THE TICKING

THE TICKING

The man sat on a stool at the bar and drank sadly from his glass. He sighed as tears slid down his face.
„Anything wrong, sir? Bad news?“ asked the barman quietly.
No answer.
„Sir, is anything wrong?“ he repeated, concerned.
The man turned his tear-stained face to the barman. „Life. Life is wrong,“ he lamented.
„Maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe you just need a little break, a rest. Another drink?“ the barman consoled him and poured him another when he nodded his consent. „Just pack up and get away for a week… maybe somewhere by the sea. “
„I was just by the sea not long ago,“ the man sighed and wiped the tears from his face with his palm.„And nothing. “
„So go to a spa or to the mountains.“
„I was at a spa two months ago….It didn’t help. “
„You’re a tough case. Dr. Martin may be the only one who can help you
– great psychologist. He’s got the best reputation in town. “
„He can’t help.“
„How can you say that? Go see him. He’ll help you. “
„No, that’s not possible, “the man sobbed.
„Why not?! “
„I’m Doctor Martin…“

■
I go to an English course, and I found this short story, which could just as well be about me, in one of the textbooks. My name isn’t Martin – it’s Jan. Jan Eimut, and friends call me Jene. Of course I’m not as famous as Martin, but I am a psychologist, and at the moment in the same mental state as Martin. I don’t usually go to bars. I usually get drunk at home, which is of course worse, because there is no barman to console me. There is no one to console me. I guess that’s why I don’t let anyone get close to me. I’m all alone. Night after night I sit with a glass in my hand, drinking and muddling through life. A year ago my wife left me. I know that as a psychologist I should be able to handle a situation like that, but I can’t. We’d been together for fifteen years! We’d wanted children, couldn’t have them. We really tried. We went to all the doctors - and nothing. All those horrible tests we went through said that we were both healthy. And still nothing. Nothing.
Then my wife found someone else. A rich businessman. After some time she left me for him, said I was useless and that she couldn’t wait anymore. It’s been a year – and she doesn’t have a kid with him either. But at least she has money. Maybe.
I can’t get used to it. I don’t think it’s something you can get used to. I’m alone. All alone. I’m forty-two – as they taught us in English class - I’m forty-two.
And time goes on.
The English class was an instinctual thing. I took it up in a subconscious attempt to grasp on to something, to save myself. Maybe it worked – at least one evening a week I’m not getting drunk, and I get to be among people. Otherwise I’m alone and have no one to talk to.
Until one time.
Something strange happened to me. I was sitting on my terrace at home, staring into the dark and drinking. I was talking out loud to my wife – saying that she’s a whore, that I hate her and that rich bastard, that I’d kill her and him too, that she shouldn’t have done this to me.
And then – that I understood her, that maybe I could forgive her, that I still loved her… Katerina, come back!
I was speaking into the dark and no one was answering. Speaking, speaking. Silence. No answer. Drunk with loneliness and alcohol I turned my head toward the dark sky – toward the bright moon.
„See that? Do you hear that?“ I called to his face.
To my amazement, the moon answered, „I see you, Jene, and hear you too.“
“Am I nuts?”, I thought. Or did I just imagine it? „What do you see?“ I whispered timidly.
„What do I see? An unhappy man who feels alone. So alone that he’s calling to me in the heavens. So alone, that in his desperate loneliness he looks into my eyes and hears my voice.“
It scared me. Made me think I shouldn’t drink anymore. Had I gone mad? „Why do I hear you?“ I asked stupidly.
„You have a gift, and ability, feeling and imagination that not everyone has. And with that, you have pain and despair. That is why you hear me.“
„Isn’t it possible without the pain and despair?“
„It is. But the pain is like an exponent. A number raised to the second power, and desperation is that number raised to the third,“ he explained to me. „The pain in your soul makes you more aware of everything around you. Even of me.“
And that is how my conversations with the moon began. My wife gone, no children, and no close friends - just a few acquaintances that I wouldn’t want to bother with my troubles. And so I hurry, if I can, to get home, sit in my wicker chair on the terrace, and philosophise into the dark night.
„Yes, I’m in a bad place right now. I’m alone and I can’t stand it. I can’t see the light. All day I listen to my patients’ stories, which doesn’t help at all. But I like my work. Where would I be without it? When I’m working I can switch off my own problems. For a while I forget. The problem is that all day I hear nothing positive. No one comes to my office and says that it’s a beautiful, sunny day outside, that the air smells like spring and the streets are full of beautiful girls. Instead the exhausted manager comes wanting to know how to live so that his life has a purpose. Or the young girl comes, sick with bulimia, all skin and bones – and says that she’s fat. Or, and right now I have a really terrible case, the guy who was just let out of prison comes. He was tyrannized by the other prisoners and he just wants to forget it all so he can sleep. How can I come home in the evening to that empty house, my head full of the dirt, pain and suffering of this world and not drink? “
The moon apparently regarded this as a rhetorical question, and didn’t answer.
„I can‘t,“ I answered myself. „I would go mad. I really would go mad.“
„Drinking night after night is no answer,“ the moon came awake. „You already are going mad. It’s simply another path to the same place. Just a lot shorter.“
„I know this! I’m a psychologist and I know how these things end. I knew what to say to the guy who came in with similar problems. I insisted to him, in a scientific and important way, that cases like his were quite common, that he certainly had nothing to fear, and that we would handle it together. Then we analyzed everything, took it all apart and looked for answers. I’m sure he left with the feeling that someone (me) cared about him, and eventually realized that things weren’t so bad – that things were better. And why had he even come anyway? Good work by the psychologist. But who will convince me?“ I raised my voice at this last sentence so he would understand why I had brought this man up. „All psychology is a bit of a fraud,“ I sighed resignedly before heating up again. „I was lying to that guy, letting him think that I was professionally diagnosing his mental state. The truth is that his feelings of loneliness stemmed from the fact that he really was alone. Like me – he didn’t have a wife, didn’t have children, didn’t have friends. He was alone. But I managed to persuade him that he had been professionally led out of a crisis. The reality of it is, however, that the relief he experienced actually came after he had found another woman. His solitude was no longer so tortuous – he told me this and thanked me for returning him to his life. I really felt like a fraud. And the worst part was when he added, with tears in his eyes, that he’d found that woman thanks to me. No, he was no fool. Just a normal guy who put his trust in me. But who will lie to me? Who? Can you tell me? I’m a psychologist who desperately needs a psychologist.“
I was almost screaming those last few sentences, until I finally took a deep breath, and a dog started barking in the neighbor’s garden.
„You’re silent. You can’t tell me,“ I whispered.
„What should I tell you?“ shouted the moon. „Just like I can’t mercifully mislead a surgeon who is dying of lung cancer, neither can I reassure you when your soul is in distress. You have to just pull yourself together and believe.“
„Believe?! In whom or in what should I believe?“
„In a miracle, in love. Simply believe in something.“
„Love, love – nonsense,“ I countered drunkenly.
„You want advice, and when I give it to you, you refuse it. I can’t help you.“
„There is no help for me? That sounds horrible coming from you,“ I woke up a bit and drank some wine.

In this dream I climbed up to the moon and together we looked down…
„That light below us, those are dreams,“ he said, „and those clouds – that is love.“

“I can’t be helped,“ I repeated, anxiety spreading over me from the words. I quickly took it back. No, it’s not all so bad. Every Tuesday evening I go to English class. One bright spot after all. I’m not trying to fool myself into thinking that someday I’ll learn to speak English fluently, but I always go to class. There are about ten of us, and most are women of various ages. It’s refreshing when we talk about the difference between I’m hungry and I’m angry, or when we sing Blowing in the Wind – then we feel like schoolkids who still have everything in front of them.
I like to watch the women. For example, I realized that they move their lips particularly beautifully when they pronounce foreign words. Take the word before – the lips first touch each other, the upper teeth brush the lower lip and then the lips form an O as the breath comes out. Thrilling, exciting.
And in the evening, when it gets dark, I sit on my terrace at home, pour myself a glass of wine and start a conversation with the moon.
Then I asked, “You say that you’re only a spectator – the one who sees all the threads that tie us humans together. What are you talking about? How am I to understand that?“
“I have been travelling the sky for millions of years,“ he answered, “and from these heavens above, and with these millions of years of experience, I see each of you. I see into your hearts and into your souls and I see that you are all connected by one thin thread. You are all somehow connected. Some of you are firmly anchored in the web of those close to you. Some of you hang on one or two threads…“
“And me?“ I interrupted impatiently. „What about my threads?“
“Your threads?“ he thought about it. “I see one – it’s hanging behind you,
torn off…“
“Katerina?“ I asked.
“Katerina.“
“And what else? Tell me what else you see?“ I urged him.
“I see one more thread. It’s distinct and it leads… to the future. I can’t tell you anything else about it.“
“You can‘t?“ I wondered. „Why? Who can tell you what you can and can’t do? You’re a heavenly body. You are the universe!“
“Yes, I am, and I could look into the future, but you small human beings are forbidden to know your future.“
“Why?“
“Because you couldn’t handle it. You are mortal, and if you knew the end of your days, you wouldn’t be able to live normally. It’s for your own good that you are not to know your own future.“
“I don’t want to know when I’m going to die, but who this thread that you’re talking about is connected to,“ I persisted.
The moon remained silent, maybe trying to see the end of the thread, and then as if he were scrutinizing it, he answered just to himself „Sometimes it’s all connected.“

■
“Are you sleeping?“ she whispered. „Look at that beautiful moon.“
He didn’t answer. He was lying on his stomach with his head turned toward Eva and his eyes closed.
“Are you sleeping?“
He raised his hand in answer, touched her bent leg and edged his hand up slowly – from the knee, along her smooth thigh, slowly, very slowly – across her hips to her naked lap. “Stop it,“ she whispered, but didn’t move away.
She used those two words often. She knew that in a way they excited him, whispered while he’s touching her, and also that they seem placating and soothing when they’re having one of their arguments. Even now they had their effect. He opened his eyes, lifted his head, looked into her eyes and then with an unwavering expression, and as if following the traces of his hands, he began to kiss her tenderly – on the knee, the thigh, the hips…
“Stop it. He’s looking at us.“
He stopped. “What? Who is looking at us?“
“The moon – the beautiful moon.“
“Come on, what are you talking about?,“ he didn’t get upset and continued kissing her tenderly.
“Let him look,“ he said, without even turning his head.
She watched the shining disc. It peered into the room with all its magnitude. She stretched out her legs and toes as if she wanted to touch it; she reached for its center. She didn’t notice the touch of Karel’s lips, just the light of the moon which slid along her skin and arched along the curves of her legs and hips.
Then the scene broke when Karel blocked the light of the moon with his body and pulled her bent legs almost up to her breasts. In this discomfort she no longer trusted his tender kisses, and primeval instincts took over. As always – it was now each for himself… Once she had written: our lovemaking – two bodies wrestling together for the spoils.
Through the half open window, through which the moon had peered into Karel’s room, daylight now streamed. Even through the closed blinds, flashes of sunlight hinted at the sunny morning. Eva slowly came awake. She lay on her back and resisted opening her eyes.
Thoughts rambled through her mind – I’m awake, it’s morning, Karel….She opened her eyes. The rays of sunlight through the blinds broke up the darkness of the room. She leaned on her elbows. The space next to her was empty. “Help,“ she moaned.
Through the open doors of the kitchen a newspaper rustled. “Get up, lazy. It’s almost eight.“
She fell back on the pillow „Now, at night? No, I don’t want to.“
A chair scraped in the kitchen and Karel appeared in the doorway, just as God had created him. “You know that joke…“
“Don’t tell me jokes in the morning. I can’t stand it!“ she buried her face in the pillow.
“A telephone rings in a hotel room…“ Karel wouldn’t be discouraged. “A sleepy man fumbles with the phone. ‘Hello?’ ‘Good morning, this is reception,‘ he hears a pleasant female voice, ‚Are you the guest who wanted to be woken up at seven o’clock?‘ ‚Yes, that’s me.‘ ‚Well, come on! Get up! It’s almost nine!‘ “
She laughed despite herself. „Jesus, that is so dumb you have to laugh.“
He sat down on the bed by her with an ambiguous look on his face.
“Would you like to be woken up nicely?“
“You already woke me up nicely.“
“Would you like to be woken up in a nicer way?“ he nuzzled up to her.
“No… I’ve already laughed enough this morning,“ she wriggled out of his arms.
“Now hold on, are you saying making love with me is something to laugh about?“ He was shocked.
“Sometimes it’s even a horror.“
He thought about whether this was an insult, but Eva had already jumped out of bed and opened the blinds.
Right after breakfast Karel hurried to get to his office by nine, even though he was the owner of his own company (which produced promotional items).
Eva refused his offer of a ride and said she would take a morning walk through Prague. Home was less than fifteen minutes away, and walking made her feel good. It really was a beautiful morning. It was the end of April and the warming sun made one forget the winter that, even in March, seemed like it would never end. It shone into the people’s pale faces and brought life back to them. Like on every other grey day, people were rushing in all directions, but in this light it was somehow more joyful, as if this time they were going someplace different.
Slowly walking down the sunny side of the street, she stole glances at the faces, felt the ubiquitous energy and tried to soak it in. She often had a problem sharing the mood of the crowd, the general merriment or general sadness, but in this moment her joyful feeling prevailed. The waves of skepticism and anxiety that occasionally flooded her mind were calmed by the rays of spring sunlight, and like a well-built boat, she could bob along on those waves with thoughts and the awareness of the success she had achieved – yes, she wasn’t even yet thirty and she was a good writer, at least good enough that she didn’t have to rush off to an office at seven every morning. She made a living at it, sometimes. Sometimes just barely, but she could wander down the street in the morning, warm herself in the spring sunlight, sit in the park, dream… think about how her character’s story would continue, write a note in her notebook, an idea – like the one now – she writes it into her memory: the hero of my book is a coward… It doesn’t really fit anywhere, but it seems funny. Maybe she’ll use it sometime, but probably not. Maybe tomorrow it’ll seem stupid.
Sometimes there were feelings of gloom and doubt, maybe as the price for her comfort, but she was probably just overthinking things. But how else? – after all she goes deep into the thoughts of her characters. She lets herself down on a thin rope to the depths of their consciousness, and then like a miner, there in a sweat, she digs and extracts before clawing her way back up. She empathizes with their fates, experiences their joy and pain – and writes…
Yes, writing is beautifully intoxicating – to think up a story, and characters, give them names, an appearance and nature, look into their dreams and determine their lives’ paths. When she writes, she’s like God – she creates a world, her world, in which her rules apply.
She decided not to hurry home, the sun was so pleasantly warming.
Immersed in her thoughts, she walked down the street, turned left, then right, five stone steps down and she was in the park. She had her choice of empty benches. She sat on one that had been nicely warmed by the sunlight. She closed her eyes and put her head back toward the sun. Yes, it was about going down into the consciousness of her characters and empathizing with their fates. She had always been sensitive and overly aware. This often made her glad because it allowed her to do the work that she does – write. But sometimes she regretted it, because she saw earlier and deeper into things that were often better left unseen.
It also often happens, without her even intending it, that her literary characters reflect the characteristics, moods or behavior of real people who exist around her. So for example, she is writing about a dying feeling, about love which is no longer like it once was – and then with a start she recognizes herself and Karel in those two young people. Even she herself doesn’t know where the thought came from. After all, everything was fine. Or wasn’t it? She’d been with Karel for three years. She slept at his place a couple of nights, and then he slept at her place, because she had her own flat too. They went to the cinema, out with friends to a restaurant, took trips, a week by the sea in the summer, in the mountains in the winter. Everything was as it should be, but even so, lately she’d been feeling… how to say it? Alienated? Cold? Disinterested? No, those words were too strong and couldn’t express her feelings and the real state of their relationship precisely. Surely it wasn’t so serious and she shouldn’t be so hypersensitive, she would tell herself.
Her little sensors, however, detected a slight vibration and just a glimpse of a shadow in his eyes. But this was enough – just the flash of a shadow and everything was shaken.
Yes, some things were better left unseen.


Outside the window the moon shines, coloring the night white
– the color of a small and silly love - which has died away

She opened her eyes and a stream of light banished the shadow from her mind.
Why did her thoughts run in this direction? Even this morning she was thinking of life with Karel – she now realized it. Right after waking up, and then when Karel was making his jokes, thoughts went through her head, somewhere in the back of her mind, thoughts about their relationship. It’s not like it once was!
She shut her eyes again and returned to her memory. Karel had already left when she went naked into the bathroom – she liked to walk around the flat that way, as long as she was alone, but even Karel’s presence usually didn’t stop her. There was a feeling of freedom in her body and soul. In that moment, however, absorbed in thought, she didn’t even notice it. They had made love in the evening, but it was as if there was no love in it. Only their bodies’ thirsts were quenched. Their bodies drank, but their souls, at least hers, remained thirsty. She thought more about those moments in the morning. How she had turned on the shower to wash away the rest of the night and all its gloom. How the flow of the water drowned out her thoughts of Karel. How the warm rain fell on her face when she put back her head. It drummed on her skin and closed eyelids, flowed down her shoulders and between her breasts, slid down her stomach and caressed her thighs, the stream clattering on the bottom of the metal tub. She stood there, her whole body absorbing the warmth, moving only her face slightly away, as it hurt from the lashings. Then she closed her eyes, but with her head leaned back she noticed the light from the lamp above the mirror as it penetrated her eyelids - luminous darkness, she thought, and the rain from the shower hummed monotonously.
She listened. She breathed the steam in through her nose, and the roar of the rain sounded strange – like a windstorm. The combination of these sounds ripped through her mind and made her think of eternity and the time that had passed and which will continue to pass. She saw the Earth, the Moon and the Sun which together run through the universe.
In this moment of insight she saw herself floating upstream against the current of time. At first slowly, then faster, ever faster, and finally at an insane speed where everything fused in a blur of color. The windstorm abated, the flight slowed, the contours returned to the picture and she saw herself – a child. Perhaps she was the daughter of prehistoric hunters who huddled in a cave trembling with the fear of the incomprehensible…
Could she confide in Karel with some of these thoughts? She couldn‘t.
She saw the sun through her closed eyelids. Luminous darknes, she thought again.
She listened. What did the sounds of the park awaken in her? Rustling tree branches. Approaching steps which don’t stop and immediately move away. Distant voices. Birdsong. Noise from a nearby street full of cars. A few seconds of silence – when she hears her own breath, but then again immediately voices, birds, cars. The ubiquitous presence does not allow her to enter the space, against or with the flow of time. One can’t dream at ten in the morning. All her senses were fully awakened and her focus forward. They wanted to take it all in – to see, hear, feel…
In the luminous darkness under her eyelids she then saw – a penis. It reared, drenched in September sun, like a messenger from the universe, like the lord of the world.
She opened her eyes. No, you couldn’t dream at ten in the morning – but the warm rays of spring sun can thaw the images that lay in hibernation somewhere in the mind.
She laughed.
She ran up the stone steps and headed for home.

