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Never A Straight Path

by Frank Kolondra

444 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-1699; ISBN 1-4120-1321-6; US$33.00, C$37.98, EUR27.50, £19.00

A seventeen year-old Czech boy living in the German-annexed area is drafted into the German Navy in WWII. His life culminates with his arrival in the USA.

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About the Book      About the Author      Excerpts      Catalogue Information

About the Book

"No book takes both sides of the story, as this one does, with such a healthy conviction. The story itself is unique. It flows with uninterrupted zeal, full of healthy satire and heartfelt drama. A highly entertaining sequence of events covers the span of time years before the Second World War and up to the Korean War.

The main character, referring to himself as "Yours Truly", and his grandmother, live in the fairytale land of Silesia, which at this time, was split between Germany, Poland and Czechoslovakia. A long time ago it was governed by Queen Maria Theresa.

The Grandmother teaches the main character how to stay young in appearance, physical condition and spirit, and that the long-sought Fountain of Youth is found by a simple wash in cold water, with a little twist of time and place.

The world goes topsy-turvy for "Yours Truly", who stumbles from one adventure to another, with a battery of uncommon but distinctive stories and style. The writer's sentence structure does imply his European background.

The entire story is a convocation of light prose, and follows a honest path diverting only in cases of self defense. Then those, intent on harm, better beware.

The author doesn't let the reader read about the innumerable hardships, the way most novels are written, and only on the last page does the hero achieve the happiness he deserves.

The uniqueness comes from the approach to the book. The author lets the story alternate with the hardships and happiness with success making the story much more enjoyable, until the story ends with a positive outcome.

Who wants to read a book where for 499 pages the hero gets beat up, suffers unbelievable tortures, and on the last page, when by some unforeseeable luck the hero is victorious, the book ends?

The highly informative and resourceful story is written for readers who care for the trials and tribulations of an individual who stumbles but always confronts the realities of life and finds his way.

The story is at once humorous, then changes to dramatically desperate, but always flows interestingly from one adventure to another, as the scenario changes from one encounter to the next. This book is not filled with incalculable crimes and murders but clings to hope for the Straight Path.

As life deals "Yours Truly" some serious blows, he bends like a willow in a storm to come out on top.

World War II finds him in High School, from the freedom of the old Czechoslovak Republic, through the occupation by the medieval, horse drawn, Polish army, to the attacks by the German Stuka bombers. He spends the war on a German Kriegsmarine ship of war, sailing from the Bay of Helgoland to Norway's Arctic Circle. He describes the seamy hovels of Hamburg's Reperbahn, and the attacks of the English Spitfires on the warship with equal zeal. His mandate is survival and he does live to tell about it.

After the war he returns home, and finds his homeland changed beyond recognition. He fights, with the Czech youth by resisting the Communists indoctrination, but the forces of the new ideology overpower him and many others with him. He escapes the horrors of the socialist system, by risking the crossing of mine fields, the bullets of the border guards, prison, or outright deportation to the Gulags in Siberia.

The search for his soul and new life, forces him to explore many countries. He strives to find his place and even schemes with considerable luck until he finds his final destination.

This novel follows the life of the young man, from childhood to young adulthood. It is a very interesting story with numerous exciting adventures. These take the reader from Europe to Brazil to the United States. It can also be considered a social, historical and political study, as well as an adventure and search for an anchor where he can find safe heaven. Many facets of European life and culture are dealt with, as are the varying stories of WWII and its aftermath.

Although the book is long, the various segments are just the right length. This work is well worth reading."

Ann Thornton,
Bachelor of Library Sciences,
Reviewer.

Review letter from Tonya Martin, Senior Editor, Scholastic Inc. (dated April 25, 2001)

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About the Author

Frank Kolondra graduated from Newark College of Engineering in 1968 with a B.Sc. in Electrical Engineering. He wrote his first full-length novel when he was 14 years old and resumed writing after he retired.

