About how we went for a smoke

There's this huge bridge in Prague. It's impressive, I swear – an iron colossus with enormous domes, at the foot of which the Vltava River rolls its turbid waves. And everything sparkles in the sun; provided, of course, that the sun feels like shining when the bridge has the urge to shine.

That day, a sunny and joyful one, Irka and I went for a walk. We wandered along the quay, chatting about this and that, kicking stones, smoking cigarettes, and glancing at the girls. Some of them glanced back at us, some giggled foolishly, and some even responded to our teasing. And that was quite enough for us – it was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and we had nothing better to do.

That's how we reached the bridge.

"Nice bridge," I said.

"Nice," Irka agreed.

"Nice domes," I tilted my head upwards. "Must be a beautiful view from there.

" "Yes, it must be," Irka tilted his head back.

"I've never sat on a bridge before. Shall we go up?

" "Why?" he asked.

"Why not?" I shrugged.

"Good answer!" he laughed, as only he could.

We rolled up our sleeves. The task was so easy because the entire structure consisted of a tangle of individual elements that were very easy to grab or hang onto. After about ten minutes, we were already at the top of one of the domes.

We sat down, our legs dangling carelessly.

"It's beautiful here," Irka said, taking out his cigarettes.

"Beautiful." I looked down at the Vltava River and exhaled smoke in elaborate circles.

Silence fell. I liked being silent with Irka. Talking too, for that matter. In fact, I liked doing many things with him. We knew each other inside and out; I had already seen through his mischievous nature, and he through my adolescent and frivolous tricks and habits. We complemented each other like two perfectly matched cogs in a well-oiled tandem—a tandem capable of the most idiotic, moronic, and simultaneously inventive jokes and social pranks.

I tilted my face to the sun, enjoying the pleasant breeze blowing around my temples.

"You know, I'm going out with Andrea," Irka said, lighting a second cigarette.

"So?

" "And nothing," he shrugged.

I knew perfectly well what that answer meant. "Nothing" meant nothing more or less than that he'd already spent at least one night with her.

"But it was fun," he added after a moment.

"In what sense?

" "I arranged to meet her in the Old Town on Vodicevo Street. On my way to the rendezvous, I took a shortcut—Irka startled a pigeon that had perched nearby and was listening with curiosity—"and I was unlucky..."

Somewhere in the distance, a factory siren wailed.

"...I was unlucky. I happened upon a student demonstration. They were stamping their feet menacingly and tearing their throats: 'Free Czech Republic! Free Czech Republic!' 'The road to democracy!'"

Irka contorted his face, imitating the students.

"The problem was," continued my faithful and exuberant friend, "that my appointment with her was right across that damned street. And the entire street, you must know this, my dear, was clogged with police and military. So I had a choice of either unshaven hotheads or armed and iron-clad mastodons. An obstacle, it would seem, insurmountable.

" "So?" I asked, my gaze following the passing plane.

"I was wondering which would be easier to overcome. The students were very noisy and spontaneous, while the orderly ones were organized and calm." I chose the latter. I looked for a guy who looked like a sergeant to me and approached.

Irka motioned for him to approach, swaying sideways on the bridge dome.

I put on my idiot number five smile, tapped the guy on the shoulder, and said,

"Good morning, Sergeant! Can I have a word?"

The guy glared at me from under his mask.

"What?" he growled.

"It's a really stupid thing, actually. There's a girl waiting for me across the street. You know, it's been a while since spring! And that's where my problem begins. I see the gentlemen have organized a little maneuver here. And rightly so, because these young people are a bit noisy and unwashed. But if the esteemed sergeant would oblige me and let me slip between your sticks, I'd be grateful until the end of the week."

"Impossible!" the guy growled. "This is a line and a battle formation. We're not allowed to disrupt the line!"

I sighed.

"I understand perfectly, Sergeant. A guard of honor is important and honorable, absolutely. But... I'm dying... If I'm five minutes late, the woman will be ready to run and run. And what will I do with all this adrenaline? I'll have to let it out somewhere... All I can do is howl in this crowd," I pointed at the students, who, as if on cue, howled loudly.

The sergeant was a servant, but a good man who clearly wanted to do something too sometimes.

He glared at me and, turning to his beaters, barked some completely incomprehensible command.

And all those heavily armed men parted obediently, clearing a path for me and a corridor of shields.

The students fell silent for a moment. They saw the whole situation and rightly concluded that only a very important official figure could walk around like that. I paraded through the armed men, accompanied by shouts of,

"Traitor! Your end is near! We'll find a stick for your red face!"

I gratefully saluted the sergeant, to which he waved his baton.

Luckily, I made it to Andrea, who immediately threw her arms around me. She was so impressed by my performance that she immediately dragged me home, skipping even the initial stage of small talk over coffee.

