Toto je jedna z prvních povídek, které jsem napsal anglicky. Je datovaná červen 1986. Původní verzi jsem nijak neměnil a chyby záměrně neopravoval. Obálka.

Jansen Raichl



STORIES OF BASKERVILLE
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How I got still much poorer than before

by Court Marshall

I am tired of having to apologize for my name, but it is a necessary thing. I was born to a family with an almost eternal tradition of being military rulers of a tiny island nation in the Caribbean. My father was more than just smart to give me the name Court. It was for a practical reason. He knew I was going to succede him, and foresaw I would have a difficult task. He meant my decisions could be reported on the radio as "approved by Court Marshall" even at the time of my own trial before the Court Martial.

My name caused me a lot of trouble wherever I went. As early as at the Baskerville Military Créche, my fellow cadets laughed at me for it, and it went on through all the academies I attended. I was just lucky to win the nickname "Puppy of Baskerville" because my father was almost exclusively known as the "Hound of Baskerville" after the name of our nation's capital.

The real problem emerged only after I had appeared abroad. I knew the name is always a delicate issue, so I thought up an explanatory story of its origin. I said that I was born in Albania at the time of the occupation by Nazi forces, who introduced the name Kurt among the local population, and that later it was mutulated into Court. I also used to say my father hadn't had any surname and when the authorities asked him about his name, he said, "Ai havth name", which I insisted, in the local dialect of Albanian English meant "I have no name". As he lived in wetlands, they assigned him the name Marshall, which I said, in Albanian English stands for "a man from the marshes".

StilI I met people who attentively listened to this story and then stupidly asked, "Very nice, but what is your name?"

On the celebration of my 19th birthday, my father astounded me when for the first time in my life, he offered me a choice to make. I was to decide between a career in the army or gaining experience by travels abroad. After I had decided for travels, he got terribly angry, slapped me, and said he hadn't thought I was that sort of a dope. Then he left the room. For a moment, I thought he had gone to see Dr. Richardson in Boston, where he always goes after getting irritated. Richardson is the world's best neurologist and a specialist in tranquilizing.

Nevertheless, the Hound returned in less than a minute with some money in his hand. He said that when I wanted that so much I should have it, but he wouldn't contribute with more than $ 2,000, plus the price of an air-ticket.

On the way to Dallas, I got some Texan magazines. Everywhere I could see ads of oil companies such as "Invest in your glamorous future, make use of the chances in the petroleum industry". At once, I had a clear idea of what to do and changed my travel plans completely. I divided my money into a part for living expenses and one for my glamorous future.

On arrival, I bought $1,000 worth of stock of Alamo State Oilers, rented a studio at Mrs. Gonzales, and ordered a three-time-daily delivery of cheeseburgers, chilliburgers and the "nan-nam" burgers at a local King Burger. The rest of my money was exhausted by renting a TV set from Mrs. Gonzales, but it wasn't enough for more than ten minutes a day. I selected the time frow 6:45 till 6:55 pm, because then the Dallas Oily Star broadcast news on oil prices. That all was in November 1985. In January of the following year, I started to be restless. The price of oil plunged and didn't want to bounce back. Once, when I felt uncomfortable I broke three of my front teeth. I was mad and I wanted to hit something. I couldn't strike anything in the room because I would have to pay for the damage, and I had no money left. I also couldn't go out because the house was locked, I had lost my key and Mrs. Gonzales wasn't in. So I struck my jaw. Anyway, I was the one to blame.

In early March, Mrs. Gonzales put my baggage on the sidewalk, as our agreement expired. My only chance was the stock. I tried to persuade a cabman to take me to Alamo State Oilers headquarters. I told him I was to get a lot of cash for my stock and would be able to pay the fare then, but he didn' t trust me.

Therefore, I had to sell the stock first. I asked every passer-by, but the people only laughed. Finally, a young black boy took all the package for 50c. I felt as if struck by good luck. Than I noticed there was a mail office across the street, and an idea entered my head. I decided to call my father. I went inside and asked for the number for Baskerville. The clerk told me there was no direct connection and that she had to contact the exchange in Miami. She also informed me that the rate was one dollar per minute. Subsequently, I sat into a corner and trained myself in speaking quickly. In the end, I could say, "Help, your son is at the intersection of Franklin and Weston Roads, downtown Dallas. Send help. Hang up!" in less than nine seconds.

The call lasted a little longer than I expected because my father dropped the receiver into an acquarium, and because there was a dead fish he didn't want to put his hand into the water. This way he raised the bill to 58c.

The clerk proved to be punctual, and was about to call the police when she found out I had only 50c. But her workmate was sympathetic with me and gave her those 8c instead of me.

In the afternoon a fighter plane landed at Dallas. I was asked to get on and return home. On the airport, my father welcomed me with a military parade and for my special merits I was appointed the Highest Commander of the Armed Force.
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