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Excerpts

CHAPTER 6: The Struggle. From The Frying Pan Into The Fire

Next day, I went to the ceramics factory to ask for employment. The graff Stahernbat factory was nationalized and owned by the state. Or as they liked to emphasize, it was owned by the people who were everywhere, and nowhere. Two men ran it, with common responsibilities. The meister, ran the factory and the manager the office. Both men I knew well. They were working with me, when the graf managed the business with a German speaking meister who ran the factory.

I was welcomed with opened arms.

"Yes, we asked for you, when you were in Prague. They called us, and asked about you. By the way, you wrote a very nice letter to your dad, it was a pity he was already dead."

How did they know about the letter? Did the KGB call them from Prague, to confirm the truth of what I wrote? These people are very tricky and smart. I hated to admit it, but I wasn't released on the basis of my writing ability. That was a shock, to me, a budding writer. They also knew that the letter was a farce. They knew my mother was dead a long time ago and I knew it.

Wheels were moving within wheels again, and Coriolli's forces made me dizzy. Poor Coriolli, he got blamed for my troubles, long after he died.

I heard some more reassuring words. I could start right away. My work was the best, but my salary would be lower, because I did not take the exams to get certified. They forgot to say that I was drafted a week before my exams.

I accepted the salary, and instantly wrote to the State Trade qualification bureau, for an application to the exams.

Luck was with me, and I was able to join the present class, scheduled in a few days. The exams would be in Opava some distance from us and the home of the 'Lime Man.'

I passed the exam, and now I had to show the diploma to the manager. My salary would be doubled, for the same work. This, in itself was a lesson worth knowing. The proof of your ability is not the work, but the diploma saying so, even in an equalitarian socialist state.

My relation with the two managers was friendly, although a little curious. It was like they were on the other side of an invisible screen. Or, maybe like I was under observation. There was a definite attempt at political indoctrination. A very subtle one, but, nevertheless, a very smart one.

An example, was the one of the Union meeting. They implied that I was the only one free, to go during working hours, to a Union meeting. I would do them a real favor if I went. The meeting was really for shop stewards, and we were treated lavishly. There were hors d'oeuvres and "kolace" ( Danish), with coffee. There was so much of everything, that I stored some of the leftovers in my square brief case. Quite a few, I might add.

The entire three hours, we were exhorted to increase production and supervise that others did, too. All in all, it was a company manager's meeting. None of this bullshit about increase in pay, or talk about a strike, if they don't comply. On the contrary, the word, strike, was criminal, since the industry is owned by you. It would be irrational to strike against yourself. Those people who want to strike, to force a solution to the problem, are mentally ill. They should be isolated from society, for retraining. I heard such words as reeducated, sensitivity trained, but never the right one, brainwashed.

Was I developing a skeptical attitude? If that was the case, then I'd be the loser. I went home and I composed a positive picture, for my presentation to the factory.

The meister and the manager were smiling, the way a fisherman smiles, when he has a fish on the hook. I called this a Cheshire smile.

The ax fell down, and it was no fault of mine. I was just a little dense. I didn't realize that what happened, was a comedy of errors, on the part of two rather stupid people. The one had a problem, because this was his first time to deliver a pay off. The other one was Yours Truly, for not realizing that money doesn't grow on trees.

How did it happen? I was sitting, happily, in the manager's office, at his desk. I was reading a newspaper, while I was waiting for him to readjust my salary range. A stranger came in, like an express train. He was all friendly, and pumping my hand mightily, talking a mile a minute, not letting me explain that I was not the manager.

Finally, he pulled a fat envelope, and handed it to me.

There was a lot of money in it.

"This is for you. We want you to do a special job for us. This is something so beautiful, that it hasn't been done before. Are you willing?" Of course I was willing. There was two years salary in the envelope. So I said,

"I'll cooperate with you, to the best of my ability." For that kind of money, there was no other way. So, we shook hands again.

"We will let you know within a week, how it's going to be arranged. Good bye. You will not regret it."

