A friend and a dog's heart Chapter 2

2

The ringing of the alarm clock roused him from his bed. He forced himself to reach out and silence the noise. It was five in the morning. It didn't wake him up because he wasn't asleep. It just snapped him out of a kind of catatonic state in which he had spent the whole night. He felt as if he had been hit by a train. As soon as he opened his eyes, he had to fight the reluctance to go to work and face a whole day among people. With uncertainty nestled inside him, with glances that might be fixed on him again, and with questions he would have to answer. He struggled with the resistance to even get out from under the covers. And all this was crowned by terrible fatigue caused by not sleeping all night. He had run out of sleeping pills the day before yesterday, and the doctor had not prescribed him any more. But maybe they would have lasted longer if he hadn't swallowed them like M&Ms.

When he finally dragged himself out of bed after the alarm clock rang for the third time, his whole body ached. It felt like it weighed a ton. He felt like he hadn't moved since the moment he got into it until now. He lay curled up and froze in this position, as if a sudden frost had fallen on the top of a mountain. From the moment Nika left until now. It felt like a minute and years at the same time. Time is really strange now, it passes so quickly, and yet it drags on and dribbles like a black-and-white slow-motion film. Both at the same time.

Despite all this, he was able to concentrate and prepare for the twelfth.

When he finished school, he left the children's home at eighteen and found a job. He even had a place to stay with a friend. Things were looking good. He trained as a carpenter, but he never really enjoyed working with wood. He skipped school and didn't go to his work experience placements, often complaining of stomach ache, toothache, headache, a bruised hand, or getting on the wrong bus on the way to work. In the end, he barely scraped through vocational school.

When he stepped out into the world, he struggled and took whatever life offered him. He changed jobs, temporary jobs, and places to live. He never stayed anywhere for more than a few days, a week at most, and he didn't maintain relationships with people. In reality, he was just waiting for Ondra. He left the children's home as soon as he could so that no one would finally interfere in his life. It took a year, and then Ondra could also be free when he graduated from high school. As soon as they were together again, Vítek stopped squatting with friends and acquaintances, and they found a place to live together in a student apartment. They rented a double room. It was a bit like living in a home, but they were among their peers, and most importantly, no one was supervising them. However, this also had its consequences, namely responsibility for their own lives. It was fine.

Vítek then found a job in a chocolate factory and discovered that he really liked it there. He works his shifts, sometimes eight hours, sometimes twelve, and the money is good. The main thing that keeps him there is chocolate. He has unlimited access to it.

He can choose whatever he feels like eating from the different floors. What more could he want? In a year and a half, he gained twelve kilos. That's a lot for someone who is five foot seven. Kids always called him skinny, but now he's chubby, and those who used to call him that don't recognize him anymore. Ondra, who graduated with honors, had better prospects and greater ambitions for the future. He was smarter overall, and Vítek admired him. After a while of searching, he found a better-paying job at a real estate agency and was successful there, which was reflected in his rising salary. Ondra was communicative and friendly, and he always succeeded in everything he set his mind to, as Vítek now recalls. It wasn't that he had it easy, that success just fell into his lap; on the contrary, he worked hard for it. He never doubted himself, and that's the magic of it. Vítek always had his ups and downs, sometimes bursting with enthusiasm and swooning over the beauty of life, other times preferring to be alone so as not to spoil the day for others or himself, because whatever he took on, he messed up. Ondra knew how to support him in those moments. He charged him with energy and optimism. When Vítek had a bad day like this, Ondra would take him out on his bike or to the playground with a ball. Most often, however, they played PlayStation together. They always had fun watching TV series because Ondra had his own unique commentary on everything and Vítek agreed with him. Vítek loved his humor; of all the people he knew, he was the most similar to him. But all that is in the past now. He doesn't believe he will ever meet such a good friend again. A friend like a brother.

He took his bike out of the storage room in the hallway next to his apartment, squeezed into the elevator with it, and rode down from the third floor to the ground floor. When he got out, the gray, foggy mood, like the weather, was even more reflected in his face.

It was a cold, gloomy February morning, and he didn't feel like leaving the house at all.