■
I awoke with difficulty. My heavy eyelids wouldn’t open. Cold,
terrible cold.
Wake up, open your eyes, I prodded myself.
Finally. I looked out through the slits of my swollen eyelids. God… I was sitting in the chair; I’d slept here all night. I could only move my eyes, and I rolled them in all directions attempting to get my bearings. I was sitting – lying – in the chair. Cold, cold. I tried to lift my left arm, which was behind me. I couldn’t. “I have to get myself on the ground,” flashed through my mind.
I leaned over and with great effort edged out of the chair and onto my knees. My left arm was asleep and wouldn’t cooperate. I tried to move my fingers. They moved only stiffly. It took a few minutes before I could manage to stand up. On the small table I saw an empty bottle and a glass lying on its side in the chair. Only then did I remember the crisis of the night before and was disappointed in my failure. Where had my commitment to a new life gone? Ugh…
The light above the mirror in the bathroom ruthlessly exposed the state of my soul and punished me for yesterday’s attempt to drink myself out of this world. I was forty-two years old, I looked right now like fifty and I felt one hundred.
With both hands I leaned over the sink and looked into the mirror. At thirty my hair had already started thinning, which created a bald spot. Maybe I’d made the right decision in not trying to save it with a comb-over, instead going for a very short haircut. As long as my hair is cut to a few millimeters, I look neat, kind of sporty, maybe even youthful….but not great. Now with my hair at this length it looked too long, sticking out comically.
Eyes? They’re brown, big – and they’re able to “speak“. They’re able to praise, reprimand, ask and answer, caress and laugh – they could even kill. Now, however, they were silent. They just looked at the reflection in the mirror and were perhaps a little frightened by the face decorated with the two red buttons. I don’t know you, but I’ll wash you, I remembered the dumb joke.
Then it was time for shaving. And when I’d had a hot shower and then a cold shower right after that, I felt much better. The cold water after the shaving tightened up my skin a bit. And my eyes? No, they weren’t laughing, but they weren’t killing.
I didn’t even consider food, so I just sat down in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, and with the remote control turned on the TV that I had on the shelf. Katerina had wanted it there. “If I’m cooking on Sunday and you’re watching TV in the living room, then I need a little company in here,“ she said.
Now it was keeping me company.
The news. Several dead on the highway, a nighttime robbery at a gas station, murder…The world entered my flat..
I always wondered what good it was to tell people that ten people had died on the highway yesterday, two were murdered, something was stolen, someone cheated. For what? A lesson? A warning? Nonsense. The disasters on the screen are so far away they might as well be from another world. Almost no one learns anything, and today more people will die, there will be two murders and more robberies. Only the most sensitive people, those who don’t take risks in cars, don’t murder, and don’t steal, are really scared by the news.
And their conviction that the world is a very dangerous place to live in will only become stronger. And they will close themselves off even more, feel even more anxious and more distrustful…until one day they end up in my office.
That is the only thing the news is good for. Otherwise it’s for nothing. Yes, of course it raises the ratings – that’s what it’s about. Most people yearn to see the misery of others, and in the warmth of their living rooms are hypnotized by the crippled fates of those who were struck by misfortune yesterday.
The weather forecast. Finally. I turned the sound off with the remote. This is the game I prescribed for myself when the pain over losing Katerina became unbearable.
“Hi. How are you?“ I greeted the pretty girl and read her lips.
“Fine, but I feel like sleeping more. And you?“
“Yeah, it’s the same for me. I’d like to sleep….and I have a headache.“
“You shouldn’t drink in the evening. That’s what it’s from.“
“I promised myself that I wouldn’t anymore, but…“
“So promise me. Say: yes, I promise here and now that I won’t drink anymore.“
“I promise here and now…“ I felt like a crazy person. “I am a crazy person, who talks to the television.“
“And to the moon.“
“Are you making fun of me?“
“No, God forbid. I also talk – with the moon, with the sun, with the clouds – look I have pictures here of all of them.“
“You’re making fun of me. You’re twenty-five and you don’t know what loneliness is. You’re beautiful, so how could you know? Your world is full of nice words that try to capture your attention, and full of looks that silently try to do the same. Loneliness – you know it when you suddenly find yourself in it.“
“I guess you’re right. Yes, I’m young. Is that a sin? Is it a sin that I inspire love?“
“A sin? Of course it’s a sin. Because, what is a sin? It irritates and frustrates those of us who are disappointed, resentful and aging. A sin – it’s your young body in the eyes of an old woman. Your bright smile when she only has teeth in a glass on the night table. Your nakedness, when she will only undress with the lights off. A sin is your love when I whisper to the moon in the night. A sin is the guy who made you laugh… while I just babble on here.“
The two hosts from Good Morning smile on the silent screen.
My office is in the city, but more and more often I see my patients here. I’m seriously considering giving up my office in the city and working at home.
Today I’ll stay here. The former prisoner will come in the afternoon, and I have to prepare. Suddenly I felt nauseated. Residual alcohol? I thought about it. What next?
Well, it’s not so hard to answer that question myself – I’ll drink myself to death if I don’t get it together. I know better than anyone how it will turn out. There are a few men, and even women, who come to therapy having thought that they could wash away their pain, gloom and shadows with alcohol.
They didn‘t.
It just looks like that at first, I tell them – the world seems disgusting, people evil – you drink five beers and everything is fine and happy, the gloom has been washed away. In the morning, however, you realize that along with all those problems that you’ve flushed into the cesspool, you’ve also flushed a piece of yourself. Just a little bit, maybe not even enough to notice, or maybe you just smooth over the missing piece.
And so you keep drinking – and little by little you find yourself in that cesspool, stinking of booze, and full of worries, gloom, and shadows.
Yeah, that’s what I tell my patients.
Yes, ladies and gentleman, that’s how things are – and I am here so that I can pull you, standing chest deep and desperately stretching out your hands, out of the gutter.
Maybe a bit of a peculiar explanation, but it works – and some understand.
But who will pull me out?
Silence.
I stayed in the kitchen a while longer and then went to my office.
It’s a smallish room on the top floor with a few pieces of furniture. Two wardrobes by the wall, shelves with books, a sofa, a comfortable chair and a massive desk that dominates everything. It doesn’t go with the wardrobes and the veneered shelves made of particle board. It’s enormous, massive, honest. I remember how hard it was to get it up the stairs to the office. We even had to take the banister off so we could turn with it, but it simply had to be in the office. Before that it belonged to my mother. She used to sit at it in the evenings and write poems which she’d then recite to me. When she died, we gradually changed almost all the furniture in the house, but I kept the desk and I guard it as a precious relic.
Often when I sit down to it, I remember my mother and her tender little rhymes, which even now seemed as if they were rising from the rings on the massive desk: Are you sleeping little Jan? You’re not sleeping. Sleeping, sleeping – and in the dream you’re dreaming…
Unfortunately, in contrast with mother’s verses, at this desk I study the records of my patients’ statements, and it’s usually not such fun reading or listening.
It’s my job. What can I do? This desk forces one to be honest, so it’s to the benefit of my patients that here I often find answers to their questions, and medicine for their misery.
I turned on the recorder and started the recording of the last session with the former prisoner “To lose your freedom, be closed in, is in itself a bad thing,“ his confession started. „I broke the law, yes – I had sex with an underage girl…It wasn’t rape. We loved each other. She was fourteen and I was almost thirty… We really loved each other. I should have known better, but I lost my head. And then it all came crashing down. Angry parents, jail, interrogation, and in the end a trial.
I got two years.
I’m a sensitive person. I took it terribly, and I was horribly afraid… and what you fear most usually comes to pass, doesn’t it?
Losing your freedom is in itself a bad thing… I don’t think I’m able to talk about all of it, but besides the loss of freedom, there was exposure to violence and humiliation from the other prisoners. And even the guards.
I saw evil. I don’t know what else to call it. It was absolute evil. Evil, that even after all these years, wakes me up at night. Evil which…stank like those mattresses that I laid on. Evil that suffocated… like the stale air in the cells. It was the moisture that gathered on the windows…and the drops ran down and drew more bars – there was no escape.
Two years. Two years. Those thieves and rapists preached to me about morality…
They called me Fucker… No, I can’t talk about it.“
“Try to,“ I persuaded him gently. “Talk it out.“
After a while he calmed down a bit and then spoke.
I hadn’t scheduled anyone else today other than the prisoner, and I didn’t have group therapy until one, so I listened to the recording for the rest of the morning. I made notes, and it was only with difficulty that I could maintain some distance from the horrors coming out of the recorder.
When I went to a nearby restaurant for lunch shortly after eleven, I felt distress, hopelessness, and that feeling of resignation that comes with winter, all settle in my mind.

■
And suddenly I had a thought. It swooped in from somewhere in the universe of my brain, shining like a comet – yes a comet is what I would compare it to. It wasn’t a new thought; I knew I’d had it before. It flew in and waved with its tail. Only at that time, the sky – my mind – was overcast with worries about children, family, work…
Today was much clearer.
She stopped. Held her breath so as to not scare it away.
Yes. Yes, that’s it.
She continued walking, slowly at first, then faster as the tempo of her thoughts picked up. She ran out of the park.
The sunlight blinded her, but she was oblivious to it. Her mind was working on an idea…
Yes.

Eva stretched her tired back and comfortably leaned back in the chair in front of the computer with her hands clasped behind her head.
She read over the few sentence she had written and was satisfied. She had succeeded in capturing the moment when her heroine Marta came to the decision that would change her life.
Yes, writing was intoxicatingly beautiful.
It was only the beginning of the story, but she already knew that she would like this woman. Once she’d taken her through the whole book all the way to its happy ending and she’d written the last lines, she’d be sad to say goodbye.
The end was far away. They still had a lot to go through together. She would put all her fantasies into this story. Perhaps she’d conquer unknown places in the human soul. She knew where to look for those places. They were deep, down at the bottom of every soul, where one could only descend on the end of a thin rope.
She would try.
She would descend to the bottom and uncover layers that had been forming for centuries…

… She walked naked into the bathroom. The mirror again her companion for today. She turned the water on in the bathtub and today, unusually, looked repeatedly at her reflection.
The light was flatteringly dim and suddenly it occurred to her that it wasn’t so bad:
I’m still a beautiful woman!
She stepped into the tub and the heat of the water rose to her body and even warmed her mind. She slowly sat down and stretched herself back until her hair dipped in the warm water. Then, leaning on her elbows, she raised her head… and suddenly felt the weight of her hair as it had been years before.
She closed her eyes and was sure that she was a fairy again, with long, heavy hair.
„Turn around for me!“ she remembered his excited words - and she did as he said, her hair lifting as she turned, circling her body from the momentum so that her breasts glowed out of the black like... How did he say it? Like two volcanoes ready to erupt.
The running water drummed on the surface and drowned out the world.
She hesitated for a moment, and then shifted in the bath until the water was pouring in her lap. It fell between her thighs, pulsated, shattered, sprayed…and roughly stroked, patiently stroked. Oh, life!
The sound under the surface darkened, rumbling monotonously as if from the bowels of the Earth. Her breath quickened and her breasts, like two volcanoes above the water, were ready to explode.
Then the harsh, unrelenting force broke through the thin crust and released a geyser of hot lava which flooded her body…
Panting, surprised with herself.
When did I last experience such pleasure? She thought back. Has it only been months? Or is it already a year?
She couldn’t remember.
When she lay down to bed, the curious mood of this evening remained with her.
She finally knew what would happen next.
She fought back the tears, but they rolled from her eyes. Don’t cry, just don’t cry…
She didn’t wipe away her tears, but sleep stopped them coming. They dried on her face and changed into invisible crystals of salt, an avalanche sprinkling small wrinkles, whose rumbling disturbed her dreams.

She had a taste for coffee, so she got up from her computer and went to make it. When the din of the water in the kettle signaled that it was boiling, she laughed because it reminded her of the scene in the bath.
And what of it? Of course it‘s her own special experience. Why, it offers so much – the sweet, warming environment of the bathroom, the uninterrupted nakedness, the pleasant warm water, the roar that drowns out the moans and sighs, and the current – constant, warm, strong…
A woman who insists she hasn’t tried it is lying.
Karel called before noon to tell her he was going out of Prague and had to cancel their lunch together. “I‘ll be back in the evening. Will you come over?“
She let him wait for the answer. “Yeah, I’ll come,“ she sniffed, annoyed at the change of program. „What does that mean – out of Prague?“
“Sorry. I’m going to Pilsen. A company there responded to my proposal - imagine that. I sent them an offer for a shipment of a thousand production labels. I told myself that I’d overdone it and nothing would come of it. And they placed the order! Great! I’m going to work out the details and sign the contract.“
“What does that mean – I’ll be back in the evening?“
“You’re kind of nasty today,“ he grumbled. „Between eight and nine.“
She had another comment about “a company in Pilsen“ on the tip of her tongue but she let it go. Why should she know the name anyway? “So, o.k., I’ll be at your place before nine.“
She hung up. Was she the problem, or was he? Or both of them?
She wouldn’t go to lunch alone. That was exactly the limit of emancipation she didn’t want to cross. A woman alone in a restaurant sends too strong a message: I’m single, childless, desperately looking for someone to marry and have kids with, because as everyone can see, it’s high time. She was exaggerating, but still – she wouldn’t consider going alone.

Jana is the owner of a bookshop. She’s almost a generation older, but she’s a friend who, if it’s possible, will drop everything to help a friend.
And she didn’t let her down even today.
“They’re all the same,“ she comforted her as she sat down at the table by the window. “They should get over themselves.“ In contrast to her petite figure, sweet expression and occupation, which was actually more of a calling, she always spoke directly, almost harshly. Eva never had to go farther for sharper words. Her words never held the ignorance or obtuseness of the football fan, and in order not to degrade or offend, she didn’t use vulgar words unnecessarily. She used her words rather as a shortcut.
“They should get over themselves,“ – it was all in there: mockery of the self-centeredness of men and outrage over their unreliability, but also the determination to get by even without them…
“Don’t you have the feeling that they are…“ she clicked her tongue looking for the right word. “How should I say it? Unfinished, primitive? Don’t give up yet. I’ll help you out.“
Eva sighed in agreement, but Jana went on, “In my next life, I want to be a man. I ask Zbynek how he can lie around watching television all afternoon. He says he’s tired from work. Ha ha. Bullshit he’s tired I tell him, you’re lazy. He goes into an explanation of the historical reasons for the ‚rhythm of life,‘ that for thousands of years they’ve hunted, and they have it in their genes to focus, hunt, rest, focus, hunt, rest….During the day at work he ‚focused and hunted.‘ Now he was resting. You’ve been making fools of us, I tell him, for thousands of years. The truth is, you’ve enslaved the world and especially us women, and now you can afford to live such a life.“
Eva took advantage of the pause and slipped into the debate. “Calm down. It’s not like I’m getting married.
“What’s wrong? Is Karel annoying you?“
“I don’t know,“ Eva continued again, while the waiter served their food. „I just have a feeling lately that things aren’t working. Or that our relationship has put us in another dimension – from ‚I can’t be without you‘ to ‚I can be without you‘.“
“And, God, the only thing left is ‚I don’t want to be with you‘.“
“Exactly. With feelings like that a woman can’t be thinking about a wedding. Let’s change the topic. Ask me what I’m writing.“
“What are you writing?“
“Nothing. I’m searching. But no, I’m writing, writing… Only I don’t know what will come of it. I don’t have a framework. Just a foggy idea that it will be a story of a woman my age, a bit disillusioned with men, with the man she has at home. A woman who is thinking how to go on… A little love, a little sex – so far with a man.“
They both laughed at this last sentence.
“I hope you’ll spice it up….with something a bit stronger.“ said Jana, narrowing her eyes.
Both remained quiet and suddenly the space was filled with a special charge.
Until Eva broke the silence “So far they’re just snippets which maybe I’ll somehow put together. I’m learning to think with the head of a slightly older woman. I’m circling and waiting. I’m curious myself where it will lead.“
“You’re learning to think with the head of a slightly older woman? A woman almost twenty years older? I’m curious what you’ll come up with.“
“Perhaps nothing. It’ll end up in the drawer and I’ll have to start again. And so what?“
Jana was suddenly serious. “Will you have some wine? Rather not, hm?,“ she answered with a sad smile. Suddenly it wasn’t the brash and energetic woman sitting here.
“Is something wrong?“ Eva asked, waving at the waiter.
“I envy you,“ said Jana.
“Envy? Me? What could you envy about me? My troubled relationship with Karel, or my few poorly-selling books?“
“No, no. Even though I could envy you both of those things. Especially the books. Seriously. They’re good. But I envy your enthusiasm… Your taste for a fight. Zest. Youth?“
“You envy me? You envy my enthusiasm and zest? Am I hearing you right?“ Eva reached her hand across the table and with her fingers touched Jana’s arm. „You surprise me. As long as I’ve known you, I’ve wanted to be like you – strong, intelligent, beautiful. What happened?“
“I’m weak, dumb, and ugly?“ sighed Jana sadly.
“What are you talking about? What happened that suddenly you’re sitting here like a pile of unhappiness?“
“I don’t know. I’m getting old. Fatigue or something. For weeks, months, I’ve been thinking about myself. I don’t enjoy work, I don’t enjoy reading, I don’t enjoy writing, men, women…,“ she smiled bitterly. “I’m at an impasse and I don’t know how to get out.“
She noticed the waiter, already back behind the bar, with a slight smile on his face and raised eyebrows – so she slowly pulled her hand from Eva’s touch.
“What will your heroine do with her unhappy life?“ She didn’t wait for an answer and went on, “I found myself a shrink…“
“Wait a second – like a psychiatrist?“
“Not exactly a psychiatrist, but a psychologist.“
Neither said anything. Eva processed this surprising information and Jana enjoyed a sudden sense of relief. The waiter watched them with a sly smile and was sure that these two women who were now gazing long into each other’s eyes, had „something“ together.
“And?“ Eva interrupted the silence.
“And what? I simply have a psychologist. I go to him, I talk, he records it – I allow him to; it’s his method - and at the next session we discuss it and he erases the recording.“
“Does it work? Is it helping you?“
“I’ve been there twice and my next visit is tomorrow. I can’t say. Maybe.“
Eva looked at her incredulously “Who is this guy anyway? How did you find him?“
“Bullshit,“ Jana brushed away the hint of doubt. “He’s fine. My doctor recommended him. Eimut is his name. Jan Eimut. Good looking guy, by the way.“
And that is how Eva first heard the name Jan Eimut. And what of it? She was surprised by the slight chill that she felt.
Again those sensitive little sensors which registered a passing shadow. It occurred to her that everything seemed slightly flared…and she smiled despite herself.

■
It was four o’clock and the prisoner hadn’t come. I sat behind my massive desk and waited. It was the first time that he hadn’t come on time. I read through my notes again. I turned on the recording. “Evil which…stank like those mattresses that I laid on. Evil that suffocated… like the stale air in the cells. It was the moisture that gathered on the windows…and the drops ran down and drew more bars – there was no escape.” I pushed the stop button. I’m ready.
He doesn’t come and he doesn’t come.
Four-thirty. Where was this guy?
Time wore on.
I looked into the tree rings on the desktop and unwittingly traced their shape with my finger. I ran my finger along them, and like the needle of a record player for vinyl records, I sensed with my finger a long-ago sound. „Are you sleeping? You’re not sleeping. Sleeping, sleeping and in the dream you’re dreaming…“ How did it go after that? Almost all the words ended with –ing, making it sound like a song.
I’d forgotten how it went.
Music sounded. It was quiet and friendly – and sounded as if it came from a distance. Or from the depths of time. Even the sing-song rhythm. And finally and old sound, which reminded me of tuning the stations on a radio. A faraway sound that you don’t hear these days anymore. Whistling, humming, rustling…and then voices, music and again whistling. What did it remind me of? The end of the song “I am the Walrus“ by the Beatles.
Yes, exactly.
I like Beatles music. I will never get tired of listening to it, and I’ve listened since childhood. “I’m Eleanor Rigby,” occurred to me, and I don’t know why.
He’s not coming. That’s clear. He could have called.
I decided to use the time to prepare for the next day’s session.
Jana Mala, forty-five years old, bookshop owner, I recalled. Her name fit her – small, pretty brunette. I read in my notes: Mid-life crisis. Children grown, independent, have left home. Routine job which she’s been doing almost twenty years. Married for twenty-five years.
I played the recording from her first visit. “I don’t want to stuff myself with antidepressants because I don’t think my gloomy moods are the result of any mental problem,“ she stated quite sharply, differently than I had expected. I quietly agreed with her.
“It’s probably just several unpleasant factors together. The children have left the nest. Nearly twenty years in a business that really takes nerves – I sell books. You wouldn’t think so, hm? One husband for twenty-five years…I’m not expecting a miracle, but I want some advice about what to do next. I can’t do it myself.“
“From what I’m hearing from you, and my overall impression of you, I have to agree that you’re not in need of medication. And I even have doubts that you’re a case for a psychologist. I apologize, I don’t want to make light of your problems, but really, from what I’ve heard so far I’m not able to discern any anomalies. I would say that everything is basically normal, and if you’re tired from your monotonous job and from your husband, please don’t expect that I will recommend that you change them both. You could be back here within a year saying that everything is a hundred times worse.“
“I know. I guess I’m just not good at describing my problems clearly. You know, I’ve been ‘in books’ for years, and during that time I’ve developed ….how should I say it? A distaste for drawn-out babble. For those long sentences, which you are using right now, and which your presence is forcing me to use too.“
“I’m sorry, really. O.k. Again. Try it your way.“
“Alright. I can’t act like you’re not here, but I’ll try… Everything is really pissing me off, Doctor…“
She got me. You could even hear my laugh on the recording.
Then her tongue came untied and she really let go. She talked and talked, and when she thought it was appropriate, she said: ungrateful bastards, lazy asshole on the couch, or – fuck them all. When we’d finished and she had left, I realized with embarrassment that after that session I somehow felt a sense of relief.
I turned off the recorder and stepped to the window. Outside it was growing dark rapidly because the sky, clear during the day, had become overcast. It hadn’t rained and didn’t look like it was going to, but the clouds brought the evening nearer. It would be a long evening. Again that tightening somewhere in the chest. I’m Eleanor Rigby, I remembered.