"You're a joker," I smiled, "and it didn't occur to you that the sergeant, as part of his duties, could have simply beaten you up?

" "You know," Irka smiled in his usual way, "it never occurred to me..."

We burst into loud laughter.

"You tell a beautiful story," I said, wiping away tears of laughter. "So beautifully, in fact, that it would be a sin to interrupt.

" "Very well," Irka said, his face serious.

"But since you've finished, I just can't help but ask." Do you know what that woman is doing down there?

We looked together toward the quay. For a good five minutes, a distinguished-looking lady with a dog on a leash had been shouting something in our direction, gesturing vigorously.

"I can't hear anything," Irka shook his head. "The Vltava River is making a terrible noise.

" "Maybe we should try lip-reading," I suggested. We

tried. It lasted a while before Irka announced,

"From what I can see, she suspects we're suicidal. Apparently, we want to jump off a bridge. " We strained our ears. "Boys!" the matron yelled, "don't do it! You have your whole lives ahead of you! " We looked at each other. "And life is so beautiful! Flowers, butterflies, sunshine, and Prague! And social security funds! Don't do thi!!" Irka winked at me and cupped his hands to his mouth. " Too late, good woman ! We're determined! DETERMINED! Two broken hearts and only one way out! Take the dog, don't let him see this ! Skaa ... A good fifteen minutes passed until Irka finally suggested: "Shall we get down? " "Wait," I narrowed my eyes, "what's that?" A cavalcade of cars was approaching from the road—their sirens whined and the roof lights flashed alarmingly. "Fire department, police, ambulance..." Irka listed, "could it be..." The clouds of dust kicked up by the ambulances were getting closer. "Could it be... us?"

The first fire truck parked gracefully on the quay. Men in uniform jumped out and deftly began stretching the enormous tarp. More cars parked; the sound of sirens blended into one shrill shriek, and the area beneath us swarmed with people.

"The joke continues," I muttered. "Your mother-in-law organized a welcome party for us.

" "That's nice of her," Irka snorted with laughter. "A good laugh is not a bad thing."

We observed the situation. A portly man armed with a megaphone emerged from the police car. He cleared his throat, put the device to his mouth, and said,

"One, one, one...Microphone test."

Irka shook with laughter.

"I feel like I'm at a wedding, how I love being a schoolboy!

" "Wait," I grabbed his hand. "The guy's going through some lines."

Indeed, it was. The man aimed a megaphone at us and said,

"Good morning, boys! My name is Zdenek Blecharz and I'm a police psychologist.

" "He introduced himself," I noted, "how nice.

" "Good morning, Zdenek!" Irka yelled. "My name is Jiri and I'm desperate, desperate!

" "Boys! Don't do this! You have your whole life ahead of you!

" "I've heard that somewhere before," I scratched my head. "Isn't that what your mother-in-law used to say? Apparently, the police have identical opening lines.

" "Life is so beautiful!" the psychologist continued in a gloomy voice.

"Oh my gosh!" Irka clutched his stomach with laughter. "I wonder if he'll mention anything about social security funds?

" "Relatives! Family! Your mothers and neighbors! Your schoolmates! They need you!

" "What nonsense!" I grimaced.

"The state! The state needs you! You are the future of the nation!

" "Well, that's an argument. Don't you think?" Irka asked, leaning out as far as he could and shouting,

"But we don't want to join the army!"

"You won't!" Zdenek promised, "I'll get you a deferment!

" "No alternative service!

" "No," Zdenek agreed. "What a agreeable

fellow!" Irka winked and shouted,

"It's no use! My soul hurts! Skaa ...

The militia regrouped, the paramedics visibly perked up, and poor Zdenek wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Think about it, Jiri! Think about your girlfriend!

" "Miss!" I said loudly. "He doesn't have a girlfriend! He's a gay! "

Zdenek was speechless for a moment.

"Aren't you overreacting?" Irka smiled mischievously and, in retaliation, yelled,

"We're gay together! We want to get married! And the family doesn't agree! If we can't live together, at least we'll die together!"

The officers held frantic consultations. Finally, a portly uniformed officer, treated with obvious respect by the rest of the services, strapped himself to a loudspeaker.

"When you get off the bridge, we'll take you straight to the Civil Registry Office. Officer's word!

" "I don't believe it!" Irka replied. "First, give us the proper form to fill out! A form with a stamp!

" "The forms are at the office!

" "Then bring them! We'll wait!"

The loudspeaker fell silent. The operation command deliberated nervously.

"We'll bring you a regular form," the officer finally announced.

"What do you mean, regular?

" "Well...for women and men. We don't have...other forms yet...