He wasn't looking forward to work, and certainly not to the cold. He carried his bike down the stairs in front of the entrance and found himself in the middle of a jungle of apartment buildings. It was completely silent, as it usually is on freezing nights, and above his head was a cloudless black-blue sky, dotted here and there with twinkling stars.The moon was gone. Maybe the aliens finally dismantled it, he thought, and chuckled to himself. He always told Ondra when the moon was nowhere to be seen. He was into conspiracy theories and had watched all episodes of Ancient Aliens, including much more controversial shows on YouTube. Ondra devoured it with him, but he didn't support his theory that the moon was made of sheet metal and was actually an artificial alien bunker or satellite. Beneath all the theories and discussions, it was all just fun for the two boys. Another part of their humor.

Somewhere around the corner, someone was starting their car with a cough and warming up the frozen engine, and a little further away, someone was scraping a frozen window. Early birds. Poor guys, they're also going to work at six, he exhaled to gather strength for the journey, and a cloud of condensed air rose from his mouth. He pulled on his thick gloves, pulled his hat further down over his head, got on his bike, and headed down the sidewalk to the nearest intersection. He felt weak. Ever since he had been left home alone, he felt like he hadn't slept. He rode off the sidewalk onto the road and crossed the crosswalk on a red light, then turned off the road onto a bike path that would take him to the factory after ten minutes of brisk pedaling. It was dark and there was minimal traffic, but he had forgotten to change the batteries in his headlight. At least the rear light is working. It doesn't really matter this morning, but in the evening, when he's on his way back, the cops might catch him, and that would be his third fine this year. It's only February, damn it. He doesn't do it on purpose, he's just forgetful. "Víťo, you're like oak wood," his teacher once told him. She thought he didn't understand. He has to write a reminder in his cell phone... But he already knows that by the time he gets to the parking lot, he'll have forgotten. And he won't stop to do it because, damn it, he's running late.

Frost glistened on the lawn, it had been bitterly cold during the night, and Vítek pulled his hat down over his ears and covered his mouth with his scarf. His nose was freezing and his gloves were slipping on the handlebars. He hadn't expected such a harsh morning; during the day it's usually around ten degrees. Still, he preferred to take his bike rather than get up twenty minutes earlier and run for the bus that circles the whole city.

He could also get hit by a car, he suddenly thought. He doesn't have a light. But he would have to be dead on the spot. The main thing is not to end up in a coma or paralyzed for the rest of his life, anything but that. Better to leave things as they are. Víťo, you're a real idiot, a complete idiot, how can you think like that? Better not to think at all. It'll be better that way. Just don't think and keep quiet.

He overthought in a similar way until he got off his bike in front of the chocolate shop. And at that moment, he could hardly see through his tears.

All he could think about was Ondra and the fact that he had lost his life in a bicycle accident just ten days ago. And here he was, selfishly cursing his own life and feeling sorry for himself. If he could, he would trade places with him. No, not again. Be quiet. Just be quiet.

He didn't feel up to a long shift at all. When he locked his bike in the bike shed, he would have preferred to turn around and go home. He should have asked for a longer break; he had overestimated himself. He got a short week off, which worked out to two 12-hour shifts. Now he was just starting a long week, four 12-hour shifts in a row, two day shifts and two night shifts. It was going to be hell. On the other hand, he has no idea what to do at home, it's like a prison for him, a mental prison, Ondra's presence is everywhere. Sometimes he feels like he's going crazy, but on the other hand, it's a great place to hide.

Stop whining! He scolded himself. You'll see Bára and Filip, and also Mára and Džony. Džony with a Dž, like Džó... Víťa laughed out loud for the first time in a long time. The grammatical error makes no sense, it's just a Czech version of an English name, but Honza Džony himself scratched it on his locker as his nickname and rewrote it on his work shirts and pants. They were swearing in the laundry room. Džony is just such a brawler in the gang, you never get bored.

As he walked from the bicycle shelter to the building, he quickened his pace. He was looking forward to seeing everyone. It had been more than a week since they last saw each other because he had called work and asked for time off due to an unexpected family event. No one knows. He didn't report the exact reason to the foreman or the production manager of the fourth workshop where he works, the so-called fours, because no one asked him anything. It was enough to simply say that it was necessary. They wrote it down as vacation.

Of course, he arrived late. He entered the building through the card turnstile, ran up the stairs to the first floor, and turned right into the men's locker room. He changed into white work pants, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt, put a food cap on his head, and put on white work boots with reinforced toes. He ran from the locker room straight through the long empty hallway to the production hall. Before entering, he washed and disinfected his hands and cleaned the soles of his shoes. Then he entered. He was dazzled by the bright lights and the intoxicating sweet smell, something like marzipan. Vítek rushed straight to the office where the shift schedule was posted. He scanned the list of names and began to sweat, not seeing his name where he expected it to be. No way, he hadn't counted on this. He wiped his hot forehead with the back of his hand, despite the cool hall. He lifted his cap and quickly pulled it back down; not a single hair must stick out. His place had been taken by some stupid Arnošt. Arnošt was his last name. Vítek finally found himself at the very bottom of the list of names on the second production line.

