I was surprised. "Read it, then."
"My eyes are bad," said Mrs. Zaturecky. "I haven't read a single line for five years, but I don't need to read to know if my husband's honest or not. That can be recognized in other ways. I know my husband as a mother knows her children, I know everything about him. And I know that what he does is always honest."
I had to undergo worse. I read aloud to Mrs. Zaturecky paragraphs from various authors whose thoughts and formulations Mr. Zaturecky had taken over. It wasn't a question of willful plagiarism, but rather an unconscious submission to those authorities who inspired in Mr. Zaturecky a feeling of sincere and inordinate respect. It was obvious that no serious scholarly journal could publish Mr. Zaturecky's work.
I don't know how much Mrs. Zaturecky concentrated on my exposition, how much of it she followed and understood; she sat humbly in the armchair,
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Nobody Will Laugh
humbly and obediently like a soldier who knows that he may not leave his post. It took about half an hour for us to finish. Mrs. Zaturecky got up from the armchair, fixed her transparent eyes upon me, and in a dull voice begged my pardon; but I knew that she hadn't lost faith in her husband and she didn't reproach anyone except herself for not knowing how to resist my arguments, which seemed obscure and unintelligible to her. She put on her military greatcoat, and I understood that this woman was a soldier in body and spirit, a sad and loyal soldier, a soldier tired from long marches, a soldier who doesn't understand the sense of an order and yet carries it out without objections, a soldier who goes away defeated but without dishonor.
13
"So now you don't have to be afraid of anything," I said to Klara, when later in the Dalmatia Tavern I repeated to her my conversation with Mrs. Zaturecky.
"I didn't have anything to fear anyhow," replied Klara with a self-assurance that astonished me.
"What do you mean, you didn't? If it weren't for you I wouldn't have met with Mrs. Zaturecky at all."
"It's good that you did meet with her, because what you did to them was unnecessary. Dr. Kalousek said
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Laughable Loves
that it's hard for a sensible man to understand it."
"When did you see Kalousek?"
"I saw him," said Klara.
"And did you tell him everything?"
"What? Is it a secret, perhaps? Now I know exactly what you are."
"Really?"
"May I tell you what you are?"
"Please."
"A stereotypical cynic."
"You got that from Kalousek."
"Why from Kalousek? Do you think that I can't figure it out for myself ? You actually think I'm not capable of forming an opinion about you. You like to lead people by the nose. You promised Mr. Zaturecky a review."
"I didn't promise him a review."
"And you promised me a job. You used me as an excuse to Mr. Zaturecky, and you used Mr. Zaturecky as an excuse to me. But you may be sure that I'll get that job."
"Through Kalousek?" I tried to be scornful.
"Certainly not through you! You've gambled so much away, and you don't even know yourself how much."
"And do you know?"
"Yes. Your contract won't be renewed, and you'll be glad if they'll let you into some little provincial gallery as a clerk. But you must realize that all this was only your own mistake. If I can give you some advice:
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Nobody Will Laugh
another time be honest and don't lie, because a man who lies can't be respected by any woman."
She got up, gave me (clearly for the last time) her hand, turned, and left.
Only after a while did it occur to me (in spite of the chilly silence that surrounded me) that my story was not of the tragic sort, but rather of the comic variety.
That afforded me some comfort.
45
The Golden
Apple of Eternal
Desire
. . . they do not know that they seek only the chase and not the quarry.
?Blaise Pascal
Martin
Martin is able to do something I'm incapable of. Stop any woman on any street. I must say that during the long time I've known him I've greatly profited from this skill of his, for I like women as much as he does, but I wasn't granted his reckless audacity. On the other hand, Martin committed the error of reducing accosting to an exercise of virtuosity as an end in itself. And so he used to say, not without a certain bitterness, that he was like a soccer forward who unselfishly passes unstoppable balls to his teammate, who then kicks easy goals and reaps cheap glory.
Last Monday afternoon after work I was waiting for him in a cafe on Vaclav Square, looking through a thick German book on Etruscan culture. It had taken several months for the university library to negotiate its loan from Germany, and now that it had finally come just that day, I carried it off as if it were a relic, and I was actually quite pleased that Martin had kept me waiting, and that I could leaf through the book I'd long wanted at a cafe table.
Whenever I think about ancient cultures nostalgia seizes me. Perhaps this is nothing but envy of the sweet slowness of the history of that time. The era of ancient
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Laughable Loves
Egyptian culture lasted for several thousand years; the era of Greek antiquity for almost a thousand. In this respect, a single human life imitates the history of mankind; at first it is plunged into immobile slowness, and then only gradually does it accelerate more and more. Just two months ago Martin had turned forty.