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong

I poured myself a glass of wine, turned off the light and sat down in the chair by the window.
From the perspective of my profession, the worse way to stave off anxiety.
The moon was only partially shining through the veil of clouds, but the brighter spot in the sky betrayed its position.
“Do you hear me?“ I tried.
“I hear you. I even see you, Jene,“ boomed the moon from the deep within.
It took me by surprise. I took a sip of wine, “Do you know what songs are? Does music reach you?“
“Of course. Not all music reaches my ears, but that which does, and not only to my ears, but what flies further into space – is beautiful. Seen from space, there is nothing better that you, as human beings, have created.“
“That wouldn’t have occurred to me.“ I wondered aloud, „Music is surely beautiful, but don’t you think that we have achieved even more?”
“Hmm,“ he said doubtfully.
“You don’t like our buildings, our cities, our….work?“
Silence.
“Have you perhaps seen something better somewhere in the universe?“ I kept trying.
“Why do you think your cities are better – than… ant cities for example?“ he said finally, really infuriating me.
“Ant cities? Did I hear you correctly? You’re comparing ant cities with those built by humans?“ I drank the rest of the wine in my glass. He’d really pissed me off.
“Your cities aren’t better,“ he continued fiercely. „You build them in contrast to nature. You don’t respect it. Pompously trying to humiliate it and ….it’s stupid. Ants wouldn’t do that. Even I would never do that.“
I took a breath to defend all of mankind, but then I gave up. „Do we really look so stupid from the heavens?“
“Not only from the heavens.“ After it had been quiet for a while he added apologetically, “But music…you make music beautifully.“
I poured myself another and wondered if I should continue in this discussion.
I took a drink before changing the subject, but the Moon prevented me. “Have you noticed that all your efforts, that struggle that you engage in daily with nature, always slowly, but inexorably, turns against you?“
“What do you mean?“
“Almost everything you do,“ he snapped. “Cities. You build them for your own comfort – big, concrete and asphalt. But so noisy and dirty – that they’re uncomfortable. I sometimes look into ant cities - anthills, as you say – and I’ve never, never seen ants fleeing in droves from their cities to the countryside. They respect the millions of years of proven rules – and they don’t have to run from themselves.“
“Maybe you’re right. You’re definitely right – but only if you judge human activity based on its influence on nature. Almost everything is bad here. But there is another point of view, and from that we are exceptional, unique in the world, and perhaps even in the universe – you would know best. We humans can create! We build houses, theaters, bridges… and we make them beautiful, and they often even speak to the soul. Our sculptures and pictures express emotions – sorrow, joy, love… Who else can do that?“
“What would your sculptures be without my light? Black shadows in a dark night. And nature also creates pictures and sculptures, but you have forgotten to look around you. You don’t see them. The sun setting, the peaks of mountains that rise to the heavens….but those thousands of tiny beauties – except for a few individuals among you – you don’t see. You create things that you think are soulful and beautiful. Perhaps they are – but only for you. They don’t reach the universe. No, I repeat, the only thing that you are exceptional in, is your ability to create music. You have created it, and can rightly be proud of it. Nothing else. Nothing worth mentioning.“
“What about our technology?“ I fought on. “Isn’t it wonderful what we have achieved?
Look – a mobile phone – if I want I can call… to Australia! I just punch in the number and I can speak with a friend in Australia…“
“Give me at least one reason why it’s good to be able to call Australia. As far as I know, you don’t have any friends there.“
This is how absurd our conversation was. Time and wine flowed on. Where had my resolve gone… We could have gone on trumping each other’s arguments all night, until the new day washed over us, but that didn’t happen.
“Does God exist?“ I asked, right as the mobile phone on the table started to ring.
A sign – the first thing that occurred to me.
“Australia,“ the Moon muttered tersely.
I squinted at the display, it blinded me, and so the wine had done its – I gave up. “Hello? This is Eimut…“
“Good evening, Dr. Eimut… I’m calling … I don’t even know why… perhaps, just to say goodbye…“
I immediately sobered up. The prisoner. The prisoner was calling me! “What are you saying? Why are you saying goodbye? Where are you going? Are you driving somewhere?“ I poured out questions out in apprehension.
“I’m not driving away…I’m flying away.“
“Where are you flying to? Where are you calling from?“
“Where am I calling from?“ He was quiet, and for a few long moments we listened to each other breathe. “I’m ending it, Doctor… I can’t go on. I’m sitting in the window of my flat and I know it’s ending. Nothing will stop me… Before I do it I just wanted to tell you … thank you for everything you did for me. But there is no help for me… Don’t blame yourself… Without you I would have done it long ago…“
I shivered with the way he spoke so calmly. I recalled the ten-storey building and how he lived on the highest floor. In a flash I had decided: “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Give us both a chance. Go back into your flat and wait for me. Give us both a chance, I’m coming immediately,“ I spewed incoherently. „Hello? Do you hear me?“ He didn’t answer. He’d hung up. I hurriedly pulled my sweater over my head and ran down the stairs to the garage in the basement. I drove out of the garage. I set out on my way, not even wasting time to close the gate.
Prague had not yet gone to sleep. It danced as if decorated with lights. Yes, it was a dance. A wild dance. It was a whirl of lights that I found myself in the middle of.
Surprised, I ignored the lights that flashed all around, and just hurried. There, to where I could see and where thousands of lights twinkled and looked like stars in the August sky, there where he was waiting for me, perhaps even more desperate and more in despair than I was myself.
Even in my mind the lights danced. Had the world around pervaded me, or had my turbulent mind spilled out into the space around? A light storm. I noticed that it wasn’t thundering. Flashes of light streaked across each other, but the thunder was missing. It was quiet. And in this quiet I was reminded of the question: does God exist? I sat there for a moment at the light at the intersection. The silent storm arrested. Through the windows I looked around and searched for the bright spot in the sky where the moon was hiding. I didn’t find him in the flood of light around me. “Do you hear me? Does God exist?“ I screamed.
No answer. The lights began moving again. Faster, faster, faster. Quiet lightning intersected the space, crossing over itself and entering my mind… Suddenly it thundered menacingly.

■
Slumped in the chair, he listened to the hum of the shower. He rubbed his head with the towel and left his hair to dry. Without combing it he looked like a porcupine.
Marta walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her body, the knot at her breast, and with another towel, carefully dried her hair. He watched her with a mischievous smile on his lips. The towel around her body was narrow and could only cover her top or her bottom. She chose to compromise and knotted it so her chest swelled above, and half her bottom peeked out.
“What are you smiling so slyly at?“ she checked herself from the knot down.
“Oh, nothing. I just – it’s so nice with you. Come here.“
She stepped toward him, still drying her hair with the towel. He put his arms around her naked thighs.
“Let me go, my hair is wet,“ she begged, but didn’t move from his embrace..
He stroked her thighs, then moved his hand upward, higher, past her hips, under the towel and up to her cool breasts… The knot didn’t hold and the towel slid down to the floor.
She leaned toward him for a kiss. Her not-quite-dry hair fell over his face….With a smile she pulled back “Hold on, let me finish, otherwise I’ll look like you.“
She closed the door of the bathroom behind her and, with the hairdryer, blew dry her mane of hair.
Then she combed it. Hair – it’s still the best thing I have, she complimented herself. Forty-nine sounds awful, but not even her figure was bad.
She raised her arms and laced her fingers behind her head. Breasts like before, but only when I have my arms up. If I put them down, it’s worse, worse, even worse….forty-nine. No, that’s in the past. Now it was year zero.
She leaned closer toward the mirror “Happy zero birthday…“ She was startled by her own words. He was twenty-two years younger. She could be his mother. The thought invaded her mind, but she pushed it out again. And so what? What of it? Why should she chase him away? Why shouldn’t she live her dream?
Yes, she remembered, it all started with a dream.
In the dream she put the stethoscope to his chest. “Are you afraid of me? Your heart is beating as if you’ve just run a race.“
She couldn’t see his face, it was hidden in the mist. She squinted her eyes. „What’s your name? We know each other from somewhere, don’t we?“
The young man didn’t answer, just nodded his head in agreement, and with that movement disturbed the misty veil surrounding him. Suddenly a flash of his face.
“You’re the young man from the park! We see each other every morning.“
He remained silent.
“Yes, I recognize you,“ she said with a laugh and thought: I recognize you. And I know from that expression that you like me. You always look that at me that way, not moving your eyes. Even I don’t move. It’s sweet. Just your look pleases me, not to mention your smile, which always enchants. A discreet, almost imperceptible smile, but I notice it, I feel it. You smile with your eyes.
The young man in the dream remained silent.
„What is your name?“
He didn’t answer. He just nodded his head, dispelled the fog and smiled with his look.
She looked in those eyes, and somewhere deep inside, the magma within her shifted. Then she felt his lips on hers.
He remained silent even between kisses.
She didn’t have that dream by chance. She knew the young man, or she had at least seen him on her way to work. She walked to the office every day. It was barely ten minutes, half of it through the park, so it was a nice morning walk.
Even that one time, she recalled. She was hurrying with small steps, that’s all the narrow skirt allowed, to get to the office by eight. She had been thinking about Pavel – her husband. He had cheated, she’d known it for a long time, but it still hurt nonetheless. Maybe even more and more. What kind of life was this? What was he thinking anyway? That he would have fun with girls, catch up on what he had missed…and I would run from the stove to the window, cook, iron, and wonder when he would come home? In the morning he acted like nothing had happened… Marta,, Marti… I’d like to give him a kick.
Immersed in her thoughts she crossed the street and continued through the park. In the shade of the beautiful greenery she better remembered the young man she always ran into here – and the dream that she’d had the night before. Would they meet today? Involuntarily, she squinted her eyes to examine even the silhouettes of distant figures. No, she didn’t see him. She realized that it upset her mood more than it should. Today hadn’t started well.
She slowed her pace, the sun flashing through the tops of the trees – what can I say, my dreams are becoming mixed with reality. Anyway, that guy I see on my way to work smiles at every halfway good-looking woman…And even if he didn‘t, what about it? I’ll stop him and say, “Hi, I had a dream about you last night.” Why do I even want to run into him anyway? Why am I even looking forward to seeing him? He’s handsome…but not that handsome. I’m longing for sex… Yeah, but I can hold out. Flirt… a little.
She sauntered on. Her subconscious slowed her steps to increase the likelihood that she would run into him. She threw her head back and closed her eyes… Yes, I know – I need, I really need someone to love me. Is there someone out there who would love me? She returned her gaze to the passersby. Hello? No one, nothing. No one noticed the desire written in her eyes. There is no one in my world to care about me. My world is this park, the street I’ve crossed, the waiting room at the office, the office…
She walked out of the park. She was dazzled by the sunlight, but she was oblivious.
“Ma‘am… Ma‘am!“
Not until the second time did she realize it was directed toward her.
“I’ve been waiting her for you… I didn’t want to startle you in the park,“ he said as if he hadn’t just plunged from the flood of light like from the mist in her dream.
The young man from the dream!
She looked into his face, into his eyes, unable to react in any other way. Was it him?
It is… maybe the only one in her world that…
“We know each other a bit, we pass each other here in the park… I’m Petr. Maybe I’m mistaken….I hope not, but it seems that we have something we want to say to each other.“
“Yes? And what?“ It was the only thing she managed to say, and to cover her embarrassment she added, “Yes, I remember, we’ve passed each other in the park… And what do you want to say to me?“ She held his gaze.
He faltered. “I think… I have the feeling that there was a sort of suggestion in our looks at each other.”
“I have terrible eyes, young man,“ she exaggerated, „there was no suggestion in my look.“
He acknowledged the advantage she had and – maybe just to carry out the fanciful scenario – he said, “Can I invite you somewhere this afternoon for a cup of coffee?“
“No offense, but I don’t go for coffee with young men that I occasionally pass on the street.“ She smiled at him and turned to continue on her way. “I’m sorry, excuse me,“ she heard his voice.
She didn’t answer. She bit her lip so as not to scream – God, I’m stupid! With a victorious stride she walked away, but felt defeated in her soul. “Was he really giving me a chance? He surprised me. That wasn’t me who answered him. Those were reflexes taking over my brain. Reflexes that every woman has developed against passes like that. If I had seen him coming, if he had smiled like at other times, if…“ She was angry with herself and at him.
That was several weeks ago. He waited for her every day, always greeted her with a smile and they exchanged a few words.
She ended up going for coffee with him after all… and then several more times..
Now they were here in his flat. They would make love together… for the tenth time, or was it the twentieth?

Eva got up from the computer and walked around the flat. She thought about Doctor Marta. Her little big love hadn’t been in the plan, but came as love does, unexpectedly – as a small first step and a harbinger of a new life. No, it wasn’t an act of revenge for her husband’s infidelity. Her Marta wasn’t like that.
I wanted to experience that love, she had confessed to Eva, and through Marta I did. I wanted to meet my knight. It’s I who needs, really needs someone to love me. I was Marta and Marta was me. Yes, without originally intending it, Marta had become my reflection – I was writing the story of a woman and then I realized that it was actually my story, my ideas, and my dreams.
Eva stopped at the window. It was already dark out. What time was it? Eight. She would go. She had promised that she would be at Karel’s by nine. Compulsory love – she thought. Or what should she call their relationship? Habit. Thatslife. Thatshowitgoes. Whatdoyouwant. Imafraidofloneliness. She looked out the window at the flashing buildings. Thousands of lights. I’m afraid of loneliness.
She quickly dressed and in a few minutes was rushing down the street. She waited a while for the tram. Perhaps all the seats would have been full if everyone had been sitting down, but some people, like Eva, remained standing. Standing by her were a nicely dressed woman - perhaps so she wouldn’t wrinkle her skirt, a young man with headphones in his ears and a balding man. An older lady, a young woman and an even older woman sat in the seats nearest her. Then a man sat down, dark-haired with nice eyes. Her eyes noticed that his were nice a few seconds before she’d even realized it. She averted her gaze, as a longer look would be inappropriate. Too late. A signal had been sent, and for the remaining three stops she felt the call of his eyes. When she got off at her stop, she was extra careful that the expression on her face didn’t give him even the slightest bit of hope. Oh, these men. She was no longer hurrying. There was time enough. All those who had gotten off the tram passed ahead of her, and when they saw the green signal, the orderly crowd scurried across the crosswalk. Eva, in a moment of indecisiveness, started to increase her pace, but had to slow it again when the signal turned red. She sauntered toward the crosswalk. Tick, tick, tick – the signal for the blind ticked like a clock and fixed her in its tempo. She listened. It was as if her heart and breath aligned with the frequency of that clock. Tick, tick, tick – she closed her eyes. I’m blind. She concentrated on waiting for the change. Tickticktick… She opened her eyes, not believing her ears, and walked toward the green signal for pedestrians. One step, a second, third… Something isn’t as it should be – flashed through her head. Cones of light, emerging from the left were curving toward her and moving too fast. ‘Oh my God, I’ve made a mistake! It’s my mistake! Why did I close my eyes?’ she thought, in a moment of eternity, when the lights, with eerie slowness, chopped through her legs. And like a bull, horns picked up her body and tossed it into the air.
The windstorm, she thought. I’m flying again against the flow of time where everything is fused in a blur of color.
Then the storm and its rumbling were swept away, and stopped. Silence. Tickticktick…
She saw herself – a child, cowering down in a pool of the incomprehensible. No, it wasn’t my mistake.

