Toto je úplně první souvislá povídka, kterou jsem napsal anglicky. Je datovaná červen 1986. Původní verzi jsem
nikterak neměnil. Jansen Raichl
HOW I BECAME LORD WELSH
by Samuel Truman Welsh
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First, I would like to prevent confusion and to state that I have nothing in common with either Wales or Eliot Truman Welsh.
To make it clear - I am a proud decendant of an Italian-American family of Welshes. I emphasize that Eliot T. Welsh is not
my relative. In short, he married Wilhelmina Welsh and took her name to abuse my fame. It irritates me now to a great extent.
You know, my step-father
had a brother, who had three sons, and Wilhelmina is a daughter of one of them.
Eliot Welsh is perhaps a writer, but for sure, not as good one as I am. You may argue that I haven't written anything
extraordinary yet. Then I must defend myself: I plan to write a trilogy of about 5,000 pages, and I have a completely
clear concept in mind. I have been bearing it for some five years, yet still I am searching for time to belch it on paper or
into the microphone.
I have long tried to get rid of having the same name as Eliot Welsh, but the courts refused to allow me to change my name.
The reason was a sort of Keep-Your-Name bill, that are so popular on Capitol Hill now. The one they applied had been approved by
the narrowest margin possible - of one vote. The Vice-President, who was the President's wife at that time, resigned that day
but her resignation had not yet been accepted by her husband, with whom she was negotiating at the time of the debate instead
of voting in disapproval of "my" bill. If she had voted, the bill couldn't have come through.
My request was rejected this way by the a District Court. I wanted to appeal, but my attorney wanted to charge me $1,973 in
case of success, though he wrote a speech on behalf of me which had only 610 words. And I am not ready to pay more than
$3.20 for a word, without any exception.
My career in literature was also hampered if not jeopardized, by frequent dismissals from various universities.
I was expelled from the University of Rhode Island at Greenford, the University of Rhode Island at Wilson, the University of
Rhode Island at Cornwallistown and three more universities in Rhode Island for the same reason: I wrote pamphlets favoring
atheism. 0fficially, it was for their low intellectual level and spelling mistakes, but I know the true reason were the
shadowy medieval practises of reactionary scholars there.
Last May, I left Kennedy International Airport for Britain. I had come to the conclusion that there can't be any true
literarian who hasn't got acquainted with the culture of the Old World. My plan was to visit private libraries of the elderly
Lords in Wiltshire. The Library of Congress may have 19 million books, but I went there three times, and it left no traces
upon me. And I don't believe any literary genius has arisen by reading its collections. For a simple reason: It is too modern,
and the true values are stored only between centuries-old walls. Equally sure, I haven't met a writer who would
acknowledge the Library of Congress for any contribution to his work. In the introductions to famous books,
you can read rather: "The greatest source of experience was found in my uncle Tom and the five Bibles
I found in his cabin." Nevertheless, I found no inspiration in the cabin of my uncle Thomas Cleveland Welsh.
Before leaving New York, I had a stormy discussion with my mother, who as usual, insisted that a son of
a l00-year-old lady should have been married for at least 80 years. I don't accept that argument on the
simple ground that she is 100 only in the Paramount Studios and their movies, and in the news reports on her birthday
celebrations taking place three times in a year. I told her that if she hadn't drunk, smoked,
and taken all the stuff, she would have appeared much younger and people wouldn't have been surprised if she had said,
"My son will go to the kindergarten soon." Briefly - my mother is, in fact, less than 70, and I am 29.
Still on board, I kept this in mind and decided to please my mommie dearest. Especially because I promised her to marry the
first girl who agrees to it. Some stewardesses looked promising, but when I plucked up my courage and struck the point, they
sneered and said that their husbands wouldn't agree. I don't know what their husbands would say if they knew what we did
in the hold of the plane.
At Heathrow I lost my bearings and failed to find the exit. I asked the informations clerk, and even though I was a little
nervous, I happened to notice that it was a young girl. After she had handed me a 50-page booklet "How to find the way out
of Heathrow" I asked her, "Will you marry me?" She didn't hesitate and swiftly replied, "Yes, I will."
She put a mink coat over her uniform and dragged me to a Rolls-Royce. On the way I tripped, and for a while she was sweeping
the floor with me. The Rolls-Royce crash-landed amidst shrubbery and flowerbeds of a garden. After an hour's stroll
across the lawns, we finally arrived at a castle. Her father had already been expecting us on the doorstep. He shouted,
"Have hooked someone at last?"
I learned that she didn't want to marry me, but her father feared that at eighteen she was under threat to stay alone and
drove her to marriage. So after he had named me his heir I thanked to myself for not asking her, "Do you want to marry me?"
Then I got a horrendous surprise: Duke Thorwington had no library. He had nothing but a couple of magazines he had stolen
in the Library of Congress during his last brief visit to Washington. They certainly didn't inspire me. But the
five-century-old walls will take the task over.
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