Instead of working on chocolate bars, he would be working on chocolate sticks. He would be in the chocolate stick production line instead of the chocolate bar line, as before, and what's more, being listed near the end meant that he would be loading boxes onto pallets and taking them to the warehouse. It was physically demanding work. At least there was something positive about it. This is usually done by two guys who take turns, so he'll have a partner and they'll surely get along. The shift will fly by, he thought.

He was a little disappointed that he wouldn't be with his friends this week, but at least they would stay in touch during breaks or in the locker room. And next week he would be back at his old job, he would ask the manager. He does his job well, after all. When he passed his team, they were all already seated in a row next to each other behind the conveyor belt. There was no time to chat with them, so they just waved at each other.

When he looked for his partner in the blue cap, that's what they call the production line managers here, he realized that things would be a little different today. He is the only man on this line today. And he was assigned a young girl, maybe only a year or two older, to help him stack the pallets. As soon as he saw her indifferent expression, he knew he would have to do it all himself today.

The belt didn't wait for anything; production started immediately at six o'clock so that the chocolate in the molds at the front wouldn't melt too much. Vítek threw the wooden pallets stacked on top of each other into a two-meter-high pile, his colleague spread paper pads on the pallet, and he immediately carried and stacked two three-kilogram sealed boxes of chocolate bars on them. They took turns with the girl, one stacked the pallet, the other took it to the warehouse, and when he returned with the pallet truck, they switched places. At least that's how it worked for the first third of the shift, until the first short break. Then the girl asked Vítka if she could transport the pallets by herself so she could take a break from stacking heavy boxes. Vítka agreed, feeling sorry for her, but wondering why she thought it would be better to transport the pallets to the warehouse. But then he understood why. With each pallet she transported, her delay increased, and he had to run around the entire line by himself. They were catching up after a breakdown during the previous shift, and two extra people were packing boxes at the conveyor belt. He soon had enough, and when she returned with a pallet truck after ten minutes, smelling of smoke, he lost his temper. "Where have you been?" he snapped at her.

"In the warehouse, of course. There was a line for the foil wrapper."

"But that's not our job to pack, that's what the warehouse is for. You were gone too long, and I can't keep up. Two boxes fell off the conveyor belt, and we have to replace them with new ones because they're broken."

"But they're short-staffed and can't keep up, I had nowhere to put the pallet."

Vítka was angry that she was lying to him so blatantly. He knows there are people missing in the warehouse, but there's always somewhere to put the pallet, they'll pack it themselves when it's their turn. She simply went for a smoke.

"Go now instead of me, I'll move the boxes so they don't get in the way," he snapped and went to rearrange the undamaged sticks from the broken boxes into new ones.

"Okay. Drop me another pallet," she pointed to the freshly delivered stack. Vítek went, but he could barely reach the first pallet. He stood on his tiptoes and heard the girl behind him giggle. So he's short, so what, when will they stop laughing at him for that, he thought angrily. Lack of concentration and fatigue took their toll just before the lunch break. At first, he held the top wooden pallet with just his fingertips and tried to move it closer to him so he could get a better grip on it, but he misjudged its weight, and it slipped and fell on him. He quickly put his hands over his head and crouched down before the pallet fell on him with all its weight. The corner landed on his right hand and then knocked him to the ground. The sharp sound of the wood hitting the polished concrete floor echoed throughout the hall. A sharp pain shot through Vít's body and knocked him out.

The girl quickly unbuckled her belt and ran to remove the pallet from him. Vítek was already struggling to his feet, but after the impact, he saw only a black fog for a few seconds and stars danced before his eyes. When he came to, a group of all the workers from the chocolate factory were standing around him. The ladies from the front, where the chocolate is poured into molds, also ran over, and they all chattered over each other, carefully examining him and dusting the splinters and dust off his pants and sweatshirt. He looked into their faces and secretly hoped that it was all a bad dream. One woman even stroked his cheek maternally and smiled reassuringly at him. No, it wasn't a dream. He took off his gloves and checked his red hand. It wasn't even scraped, but it looked badly bruised at the wrist. He couldn't move it without a sharp pain shooting through his body.