■
Thunder, and for a split second I see a face. God’s face? I appeal to him – it must have been God. Or an angel? An angel with a woman’s face. Was it a woman’s face? Definitely. A terrified woman’s face. It was a woman! A terrified woman’s face…and then it thundered. God.
My brain finally assembles the whole mosaic from those perceptions. God, if you’re there, tell me that I didn’t hit her. I raise my eyes to the rear-view mirror. Horror washes over me. There was no doubt, the shadow on the street could be nothing but a body lying there. I hit her! I hit her!
A film runs through my mind – I stop the car, run the short distance back and immediately bend down over the motionless body.
But my arms and legs keep driving.
In the film I lift the head of the injured woman so I can see her face and I wipe the blood away. Is she dead?
In reality my fingers are convulsively clutching the steering wheel. Seconds pass and I drive on. My body is a soulless machine. I am in autopilot, able to step on the clutch and shift gears, go in the direction of the programmed destination, slow down before the roundabout…
The car slows and his soul, which had just a moment ago been bent in horror over that woman, catches up to its body. Back, back – it orders itself.
I go around the roundabout, again gain control and manage to go back. I am surprised at how far I had gone from the scene of misfortune. It takes several minutes before I see the several stopped cars and a crowd of people ahead of me. Slowly, almost at a crawl, I get closer. A man in the middle of the street gestures for me not to stop and to keep going. I roll down my window and want to say… Our eyes meet. I’m speaking. Or rather just moving my lips, but no voice comes from me. The man doesn’t want to hear anything and furiously waves with his arm. „Go, go. You have the green light.“ I pass by him and search for the woman with my eyes. In the flickering of the shadows and figures I can not see her.
I turn right at the intersection. I go a few dozen yards when an ambulance whizzes past me from the opposite direction. With screaming sirens and flashing lights it turns into the place of the accident.
I stop on the edge of the road and get out of the car. My legs are giving out and I feel sick. I vomit. God, what have I done? I see the blinking lights of the ambulance. The prisoner – I’d forgotten about him.
The ambulance starts to move, turns, goes through the intersection and as it passes me the sirens scream into the night – she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive…
Again I drive past the place. The crowd had disappeared. Only two cars remain on the edge of the street, one of them a police car. I should stop, but autopilot is again controlling the steering wheel. The prisoner. I lightly step on the gas pedal and at the roundabout turn toward his block of flats.
My soul has caught up to my body. The light storm has ceased. I injured that woman. “Maybe I killed her”, goes through my head. I have to go back and confess. I have to. But first I’ll talk to that nut case. It’s all his fault. I’m angry with him.
Intersections, intersections everywhere – in my mind and in the streets between the blocks of flats. He lives here somewhere. Or is it the next block? A few trees and bushes block my view. I’m not sure. I pass the bushes and want to turn. The scene which greets me as I see the other side of tall building takes my breath away. The lights of a police car stab my eyes and my heart, ominously portraying the now familiar scenes of these places of misfortune. The police, the ambulance, the police tape across the road. I understand. I’m in shock and I can’t tear my eyes away from those lights. Man, what have you done?! Why didn’t you wait for me? Not until now do I notice the policeman leaning toward my window. He says something, but I don’t hear him. After a moment I finally roll down the window.
“You can’t go any further, sir. There’s been an accident. If you live here, park a bit further down.“
“What happened?“ I whisper.
“Some guy fell from the window.“
He says something else, but I don’t understand him. My soul again leaves my body and runs toward the lights while my hand shifts the car into reverse.
Home, I want to go home. I go slowly. The drivers who pass me make angry gestures. I don’t have the energy to react. I can’t go faster, I can’t even wave my hand as an answer to their furious gestures.
It took ages before I finally backed into the garage. I collapsed into the chair. On the table an unfinished bottle of wine. It made me feel nauseated. Was it a dream? I wish it was. God, if I could just wake up from this dream. How many times had I appealed to God today? In vain. My mobile phone rang. I was terrified. Another sign? Maybe I’d gone mad. I was holding the mobile, which didn’t stop ringing with that tone that at other times seemed pleasant. I couldn’t see the display.
“Hello?“
“Good evening. Police calling. This is Lieutenant Stary. Can you tell me your name?“ My mouth went dry and my thoughts swirled in my brain. “Eimut. Jan Eimut,“ I rasped resignedly.
“Mr.Eimut, we need a statement from you in a case that took place this evening. Give me your address. We’re unfortunately going to have to talk to you tonight. We’ll come get you.“
Like an obedient machine, I dictated my address. After I’d hung up the phone, I realized that the policeman must have known from my submissiveness that I knew what I’d have to explain. “But do I know? Is it the accident? Or the prisoner’s suicide? Or both?“
I couldn’t even think about it. After a moment: They found a record of our conversation in his mobile. That’s how they found out about me. That’s why they’re coming.
Not even ten minutes had passed when the doorbell rang. “Good evening, Mr. Eimut. Can we come in for a bit?“ began Lieutenant Stary, starting out politely, but then immediately spoiling it. “Otherwise we’ll have to take you with us.“
“Come in.“
There were two of them, and another one, if I noticed correctly, stayed in the car.
“My name is Lieutenant Stary and we spoke on the phone a while ago. Are you familiar with the name Petr Zalesky?“ he began as soon as he’d taken a seat in the living room.
I was sweating and my mouth was dry. I coughed to fill the awkward pause. Should I confess everything? Not confess? There was no time to think it through.
“Yes, I know Mr.Zalesky, he comes to me as a patient. I’m his psychologist.“
„Psychologist? Ahh. Now I get why he had you saved in his mobile under the name ‘Psycho‘.“ He laughed. Yes, he laughed like it was a joke, but the tension in those minutes wasn’t broken. In fact, his laugh struck me sinister and dangerous.
“Psycho? Really?“ I stammered. But then I couldn’t take it any longer: “What happened? Why are you here, gentlemen?“ That decided it, I realized in the next second. Now I would have to deny everything.
As if someone had waved a magic wand, Lieutenant Stary suddenly became serious. He looked right into my eyes and I had the feeling he was using an x-ray to scrutinize me with his stare. That moment seemed to last for ages and I managed to hold his gaze only thanks to the dullness of the alcohol and sudden fatigue which had fallen over me as a result of all this distress.
“What happened? That’s what we came to ask you, Mr.Eimut.“
“I don’t understand.“ It went through my head that there was no way he could know that I had another reason to carry out this farce.
“You really don’t know why we came to talk to you?“
“I understand that something has happened with Mr. Zalesky, but I really don’t know what.“ I didn’t even blink.
“Alright… everything so far at least has indicated that Mr. Zalesky committed suicide tonight. And we’re here because shortly before he did it, he called you. What did he say to you? What did you talk about together?“
Everything went dark before my eyes. Again the nausea. “That’s terrible.“ It was all I said, and perhaps it seemed convincing.
“What did he say to you? You spoke to each other just a couple of minutes before he jumped.
We have several witness who have all independently verified the time of the act.“
I took a deep breath and overcame the nausea. “Yes, he did call me…We only spoke for a moment. He apologized for not coming to our session this afternoon.“
“And? What else did he say? You spoke to each other for two minutes.“
“He said… that he wanted to say goodbye, that he wouldn’t be coming to therapy anymore…that he was flying away.“
“You didn’t understand from those words that he was speaking about suicide? He didn’t say directly that he wanted to end his own life?“
“Excuse me,“ I stammered, „at the moment I’m in a rather difficult life situation… I’ve got some personal problems… I’d had a few drinks this evening, and when Mr. Zalesky called, I may not have exactly been in the best position to read the indications he was giving. I just listened to him – that he didn’t intend to continue our sessions and that – as he said – he was going to fly away.“
The policeman was looking at the unfinished bottle of wine and accepted my explanation reluctantly. „I repeat – he didn’t express directly that he wanted to end his own life?“
“No, he didn’t express that directly,“ I concluded.
“He didn’t leave a note, but you of course would know the reasons that could have driven him to suicide.“
“Mr. Zalesky had recently returned from prison and was still experiencing trauma from the hardships he’d experienced there.“
“Do you have any records of his sessions?“
“Yes, I do. Written and….an audio recording.“
“We’re going to need both of those,“ he stated firmly. The other officer had his notebook open and was writing something into it. He also took the file with the reports from the sessions, and the recorder. Then they said goodbye.
I remained sitting in the living room and didn’t walk them to the door. I heard the car drive away and then it was quiet.
Silence.
Even my thoughts were quiet and calm. Yes, I was waking up. I felt cold on my chest, but also soothing waves of being conscious that I was waking up. It was only a dream, I thought, on the threshold of sleep.
I fell asleep – in the grace of awakening.

God knocks on the door.
May I?
No. Not yet, Jene.

■
No, it wasn’t my fault, goes through her head in the speeding ambulance, where she’s unable to discern that this is not the most important thing at this moment. Now her mind betrays her completely: I flew to the stars… Jana! Is that shining spot above me the sun? Am I flying to the sun? No, it’s just a lamp above my bed… Jana. Jana, do you remember? The lamp…do you remember?
It’s been almost a year since we were together in the restaurant….and got drunk. I see it as if it were today – we’re laughing, acting like two crazy people and complaining about men. We don’t need them! What good are they? You’re looking into my eyes. You’re a beautiful woman and you’re smiling with your eyes. You’re older than I am, but the wrinkles around your eyes only seem to decorate your face. We’re laughing and we don’t know at what. Tears of laughter are running down our faces, and the smeared makeup only makes us laugh even harder. Enough. We try to compose ourselves. We look around to see if anyone is watching our antics. Hopefully no one. You wipe your tears with a tissue and say, „I’m going to pee in my pants.“ Another explosion of laughter. The tables are separated by wicker screens, but the next table has apparently noticed our merriment. We hear a few comments and hear them laughing at our infectious laughter. That’s really enough. We wipe our noses again. We compose ourselves. It seems the hysterical laughter has passed.
“We only live once,“ you say out of nowhere.
I look into your eyes and attempt to trace the reason for your sigh.
Suddenly you’re serious „Life is getting away. You have dreams, ideas, desires and you say, today I can’t, but tomorrow I’ll fulfill them. Tomorrow comes and you say again – I can’t today, but tomorrow… tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…“ You run your hand through your hair and go on. “Let’s stop, dammit – and say, not tomorrow, but we’ll do it today. Because tomorrow – there might not be a tomorrow.“ Your eyes tear up and make you look sad.
We look at each other and we’re different than we were a few minutes ago. Completely different. And suddenly in those eyes of yours I see – a challenge, curiosity, desire…and I feel your bare leg against mine. Nothing more, just the warm, friendly touch of your foot which sends a wave of excitement through me.
“I’ve been thinking about it all evening,“ you reveal and we don’t say anymore, transfixed by that touch of your foot. The long look we give each other perhaps betrays to the waiter our secret, otherwise hidden beneath the tablecloth, but it doesn’t matter. Outside the window it’s already dark. We finish our wine. Already the second bottle. I feel your leg against mine. It’s burning. I look away and say something, move a bit in the seat and offer myself to your touch. The warmth inches up toward my knees… I hold my breath and so do you. Yes, I want it. Do it, do it. Fingers are between knees, which are still pressed together as if they had decided on their own - no. Another look into each other’s eyes - why not? Tomorrow? … And my knees relax. They don’t move apart all the way, just enough to let your bare foot in. I shift in my seat and move as much as I can toward that touch, all touches. I have your foot under my skirt and the world splits in two – the world under and the world above the table. Above the table are our burning faces and ears, a bit of shame and looks around, because in our eyes, which give everything away, there is wild desire – and under the table is the wet between my legs (and there a storm is spinning the world into one maelstrom) – covered with a small, warm female foot. … I return the pleasure. My bare foot touches your knees. You’re sitting straight up, as always – your chin resting in one hand as if nothing, while the other hand takes my foot and moves it to between your thighs. I lean my chin on my hand too and say something. I push my foot into your lap and feel the moist warmth. I understand men.
We practically run back to my flat, but then when we’re standing across from each other, each on one side of the bed, we no longer hurry and we savour the seconds and minutes of the impending rapture: like my reflection in a mirror you unbutton your blouse and then your skirt and we lie next to each other clothed only in our underwear. I want to turn off the lamp above the bed, but you beg me not to. We’re lying face to face, speaking only with our eyes. I stretch out my hand and touch your face with my fingers, across your chin and neck my fingers move down, stopping at the edge of your bra and then sliding in to touch your naked breast. I’ve never touched the naked breast of another woman. It’s soft, softer than mine. Or am I just imagining it? You close your eyes and toss the unbuttoned bra to the side. I toss mine aside too, and you lean over me until our breasts touch. Now we’re both finally naked. I feel your lips on mine, they just gently brush, and then they’re kissing my throat. They don’t hurry to my breasts, and only after a while do I feel them on my nipples, and here too they stay for a long time, until I unwittingly, but eagerly, gently nudge them down to my belly...Through half-open eyes I look at the lamp overhead, while the light loses itself in the dark and then returns with the rhythm of a pulsating vortex that pulls the moist and wet down to between my legs…
The light disappears and comes back, disappears and comes back – “Jana! Jana.“
“Don’t speak. Stay calm. We’re almost at the hospital.“
The light above her head is momentarily blocked by the head of a man. In a brief moment of lucidity she understands the situation and remembers the horror she’s experienced.

What do I wish? To wake up in the dream I was dreaming while I slept.
I want to fall asleep and wake up in that dream. I want to fall asleep and wake up in that dream. I want to fall asleep..

■
“… The moment the young woman stepped out into the crosswalk for pedestrians in Stefanikova Street, the car hit her. The driver responsible did not hesitate for even a moment and cowardly fled the scene of the accident. The woman suffered serious injuries and was transported to hospital. We ask witnesses to the events to come forward with testimony to help clarify the incident…“
The world entered my flat.
Most people yearn for the misery of others, and in the warmth of their living rooms are hypnotized by the crippled fates of those who were struck by misfortune yesterday.– I recalled my own words. This news, however, is not just meant to frighten, or‚ ‘entertain.‘. This news is a challenge and a request at the same time, addressed to all the decent people in their warm living rooms. There is a villain and a coward somewhere among us… Help us catch him! Don’t let this criminal escape punishment! Get him!
Get… me.
The world has entered my flat and is talking about me. The mouth of the young reporter says, „…The driver responsible did not hesitate for even a moment and cowardly fled the scene of the accident.“
The young woman speaking about the cowardly driver is looking at me from the TV screen and I’m scared that she will suddenly thrust her finger out at my face and shout, “That’s him! Get him! That’s him!“
It’s daytime outside the window. It has washed over the night of terrifying dreams – and next comes terrifying reality.
Yes, it’s me who hit that young woman in the crosswalk yesterday evening and fled the scene. Those are the facts. I am a villain and a coward. I failed. No, that’s not really how it was. I ….didn’t want to… I wanted to…
After a few sips of coffee my mind wakes up and the agonizing thoughts begin to run through it. I was drunk, that’s why I didn’t react right away… Drunk? Drunk behind the wheel…? I realize it would be impossible to lie. I wanted to help the prisoner! I wanted to help that poor lost man… I’m looking at the TV screen, but not taking in anything that’s coming out of it. All the cells of my brain are engaged in creating a picture of last night’s events and trying to gather together the whirlwind of thoughts. Not even one is processing the picture and the other news – the other misfortunes that were surely coming from the TV screen.
After a while – my eyes offer my mind a picture of the young woman giving the weather – then small sparks, somewhere in the folds of my brain, in subconscious recognition of the face – and like a drowning man who lunges for the floating piece of timber he spies in the seconds above the surface, my hand flies to the remote control like to a life saver.
“What have you done…friend,“ I lip-read.
“Friend, you say? After all this… we’re remaining friends?“
“Why wouldn’t we? I know how it happened. You caused a misfortune, it was a terrible thing, but you did return to the accident….you were just desperate and upset….that’s why it wasn’t until later – when the woman was already in the care of others.“
“I wanted to help the prisoner. It was a shortcut. I knew that it was a matter of minutes – I felt it… That’s why I got behind the wheel drunk.“
“I know, but… you promised me that you wouldn’t drink anymore. Remember? You didn’t keep your promise.“
“Wait here a minute, don’t go away…“ I beg.
I turn off the television. The silence becomes deeper. I lean back in the kitchen chair, put my hands behind my head and close my eyes. I don’t want to see anything and I don’t want to hear anything. It’s futile – under my eyelids I see the film of the light storm of last evening and flashes of the woman’s face – and I hear that awful thunder….I open my eyes. I tell myself that I have to keep my eyes open – so I don’t see.
After a moment I realize that I have no idea what shape the car is in. I go down to the garage in the basement. I have an old Skoda that I bought when Katerina “left“ in our newish Peugeot. The lights are intact and in the weak light of the garage I don’t see any dents. I open the garage door and drive the car halfway out so I can see the front of the car in the light of day. Yes, part of the right reflector is dented and the front plastic bumper is slightly shifted. Otherwise nothing. The battle of woman versus one-ton machine goes decidedly to the machine. I drive back into the garage. When I go back up the steps from the basement, I feel the nausea again. I hold onto the wall, and when I finally get back into my office I have barely enough strength to pull the chair out from the desk and slump down into it. No, I couldn’t work today, not in this state. Jana Mala should come at ten this morning – I’ll call her first. Group therapy is scheduled for two in the afternoon and I will cancel that too. I open my laptop and find my patients’ contact information, which I keep a record of for just these reasons – when it’s necessary to inform my patients about a change of program. I punch Jana Mala’s number in to my mobile. She answers almost immediately.
“Hello, Mrs. Mala.“
“Hello.“
“I apologize for calling at the last minute, but unfortunately I’m going to have to cancel our session today…“ I pause with disgust at the lie that I’ll have to use to explain further. She doesn’t insist on one.
“You don’t have to apologize. Really. I was just about to call you too – that I wouldn’t be coming today… but I will need you all the more later.“
The last words stop me. “Has something happened to you?“ I couldn’t not ask.
She’s quiet for a moment, though there was no doubt there are tears, and then she answers, “Not to me, no. Nothing happened to me, but…excuse me,“ again she’s quiet for a moment, “…Last night my friend was in an accident… she was hit by a car. Did you hear about it on the news? I’m on my way to the hospital. I don’t know how she is….Her boyfriend called me – it seems bad.“
The world swirls around me. I don’t know how or even whether I said goodbye to her.
God, you are there! But why are you persecuting me? Why? Why? I don’t know how long I sat there and just stared at the tree rings on the desk top. The initial shock turns into an apathy from which I very slowly emerge. It’s simply not possible. My patient tells me that he wants to kill himself. I hurry to him to talk him out of it and on my way I hit a young woman. It takes me a while before I can collect myself, and in the meantime she is helped by others. I want to at least stop the prisoner, but it’s too late – he’s already done it. The police. Questions. And in the end I find out that the injured woman is the friend of another one of my patients. That absolutely can not be a coincidence! God…
I pull myself together a bit and call the alcoholics that I try to help once a week with group therapy. I cancel the session for today. What next? What should I do? Should I go to the police and confess everything? Should I confess that I hit a woman in a crosswalk while drunk and fled the scene? They’ll lock me up! I’m going to prison!
“I saw evil. I don’t know what else to call it. It was absolute evil. Evil, that even after all these years, wakes me up at night. Evil which…stank like those mattresses that I laid on. Evil that suffocated… like the stale air in the cells. It was the moisture that gathered on the windows…and the drops ran down and drew more bars,“ I recall the words of the prisoner.
I’m going to prison. I’m afraid, but I don’t deserve anything else. I’ve decided. I will end it. I’ll go to the police, I can’t do otherwise. I don’t know how long it took me before I turned my determination into action. Half an hour? An hour? I have to do it, I won’t be able to live with it.
I got dressed and left the house. I rejected the idea of taking the car – I wouldn’t be able to drive through the city. I went part of the way by bus, and the rest by underground. It occurred to me that I could call Lieutenant Stary – I had his number in my mobile from last evening – but I decided not to. I would give myself up at the police station which was just a short distance from my office. I went the last part on foot. Not until now did I realize how nice the weather was. The sun was shining and though it was only the end of April, was pleasantly warming. It couldn’t, however, dispel the gloom in my mind. I passed people without noticing their faces. I probably didn’t want to notice – in that morning sun they were happy and carefree. I envied them, just as I envied the man about my age who was laughing loudly with a group of his friends. Short laughs, lasting only a second, but they said it all – I’m alright, healthy, carefree…An attractive woman swayed her hips, walking just ahead of me. But I didn’t enjoy the sight of her – instead there was pain in the anticipation of soon losing all this beauty. I’ve had the feeling lately that I’d lost everything. Katerina left me and I was on the bottom. I thought that it couldn’t get worse.I drank. How petty were my problems of yesterday compared with those of today – and what of tomorrow’s? Happiness is a trait – I recalled my own theory. If you don’t have that trait, then it will be you who is robbed, who becomes ill, whose wife leaves him, whom misfortune happens to. Czech Republic – Police, was the sign next to the entrance to the building. Police, police, police – shone the words on the squad cars parked in front of the building. Protect and serve. Protect from people like me – stabbed me in the chest. I stood just outside the entrance and took a deep breath for that last step. Will I go to jail immediately? Will I even have a chance to make the necessary arrangements – secure the house, or notify my grandparents living in Moravia, inform my patients…? These sorts of practical questions kept occurring to me. I’m going to prison for the first time - at least one lighter thought flashed through my mind. I walked. One step, the second, the third… My mobile began ringing in my pocket. … God. No, I don’t want anymore! Everything bad has already happened, hasn’t it?
“Hello. This is Jan Eimut…“
“Mr. Eimut. This is Jana Mala…“
“Hello, Mrs. Mala. How can I help you…?“ I said awkwardly - fearing.
“I’m sorry to call – I know we cancelled our session for today…but I really need you right now…you know…,“ she sobbed into the phone.
“I can’t right now, Mrs. Mala…“
She ignored my words „I was at the hospital. They didn’t let me in to see Eva of course, but I know a doctor there…and he told me everything.“
“What did he tell you? How is she?“
“She’s going to be paralyzed. Her spine is injured! She won’t be able to walk… He said that she’ll probably never be able to walk.“
No, I understood that everything bad was far from being over. There was still lots of misfortune to be had. “I’m in the city, Mrs. Mala, not far from my office. Can you come there?“ said someone from inside me.
“Thank you. I’ll come. Can you wait half an hour?“
“I’ll be waiting for you.“ I stood for a while in front of the entrance to the police station. Shouldn’t I just end everything and go through those doors? I thought feverishly. Instinctively, I looked up at the sky and found the moon. White-masked between a few clouds and looking down. “Was that you? Or the Boss?“ Quiet. I turned and went down the street to my nearby office. Fine, I’ll just do this one thing.
I didn’t have to wait long.
She knocked on the door and walked in without waiting for a reply. “Sorry,“ she apologized when she saw me straightening up from the chair I had been practically lying in.
“I’m totally out of it. I’m sorry. Hello.“
“Hello, Mrs. Mala,“ I greeted her for the second time in a short period. “Don’t worry about it. Come in and have a seat.“
She dug in her purse and pulled out a pack of tissues. “Such a mess,“ she wiped her nose and went on, „I’ve known Eva – she’s my friend, you know… Eva Linhartova – for many years. We met through books – she writes them and I sell them. A young, beautiful, talented woman…I can’t believe what’s happened.“
She paused. Perhaps she was waiting for me to ask how it actually happened. She could have no idea that I knew better than anyone.
“I’m not here for myself, Doctor, even if – it’s a shock and I’m very upset…“
I stiffened. “Hold on, I don’t understand you. I thought it was you who needed help. What’s going on?“
“Eva’s spine is damaged. The doctor I know said that the injury is so serious that he can confirm…that she won’t be able to walk. She’ll be in a wheelchair.“
She paused for a moment, so that without even knowing it, those words could stab me even deeper in the heart. “If this is true…I would like – I wish you would help her. I’ve only known you a short time, but I would really like it if it were you who helped her….to survive it somehow.“
I got up from the desk and went to the window and looked out. Is that you again? – I looked for the white moon in the sky. “How exactly did this happen to her, Mrs. Mala?“ I whispered into the silence.
“Last night, around eight thirty, when she was going to her boyfriend’s, a car hit her in the crosswalk. They say that the driver even left the scene, but I don’t know anything else about it.“
“Where did it happen?“ I grasped at the last shred of hope.
“In Stefanikova Street…“
I stood at the window with my back to Jana Mala lest my face betray my despair. It was her, there was no doubt.
“What’s your opinion, Doctor?“ she interrupted the long silence.
“I… don’t know. I really don’t know how to answer you. The hospital will surely provide everything needed for your friend. Of course they will try to help her from all sides – they’ll treat her injuries and even provide her psychological help… I… I cooperate occasionally with the hospital on similar cases, but it depends on the wishes of the patient. You simply can not know at this point, whether Mrs. (?)….Miss Linhartova…will want my services at all.“
“Yes, of course. I guess I’m getting ahead of things, but still, if things do develop like it seems they will….can I ask you for this help?“
Panic seized me and it took great effort to hide it. I had been caught in some insane film or in a vortex that was spinning and gaining speed.
“Please…“ she whispered.
“I repeat… it depends on your friend’s wishes. She’s now apparently going to need some necessary operations, then later if she wants my help…“ I took a deep breath. “… I’ll try.“ When Mrs. Mala left with her thanks, I collapsed again into the chair behind the desk. I was resigned. In the past few hours I had been sucked into a vortex, in which I was writhing around, and which it was not in my power to get out of.