I can tell you that the last sentence was false. I regretted it, as soon as I realized it was a payoff. I was the man who stole the money from the mafia messenger by pulling a conman's trick on him, and was found out. In other words, a STING operation. At least, the first part of it.

I didn't say anything to anybody, hoping that by putting my head into the sand, they would not find me.

How stupid of me. Again, I am jumping the story weeks into the future. So for a moment, forget I gave you a premature clue.

Five days later, a group of men were going through the factory. The two managers, the generous man, and an obese Russian. They looked at all the employees. When they passed me, they stopped for a moment. I came out towards the generous man, with an outstretched hand.

"Welcome, did you finally decide what you want to do? I knew you didn't give me all this money for nothing."

The man
ned red, opened his mouth like a fish, but no sound came out. The meister then quickly saved him.

"He wants you to do some figurines for export to Russia, and you did fine work two years ago. He bought some of the work that was on display in the office. He wants you to do, a figure of the Huntress Diana."

"That's fine with me. Do you have the plaster molds with you, or do I have to design them myself?"

"I will bring the molds. You just do the best work you are capable of." The future was smiling at me, again. I did not remember seeing the man before. He could have just seen me doing the display in the show room. That's what they were talking about. If my work was that good, and people would pay that kind of money to get only me, I had it made.

I waited, eagerly, for the plaster mold, mixing the solutions of kaolin, additives and just the right amount of water, so the deposits would not be too thin to break, and not too thick to crack in the oven.

I did get the most intricate molds I've ever seen. The trouble was, that the molds were designed by the meister, two and a half years ago and never did work right. He had to give up, after many tries. What was he trying to do, test me, to see if I could do it? Or did he want to brag that those molds do work? They would not work in that configuration. I tried several ways, and without success. The meister came, several times a day and saw me struggle. He finally said.

"If you can't do it, you have to return the money." This stung me worse then an insult. I was still at an age when I didn't learn, that certain things are impossible. That night, I stayed until midnight, and I did it. I cast the first mold. I waited until it was dry enough to get it out of the form. It was not too dry, and not too soft. It came out of the form without damage. I cleaned it with a knife and a sponge, until there was no sign that it came out of the mold. I hid my creation in the safest drying rack, where it was really well hidden.

Working late last night, and euphoric with my success, I was late that morning. When I came in, the meister had a face like a thunderstorm, and yelled at me,

"Not only you can't do the simplest jobs, but you don't come to work on time, just like some f...... capitalist. You bring the money right now, or you are fired."

"No need to get excited. I worked until past midnight, and did the job. The forms were defective and I had to redesign them."

"You what? You did get the figurine out of this mold?" For a moment his face lit up, but something forced him back into anger.

"Where is the figurine, then." I was already at the rack, turning very slowly, and standing the creation on the bench. The light from the window and the lamps, fully illuminated the sleek lines of the young female, in the pose of shooting an arrow.

A sound of surprise and admiration came out of the few people, daring to stand around, while the boss was fuming.

He looked at the figurine from all angles, trying to find a blemish, but the first one always has to be perfect, to pass detailed inspection. He couldn't say there was anything wrong with it, not after the spectators expressed their approval. In addition, this was really his creation, and he didn't know that I knew.

"I want eight of them, in a month. Glaze them in white on white and get the ovens to give you a priority." He left.

To me, glazing Diana white on white, was waste of the objects d'art, so I did some calculations. He wants eight white, two for breakage and two for my psychedelic colors. Like pink, bright luminous green, the bow and arrow black as death, her hair real gold. I have to make twelve, to be reasonably sure that I don't have any accidents. I ran the first nine together, and the three separately, because of oven time and scheduling. The first nine came out good. I received another missive, to make some extra, for breakage. The message was funny. It was standard procedure to make more, I'd be silly not to have some for shrinkage.

