‘Well, show him in,’ decided Mr. Bondy.

In the doorway stood a massive man with a captain’s cap, saluting. G. H. Bondy walked over to meet him. ‘Very glad to meet you, Captain. Please come in,’ he said in English.

‘Hi! Hi, Mr Bondy,’ the captain cheerfully exclaimed in Czech.

‘You’re Czech?’ Mr Bondy was amazed.

‘Sure. Czech. But we know each other, Mr Bondy. From Jevicko. Vantoch the grocer, remember?

‘Of course, of course,’ G. H. Bondy loudly expressed delight but inwardly felt something approaching disappointment. (So he’s not a Dutchman after all!) ‘Vantoch the grocer in the Market Place, right? Haven’t changed at all, Mr Vantoch. Always the same! And how’s the grocery business going?’

‘Thank you,’ the captain said politely. ‘Dad’s been gone a long time - how do you say it - ?’

‘Dead? Well, what do you know? Of course, you must be his son … Mr Bondy’s eyes suddenly lit up in reminiscence. ‘Good heavens, you must be the Vantoch who used to fight with me in Jevicko when we were boys?’

‘Sure, that’ll have been me, Mr Bondy,’ the captain agreed in all seriousness. ‘That’s why I was sent away from home to Moravská Ostrava.’

‘We used to fight a lot. But you were always stronger than me,’ Mr Bondy sportingly conceded.

‘That I was. Of course, you were such a weak little Jew, Mr Bondy. And you got a lot of kicks up your arse. A lot.’

‘Too right,’ G. H. Bondy reminisced with emotion. ‘Sit down, sit down, fellow countryman! Good of you to remember me. Where have you sprung from?’

Captain van Toch sat down in a dignified manner in a leather armchair and put his cap on the floor. ‘I’m here on leave, Mr Bondy. That’s it. Yes.’

‘Do you remember,’ Mr Bondy delved deeper into his memories, ‘how you used to shout after me: Jew, Jew, the devil take you?’

‘Sure,’ said the captain with feeling and blew into his blue handkerchief. ‘Ah yes.