■
“What do I admire most about you?“ He thought about her question.
She sat across from him, wearing just the robe that she had exchanged the short towel for in the bathroom. She threw back her head and shook her hair as a prompt. “Yeah.What do you like most about me?“ He was smiling with his eyes and didn’t hurry to answer.
“Is there anything you like about me?“ she asked, faltering.
He crouched down silently and took her bare foot, put it to his mouth and kissed her toes tenderly. “Legs,“ he said only.
“Legs?“ Marta was surprised. “I think I would have guessed my legs last.“
“Why? They’re beautiful – smooth, with nicely shaped calves and thighs,
which are soft and warm… When you put your knees together, your legs and your hips make a curve that drive men crazy.“
“And when I move my knees apart?“ she laughed.
“If you move your knees apart when you’re lying down,“ mused Petr, „then they’re like arms inviting me for an embrace.“
“That’s nice. Legs create arms that invite you in for an embrace. You said that beautifully.“
“Will you embrace me?“ he whispered.
She became grave. „Turn out the light.“
“No,“ he smiled..
“At least dim it…please.“
She leaned forward for a kiss. Then she got up, and softly staring into his eyes, sat down on the bed. Slowly she lay down on her back and with her knees pressed together, lifted her bent legs until the robe slid down those legs and in the dim light revealed the warm curve of her hip and thigh. Closing her eyes, she undid the knot in the robe, which slid from her breasts, and in that position…she moved her knees apart.
Petr got up from the chair and walked over to Marta. He let the towel slide down from his waist and with tremulous anticipation lay down in Marta’s “embrace.“.

Eva licked her dry lips. “Water… water, please.“
The nurse rose from the chair and with a wet cloth moistened Eva’s lips.
“Open your eyes. Try.“
Her eyelids fluttered, and for a split second, opened.
No, I won’t open them…I’ll never open them again, Eva gave up, and under her closed eyelids the film ran on – the story of Marta, who is Eva…(or of Eva, who became Marta).

■
“So you see, Jene, could I have told you, or even hinted at where that thread which is bound to you leads? I couldn’t have. I am merely a spectator who sees you, human beings whose fates are intertwined.“
In the night illuminated by the light of the moon, Jan held his answer for a moment. After a while, “You can move oceans… You couldn’t have stopped her in her steps, or swerved my car out of the way? You should have killed me! Why did you let it happen? Why?“
“I can not interfere in your fate. I can neither bind nor tear the fibers that connect you – I would become entwined in them like a fly in a spider’s web and violate the Law. I can do nothing but watch.“
“The Law? The Law, you say?“ I jumped on his words. “What do you think? That me hitting that woman occurred according to some rules of the universe?“
“You could say that,“ the moon mused. “There’s a fundamental universal rule that determines the unimpeded course of things. Everything is given, the rules are set – the same for you on Earth, and in the whole universe – and any interference in this order always turns out to be a mistake.“
“Wasn’t that you who stopped me when I was going to the police?“
“No, I repeat – I cannot interfere with your fate. It was just another coincidence. Chance caused your accident – even though you helped a lot, and it was by chance that you didn’t go through with your intention to give yourself up, but it is also chance when two objects, or even whole galaxies, collide in space. Sometimes chance simply causes ripples on the surface of an otherwise undisturbed course of events.“
“If an undisturbed course of events is the basic norm of this world, why were we blessed with the ability to create?“ I wondered. “Why are we given the power to change things?“
“You’re not. You were blessed with the ability to learn, and it is usually with insufficient knowledge that you ‚create‘ the chance – or rather the accident, whose effects will eventually be eliminated so that things can again go on undisturbed.“
“That sounds ominous,“ I said. „Does that mean that one day we, as people, will be…“ I looked for the right word, „… stopped?“
“And we’re back to the same place – I can not reveal anything about your future.“
“But you’re hinting.“
“No, I’m not even doing that. Everything depends on you, on your knowledge – and whether someday you will understand that you can not straighten rivers, cause lakes and seas to dry up, build concrete cities, kill beasts, cut down forests….to change the course of things. Do you understand?“
“Are we to perhaps give up on progress? Should we throw away our telephones, our cars…and return to the trees?“
“Progress? I don’t understand. Have you come to understand something, made progress somewhere? Have you progressed in your understanding of life, and its meaning…? You’ve never been further from it. Cars drove you from the shores of this knowledge and together with telephones, paradoxically, moved you all farther apart….“
The moon’s last words seemed to thunder from the heavens, and they echoed in my ears so they hurt. Then he was quiet, hidden behind the clouds, but the words still sounded and created the impression of an ongoing debate. I was still looking for the words with which to continue – yes, when I look around I see all around me that he’s right. We had lost the path. But is it even possible to stop and say – enough, no more – let’s go back and start again? No, I can’t imagine it. It is difficult for people to learn from the past, let alone from an inkling of the future. Then I noticed the silence and the fact that my ‚worldly‘ reasoning had led me from my own big problem. What next? I know the name of the woman I hit – Eva Linhartova. Her friend has taken it into her head that I should be the one to help her – somehow live. “You know my story. Tell me, what am I to do? Can I stand before that woman and act as if nothing happened… and just do my job?“ I called to the heavens.
The moon didn’t answer. His silence reminded me of his inability, or rather unwillingness, to interfere even with advice, in human fate. “What now?“ I asked myself. “What next?“ I sat for a long time in the chair across from the window, repeating my question, looking for, and not finding, an answer in the silent sky. In the middle of the night I got up, deathly tired. I took the untouched bottle of wine and poured its contents into the sink. Fine, I would wait for things to come. I had no idea how long I would wait.

■
The wet roofs of the houses opposite and the harsh greyness outside made the little flat seem warmer and cozier, but at the same time magnified the grim tones of the women’s conversation.
“You know what was strange? The whole time I was in the hospital, not counting those awful states I was in after my operations, I had erotic dreams. And most of them were scenes full of images of women’s legs, I felt their touches…“ Eva paused and closed her eyes to hold back the tears.
Jana put her hand on Eva’s and was quiet too. What could she say? What words could ease that pain? Should she impart courage with her voice, or regret with her whisper? Neither one – whatever Jana could say now would be wrong. She knew it and that is why she was quiet.
Until Eva broke the silence. “I even had a dream in the ambulance that was taking me to the hospital, or maybe I was delirious – I remembered our fling long ago. The touches of our legs against each other …“ she took a breath to suppress her crying, “When I thought about it later, I thought maybe the memories were induced by the blinking lights of the ambulance – maybe. But maybe I subconsciously realized that there was something wrong with my legs. Yes, even at that moment I somehow knew.”
The room was silent again. It was a long silence and it made Jana uncomfortable. She had to say something too. It’d been almost two months since they’d last seen each other. When Eva was in the hospital she came to visit often, but later, when she went to the spa, she only went to see her once. They had called each other often, but in those conversations they didn’t touch on such things, and stayed more or less on practical issues. Jana found a flat for Eva that was wheelchair accessible, and she arranged the swapping of the old flat for the new.
“How do you like it here. It’s nice, hm?“
Eva raised her eyes. “I like it. You know I like it,“ she sighed unconvincingly, but then immediately added, “I don’t know how to thank you for helping so much.“ She turned the wheels of her chair and glided to the window. “I couldn’t be with my parents. Mainly because of them, but also because of me. I would die from those looks of sympathy.“ She straightened up in the wheelchair to look out the window. “You know I like it here, but I’m looking at a different world now – I’m only at the height of a person’s waist. I see things on the table from a different angle, the view from the window is different… I’m like a child. A small child dependent on the help of others.“ She slumped in the wheelchair. “A child,“ she whispered again. For a moment she shut her eyes and a windstorm sounded in her ears. Yes, I am that small child cowering down in a pool of the incomprehensible. Scenes from her previous ‘excursions’ into the depths of her own thoughts flashed through her mind.
Jana did not realize that Eva’s thoughts had slipped away somewhere else. “You’re not going to be dependent on anyone. It won’t take long and soon you’ll be able to deal with everything yourself, and if there’s a problem you have me and Karel.“
Eva smiled bitterly. “Karel? There’s no Karel anymore.“
“How come? What happened?“ Jana didn’t understand.
“I would be wronging him if I claimed that he’d dumped me…“
“Hold on. Tell me about it. He left you?“
“No, I took off,“ she joked bitingly. “I hit the ‘pedal‘ on this thing and sped away from him.“
Jana was in shock. “I don’t get it. What happened? He came to see you, didn’t he?...I’m sorry. I don’t want to meddle. It’s over.“
“Goddamn it, don’t you think I know that?“ Jana came back to herself after a long pause. “I repeat – I would be wronging him to say he dumped me. He handled everything fine. He was with me from the beginning of my stay and even came to see me at the spa, but…it was sympathy. And I can’t take that. I think, after all, that it he was relieved when I was the one who proposed that we end it.“
Jana gasped a bit to hear of such a man, but when she looked into Eva’s eyes she reluctantly surrendered. “Fine. You just have me….at least until you find someone more solid than Karel was.“
“I’m grateful for everything you’re doing for me…even for these illusions.“
“What illusions?“
“Find someone from a wheelchair? That’s really an illusion.“
“I don’t want to hear talk like that. Life goes on. Why couldn’t you find someone eventually?“
“I can tell you exactly – because I won’t be looking for him.“
“Never say never. Maybe he will find you.“
It seemed that the debate had lost its former grimness, but now Eva recalled, “Jana… I’ve been in this damned wheelchair a few months, but I can already tell you – no one is looking down here.“
It was rapidly becoming dark outside and was a typical Prague late October day. The few trees and bushes growing in the shaded spaces between the houses were slowly losing their leaves, and the playground, full of children in the summertime, was now abandoned and glistening with the cold dampness of the emerging autumn.
“You can’t just give up,,, said Jana into the silence, „close yourself off from the world in this little flat… and feel sorry for yourself.“ She spoke louder as she went on. “How can you say something like that – no one is looking down here? You’re not the first, and you’re not the last who something like this has happened to. You can’t give up.“
“You can’t give up, you can’t give up and feel sorry for yourself…“ mocked Eva sharply. “And what should I do? Should I go out on the streets, bumping along the sidewalk looking for a guy I could harness like a mule to this wheelchair…..and giddyup?“
“For a start it would be enough if you began to write again.“
“Write? Excuse me, how can I write?“
“As far as I know, you didn’t write with your legs…“
“No, I didn’t write with my legs. I wrote with my head – a head that was fine, that could dream… and didn’t have to think, ‘how will I turn on that light when that goddamn switch is so high?’....Fuck. Fuck!….’“
Eva screamed to get the pain out and Jana let her scream. She understood her. She felt with her. She could only vaguely imagine herself in her place. Could she handle it? She let Eva sob into the gloom and the silence of the room. Then she got up and turned on the light. “Stop thinking about nonsense and write. I’ll deal with what’s necessary. The bathroom has been fixed, and the toilet, everything….And we’ll fix the light switches. You start to write and live.“
“Write and live…“ she clasped her hands on her motionless knees – a heart could burst from that image.
“Yes, write and live.“
Then it was quiet. They were silent for a long time, until Jana couldn’t take it anymore, “From time to time I go to the psychologist I told you about…“
Eva closed her eyes knowing what was next. “And?“
“I’ll get you an appointment... You can talk to him. It can’t hurt.“
“Out of the question,“ said Eva, without even considering it.
“Why?“
“Because I don’t want to. How can he help me. Can he cure me? Will I walk again? I won’t,“ she answered herself and went on, “He’s going to teach me to live with it, but I don’t care about that. I don’t want to know how… With crippled legs you can only vegetate…to death. I can manage that without a psychologist.“
Jana got up from her chair and walked over to the window. It was dark outside. “I wish you would write again. Start for me. Write the story of that interesting woman… Marta? I want the book.“
Eva didn’t answer right away. She listened to the silence and suddenly realized that she was hearing the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall of the room. “Tick, tick, tick…,“ reminded her of the instant her life was turned upside down. She closed her eyes – tickticktick – until she got scared. “I can’t write. The only thing I’m able to do is dream that story and watch it like a film on my closed eyelids…but write it – I can’t.
“Why can’t you?“
“I simply can’t. I can’t formulate the sentences. I have it in my head, I see the scene, but I’m not able to describe it.“
“That’s exactly why I think you should talk to Eimut. He knows something about these heads of ours. I’ve convinced myself of that…“
Eva looked at Jana with eyes full of sadness. “I’m so grateful to you, Jana, for everything you’re doing for me. Thanks…But don’t ask this of me. I’m in a different situation than you. My battered psyche has everything to do with these legs. No one can help me. Let alone a guy. Understand. Try to understand…I didn’t just lose my ability to walk, but my ability to express myself as a woman. I’m not attractive. I’ll never again hear, ‘You’ve got nice legs.‘ Never. Do you understand that?“
Jana couldn’t immediately find the words that might convince Eva, but after a moment she tried again. „You’re not completely right. You’re a beautiful woman,“ she said quietly. “With beautiful hair – I always envied that about you. It isn’t…“
“Stop it,“ Eva interrupted her crossly, „I don’t want to hear anymore about it.“
Jana looked away. “Whatever. I’m not going to persuade you.“ She glanced at her watch. “I’m going. The caretaker service will come at seven – it’s all arranged.“
“Thank you, Jana. And don’t be angry with me.“
“How could I?“ said Jana from the door, trying to smile encouragingly.