When the oven was opened, the figurines were standing in a row the faces, all turned up into the sky, and were left that way to cool. In the morning, one was collapsed in a heap, on the oven floor. The meister was right there. He blamed me for opening the furnace, too soon. I was getting, finally, somewhat annoyed at his constant interference. I did not tell him that the other furnace still had three of them. He stood there, unreasonably angry, about things that were not even his concern. He made his final move.

"If anything happens to the eight, you are fired. Don't come to me with any excuses. Just pack your bag and go."

I was so stupid, it cried to high heaven. I was still going to submit to the insults, but an older man caught me in the drying racks, and whispered,

"I thought you were a smart boy. Don't you see that he wants you out? Never mind what you do, you are finished here. There is something going on, that smells rotten. We work like crazy, and the factory is losing money. I tell you, clear out, as soon as possible."

I thanked him and considered, sincerely, what the man said. What if that man wasn't supposed to give me the money, but to the manager, and I was in the office? The whole thing was a case of mistaken identity, and they were afraid that I was going to catch on?

Why didn't I give them a test? My scheming skills woke right up. First, I protected the three, like they were gold. I did one white and the other two the most outstanding colors available to the glazing shop. The three were placed in the small furnace. Their location in the furnace was crucial to me. I placed them in during lunch break, when only the man who warned me was still loading. We placed the three figurines behind a rack of large vases. I helped him to load until they were not visible from the outside. When the door was sealed with fire proof bricks. I went home.

Next day, I supervised the loading of the eight, and tried to put them in the back where the heat was more uniform, but the supervisor contradicted me and ordered, they should be placed in the front so we could see them. I already suspected a rat, so I kept my mouth shut.

While the large furnace was brought up, slowly, to the proper temperature, the little furnace was cooling, three rooms away. I sat by the large furnace and watched the meister, as he was constantly checking the temperature. He never did that before, and, finally, seeing me sitting there, he exploded.

"Don't you have anything better to do, than sit here?" I got up and told him that I got a lot of money for that project and do intent to make sure that nothing will happen to my work.

He left. I walked behind him, until I was sure he had really left. I came back, not even five minutes later. Nobody was by the furnace, not even the man who was supposed to be there, at all times. I looked into the furnace, and one of the figurines was lying on the floor, broken. I searched around. One, eight feet long metal probe was so hot it was as if it just came from the furnace. I quietly left and entered the other red hot furnace, holding my breath. I had to close my eyes, too, and leave, to get safety glasses. This time, I removed my three very hot figurines, out of the furnace and hid them in the mold room. Then I went home.

At seven in the morning, in the furnace room was a commotion of upsetting proportions. The meister raged that he had to fire somebody because there was a penalty for not delivering on time, and he was loosing money, again. Then he saw me.

"You are fired. Pick up your wages and leave right now."

I played stupid.

"What did I do now?"

"You made the last figurine too thick, and it cracked in the furnace. I told you to make enough spares. You made me lose a lot of money and you have just lost your employment."

"Just because you don't have eight? "

"That's right."

I left, and in two minutes I was back with the eighth's figurine in my hands. And there they stood all eight of them.

"Am I still fired?" and all twenty employees held their breath.

"I didn't know you had eight. No, I guess you can stay. If you do things without authorization, you will not last long."

In the door stood two teenage girls, carrying the last two figurines. I placed them next to the white ones, and the light fell on them. The colors were alive, the smooth sleek lines of the huntress invited touching. There was a silence, as if we were afraid to breathe, to spoil the vision.

I left them, standing by the furnace, and went to the office to get my paycheck.

The manager was not asking why I came. He just handed me a prepared envelope. He was expecting me, and knew that I would be dismissed. I could see, that they thought that I was on to something, and they were plugging the leak. I was just at the door, when he made his mistake.

"You stuck your nose into something that was not your business and are paying for it. You might as well know that it was I, who broke those figurines."

I had this urge to teach him a lesson, but he would find out, for himself, soon enough. That kind of people are their own worst enemies. They imagine an enemy, where there is none, and they fight a losing battle against themselves.

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Catalogue Information

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