prosperous, because there were two mills in his village, an upper one and a lower one. The villagers mostly went to the upper mill. The upper miller's name was Zúbek, he wore riding breeches and creaky leather boots. Thus Hejgeš had to get riding breeches too, and a pair of creaky leather boots to wear with them. Then the other one bought himself a rifle and got a hunting licence. As soon as the lower miller heard about that, it was not even Sunday, he went out of his courtyard with a rifle in his hand, and, moreover, put a hunter's hat on his head. He strutted around the village with an aromatic cigar in his mouth, even though he never smoked at home. And so it went on and on. The upper miller was a cunning fellow, when he was not working, he sat thinking, wondering what more he could do to provoke Hejgeš. He bought five hives, Hejgeš bought ten. He subscribed to a dozen Hungarian magazines, Hejgeš subscribed to two more. He had a wooden cross erected in front of the church, Hejgeš had a side-altar reconstructed inside the church. He got himself a flute, Hejgeš got himself, God knows from where, a clarinet. The upper miller gave the flute to his journeyman, and Hejgeš, not having anyone to give the clarinet to, had to twitter himself. The upper miller milled, the lower one twittered. The upper miller got richer day by day, the lower one just twittered and twittered. After all, what else was there left for him?
Frankly, all of this was maybe not even half-true. Wanderers like to spread all sorts of nonsense around the world and other people only add up to their nonsense. But enough of explanations.
"Where do you come from, old man?" two boys spoke to him in Levoča. They looked as if they were wandering just for the fun of it. Perhaps they had run away from school or they had been apprentices before and they just had grown tired of being ordered around. Who knows? In those days all sorts of people trotted around, crouched in front of churches or mixed with folks at fairs.
Hejgeš did not even lift his head, he had no intention satisfying the curiosity of such youngsters. Just recently one of the stops on his clarinet had broken, thus he had to cut a new one. He cut it from lime-wood to make it match with the others.
"Where are you from, old man?" they repeated their question.
He looked at them, one after the other, then told the first boy, a tall blond freckled one, to hold the clarinet for him at an appropriate level.
The boy did so.
The other boy was smaller, plump, and short-winded. He leaned forward, taking part in the process of repair at least through his helpful posture.
"What sort of glue is this?" he panted. He touched the small tin bowl, where Hejgeš had dipped his finger a minute ago.
"What?" Hejgeš fished a tiny leather cushion from his pocket, not a bit bigger than a lentil, smeared one of its sides with glue and then put it under the finger-button. "Turn it down!" he told the freckled boy.
“What sort of glue is this?"
"Shellac." The tiny cushion was where it belonged. He could push the finger-button, he did so and the cushion slid over the opening.
"Shellac? What is that for?"
"Can't you see?" He still pushed the finger-button, taking good care not to move his finger even a bit. "Actually, it's not shellac. But it should be shellac."
"Do you think that this could glue shoe-soles?"
"You asshole! Of course it can! It's a shoemaking glue!"
"Really?"
"Where do you come from, old man?" the freckled boy asked for the third time.
"From there!" He pointed with his chin towards the wooden fence. Behind the fence there was a garden, then there were some fields, and then, even further, hills stretched lazily under the sky.
"So you come from the hills?" insisted the freckled boy.
"Yes, from the hills, but not just from there," Hejgeš nodded. "The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Each plant opens in the morning and closes in the evening. When nettle starts to give honey, bees and bumble-bees must tire quicker than when acacia gives honey."
"Well, it depends!" panted the other boy. The freckled one did not know what to make of such an answer.
"Snakes and lizards lie in the sun. But when winter gets closer, they hide in hollows and lie as if in a stupor. Then pumpkins turn yellow and swallows fly to the south."
"Hey, ain't you just a prophet!" the plump boy laughed.
"Do you know where a good hive can be found?" the freckled one asked.
"Hey, H bet you can't say a prayer!" he waved his finger in front of the boys' faces, even though he himself found some prayers funny. But a prayer is never funny, until it is worn out.
"Hey, old man, could we go with you?" they started to clamour when they saw that he was packing up his belongings.
"With me? And where?" He took the tiny bowl with shoemaking glue, wrapped it carefully in a piece of old newspaper and put into a cloth bag. He slid his small knife in his pocket.
"With you."
"You fools! Where would you go with me?" He looked around anxiously, wondering if he had left something lying on the ground.
"Just let us try!" They were both so persistent.
"Let's go!" He put his bag on his shoulder, carrying the clarinet in his hand.
But they did not go to the south, they went to the west. In the next village they stopped in front of the very first cottage. Hejgeš played and the boys sang:

0, the blessed Virgin Mary and her blessed Godly Son!
He used to walk here, on this Earth,
He brought His truth to those who had none.
We saw His wonders and His goodness,
then, in a moment, He was gone...

The villagers gathered around them. Children climbed up to nearby trees and threw lime-branches on them.