■
Often at night I am frightened by the idea that one day I will have to stand face to face with Eva Linhartova. I wonder why I let myself do something so ridiculous. Why didn’t I tell the police what I had done? Why? I ask myself. But the answer is more agonizing than the question. Like a coward I hid behind the tempting opportunity that presented itself. I grasped at the rope that had been unexpectedly thrown my way, and foolishly and stupidly toyed with the idea that it had been some higher power that stopped me in my tracks in front of the police station. There was no higher power. It was only a coincidence that I took advantage of. I lied my way out of my obligation to report the accident with a noble promise to help...That is how I agonizingly judge my offense. As if I were seeing myself, I testify to my own cowardice. Disgusted, I make a promise in the dark night to go to the police first thing in the morning. Yes, that is how this story should end – pull myself together, knock on the door of the first police station and say, “Do you remember that accident in April when a young woman was hit and crippled in the crosswalk? Do you remember the case of the reckless driver – that you finally gave up on, because you couldn’t find any clues that would lead you to him? I am that reckless driver. It was me…”
As the day gets brighter outside, my thoughts get darker. I recall the prisoner and his words: I saw evil, – absolute evil… I’m afraid. I admit to myself that I’m afraid. Maybe it is just the tragic fate of the prisoner, to which I stood witness, that fills me with this insurmountable fear. I can’t do it…and immediately I say to myself – I must help her. I promised. It’s a crutch that I lean on the whole day. Who would I be helping by sitting in jail? No one. Out here I am benefitting all those drunks, anorexics, exhausted businessmen…and also Eva Linhartova, who will one day call, write, send a message… and she’ll come. The day ends, night comes, and I reverse my thoughts. Where do I get the right to enter her life in any way? I’ve entered once, with tragic consequences, and that’s enough. Anything else that I do for her, however beneficial it is to her is – inappropriate. It’s not right. These things simply aren’t done. My feelings alternate with the regularity of day turning into night – manly determination with cowardly reversal. Around and around.
The only relief is my work. All summer I worked like a dog, not giving myself even one day of rest. Perhaps another reflex to ease my conscience. A survival instinct that tells me – don’t stop or you’ll go mad. I work and work. I listen to the problems of all those people caught unaware by their lives. I would change with them if I could. God, what I wouldn’t give to only have a problem with eating. “Dear girl”, I want to say, “are you concerned about being fat? I’m listening to you. Yes, I hear you”. But in my head I think, “Girl, if you only knew – I injured a young woman just a bit older than you. She’s crippled now and she’ll never walk again. I’m to blame! It’s my fault that she’ll never walk again. Do you understand?” I don’t get an answer to the question I don’t ask. I quickly make an appointment with another patient. “Sure, come. Anytime is fine.“
“Mrs. Mala? Yes, of course tomorrow is fine…If you have time even this afternoon – you can come. Does that work? Alright, I’ll expect you at five.“
The sessions with Jana Mala, of course, veer from the usual. They are full of tension. It’s difficult for me to concentrate. When she’s talking about her problems, I don’t read between the lines, as I do at other times, but I’m always waiting for any mention of Eva. I’m waiting because I don’t want to ask her myself. It’s a difficult topic even for her, and can’t be avoided – and it always comes up.
“What are my problems with Eva?” she usually begins.
I try as much as possible not to let her see how hungrily I wait for this turn in the conversation. “How is your friend doing?“ I ask understandingly.
“How’s she doing, how’s she doing?…about as well as she can, but I wouldn’t change places with her. I found her a flat because she wants to be alone. I found someone to take care of her, someone who comes to the flat….and who she can stand. That’s all. I can’t get her to go out and I can’t convince her to begin writing like she wrote before.“
“And…“ I want to ask the thing that interests me the most. I guess it’s written in my face because she doesn’t let me finish and answers immediately.
“I’m trying to persuade her to come….to ask for a session with you, but she doesn’t want to hear anything about it. She doesn’t believe. She’s given up. She’s shut herself up in her flat, she doesn’t want to see anyone or anything and, as she says herself – she just vegetates.“
Her words injure me. Jana Mala, without knowing it, has stabbed me in my unhealed wounds. “No one is taking care of her in the hospital or at the spa?“ I ask tiredly.
“As far as I know, in the hospital they are, but in the spa… It doesn’t matter, the result is miserable. This is the exact moment when someone, like you, should talk to her. She’s returning to her life and she needs someone to trust, someone who will be able to help her.“
“Yes, you’re right, but she has to want it herself. That is necessary for the therapy to be successful. I can’t force her.“
“I know. I tried, but it didn’t work. Maybe it just needs time.“
“Time,“ I reply thoughtfully, “yes, time will solve it. Maybe in time she’ll find the way herself. If not, then she may bring me only a feeling of despair bigger than what she is already experiencing - and that should be avoided. Do you understand? Her mood will not stay the same – it will get either better or worse. And when I listen to what you’re saying, I’d say….I’m almost sure that her depression will only get deeper.“ We fell silent, and in the quiet of my office only the humming of the recorder could be heard. „I’m sorry. I forgot to turn it off. We don’t need to record this part of our conversation.“
For a moment there was total silence.
“I like Eva, you know…We’ve known each other for quite a long time and she’s always been a good friend. I like her, and she’s talented – she writes very well. Her stories are as if… how can I say it? Without blood, but about blood…about sex, without sex….about love. She pulls you into her dreams. You read her book and suddenly you’re not sure – did I dream that story? Am I sleeping and dreaming?“ She hesitated for a moment but then went on again. „I admire her even as a woman. She’s… it sounds stupid from a woman – she’s beautiful.“
I didn’t interrupt her. I just sat, just watching and listening.
“She’s convinced that with what she’s suffered, she’s lost her charm. No. Not at all. Nonsense. Her biggest advantage is not just her physical appearance, but rather…” she searched for the right words, „the waves of harmony that emanate from her. You look at her and you don’t see the ideal of feminine beauty. But you’re enchanted nonetheless. Hair, eyes, lips… beautiful, but separately, not in an obvious way. Together however, underscored by the way she moves, she creates a fluidity that just radiates from her.“ She wavered a bit under my gaze. “I’m babbling, aren’t I?“
“No, no. You speak very nicely about her,“ I hasten to answer so as not to interrupt her sincere declarations.
“I want you to know how much she means to me. I’m not stupid – I know that no one can teach her to walk, but to live and to write – the abililty to live and the ability to write – only someone like you can remind her of that.“
I was quiet for a while, ashamed by the compliment. Tribute to a coward – I thought for a second. “I have a small favor to ask you,“ I banished the gloom. “Next time, bring me one of her books. I’ll leave it up to you which one. I need to know Eva more, and I think her book may tell me a lot.“
“I’ll bring one,“ Eva said goodbye in the doorway of my office, „and I know which one.“

■
The next day she brought me a slender book and cautioned that there was no time to lose. This unnerved me. In a situation where I still didn’t know how to approach Eva or even whether I should attempt to, those words distressed and agitated me. Despite that, I hurried to my office on the top floor, sat down at my massive desk and began flipping through the pages. She writes about blood without blood, about sex without sex – I remembered Jana’s words. If I understood well, that is, only with allusions, provoking the reader by awakening in him his own fantasies - conjuring up rough or erotic scenes. This could be interesting, I thought. For God’s sake, as long as it’s not that depressing humourous style that most female writers use today. I leafed through the book and skimmed over the text until a passage caught my eye:

… The door shut quietly behind him. He didn’t slam it as I, though not sure why, expected. After all, it wasn’t really an argument. Just a sudden flaring up of something that had been smoldering between us for so long. I stayed sitting on the cold bed. I pulled my legs up to my body and let my hair fall on my bare knees. A small spark had been enough. A small spark ignited by a sharp sigh, and in an instant everything had flared and burned. “Me or your wife,” was that sigh. So the wife. Fine. How else…It was difficult, however, to fight back the advancing sorrow. The darkness from the street outside entered my room through the window and drove away the shadows that had only a moment before crept along the walls and the floor of the flat and somewhere into my soul. In order not to banish them, I leave the light off. Tears ran silently down my face and fell into my hair, while some slid, unrestrained, along my thigh as if along a slide into my lap. I sat there like that for a long time. There were no more tears to cry and the pain in my back brought me back to the world. I lay down on the unnecessarily large bed and the pain returned, without relief, to my soul. Outside the night had taken over, with stars, and a moon which peeked in through the window. It’s light mercifully lit the corners and over time moved through the room until it rested on the bed at my feet.
I stretched out my leg, and like a swimmer poised on the banks of a river, poked my toes into the beam of light and felt – heat. I felt the pleasant warmth not only in my submerged toes, but throughout my whole body. It pervaded me… I put my other foot in too, closed my eyes and felt the energy that entered me, and was transformed, in my mind, into hope. When something ends, something also begins, I thought, heartened. The sun doesn’t shine for just one flower. I opened my eyes, reconciled, and watched the bright disk outside the window. It peered into the room with all its magnitude. The light slid higher and higher along the curves of my legs, at the knees and up to the thighs. It shone through the curtains and the pattern was projected on the smooth skin of my legs, so that they were suddenly dressed in luxurious stockings. When I slowly bent my legs- they were undressed, when I stretched them out – they were dressed again…
He wouldn’t run away from this scene, I thought, amused.
With the night, the light progressed further – across my thighs to my naked lap, across my stomach to my breasts. Then I lay curled up, covered only by the luminous veil. In my mind I composed the verse that crept up on me. After a while I got up, throwing off my celestial dress and at the table I wrote:

Tonight I can not sleep,
So I write to my loves that will be
On blank paper I catch the words flying through the universe

With my eyes I scanned the lines and paused over their content. With astonishment I read them again, and then again. They surprised me. “Was it possible? Could it mean that…?“ I was afraid to even say it out loud. I leaned back in the chair and thought. “Yes,“ with embarrassment I smiled, “it would be crazy, but everything suggests that this is how it really is.”

■
The city paused for a split second when the setting sun slipped beneath the horizon, but then started running again, at perhaps an even greater pace, in a necessary effort to catch up before the rest of the sunlight, still reflected in the sky above the horizon, was engulfed in darkness.
Marta sat back comfortably in the wicker chair and nodded in agreement at the waiter’s offer of another glass of champagne. The small terrace is part of the restaurant on the top floor of the hotel and overlooks the labyrinth of the city with its mosaic of buildings and their roofs, and the network of streets interlaced in intersections and roundabouts – through which humming caravans of cars wander.
While Marta sipped from her glass and looked out over the city from up on the terrace, her husband, a thousand kilometers away in a Prague flat, dialed her number with the suspicion that something was not right. Imagine his surprise when he heard the ringing of a phone somewhere close in the flat. The ringing led him to the small table by the mirror in the bedroom – he opened the drawer and found, along with the mobile, a short, hand-written letter.
“… I’m flying away – in answer to all your flights. Tonight I’m dining in Paris. And tomorrow? Who knows…“ it said.
Yes, it was her answer to years of humiliation. She had always wanted to travel.
Although she and Pavel had gone here and there – in winter they skied in the Alps, in the summer they went to the sea - now it was about something else. This was her mutiny. No longer would she refuse to see what was so blatant, and on the threshold of fifty she would indulge herself in what she had long dreamed of – to explore Paris, see London, cross the ocean to visit New York… but most of all, enjoy that wonderful feeling of freedom. She had been denying herself for a long time and for a long time she’d been suffering. Now was her time. Petr? Poor Petr, even he’d received a letter – it had to end sometime, better sooner than later, “…My dear Petr, you came into my life at a time when I was no longer expecting you and when I was on the edge of leaving – where is not important – but you caused me to stay, to pause…and so for a little while I selfishly warmed myself in your arms. It’s time to say goodbye…“ Perhaps he would understand and forgive her. She sipped her wine and stared into the distance. The horizon darkened as the city lit up. Life is so extremely beautiful, she thought, thrilled by her renewed ability to perceive its beauty. She crossed her legs comfortably and casually let her elegant shoe slip from her heel and playfully swing from the tip of her toes. She saw the two men sitting at the table opposite register the innocent movement, pause for a moment and then ask each other with their eyes, “what were we talking about?“ She smiled to herself. She put her head back and gently shook her hair. Life is beautiful.

Eva opened her eyes and stopped the film. I’d like to run away like Marta too, went through her mind. Be healthy and run far away. See the sea again, the mountains…travel and explore. Never before had her desire to travel been stronger than it was right now – when it seemed impossible. The setting sun was not visible from the window of her flat. Just the wet roofs of the buildings opposite and a few crooked trees. Those trees are like me. Excluded from the company of others, imprisoned between the concrete houses, unable to move. Deprived of their forests – the touch of other trees, the sweet smell, silence, safety…life.
She leaned on the wheels of the wheelchair and moved closer to the window. The sky was overcast. Without stars. Not even the moon broke through the cloud cover to reveal its position.
“You know what I wish?“ she said at random.
To her, the silence over the rooftops was a sympathetic answer.
“I wish life were beautiful again,“ she said in tears.
“Yes, I know.“ the moon said sadly from somewhere.
“I wish I could cross my legs and swing my shoe from the tip of my toes,“ she finished with the impossible.

■
I read the book into the night. Though I hadn’t originally intended to, I read it all. Very interesting reading. I had to admit Jana was right when she said it draws you into the dream. I would express it differently: like an impressionist painter with his brush, Eva creates sentences with her words that capture not sharp contours, but just the mood or impression of a scene. The girl who dresses her legs in stockings made of celestial light really is like something from a dream. There is so much eroticism in that – the darkened room with just the light from the moon covering (or uncovering) those feminine legs. That must have been written by a man, I laughed to myself.
I put the book down on the table and gazed out the window. The light of the study kept me from seeing into the dark night outside. I got up and switched it off. When I had sat back down at the chair behind the desk, I regretted it for a moment because the darkness surrounded me, pervading even my mind. How had Eva written it? The darkness from the street outside entered my room through the window and drove away the shadows that had only a moment before crept along the walls and the floor of the flat and somewhere into my soul.
After a while, I got used to the darkness “I’ll recite you a poem. Would you like that?“
“I love poetry,“ answered the moon almost immediately.
“It’s from the book that Eva wrote… and it’s strange. As if…“ I looked for the words, but the moon didn’t let me finish.
“Get on with it.“
I leaned back comfortably in the chair, closed my eyes and arranged the words in my memory.
Then I recited quietly:

“Tonight I can not sleep,
So I write to my loves that will be
On blank paper I catch the words flying through the universe - and nothing more
And when the night progressed, my friend, the moon, came to my aid, what else could I wish for
I write to my loves that will be
You were and are my everything”

I finished and there was silence. “What do you think?“ I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“What do I think? Nice. I like that she writes to her future loves, those that were and are everything. Funny.“
“And what do you think about – … my friend, the moon, came to my aid…?“
“Sure. I inspire every poet. It doesn’t mean anything.“
“Really?“ I didn’t believe him. “Doesn’t it by chance mean that Eva is a bit like me? That she can hear your voice too?“
The moon didn’t hurry to answer. Hidden somewhere behind the clouds, it didn’t temper the expansive night. After a pause he admitted, “Eva… yes. Eva is a bit like you.“ He continued somberly. “It was only a few years ago that she first looked up at the sky, amazed that she heard my words, and since then we speak together often. You discovered me through your pain, and she through her feelings. Understand? By the way, she’s a beautiful woman.“
“You’ve known Eva for years,“ I reconcile myself with this thought, “and you couldn’t have…?“
I didn’t finish the question that I knew the answer to anyway. “Beautiful woman, beautiful woman,“ I repeat irritated. “Isn’t it enough that I crippled a young, talented woman?….She has to also be beautiful – perhaps so my feelings of guilt are stronger and more painful.“
“What is your pain compared to hers?,“ the moon snapped at me.
I felt ashamed. “Yes, I know. I don’t have the right to feel sorry for myself. What is my misery compared to Eva’s?… I just sometimes have the feeling that this unfortunate story is being built on my shoulders like a house. Not all at once, but brick by brick it grows, burdening my back and breaking my knees. When will it end? How many more bricks will be laid? And the house that is being built – is it perhaps my next prison? Or grave?“
The moon ignored my metaphors. “She is a beautiful woman…and interesting,“ he said more to himself. “Once we even competed with each other:

“I calmed the oceans and mirrored their shine,
she tossed her hair, and with it... stopped time.”

The words tore me from my gloomy thoughts. “Tossed her hair….and stopped time?“ I had never before heard a more beautiful declaration. “She impressed you that much?
She’s that beautiful?“
“Jana has already told you about her – you look at her and you don’t see the ideal of feminine beauty. Hair, eyes, lips… nice, but not in an obvious way when taken separately. Together however, underscored by the way she moves, she creates a fluidity that simply radiates from her.“
We were quiet. With my eyes closed, I tried to imagine a woman’s face that would conform to that strange description. As if from a fog, it revealed itself to me. I couldn’t focus the picture, and when I began to, the face began to turn away. As if in slow motion, her hair lifted with her movement and, in its momentum, wrapped around and covered her face. I was seized by a sense of despair. She tossed her hair…and stopped time. Instinctively, I reached out my hand to touch that hair. “Eva!“ I shouted into the night.

■
The moon looked down from the heavens above. He saw the Earth and her oceans and he saw Jana and Eva. Strange world, he thought for the hundred thousandth time.

“The foam on the crests of the waves is the happiness of the world...
and the dark depth of the ocean - is an ocean of pain.“

He spotted Eva behind the dark window of her flat. The clouds parted and she was sitting in her wheelchair with her face exposed to his shine. In the tear that broke through from her closed eyes, darkened the darkest abyss.
“Just this once,“ sighed the moon, … and let Jan’s shout fade away in an echo.
Eva opened her eyes. She looked around the room. “Did you hear that voice?“ she asked quietly.
The moon calmly illuminated the corners of the room. “Cross your legs and swing your shoe from the tip of your toes? That’s what you wish for?“ He ignored her amazement. “That can come true…and if not – you can always toss your hair and stop time.“

■
“Evaaa!“ called Jana from the half open door. She had a key to the flat. Eva had given it to her, but she didn’t dare enter immediately, and instead waited to be invited in.
“Come in,“ came from the small living room.
“Why are you sitting here in the dark? Wasn’t the switch fixed?“
“I just felt like it,“ scoffed Eva.
„You felt like it… Winter is creeping in, clouds are racing across the sky, and on top of that you want to sit in the dark. It’s going to make you feel depressed.“
“I do anyway – light or dark.“
Jana turned the light on in the room, took off her raincoat and hung it on the rack by the door in the little hall. “I’d like a good cup of coffee. Can you make me one?“
“Wouldn’t you rather make it yourself? … Seeing as how I’m a cripple.“
“I don’t like that kind of joke,“ Jana bristled immediately.
“It wasn’t a joke.“
Jana sat down in the chair and looked at Eva sitting by the window in her wheelchair. The light reflected off the window and obscured her view. They sat quietly until Jana broke the silence. “What do you see out the window?“
“I was trying to remember an old saying, and a similar one came to me.“
“A saying. Let’s hear it.“
“He who is full does not believe the hungry one.“
“Hmm. And the similar one?“
“You can’t see from the light into the dark.“
They were quiet again.
“Do you want to say that I don’t understand…your condition?“
“I wouldn’t say that you don’t understand. It would be more precise to say you can’t understand.“
“That’s the same, isn’t it?“
“No, it’s not. You can’t understand – it’s fairer to say. You’re trying, but you can’t understand. You don’t have an experience that you could measure up against mine. To not understand – means that you’re not even trying.“
Jana got up and went into the kitchen. “You want a cup too?“ she called from the coffee machine.
“Yeah.“
“I’d say he has more than a standard interest in you,“ Jana said as she punched the buttons on the panel of the machine to prepare two cups.
“Who?“
“Who? Well, our shrink of course. Eimut.“
The coffee beans rattled in the machine, which after a moment hummed in its bowels and then pissed out a frothy liquid into two cups.
Eva maneuvered over to the entrance to the kitchen. „Who?“ she repeated, not comprehending Jana’s answer.
“The shrink. Eimut.“
“The shrink…“ laughed Eva. “What kind of interest?“
Jana was encouraged that Eva hadn’t immediately struck down the discussion about Jan Eimut.
“Whenever I’m there to talk, you come up. I’m always the one to begin talking, but you can see he’s waiting for it and always eagerly asks questions.“
“Why do you talk to him about me?“ Eva interrupted.
“Can you believe that he even asked me to bring him one of your books?“ Jana ignored her. “So I lent him the most recent one.“
“Why do you talk to him about me?“ Eva repeated, but not sounding angry.
“Because, just like me, you’re a case for a shrink… and, excuse me, an even more urgent case.“
Eva leaned back in her wheelchair with her hands clasped in her lap – in that unfortunate position that inspired sympathy.
“Why do I speak to him about you?“ Jana regretted her rising tone.
“We talk about everything together – about my life, to which you belong, so it isn’t possible for you not to come up. He’s a man who can be trusted. He comes across that way, and I do trust him. I believe that his interest in what is going on in my head….is sincere. I always thought that I knew myself, that there was nothing I couldn’t handle on my own. And you see, I’ve worked myself into a state where the only thing left to do would be to drink…or to find a psychologist. I don’t regret it. I don’t know how he did it, but suddenly I see everything differently somehow – as if from above. “
They went back into the living room. Jana set the cups on the small table and moved one of the chairs so Eva could roll closer in her wheelchair.
“Actually, I do know how he did it. He’s a case – an example, of how to manage life and everything miserable it brings with it. He lives alone. His wife left him for someone else. I don’t know that directly from him, but from the women who come into my shop. He seems so at peace, so balanced… You wouldn’t say that he had problems too.“
“Are you trying to persuade me again?“ Eva asked quietly.
Jana picked up her cup, carefully took a sip and put it down on the table again.
“If you want to call this persuasion, so be it. I just want to talk.“
“But I explained to you that no shrink can help me. He can convince me a hundred times over about the meaning of life and how to be happy – but these dead legs of mine will always remind me where I belong, and where I’ll always belong.“
“Alright then. Where do you belong and will always belong? Tell me. I’m interested.“
“At best among the pitied, and at worst – among the annoying, among the sick and repulsive.“
Jana’s eyes flashed. “That is, pardon me, bullshit what you’re saying!“ she exploded. “For God’s sake, look at it from the other side. You’re not able to imagine yourself falling in love with a man in a wheelchair? I can imagine that. Why not?“
“It’s different with women, don’t you think?“ Eva argued back, irritated.
“Yeah? How is it different?“
“I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you what legs mean for a woman. I…Now I could only attract some pervert who could get excited that before him….that he could take me like an inflatable doll, set me down, spread my legs like he wants – and afterwards…pack me up again and put me away somewhere. It can never again be…normal.“
“Normal, you say? What is normal?,“ Jana snorted and continued. “We can argue about this for a long time. I can tell you that our little lesbian tryst seemed more normal than sex with my husband. Yeah, don’t look at me like that. After all these years of marriage sex with my husband seems like incest to me – he’s like a relative, a brother…or a friend. Whatever. You know? When I’ve lived with someone for twenty-five years and slept only with him…Don’t talk to me about what’s normal in a long-term relationship, love, or sex. I’m telling you – nothing. Nothing. There are no norms or barriers.“
Eva rolled over to the window. Outside twilight had set in, and the October chill crept in through the spaces in the window frames. Evening was approaching. Another evening - when loneliness hurts, the silence is the most excruciating, and her legs so cold. “Are you trying to convince me that nothing’s happened, that I’m normal? I’m not. I have a broken spine and spirit. I’ve been eliminated…I’m a cripple.“
Jana tightened her lips, and it was clear which word she wanted to say, “B….ullshit!
I’m simply trying to explain that no one is eliminated from this game in advance – unless of course they eliminate themselves.“
Eva couldn’t hold back any longer and began to shout too, “I didn’t eliminate myself! I was eliminated. Get it!?“
“No, you took yourself out. You’re not fighting,“ Jana answered, suddenly icily calm as if someone had waved a magic wand.
The room was silent. Eva looked out the window and it seemed that she didn’t even notice the world. Jana watched her silently and forbade herself from feeling sympathy.
“I’m not fighting, I’m not fighting, you say… Well, what should I do?“ Eva sighed finally. “A man simply can’t help me.“
“On the contrary. Only a man can help you. We’ll invite Eimut, and we’ll do it as soon as possible,“ Jana said what had been hanging in the air anyway.
Eva didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the window, perhaps trying to further elude her nagging fate, but like a mirror, the window pane just returned her to the world of the living room. “He’ll come here and you’ll come with him?“ She was resigned.
Jana happily blinked her eyes. “Yeah, of course. I’ll come with him. It’ll be our ménage a trois. Just a normal ménage a trois.“

