“Now then, youngsters,” Brych shouted to the boat. “To the left! Left! Give us your hand, lass. There we are. Up she comes!”
“Me and Joe,” the girl announced on reaching the deck, “we—we’d like to—”
“Good evening,” said the young workman who climbed up after her. “Where is Mr. Kuzenda?”
“Mr. Kuzenda is making coffee,” said the stoker. “Take a seat. Look, there’s someone else coming across. Is that you, baker?”
“That’s me,” a voice rang back. “Good evening, Mr. Brych. I’ve got the postman and the gamekeeper with me.”
“Come up then, brothers,” said Mr. Brych. “We can begin while Mr. Kuzenda is getting the coffee ready. Who else is coming?”
“I am,” came a voice from the side of the dredge. “My name’s Hudec, and I’d very much like to hear you.”
“You are very welcome, Mr. Hudec,” the stoker shouted down. “Come up, will you?—there’s a ladder here. Half a minute and I’ll give you a hand, Mr. Hudec, seeing you’ve never been here before.”
“Mr. Brych,” three people shouted from the bank. “Send the boat across for us, will you? We’d like to come over.”
“Go and fetch them over, you below,” said Mr. Brych, “that all may hear the word of God. Brothers and sister, please sit down. It’s not dirty here now that we do our heating with a Karburator. Brother Kuzenda will bring you some coffee, and then we can start. Welcome, young people. Come right up.” With this Mr. Brych took his place by the opening down which ran the ladder to the interior of the dredge. “Halloa there, Kuzenda, ten on deck.”
“Right!” cried a beard-muffled voice from the depths. “I’m just bringing it.”
“Come, friends, sit down,” said Brych, briskly indicating suitable seats. “Mr. Hudec, we have nothing but coffee here; I don’t expect you’ll mind.”
“Why should I?” returned Mr. Hudec. “I just wanted to see your—to be present at your—séance.”
“Our service,” Brych mildly corrected him. “We are all brothers, here, you know. Let me tell you, Mr. Hudec, that I was a drunkard and Kuzenda was in politics, and the grace of God came upon us, and our brethren and sisters here,” he said, pointing round him, “come to us in the evenings to pray for the same gift of the spirit. The baker here had asthma, and Kuzenda cured him. Come now, baker, tell us yourself how it happened.”
“Kuzenda laid his hands on me,” said the baker softly and rapturously, “and all at once such a feeling of warmth began to pour through my chest. You know, something just snapped in me, and I began to breathe as if I was flying about in the sky.”
“Wait a bit, baker,” Brych corrected him. “Kuzenda didn’t lay his hands on you. He hadn’t any notion he was going to work a miracle. He simply went like this with his hand, and then you said that you could breathe easily. That’s the way it was.”
“We were there when it happened,” said the young girl from Stechovice. “And the baker had a ring of light around his head, and then Mr. Kuzenda charmed away my consumption, didn’t he, Joe?”
The young fellow from Stechovice said, “That’s the honest truth, Mr. Hudec. But what happened to me is queerer still. I wasn’t straight, Mr. Hudec; I’d already been in jail for theft, and for another job besides. Mr. Brych here could tell you.”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad as all that.” Mr. Brych dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “All that you needed was grace. But there’s some very queer things happen here, Mr. Hudec, on this spot. But perhaps you will find it out for yourself. Brother Kuzenda can give it you properly because he used to go to meetings before. Look, here he comes.”
Everyone turned towards the opening leading from the deck to the engine-room. From the opening there emerged a bearded face, wearing the forced, embarrassed smile of one who is being shoved from behind and is trying to pretend that nothing is happening. Mr. Kuzenda was visible now from the waist up, carrying in both hands a large tin tray on which stood cups and tins of preserves; he smiled uncertainly as he rose higher and higher. His feet could soon be seen on a level with the deck, and still Mr. Kuzenda and his cups went on rising in the air. About eighteen inches above the opening he stopped and began groping with his feet. There he hung unsupported in the air, apparently doing his utmost to get his feet to the ground.
Mr. Hudec was like a man in a dream. “What is the matter, Mr. Kuzenda?” he exclaimed, almost in terror.
“Nothing, nothing,” Kuzenda replied evasively, still trying to draw himself down from the air with his feet; and Mr. Hudec was reminded of a picture of the Ascension that in his childhood had hung above his little cot, and how Our Lord and the Apostles in precisely the same manner were hanging in the air and paddling with their feet, but showing less amazement on their faces.
Suddenly Mr. Kuzenda moved forward and floated, floated over the deck through the evening air as though a gentle breeze might carry him away; now and again he raised his feet as if he wanted to step out firmly or something, and he was visibly concerned for his cups.
“I say, come and take this coffee,” he said hastily. Brych, the stoker, held both hands up to him and took charge of the tray and the cups. Then Kuzenda let his feet hang down, crossed his arms on his breast, and hung there motionless, with his head a little on one side, and said, “Welcome, brothers. Don’t be afraid because I’m flying. It is only a sign. Will you take the cup with the flowers on, young lady.”
The stoker passed the cups and tins round. No one dared to speak. Those who had never been there before gazed in wonder on the levitation of
