THE TENTH
Ivan Figura wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing, but it thrilled him, that’s for sure. He called that boy, that St Martin of hers, on the phone. What do I want from him, really? He asked himself, as he searched out his father’s name in the telephone book. He was poking his nose into somebody’s private business, and this excited him, too. He has no idea of my existence, yet I know who his father is, and where he works. So he rang up the Vrána house. He persuaded his older brother Tomáš that it was a friend calling, Martin’s friend Ivan.
‘Hey, Martin. I need to talk with you.’
‘About what? Who is this?’
‘About Eva! What else?’ He’d played the scene out so many times in his head, and now when he launched into the line, it sounded like a recording. Martin was disconcerted