■
In the crowd of other passengers, Marta slowly made her way down the aisle of the huge plane checking the numbers on the seats with her eyes. Patient and smiling, she waited until the man in front of her put his bag in the overhead bin and was rewarded with his smile and thanks. All of the passengers were unusually gracious and considerate, perhaps influenced by the smiling stewardess, or masking their anxiety before the long flight, or perhaps it was caused by the fact that they were all, literally, in the same boat..
Even the older woman, already sitting in the seat next to Marta’s place by the window, willingly stood to let Marta sit. “It’ll be a long night,“ she said politely when Marta had sat down.
“It sure will,“ Marta answered with her fair English, „…but sunny Mauritius will be our reward.“
Yes, her next goal was the island of Mauritius. She had originally wanted to fly from Paris to London, but the chilly autumn weather had led her to the idea of sunning herself not only in that splendid feeling of freedom, but also in real sunshine. She was setting out after it now. How easy it was when she could make decisions alone. She warmed herself now in the rediscovered realization that life was beautiful.
The plane filled up with passengers. The speakers sounded with the encouraging voice of the captain, and the flight attendants, smiling indulgently – it was such an unnecessary ritual, but what could be done, even a meticulous rule was a rule – demonstrated how to use the oxygen masks and life vests. Through all this, the motors hummed darkly as the colossus slowly moved along the runway. A few long minutes of hushed expectation in the darkened plane, as everyone suddenly ceased to be sure of the victory of human genius over the laws of nature. Only the young people in the back of the plane laughed loudly, constantly shouting something. Marta, with her few semesters of psychology, understood these outbursts by the young males. The boys were just masking the fear they surely felt. She was sure that at the first signs of turbulence it would be them who would be fearfully looking around, while the one who was loudest now would be shrieking hysterically. Start. The several-ton leviathan hurtled along the runway, all the time gaining speed. No one, not even the guys in the back, attempted to shout above the noise of the raging machine. Take-off. The massive motors pulled the aircraft into the sky.
How brazen. Even above the clouds, which after only a few minutes of ascent were deep down below, creating the soothing impression of soft down pillows, the plane did not straighten out, and boldly continued to conquer tens, hundreds, thousands of meters of height.
Flight level. “Is it ok, if I smoke?“ laughed the brave boy.
The large light panel was showing parts of Europe with almost all of Africa, and the two curved lines from Paris to Dijbouti and Dijbouti to Mauritius showed their flight path. The small red dot which was the airplane, moved from Paris and set out along the arc on its long pilgrimage. Marta watched the panel. Just hopping over to Mauritius, she thought when she saw these two arcs. A hop and a jump. The tension eased and the plane sounded with the clicks of seatbelts being undone. Even Marta made herself comfortable. She looked out the window and saw the fluffy down clouds far below. If to dream, then in the skies. If to live, then in paradise. She patted herself on the back again for the idea of flying to the island. What to dream about? God, there was so much. And then ‘ I’m in that wonderful age when I can not only dream, but also remember’. She smiled to herself. There’s so much of that too.
After more than an hour into the peaceful flight, a stewardess offering a tray with dinner interrupted her pleasant contemplation. Seafood. Aaah. Things just kept getting better. The red dot was now somewhere above the Mediterranean ocean, barely moving along millimeter by millimeter. A delicious rosé wine eased the oppression of that endless stretch in front of the dot.
After dinner the noise in the plane died down. Only the small spotlights above the heads of the passengers shined. The boys occasionally made themselves known through the humming silence. How old could they be? Twenty? Twenty-three? Definitely not more. God... Marta nestled down in her seat as best as she could. She was still watching the dot on the panel, and in her mind the plane took the opposite direction. It retreated into the past.
It flew over her office, past her family – Pavel, children, until it circled above the college dormitories and landed in a small student room.
“I can’t believe we passed those exams,“ laughed the young, barely twenty-year old student, while her equally young friend gleefully jumped on the bed as if on a trampoline. Her her too-big shirt flapped around her hips, at every landing revealing her panties and bare thighs.
“Yeah! I’m so happy. God, it’s so great!.“
“Come have some bubbly, Vera.“
Clink, clink. The Soviet champagne multiplied the crazy feelings of the two happy girls.
“We’re going to get smashed… and we’ll go to a club. We’re going to dance all night.“
“Yeah. We’re going to party.“
Both sputtered a bit when the bubbles went into their noses.
“I’m missing my shirt,“ said a voice from the door, that because of their laughing, they hadn’t heard open. In the doorway stood Ludek – classmate and friend – a chubby guy nicknamed Fatty, always ready to have fun. A week ago the girls had been up in the guys’ room on the second floor and he had lent his shirt to Marta, who had been cold in only her t-shirt. With tears still running down their faces, they looked at him and then at each other conspiratorially. They jumped into the bed and hid their bare legs under the blanket.
“I can’t give it to you now, Fatty, because I don’t have anything on underneath,“ said Marta playfully.
Ludek-Fatty joyfully joined the game. “But I really need it. What are we going to do about that?“
“We have no idea. I can’t even lend you my t-shirt because I don’t have anything on under it either…and it would be too big in the chest for you,” laughed Vera.
Ludek’s eyes twinkled. He sat down on the bed by the girls. They pulled the blanket up to their chins and laughed at him with their big eyes.
“Take off the shirt…and I’ll take the t-shirt as a bonus.“
They winked at each other. “Alright, you bully. Take it.“
Fatty’s hands disappeared beneath the blanket.
“Why are you touching our legs when you want the shirt and the t-shirt?“ they giggled.
“No hold on. I’ll do it myself.“ Marta sat on the bed and thrust out her chest. “You want to watch, Fatty?“
He didn’t answer. He just swallowed, as the eroticism of the moment trumped merriment, and his eyes betrayed his desire. She undid the buttons one after another. Suddenly all three were silent, just smiling stiffly. Finally even the last button was undone, but the shirt still veiled everything.
“So now you can take it.“
Ludek took a deep breath and pushed back the shirt. Marta didn’t move her body or even cover her nipples with her hands. She continued to push out her chest and show off her firm white breasts.
“Those are some tits…,“ mumbled Fatty, touching her naked breasts with the tips of his fingers. “Those are some tits…“
Marta shrugged the shirt off her shoulders. “You’re hands are sweating, Fatty,“ she said, not letting him touch her.
“Want to see how my breasts bounce when I pull my t-shirt up over them?“ Vera entered the game. She didn’t wait for an answer. She crossed her arms, gripping the hem of the t-shirt and slowly pulled it up over her naked body.
“Holy shit,“ Ludek panted, staring at her breasts, which plunged from under the t-shirt. And really, when the taut hem sprung loose, they swung in such a sexy way that Fatty just groaned, “Jesus.“
Sitting, the girls leaned back on their hands. They tilted their heads back until their hair was touching the pillow and let Fatty touch their breasts with his trembling hands.
“Does that make you feel good too?“ chuckled Marta.
“Yeah.“
Ludek’s face was flushed and he panted with excitement.
“Haha. Not there little Ludek. Not in the panties. Keep your little hands up.“
“Oh, girls, you can’t do this to me. You can’t leave me like this,“ he whined.
“Like what?“ They cruelly pretended not to understand.
“Like… I’m really horny because of you.“
“No way, Fatty… The only thing, perhaps, maybe – since we’re having such a great day today, we could give you a little massage. What do you say, Marta?“
“Have you ever been stroked, down there, with four hands at a time?“
They had to throw the blanket over his head because he bellowed like an ox…

Menage a trois? Eva thought in the silence of the room. Well, we could say that….And she smiled sadly.

■
When you wait in suspense for something that you fear will happen, it usually happens when your fear has abated and you’re not expecting it anymore. I call it Eimut’s paradox. There is truth in it. It was Friday afternoon.
I was sitting in my office finishing up writing my notes for a case, and suddenly, after a long time, I longed for some music. That’s just how it is with me. I don’t notice music when I have troubles. Some people are the opposite – music can distract, soothe or help them break away from their problems. Not me. When something is bothering me, I don’t notice music at all. Inside my soul the strings, normally thrilled by the tones I hear, harden. Music then just goes right over them. It doesn’t enter me, and is therefore pointless, because it would just act as a backdrop to my gloomy thoughts. My home is usually completely silent.
Today is different. My worries have disappeared. I put on the Beatles, which is particularly interesting, because for them I have to be in a good mood, otherwise, trying to dispel the gloom, I become even more depressed even by their funniest songs. I listen to “Sexy Sadie”, and Paul’s genius bass guitar at the end of the track thrills my inner strings. The melody is so simple and obvious. The whole song is playful. Real music connoisseurs would probably cringe at such a comparison, but Beatles music seems to me almost “Mozartian.” Just as Mozart did in his time, the Beatles moved away from writing songs for the masses and bravely experimented with sounds, melodies and tones. Like him they set out on an uncharted path of musical composition. They had fun when they played and you could hear it expressed in their music. Connecting joy with the unrestrained. I’m no expert, and maybe I’m wrong, but in no other composer do I see that extent of playfulness and enthusiasm for new discoveries. I was listening to “A Day in the Life”, one of their strangest songs, when my mobile phone rang. I had forgotten to switch it off at the end of the work week. I looked at the display - Jana Mala. The sound waves suddenly lost their ability to penetrate the space as it became thick and the music faded away. My stomach tightened. A premonition?
“Hello, Mrs. Mala.“
“Hello…,“ she answered after a short pause. “I was a little surprised that you have me saved in your phone. Not long ago I wasn’t there. Or do you remember my number?“
“I have you saved. Why not? We speak quite often.“
“I’m sorry for calling now. Surely you’re done working and are looking forward to the weekend. But I couldn’t help it. Guess what – she agreed. She agreed!“
I understood everything immediately. What I had hoped wouldn’t happen, had just happened. In an instinct of self-preservation I still grasped at straws. “Who and with what, Mrs. Mala?“
“Eva, of course. She wants to meet with you. To be more exact – she’d like you to come to her home… Dumb idea?“
Brick by brick – I was reminded of the house being built on my shoulders.
“…and she would like me to come with you.“
“I’m afraid, Mrs. Mala, that that won’t work. It’s simply not standard practice…“
“I know, Doctor. I understand that for you she’s not so important that you would want to commute for her sessions, but I really must intercede for her. Help her. Let’s help her together.“
“It can’t work,“ I sighed resignedly.
“It will work. Believe me. Just our presence, our interest will give her the kick she needs.“
I couldn’t resist Mrs. Mala any longer, and I especially couldn’t resist my conscience, which had already long struggled with the flimsy fact that I would even stay free to fulfill the promise for Jana and myself – I would help as much as I could. “When?”
“You’re wonderful. How about early evening on Tuesday?“
“At six?“
“That would work. If anything changes, I’ll give you a call.“
“Where shall I go?“
“I’ll come for you up by car at five-thirty so you don’t have to look for it… And thank you. Thank you once again.“ We said goodbye. So Tuesday at six. D-day and hour-H. A story a person could not make up. Are you sleeping, little Jan? You’re not sleeping. Sleeping, sleeping, and in the dream you’re dreaming… I traced the tree rings on the desktop with my finger. “Eleanor Rigby” pulled me from my thoughts… all the lonely people… I turned off the forgotten player. Silence passed in silence.
Just as creeks merge into streams, and streams into rivers, so do the mistakes I’ve committed merge into a relentless torrent. Drunken evenings and a night-time ride through Prague, an accident with cruel consequences for a young woman, running away from my responsibilities, and then the worst – I’m going to lie to that woman, cheat her, laugh at her…
I was tormented with pangs of guilt the entire weekend. What should I do? God, what should I do?
Can I still stop it? Should I go to the police? Should I refuse the therapy I promised? Therapy that can’t succeed anyway? No, I had let things go too far. I had left Eva with her inner struggles and let her suffer, and I let myself become a beacon that Jana was pulled to. I can’t turn away now. I can’t. Her spirit, as well as her spine, would be broken. She would be scared by the fact that even I don’t believe. That spark of determination that Jana and I had ignited would be extinguished once and for all. No, no, no. I can’t. I will let myself be carried further on the relentless torrent – but even in the short moments when I lift my head above the ferocious waves, I still won’t see the calm surface.
Jana arrived exactly at five-thirty and rang me on my mobile. In the car we greeted each other with smiles and set out on our way. I was quite calm, and I would dare to say that Jana had no idea how deep my despair was in those days. Perhaps the only problem was focusing on the geyser of speech directed at me. Helter skelter – it reminded me of the song by the Beatles. She talked and talked. I answered politely, but briefly, when she asked something. I’m coming down fast but don’t let me break you…the lyrics of the song go through my head.
“This is where it happened,“ says Jana, pointing to the intersection in front of us.
We pass the crosswalk. I look out the window and am silent.
“This is where that asshole hit her and ran away. Our wonderful police have found nothing of course. That bastard is still free. Doesn’t it frighten you that maybe every day you run into such a man?“
It does. Every morning when I see him in the mirror I feel sick, I think without answering. Look out Helter skelter she’s coming down fast yes she is, yes she is. End of the song.
We’re in the estate making our way between the buildings. We find a parking place and Jana carefully backs in between two cars. “It’s that building over there, but I’ll leave the car here. There’s only a small parking lot over there – usually full.”
We go the short distance on foot. I can feel my stomach tightening, but I forbid myself any sort of emotion. You’re at work, you’re at work, I repeat to myself.
Jana waves at a window on the ground floor. “I’m sure she’s watching from behind the curtain.“
But the curtain doesn’t move.
“See, I told you there wouldn’t be any place to park here.“ She unlocks the door to the building. Right past the door are the wide doors to the elevator, but we go up the five steps to the raised ground floor.
Jana rattles a bunch of keys and unlocks the door to a flat on that floor. “Hello, hello,“ she calls through the half-open door. “Visitors. Can we come in?“
“Yes, of course. Come in…and don’t bother to take your shoes off,“ I hear the voice of Eva Linhartova for the first time. Instinctively I take a deep breath and follow Jana. Just no emotion, no emotion. What does her voice say about her? Young, thoughtful, sensitive, nice….pain, nervousness, expectation…
Jana goes in before me and whoops, “Set the table! The guests are here.“
I’m grateful to her for slightly breaking the tension in this moment. She slips into the living room. She obscures my view. She bends and I hear the smack of a kiss.
“Hi.“ She stands back and puts her arm out toward me. “Dr. Eimut, Eva.“
Eyes, a smile, and dark, straight hair that dances around her head with the slightest movement.
“Eva Linhartova, Doctor.“
I move closer, and when I’m two steps away she offers me her hand in greeting. I bend down slightly and put my hand out too. The film slows. We move toward each other with infinite slowness. There is total silence. Everything is blurred – only our hands move closer to each other. Just a few more centimeters. Eyes. Dark eyes. Millimeters. A smile and hair that falls around her face when her eyes look at you. Touch. A cool, small hand in mine.
“Linhartova.“
“Eimut.“
“Call me Klein, and it’ll be like a meeting of Sudetan Germans,“ Jana laughs, and we laugh with her.
“Have a seat,“ Eva says to us.
I let Jana sit in the chair she’s chosen and I sit in the other one. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?“
“That would be nice,“ I answer.
Jana nods too and then immediately offers, “Come here. I’ll get it.“
“No, no. I can manage. I’ll call you when it’s ready.“
From the kitchen comes the rattle of the coffee maker. We’re quiet at the table. I look around the flat.
It seems, I would say, unlived in. It doesn’t seem to fit Eva. It’s not the flat of a young, talented writer, it’s the prisoner’s flat. The furniture is nice, that’s true, but otherwise there is no decoration, no character. A temporary place to live with no relationship to anyone, anything.
“It’s ready,“ she calls from the kitchen.
Jana stands up and after a few seconds brings back a tray with three steaming cups. Eva maneuvers over to the table in her wheelchair. We stir our coffee and are grateful for the short opportunity to do something with our hands. We smile with our eyes.
“I guess I should say something first,“ says Jana, breaking the awkward silence. “I was the one who thought this all up….but I’ll start broadly. Everyone who knows me, knows that I’m a woman who speaks her mind. I’ll tell you what I think, whatever it is, and not everyone likes that. I never really brooded over my problems. I always just solved them – bang, bang, and that was that. People around me always took me for a strong and well-balanced woman. I thought of myself that way too for a long time. Then forty came and at once I noticed some changes. Suddenly I was tired and annoyed, nothing was any fun, and I just crumbled from it all. It lasted a year or two. I fought it, but eventually I gave up. I closed myself off. Finally, I confided in my doctor, and she advised me to talk to a psychologist about my mental state. I refused at first – I’m not some nut – but in the end I gave it a try. I discovered Doctor Eimut here. He knows best all that we’ve discussed and dissected, and finally we found that weak spot in my personality and my way of life….I’m better now. I’m living a better life. I feel it that way.“
She paused for a moment, sipped her coffee and went on, “What happened to Eva, happened. Of course it’s a mess, and I understand her state of mind and her skepticism… but I also think that it’s time to start living.“
Eva drew a breath in protest. “No, let me finish,“ Jana went on. “I said this to you not long ago and I’ll say it again – it’s time to start living and writing. You’re a writer, you’re not some top athlete. You can’t run, you can’t jump, but you can write. The only thing stopping you is in your head, or let’s say, your state of mind… and something can certainly be done about that.“ She grabbed her cup and took a sip from it. “I’m finished. So there. Whoo.“
I had to smile, and inside I felt grateful again to Jana for that ‘hoot.’
My turn had come. I glanced in the eyes of the two woman to check that it was in fact my turn to say something. For a moment I lost myself in Eva’s gaze (God!), and then I began, “If you’ll allow me, I’ll also begin a bit broadly. I met Mrs. Mala here a few months ago when she came to me with her problems. She came regularly to our sessions. She talked about herself, about her life…We worked together. I recognized in her a truly strong woman who had only been led to me by a concurrence of all sorts of circumstances. She was always very straightforward and completely different that most of my other patients. I confess that after her visits I always felt I had been lifted above my own problems. Yes, it’s a paradox, but a psychologist feels relief after consultations with his patients.“
Both laughed, and I now felt encouraged.
“Later on, Mrs. Mala mentioned you.“ I hesitated for a bit. From this point on, everything I wanted to say was no longer improvisation, but part of my plan. In those sleepless nights, when I was struggling with remorse over what I’d done and how much I’d hurt Eva, I also considered my role in the situation I now found myself in. I thought about what to say and what strategy to choose if one day I stood face to face with Eva. From all that I knew about her from Jana, and what I’d picked up from her book – in her way of thinking and expression – one thing came to me: if I wanted to help Eva, if I wanted to give her back her zest for life, if I wanted to, as Jana says, “give her a kick,” then we would have to (I’m afraid to even say it) – we would have to be friends! Yes, we’d have to –Jana, Eva and I – become friends. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to get close to Eva. She is too intelligent and perceptive, and with her ingrained skepticism she’d see right through any standard strategy I might choose. I would never be able to convince her if I spoke in the language of my profession. This is what I’d come up with. I was convinced – and I bet on it.
“Later on, Mrs. Mala mentioned you,“ I repeated to emphasize precisely this fact. „She spoke very nicely of you and it was nice to listen to. There aren’t many friendships like yours in this world. Very often our topics of discussion veered toward you, and one day your friend Jana sort of asked me to help… help you adapt to your new life situation. I admit that I was, and actually still am, in a bit of a quandary with her request, because a proactive approach from you, Ms. Linhartova, was missing from the beginning. And without that, I dare say, this can not work. I interpret the fact that you finally invited me to this meeting as succumbing to the pressure that Jana, with all good intentions, put on you.“
Looking into the eyes of both women, I checked the effect of my words. Jana was disappointed. Eva commended me.
“Besides, I’m convinced that with a friend like Jana, you don’t need the help of a psychologist. Let’s be honest, a guy, even if he is a psychologist, can barely even get close to the kind of detailed analysis two good girlfriends can produce.”
Now I saw praise in both of their eyes. I sipped my coffee and finished up my plan. “Now you’re probably saying – so what are you doing here if you’re not offering any help? My answer is that despite what I’ve said, my help is still a possibility. It depends on Ms.Linhartova. She just needs to agree and we are good to go.“
I looked in Eva’s eyes, searching for an answer. She held my gaze, but didn’t answer. “What is the reason I’m here? Maybe it’s presumptuous of me, but from the moment we began speaking about you, I couldn’t help feeling that my relationship with Mrs. Mala, and hence with you, had moved from the plane of psychologist – patient to the plane of ….the personal. I confess that the discussions with Jana were so refreshing, your reputation and book so interesting, that I couldn’t resist the temptation to accept your invitation and get to know you more.“ I wanted to say “whoo,” but I didn’t.
“Well that’s great!“ Jana rejoiced. „Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? I was always so afraid of you. The three of us should have gone for a drink long ago. What do you say, Eva?“
“What do I say? That I’m relieved. I wasn’t really all that excited about the thought that the three of us would all sit around here trying to get into my head. And to be honest – it wasn’t just because of Jana that I invited you here, but also my curiosity about the man I had heard about so often…and only good things.“
“Well, that went beautifully wrong,“ laughed Jana. “That calls for a drink. Will you have one? I can’t – I’m driving.“
“No, thank you. I won’t have one either. I don’t drink much, and besides, I’m still not totally sure that I’m not at work,“ I joked.
Eva immediately reassured me, “You’re not at work, really. You’re here on a visit.“
Jana ceremoniously lifted her cup with the rest of her coffee. “When I was in your office I noticed that you like the Beatles. You have all their CDs.“
A little surprised, Eva and I waited for the punch line. “We’ll drink to the newly established ‚Lonely Hearts Club‘.“ This made us all laugh. “So, to Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club!“ The three of us toasted by clinking our cups together.
“I assume that you know something about my grim private life,“ I said, reacting to my membership in the club.
“Of course we know…“ Jana laughed, adding, “Damn, this is so …..Let’s address each other informally.”
Alarmed, I looked into Eva’s eyes.
She didn’t notice, or she ignored it. “Why not?“ She lifted her cup again to toast, “Eva.“
“Jan,“ I muttered flatly and repeated it with Jana. I realized that I was no longer driving this train I had set in motion.
“We should maybe have a small kiss, shouldn’t we?“ crowned Jana, and immediately leaned toward me.
There was nothing left to do but to finish the ceremony. I got up and walked over to Eva. She was smiling. She tilted her head and set her lips. Her hair fell around her face and I could smell her scent. My head spun a little when our lips softly touched. I sat back down and looked at her. So this was the face I had been trying to imagine. She stepped out of the mist that had veiled her until now. I calmed the oceans and mirrored their shine. She tossed her hair….and with it, stopped time. Now I understood. God, how I understood.
It was after nine when we said goodbye. We chatted the whole time under Jana’s direction. I talked a lot about myself and revealed things that maybe I didn’t even want to, but I also learned a lot. It was an interesting excursion into the world of women.
“That was the first time since it happened that I’ve seen her smile. And it’s because of you,“ Jana complimented me on the way back.
“Because of us,“ I corrected her modestly, and without enthusiasm.
“I promised that I would go back tonight and help her. The caretaker for today cancelled. Will you give me your email address? I’ll write to tell you what she thought of it all.“
“I’ll send you a text message.“ I typed it right there in the car.
“I had no idea how things would turn out tonight. It was really a desperate attempt, but it turned out as well as it could have. I have a good feeling from it. Hopefully we’ll be able to meet more often and get her to go out.“
“Well, we promised that we’d all meet, but I’m afraid that getting her to go out in the near future might be a problem.“
We stopped in front of my house. “Thank you again… Honza.“
“You’re welcome… And actually, friends call me Jene. ‚Honza‘ always makes me feel like I’m a fool.
She laughed. “No, you’re no fool. Good night, Jene.“
“Good night, Jana.“
At home I hung up my jacket, put on some slippers, and ran up the steps to my office. I turned on the computer. I would wait until Jana wrote. I didn’t turn on the light, and only the pale light from the monitor illuminated the room.
Moments of silence punctuated by the sound of the computer fan. I sat – or rather lay, in the chair behind the desk.
I thought about if this was what I wanted, and with difficulty I searched for the answer. I wanted to help her and I also wanted to resolve the situation that had arisen. It was the only possible solution. Friendship. Meetings, like today’s, emails, text messages…The only possible way to “revive” her – “give her a kick“.
But could I have imagined that behind the term “friendship” would lie touches, kisses? I could have, but it didn’t occur to me – and it caught me by surprise. How had I imagined it? – Hello, Ms. Linhart, hello, Mrs. Mala, I’m writing you again after a long pause. Imagine what an interesting case I have now…What do you think about it? I’m looking forward to your reply. – Something like that? Yes. And in the meantime, Eva! Jana! Jene!...The Lonely Hearts Club. God, if they only knew…
”Our wonderful police have found nothing, of course“ – I was reminded of Jana’s indignant remark. Were they still looking? Had they put the case aside? My forehead began to sweat. What if they were still looking? What if that policeman… Stary was his name, puts the two cases together? What if he realizes that I was on my way to the prisoner’s? He saw that I was drunk. It would be enough to look at a map of the city, compare the time of the two events… and he’d have me! I felt sicker than I had in a long time. God, what if it all comes crashing down? It can’t happen. I’m crazy. I’m just making things up. It won’t ever happen! It can’t. If it did…I’d have to kill myself.
I shook my head to get rid of the thoughts. I couldn’t think about it anymore. I would go crazy. Jana still hadn’t written. What could they be talking about?
I got up and went over to the window. The chilly October evening had changed into night. The sky was overcast. “You know how this ends,“ I whispered to the universe, and in my imagination see celestial bodies inching through the black space.
“I’m just a spectator,“ the moon’s incantation boomed from somewhere. „I can not tell you more.“
“Why won’t you give me advice? With your help, I could surely do so much more. I tried to help her. I really tried… to do something that would interest her, that would encourage her…“
“That would relieve your conscience,“ said the moon harshly.
“Yes, that too. In that fateful moment I ruined Eva’s life, but also myself. I made a mistake. First one, then immediately a second, a third, and then another and another…
I know that if I had stopped and rushed to help Eva, things would be much different. I would have been punished and sitting in prison. Things should have order. But in those few seconds that I had to make that decision, I missed my chance…and then I was afraid. I was afraid. Yes, afraid. Am I a coward?“
The moon didn’t answer, so I answered myself, “Yes, I likely am, but…but I’m not a bad person. I would like to make amends – which is why I endured that insanity and in this roundabout way again entered her life. Is it another mistake?“ I didn’t get an answer to this question either, but perhaps only because of the beep of the incoming email.
I hurried to the computer. Jana.
“Jene, at this late hour I’m finally writing you the promised message. I went back to Eva’s and was there up until now. Imagine that when I went back into the flat, she was crying. She was inconsolable, and for a long time I tried, but didn’t succeed, in finding out what was happening. Maybe we were too optimistic. Have we made a mistake? But it looked so promising. It makes me feel sad, and I’m sorry to make you feel sad too. All three of us will fall asleep tonight with sorrow in our souls… how fitting for Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club. Jana.
P.S. I promised not to mention the tears. Let me be forgiven.”