" "What do you mean you don't have them?!

" "The official template hasn't been approved yet. The country is in a phase of transformation," the officer continued, "but we're working on it..."

"Let the head of the Civil Registry Office tell us!" I suggested.

"We're trying to get him down," the officer wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Then get him down!" Irka shouted. "We'll wait! Oh! In the meantime, I'd like two hamburgers! I'm starving!

" "You brat! I'll show you..." the officer clearly lost his patience. There was an uproar downstairs, and someone snatched the megaphone from his hand.

We exchanged glances.

"They're losing their nerve," I muttered. "I think we'll have to get down or they'll shoot us down.

" "Let them work," Irka grinned. "After all, that's what they're paid for.

" "It's me! Zdenek!" Zdenek regained control of the media. "What kind of hamburgers should they be?! Medium or well done?

" "We'll buy them ourselves!" my companion shouted back. "Let's jump! Hold that rag tight!"

The guy in the red helmet turned blue from screaming, and the firefighters began shifting nervously, trying to pinpoint our landing spot.

"So, Irka," I said, "is it time for lunch at the cabin?

" "Time," he replied, "on three, we jump off the bridge... One, two, three!

We jumped. Have you ever flown over the Vltava River? It's an incredible feeling! For a moment, I felt like a swooping sparrow." Irka later told me that he himself felt only like a hungry vulture. He still doesn't know why. Maybe it was the mention of lunch?

The landing itself wasn't very pleasant. We didn't even have time to recover from such a successful debut jump, as an entire army of officers descended on us, crushing us to the ground.

"We've got them!" Zdenek shouted, agitated. "We've got them! We've got them! We've got them! We've got them! Quick!"

We had to admit that the emergency services were exceptionally efficient. Within three minutes, we were hobbled like piglets headed to the slaughterhouse and loaded into an ambulance. The ambulance sped off with its sirens blaring, taking us to an unknown destination.

"How are you feeling?" I asked Irka.

"Strange," he replied. "I thought that dome was higher. We fell very quickly.

" "Lack of experience," I muttered. "Birds don't fly straight away either. We need to practice flapping our limbs a bit, and next time we'll do better."

For a moment, we felt important. The ambulance parked impressively in front of the hospital's main entrance, and a flock of paramedics quickly dragged us into an office. Inside, a good-natured, mustachioed gentleman in a white coat was already sitting there. We stood, chatting like tethered sheep, before his desk.

"Gentlemen from the bridge?" he asked, smiling benevolently.

"Not exactly," Irka replied. "We live in the center of Prague.

" "Yes, yes...of course..." he agreed gently, and began writing something down in the columns of documents spread out on the tabletop.

"Damn," I whispered to Irka, "I'd smoke...

" "Me too," he whispered back, "but there's a problem. We don't even have anything to hold a cigarette with... My hands are already numb.

" "Do you gentlemen often get headaches?" the doctor asked sympathetically.

We looked at each other. Things were starting to get grim. Clearly,

we were being mistaken for lunatics. "We don't have any pain at all," I declared, "we're completely normal. However, we'd love to smoke, if nothing stands in the way...

" "Yes, yes... of course..." the doctor nodded understandingly, "Sister Marina!"

A white-clad monster entered the room with two large syringes.

"What's that?" Irka asked anxiously.

"Injections," the gentleman replied, "we'll give you one injection at a time." You'll sleep soundly, peacefully, and without nightmares. And in the morning, you'll get breakfast.

"But I don't want to!" Irka clearly lost his patience. "I'm polite, calm, and completely normal!

" "Yes... yes... of course," the doctor nodded. "Everyone says that.

" "You can't poke me, you rascal!" Irka began to struggle, jumping up and down ridiculously. "I'm a free man..."

Nurse Marina suddenly caught him, jabbing the needle into his forearm. Irka staggered, took a few unsteady steps, and collapsed onto the carefully placed couch.

And then it was my turn. I drifted off. Although not completely—I was constantly aware of what was happening around me.

The night was a disaster. Has anyone ever strapped you to the bed? On your back? And try scratching yourself in that position. It's pure agony, I swear!

And the morning brought no hope.

"Are you feeling better yet?" our mustachioed benefactor asked us.

"Like the newborns," Irka grumbled. "When are we leaving?"

"Oh, patience... we need to do some... er... tests first..."

It took two whole days before we managed to convince the stubborn quack that it was all just for fun. And when we finally succeeded, the emergency services issued us a hefty bill for wasted time, equipment, fuel, personnel, and the participation of certified psychologist Zdenek Blecharz.

"You have to pay the price," Irka stated philosophically, "especially when the joke works.

And we just sat down on a bridge one Saturday afternoon to have a smoke.

Life can be funny, can't it?"