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Humbly report, Sir, but I've been reading this book called The Good Soldier Å vejk which I had not planned to read as part of my World War I project, but there you have it. It's a satire of the stupidity of war, of governments and armies and regulations, of class struggles. Of being a Czech, and nevertheless in the Austrian army. To deal with the absurdity of it all, you need an anti-hero. Which would be this guy:



Å ±¹±ðÂá°ì.

One buffoonerous episode...



follows another...



and another...



Yes, the drawings are in the book and add to the anarchy fun.

People say this book has its roots in Don Quixote, but there's Shandian digressions, too, and, as a character, Å vejk has plenty of Bartleby in him. But he's funnier, more complex, and wiser, much wiser, despite his protestations of idiocy. It's obviously credited as spawning Catch-22, and yes, it's an anti-war novel. But when a few almost-enlightened characters did a double-take, a facial tic of wonder if the imbecile might just be putting them on, I thought of Chauncey Gardiner too.

'Listen, Å vejk, are you really God's prize oaf?'

'Humbly report, Sir,' Å vejk answered solemnly, 'I am. Ever since I was little I have had bad luck like that.'

I was thinking of all these things, as I was almost done with the book, and the et ux and I decided to take a five-mile walk around a nearby lake. The path follows a roadway, one mile of which was under repair, a widening project, what they call it, which had been in progress for six months and was days from completion.

We walked as far as the section under repair. Years of parochial education have resulted in my following even the most pedantic of rules (and a good handful of the Ten Commandments, by the way), so I stopped us at the three big ROAD CLOSED signs. However, there is something about a freshly paved roadway, with brightly painted yellow and white lines. There was just some guardrail work being done. We asked some of the worker bees whether we could continue on and they couldn't think why not, and we couldn't think why not either, this being America and all. Can I have a little Woody Guthrie please!

As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.

Thank you.

And it was indeed a beautiful ribbon of highway. I tipped my cap to the workers, who tipped their caps back at me. All was well.

At about the halfway point through the 'construction area', a white pick-up truck with a flashing yellow light on top came speeding up from behind us, screeching to a stop at our side. What he said was, 'This is a NO TRESPASSING area!' but I think what he meant was Sir, you have rubbed the bloom off my virginity.

To which the et ux offered, 'My husband said it was okay.'

The officious man in the white pick-up truck now knew which guilty party to glare at. So, I offered, 'This reminds me of the time the et ux and I were driving back from Illinois and where the highway goes in a big circle around Indianapolis the speed limit went from 75 miles per hour to 55 miles per hour, with not enough warning, if you know what I mean. So I got pulled over. The local gendarme walked up to the car, identifying himself and explaining why he was compelled to stop me, only to be interrupted by the et ux, who leaned over to say, 'I told him to slow down!' My hands on the wheel, I waited for her to continue with 'but he never listens when he's drinking' but the hand of God must have stopped her.'

'You're a smart-aleck,' said the white pick-up truck.

'Humbly report, that view has its supporters, but then there's those that vote for feeble-minded. But anyway, baszom az anyát, baszom az istenet, baszom a Kristus Máriát, baszom az astyádot, baszom a világot.'

'What's your name?'

'Å ±¹±ðÂá°ì.'

'Shvayk?'

'No, Å ±¹±ðÂá°ì. Just like it's spelled.'

'You're not Shvayk.' (this from the et ux.)

'Well, you can't walk here.'

I decide to be quiet and let him figure this out. The sign on his door says FOLINO CONSTRUCTION and not MCCANDLESS TOWNSHIP POLICE DEPARTMENT. We are one-half mile from where we came and one-half mile from where we are going. We do not have a helicopter. The most ardent profiler could not perceive the two old people that we are as terrorists, nor is this new roadway likely on any Top 100 Infrastructure Thingies We'd Like to Blow Up List in Jihad Monthly. So, here we were, waiting for the man Mr. Folino thought enough of to let him have a spinning yellow light on top of his truck to figure this out. As Å vejk would say, he had a well-developed talent for observation when it's already too late and some unpleasantness has happened.

We were let off with a warning.

We walked through the construction zone, and about a mile more in silence. Then the et ux said, 'You're writing a review, aren't you Mr. Shvayk?'

'Why yes I am. And it's Å ±¹±ðÂá°ì.'

'That book with the cartoon on the cover?'

'Somewhat famous drawings by Josef Lada, but yes.'

'What's it about?'

'It's a satire, with a seeming bumbling idiot for a protagonist who goes on one misadventure after another, but with the clear purpose, if you read it correctly, of not getting anywhere near the front lines during World War I and getting himself killed.'

'A satire?'

'Yes. A satire. Which is tricky because the people who are spoofed in a satire are pretty much guaranteed not to see the humor in it. It reminds me of the guy who would be making dinner and his wife would walk behind him making sure he closed all the drawers he opened so that crumbs wouldn't fall in. Or would stand there when he returned from taking the garbage out or walk out of the bathroom and just stare at his hands until he got the point that he should wash his hands. Or freeze in her tracks when she heard ice cubes drop into a glass fearing the end of the world or that maybe vodka would follow......'

'That's not funny.'

----- ----- ----- -----

Å vejk was explaining: You see, it's not so hard to get in somewhere. Anyone can do that, but getting out again needs real military skill. When a chap gets in somewhere, he has to know about everything that's going on around him, so as not to find himself in a jam suddenly - what's called a catastrophe.

----- ----- ----- -----

Humbly report, Sir.