He couldn't help himself, he tried to hold it back, but he couldn't, he couldn't manage it, it was too much for him. His chin trembled and tears began to roll down his cheeks like peas.

"For God's sake, what are you doing, don't cry!" Jonny, who had appeared from the far end of the hall, shook him. It must have been quite a blow. "They'll laugh at you," he whispered to him.

"Don't cry, you're fine, it'll be okay," the girl who was with him at the pallets smiled encouragingly.

In the end, he felt that it had happened because of her, because she hadn't helped him with anything, so he gave her a hostile and resentful look until she dropped her superficial smile and stepped away from him. "I've had enough," he hissed at everyone angrily. He waved his hand and shooed them away.

"Leave me alone!"

He planned to disappear into the bathroom and cool his burning hand under cold water before returning to the conveyor belt and calmly breathing through the pain, but then the shadow of the foreman, who was standing there and had been called by some kind soul, fell on him. "Valášek? Come with me," the authoritative voice said to him. His heavy hand landed on Vítek's shoulder and, with an iron grip, led him to the office without further ado. Meanwhile, the back of Vítek's hand began to swell so much that he couldn't ignore it.

"What happened there, Mr. Valášek?" he asked him somewhat coldly in the office, and at first Vítek felt as if he suspected him of deliberately dropping the twenty-kilogram object on himself. But that was how the foreman normally communicated with his subordinates. He sat Vítek down in an office chair and leaned against his neatly arranged desk, his arms crossed over his chest. At first, Vítek couldn't stammer out anything coherent, as the tall, middle-aged man, staring sternly through his thick glasses and wearing a sterile white coat, intimidated him. The production manager, an older, shriveled woman, was also in the room, watching them from her desk.

"I couldn't hold the pallet and it fell on me," he whispered guiltily.

"Okay, we'll look into it. I assume you're hurt, judging by your reaction. Where does it hurt?" he asked in a warmer tone of voice.

"My chest," Vítek said just as quietly and wiped his red, wet face with his sleeve. At that moment, he felt a sharp pain in his swollen hand. He realized that it wasn't just a bruise, but something worse, and thought to himself how unlucky he was again.

"My God, could it be a heart attack?" the shift supervisor exclaimed in alarm, and she and the foreman exchanged quick glances.

"He just graduated from school, he's not even twenty," the foreman argued skeptically, but his eyes flashed behind his glasses.

"No," Vítek sobbed. "I've had this since my brother died last week. He was my friend, but he was like a brother to me." "I see," they breathed. Then the foreman turned to the supervisor and they began to whisper quietly:

"...I'll take him to the infirmary for Fiálek to examine him. He's on duty until one today, so we'll still have time," he concluded.

"Okay. I'll find out which idiot in the warehouse is stacking those pallets so high and punish him so that he won't forget it for six months every payday," the manager decided.

"It could have been a real mess if that had fallen on the young man's head. Fortunately, this one won't cause any trouble," he gestured behind his back, a gesture that Vítek knew well and, unfortunately, saw. It meant that nature, when it handed out intelligence, had not been very generous to him. "We'll see what Fiálek says after the examination, and we'll sort it out to everyone's satisfaction," he smiled at Vítek, who was watching them motionless.

The manager nodded in agreement and was already dialing the number for the warehouse on the company phone, while the foreman led Vítek out of the office and accompanied him to the company doctor, who had his office at the other end of the large complex.

Vítek did not return to work. The doctor did not like the look of his bruised hand and sent him to the hospital for an X-ray. There, his fears were confirmed. Vítek received the unfortunate news that he had fractured two metacarpal bones and would have his hand in a cast for five weeks.

Nature may have given Vítek just a little more sense than his foreman thought he had, but he still won't cause any trouble. He won't claim it was a work accident, even though he could, as he has plenty of witnesses, the whole hall. He wants peace and quiet, he doesn't want anything else. He won't argue with anyone or demand anything, he doesn't have the strength for it.

And because he has not lost a certain self-reflection and self-criticism, he concluded that this would not have happened if he had come to work in better shape. Moreover, under normal circumstances, he would have gone to see the guys in the warehouse at the beginning of his shift and asked them to use a forklift to split the stacked pallets into two parts before transporting them, if they hadn't thought of it themselves.

But today, it didn't occur to him. Because his mind was elsewhere the whole time, and he just wanted to get through the evening somehow. He felt sick every minute and just wanted to be home so he could get it over with. He doesn't want to cause any trouble, he just wants to survive this period somehow.