The last Supper was at hand,
He spoke to the Twelve about his fate,
He gave them bread, He poured them wine,
and the night got late.
Then He told them He was the Heavenly Bread
that would surely save them all…

"Hey, why don't you find some work?" a peasant barked at them. He pushed a cartwheel full of grass and was ready to jail one of the beggars with his pitchfork.
"Work? And where?" A woman took a piece of chicory out of her apron and handed it to Hejgeš.
The peasant noticed that and knocked the piece out of his hand.
The freckled boy turned green with anger.
"Imro!" the plump one panted.
“What?"
Now the boys jumped at the peasant. One pulled his pitchfork, the other pushed his back.
"Boys!" Hejgeš shouted with his eyes wide open.
Of course, the villagers defended the peasant. A fight broke out The men used their fists, the women squealed and file children the trees clasped the branches silently like little hats.
"Fucking bastards! Fucking bastards!" the assaulted peasant spitted out. He managed to slip away, waving the pitchfork all around him wildly, hitting even those of his own kind. He marked the freckled boy, made a bolt for him, obviously wanting to stab him. But the youngster side-stepped, yanked his mate by the sleeve and they both ran like hell.
Hejgeš started after them. But his legs were not as good as theirs. In no time file furious villagers were at him. They mauled him, milled him like crazy, someone kicked his ass three or four times. And even when he got away from them, he had to hop from side to side to avoid the stones the children threw at him.
He went alone. Just before dusk he crept to the next village. Actually, he crept around it. He rambled along fences, peeked into backyards, searching for some stack or roof, where he could lay his head. He found a hay-stack. He threw his bag to the ground, then took off his coat, which seemed to him the heaviest of his belongings. But in winter such coat always came in handy. And even in summer it was good when one wanted something as a blanket in the night.
He sat down by the hay-stack. He found a slice of bread in his pocket, broke it in two and ate it slowly. But he ate only the bread and put the crust carefully back. He wiped his mouth and once again started to fiddle with his clarinet. He stroked the wooden stop, touched the thin edge of the tiny leather cushion. Then he licked the wooden reed and tried to blow a note. It did not please him much. He undid the cord which held the lower part of the mouthpiece
together, took the reed out and wiped it against his trousers. He scrabbled around his pockets, searching for a coin, then for matches.
At that very moment the boys appeared as if from nowhere. They just sat down pretending nothing had happened. The freckled one was smoking, the other one was stuffing himself with green apricots.
He ignored them. He pressed the reed against the coin. With his right hand he groped for the box, took one match out of it, stroked it and lifted it very carefully to the coin, so that the flame had licked only the jagged edge of the reed.
"You wanna burn the whistle?"
"Stop panting!" He threw the match away. Then he studied the reed, licked it and studied it once again.
"Who taught you this?" the freckled boy asked.
He ignored that question too. He fished a knife from his pocket, shaved the wood to make the reed thin, wafer-thin. Of course, no-one could make a soft note with a thick reed.
Once again he bound the mouthpiece firmly with the dirty cord. From time to time he blew the clarinet just to hear whether the notes are not small and wheezy.
Meanwhile the sky turned dark. The boys burrowed inside the hay-stack, side by side, only their feet showed now, and once in a while one or the other's head emerged.
"Hey, old man, why don't you call it a day?"
"Call it a day? Why should I?"
"So you say, old man, that you don't ever sleep?"
"I sleep."
"So why don't you just lie down?"
It was getting too dark to see. He tied the cord. He licked the reed and spat twice under the wooden finger-button. He played a scale. Then he went over the stops without playing. He looked at the leather cushion. He moved the stops again. He blew through the hole where he had just spat. He played a few notes. Now the moon was high.
He put the instrument down and covered himself with his patchy coat.

The sun had not even risen above the horizon, and he was already awake.
"Hey, boys, get up! We are moving on," he shouted.
A hare jumped out of the bushes.
"Boys!"
The hare ran across the meadow, then swerved.
The grass was dewy, even the upper layer of hay was moist.
Hejgeš looked around - the boys were gone. Those miscreants! Most probably they were rambling around gardens, chasing for green fruits. Why, he might even get into trouble again just because of them. Perhaps he should shake them off while there was still time. Why should he fraternise with such green geese? He could
wander on alone, minding his own business. And they could take care of themselves.
He put on his coat and it was only then when he found out that his humble pile of belongings consisted all of a sudden only of his bag and stick. The clarinet was gone. And so was his cap.
He jumped and started running around as if in a maze. He wanted to shout at them, but he did not know which direction they had taken. He grabbed his bag and his stick and dashed towards the gardens.
"Hey, where are you running so fast, good man?" A villager turned up and stepped in his way.
"Here... here..." he panted.
"What happened?"
"My God, they have robbed me! How could they?" His voice cracked.
"But who? Who could have robbed you?" The villager smiled.
Oh no, this one is of no help to me, thought Hejgeš. He just sighed and dashed on.
The villager looked after him.
"Hey, you!" he shouted.
Hejgeš turned around.
"There, go into the second house at the end of the village. Tell them to give you something." And then he continued, but this time only muttering to himself, "A beggar robbed! Bad luck for all of us!"


Source of the quotationOne Hundred Years of Slovak Literature, Vilenica

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