On a cloudy August afternoon, a gazelle makes her way from the bushes on the edge of a field on the president’s estate outside of Prague. Captured in Egypt, part of a herd presented as a gift between socialist brethren, Comrade Novotny, I know you will appreciate these beasts noted for their grace and gentleness, a thank-you for a shipment of machine guns from Brno. She peers from the bushes, hesitates for a moment longer, then hops forward into the open grass. Even before she sees the figures at the edge of the meadow, she smells someone unfamiliar. Not that everything isn’t unfamiliar at Lány: the weather, the carefully trimmed grass, an abundance of strange new trees to replace the verdure of home, this place crowded and claustrophobic after the desert.
She makes her way across the field in leaps, halts and raises her head, moves once more toward the man in the brown coat and cap. He is a quiet man, gentle and patient, already knows the gentle scratch of gazelle teeth when they eat from the palm of his hand, bow their delicately curved horns toward his chest. Another gazelle follows behind her, then one more, and they hop, they pause, heads moving side to side, expectant, little hearts pounding, ready to bound back across the field and away. Today the gamekeeper is not alone. Another crowd has come to the president’s estate to watch him feed the African antelope, marvel at their size—not even a meter tall—and the beauty of their rich brown fur.
Already have an account? Log in
Join KR for even more to read.