Tears. I didn’t expect that. After all, there was so much laughter. How can I even pretend that I understand the human soul?
I couldn’t bear to sit behind the desk anymore and went back to the window. „Is that perhaps your answer? Have I only made another mistake?“
The whole universe was silent. The celestial bodies soundlessly inched their way through space.
Silence.
Painful silence.
The cosmic mechanism purred on, untouched by my fate.
I stood at the window and let the thoughts flow lazily through my tired mind. Time too flowed lazily, and sliced up the night.
Tears. Not always an expression of hopelessness. They always bring relief (if only I were able to do so), and sometimes they are a new beginning, coming between what was and what will be – I worked to comfort myself. I wished.

■
“I hate Jana for putting me in such a situation, and I hate Jan…Did he come to look at me like some kind of new species?
I hate him for looking at me that way, and I hate myself for looking at him the same way. I was powerless. If I wanted to escape I would have had to crawl on my hands....like a seal. It’s humiliating. I hate…“
“Enough!“ shouted the moon. “That’s enough. Jana loves you and wanted to help you, and Jan… What did he do that was out of the ordinary? He visited you? He also wanted to help – especially you, but maybe even himself.“
“He wanted the solace of seeing someone worse off than himself? That’s why he came?“
“No, certainly not. He feels alone. He is alone. Maybe he wanted to repay a debt…“
“Repay a debt? Who does he owe, and what? I don’t understand you at all. What do you know about him?“
“Perhaps he’s made mistakes in his life and he wanted to make amends. Who knows?“ the moon refused to confess. “He has a broken heart and a broken soul. Just like your broken spine keeps you from moving, so does his broken soul keep him from living his life freely. Nothing hurts more than an injured soul. Trust me.“
Eva softened. “I saw the pain in his eyes. I glimpsed it. Yes, that’s what seemed so strange about him – he joked, but with flashes of sorrow in his eyes… Why? What’s bothering him. You must know.“
“I am only a spectator.“
“Yeah, I know – You see all from the heavens. You see into hearts and into souls….You don’t give advice. You don’t answer.“
Silence.
Painful silence.
Eva was sitting straight up in her wheelchair so she could peer over the window frame to see the night above the roofs of the houses. The lights of the city and the black clouds in the sky made the stars invisible. One could only guess at what was behind that invisible wall. She closed her eyes. Luminous darkness, she realized, just like long ago.… and in that luminous darkness she saw herself floating in space. She flew over the city. She climbed higher and the light below became the starry sky. Am I flying upwards or downwards? I want to go up, above that wall of clouds that’s suffocating me. I want to fly to the stars. She flew through the fog, never-ending fog. She heard the moon cry, “Jene!“
Finally. Nothing but stars above her head. She let out a deep breath. Above her head, stars, and below, clouds made of down. She floated through space, relieved. “I want to write!“ she screamed into the infinity. She opened her eyes. “I want to write again,“ she whispered in the silence of the room. She tilted her head back and watched the clouds above the roofs of the houses.
Her mind changed in the calm of the night sky – a dark sky blinking with the light of the stars. Flames flickered in the darkness and suddenly a thought flew in like a comet. She caught it and carefully formed it into sentences. Then slowly, lest she frighten away the idea that had been born, she reached for a pen and pad of paper and wrote:

The star seemed so close. So I set out toward it on a journey.
The closer I came, the further away it was.
Space.
Heartened by the thought that though we were back to back, we might be moving toward each other.

I read over the short text. Then again one more time, and then again and again… Did it make any sense? Did it have a head or a tail? Yes, perhaps. I had put the idea on paper. I had written it.
She wheeled over to the computer on the desk and typed out the sentences. God… Who did I have in mind? Who was I writing about? About Karel? No.
She looked around the room. This is my world. Could she travel to the stars from here? Bare walls, a desk and computer, a television, another little table and a chair. Nothing else. I wouldn’t think that a man could enter this world. And he did. He was here. He sat in that chair and talked. He made jokes with a sad expression on his face. Such a contrast. It intrigued me. Yes, I was thinking of Jan. I had written those few sentences about him. Without even knowing it. … The two of us, though back to back, might be moving toward each other.
Such nonsense. We’re not back to back, and we’re not moving toward each other. Neither of us. How are we alike? We’re not. He is going his own way. Perhaps Jana diverted him a bit when she talked his ear off about me. He came. He looked around. He chatted at bit. And off he goes. Me? I’m going my own way too. From the window to the desk, from the desk to the window… Today into space. I’m nuts. Will I ever manage to get out of this world? Will I lean into the wheels, push myself over the threshold of this flat and go? Where? Into the streets? From the window I see that a few tiles are missing from the sidewalk in front of the building. I won’t be able to get over that spot. I would have to go in the street. I’m terrified of cars, I can’t go there. I would die of fright if they were passing by me only a few centimeters away. How long will Jana enjoy helping me? She’s done so much for me. She handles everything, makes arrangements, comes to see me… What if one day she doesn’t come? Tomorrow. What if tomorrow, or even today, she doesn’t come? I was horrible to her. I was acting hysterically and couldn’t’ explain to her why I was crying so. What could I have done? I didn’t know myself. I should have died under the wheels of that car. It would have been better. I wouldn’t be suffering and I wouldn’t be troubling everyone around me. Around me? Who was around me? My family, whom I torment by not wanting to torment them with my presence. The caretaker, who I guess likes me as much as a seamstress likes her sewing machine or a saleswoman likes her shop…I’m just a job. Jana… She clicked on her email and typed Jana’s address into the box.
“Tonight, actually yesterday, was so strange. Several times I surprised even myself: First how I stared at Jan like a half-wit (I had no idea what the first guy to cross my path would do to me). Then there was my hysterical scene – I’m sorry. And then there’s the fact that after such a long time, I finally pulled myself together and wrote a few sentences…
So I’m writing you.
He almost knocked me off my wheels. Who? Jan of course. Interesting man. You said once that he was a looker. I wouldn’t say so. He’s not very handsome. But what fascinates me about him are his eyes. Those big eyes that seem to speak. Did you notice? They look a little sad, but he can ask and even answer with them. An interesting ability. He’s funny. And that contrast between his sad expression and his funny comments… that really got me.
When you had left together, I felt such horrible sadness and also anger at the fact that I couldn’t go with you. I envied you going down the stairs and out to the car with him. I watched you as you pulled out of the parking lot, and could not handle the flood of emotions at the loss of these ordinary things.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I couldn’t control myself even when you came back, and raged on about my inability to go with a man down the stairs, to the car, sit next to him…
I still haven’t got used to this. I’m still not able to just sit passively and watch. I would like to, I wish…and I forget that I can’t. I forget that I am, and always will be, only a spectator to ordinary things like walking, standing around, moving from one seat to another…
I’m writing and writing. I can’t even count the sentences I’ve written. Are they making sense? Hopefully so. Hopefully at least I have that ability back.
What definitely doesn’t make sense is my whining over spilled milk. I know. I’ll learn to suppress it somehow. Take these lines as a small writing exercise, as proof that I can again put my thoughts (even silly ones) on paper. I’ll have a look to where I ended up with ‘Marta.’ In my imagination I’m surely much further.
Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club? Yesterday I felt like the loneliest member. I’m writing – and it’s better. Not that I’m not lonely anymore. I guess I still am, and will be, but I’m – reconciled.”

■
I went by bus, and the rest of the way on foot. It’s apparently only a short way from the last stop, not even a ten-minute walk.
Where am I going? To see Eva!
Jana wrote to tell me that she had got a letter from her.
“A letter,“ she wrote, “actually a short email. But it’s a huge success, Jene. She’s writing! That’s what we wanted, hoped for. I confess that after that last scene I had lost some hope. She was in such despair when I left. Only a few hours passed, and she sends an email! I couldn’t believe my eyes. She only wrote a few lines, but what she wrote – simply wonderful. A break, a turn….I don’t know what to call it.
I’ll start from the end: she wants to continue writing her book about Marta – who is a woman about my age, and also pretty apt for membership in the Lonely Hearts Club. I’d really hoped she’d finish writing this book one day. It will happen. Now I believe that.
And what else did she write? Are you sitting down? So sit down. She has a crush on you! Yes, a crush. She likes you! Your eyes, smile, jokes – you simply scored…“
I really did have to sit down when I read those lines. Another brick had been placed on the ruins that were being built on my shoulders. Like an idiot, I had gazed into her eyes. I had provoked her. What else could she have read into that look other than interest, admiration… And she returned it.
But I couldn’t help myself. There was no other way. She is (I don’t even want to think it, I don’t want to say it aloud) – she’s beautiful. Her eyes, lips, smile, hair…God. I barely slept that night. I stared up at the ceiling and tortured myself with my imagination. We’ll meet – our Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club. We’ll exchange looks that will betray everything. I won’t hide my admiration, I won’t hide what I’ve felt from the first moment I saw her. I won’t hide my love. What I will have to hide – is the past. I will always have to cover up that fateful moment that was our first “meeting.” Will I be able to? I must. I must.
Lieutenant Stary. Was he still searching? Was he still picking at the case? Would he appear one day at my door and say – you lied to me, Mr. Eimut?
What if he does? What will I do then? There would be an explosion, a huge explosion. A nuclear explosion above my, Eva’s and Jana’s heads. I would have to kill myself…
Those were the thoughts that were going through my head.
Jana called a few days later. “We’re meeting at Eva’s. You have to come by bus, we’re going to celebrate a bit. What you ask? Well, we have to toast the book about Marta that she’s working on again. Shortly after that Eva called me too! She said she’d be glad if I came.
“Jana is going a bit overboard, but apparently the fact that I want to continue writing other books too is reason to celebrate. Well, so be it – a small celebration. I’ll be very glad to see you.“
I stupidly asked who the book would be about.
“The hero of my book is a coward,“ she said mischievously, unaware of how the sharp arrow struck my heart.
I’m standing at the crosswalk. My mind spinning with a whirlwind of thoughts – fears, remorse, anxiety, … , attraction, desire …
How long can I keep this up?
Tick, tick, tick – ticks the signal for the blind. I recognize the feeling when a film is running through my head. ‘I’ll end it!,’ I resolve in the film. I can’t do otherwise. “It’s the only solution,” I think, and with great relief step in front of the wheels of a huge car. I felt no pain when the massive machine broke my bones and tore through my body. Light alternated with darkness.
Light, dark, light, dark.
Noise alternated with silence.
Darkness and silence… Only the light of the moon shone and from afar sounded its voice:

Will your paths ever cross?
They are two parallel lines – she on one, you on the other.
Then you embrace her…in eternity.

Tickticktick… I opened my eyes and stopped the film.
I looked left, then to the right – just in case some nut… and then I stepped out into the crosswalk.

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