THE EIGHTH
‘That your Dad’s shirt?’
‘Maybe not,’ Eva replied in a quiet voice to the tall man.
‘It’s just that it’s a little big on you,’ he laughed, smugly, and took a drag on his cigarette. His name was Ivan. He was a strapping fellow, brawny and pretty strong, probably, yet all the same his movements and his manners were sort of soft. The coach of his volleyball team once told him, You’ve got a good figure there. A well-built body. You just need to do something with it. And that good figure of his, that dobrá figura, stuck to him. Ivan Figura, that’s what his teammates started to call him, then his schoolmates in general, and finally, everybody except his parents. It stuck with him, even though he hadn’t played volleyball for years.
He looked at Eva with that soft, half-mocking, hal