The Adventure Begins
It was he who disturbed my thoughtful mood. He appeared suddenly at the glass door of the cafe and headed for me, making expressive gestures and grimaces in the direction of a table at which a woman was sitting over a cup of coffee. Without taking his eyes off her, he sat down beside me and said: "What do you say about that?"
I felt humiliated; I'd actually been so engrossed in my thick volume that only now did I notice the girl; I had to admit that she was pretty. And at that moment the girl straightened up and called the man with the black bow tie, saying that she wished to pay.
"Pay too!" Martin ordered me.
We thought that we would have to run after the girl, but luckily she was detained at the cloakroom. She had left a shopping bag there, and the cloakroom attendant had to hunt for a while before placing it on the counter
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The Golden Apple of Eternal Desire
in front of the girl. As the girl gave the cloakroom attendant some coins, Martin snatched the German book out of my hands.
"It will be better to put it in here," he said with daredevil nonchalance, and slipped the book carefully into the girl's bag. The girl looked surprised, but she didn't know what she was supposed to say.
"It's uncomfortable to carry in one's hand," continued Martin, and when the girl went to pick up the bag herself, he told me off for not knowing how to behave.
The young woman was a nurse in a country hospital. She was in Prague, she said, only for a look around and was hurrying off to the bus terminal. The short distance to the streetcar stop was enough for us to say everything essential and to agree that on Saturday we would come to the town of B. to visit this lovely young woman, who, as Martin meaningfully pointed out, would certainly have a pretty colleague join us.
The streetcar arrived. I handed the young woman her bag, and she began to take the book out of it, but Martin prevented her with a grand gesture, saying we would come for it on Saturday, and that she should read through it carefully in the meantime. The young woman smiled in a bewildered fashion, the streetcar carried her away, and we waved.
Nothing could be done; the book, which I'd been looking forward to for so long, suddenly found itself in a faraway place; when you came to think of it it was quite annoying; but nonetheless a certain lunacy happily uplifted me on the wings it promptly provided.
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Laughable Loves
Martin immediately
began thinking about how to make an excuse for Saturday afternoon and night to his young wife (for this is how things stand: at home he has a young wife; and what is worse, he loves her; and what is still worse, he is afraid of her; and what is far worse still, he is anxious about her).
A Successful Sighting
For our excursion I borrowed a neat little Fiat, and on Saturday at two o'clock I drove up in front of Martin's apartment building; Martin was waiting for me and we set off. It was July and oppressively hot.
We wanted to get to B. as soon as possible, but when we saw, in a village through which we were driving, two young men only in swim trunks and with eloquently wet hair, I stopped the car. The lake was actually not far away, a few paces, a mere stone's throw. I needed to be refreshed; Martin was also for swimming.
We changed into our swim trunks and leaped into the water. I swam quickly to the other side. Martin, however, barely took a dip, washed himself off, and came out again. When I'd had a good swim and returned to shore, I caught sight of him in a state of intent absorption. On the shore a crowd of kids was yelling, somewhere farther off the local young people
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The Golden Apple of Eternal Desire
were playing soccer, but Martin was staring at the sturdy little figure of a young girl, who was perhaps fifteen meters away with her back toward us. Totally motionless, she was observing the water.
"Look," said Martin.
"I am looking."
"And what do you say?"
"What should I say?"
"You don't know what you should say about that?"
"Well have to wait until she turns around," I suggested.
"Not at all. We don't have to wait until she turns around. What's showing from this side is quite enough for me."
"Okay. But we don't have the time to spend with her."
"A sighting, a sighting," said Martin, and turned to a little boy a short distance away who was putting on his swim trunks: "Say, kid, do you know the name of that girl over there?" and he pointed to the girl, who, apparently in some curious state of apathy, went on standing in the same position.
"That one there?"
"Yes, that one there."
"That one isn't from around here," said the little boy.
Martin turned to a little girl of about twelve, who was sunbathing close by.
"Say, kid, do you know who that girl over there is, the one standing at the edge of the water?"
The little girl obediently sat up. "That one there?"
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Laughable Loves
"Yes, that one."
"That's Marie?"
"Marie? Marie who?"
"Marie Panek, from Traplice."
And the girl still stood with her back to us, looking at the water. Now she bent down for her bathing cap, and when she straightened up again, putting it on her head as she did so, Martin was already at my side saying: "That's Marie Panek from Traplice. Now we can drive on.
He was completely calmed and satisfied, and obviously no longer thinking of anything but the rest of the journey.
A Little Theory
That's what Martin calls sighting. From his vast experience, he has come to the conclusion that it is not as difficult, for someone with high numerical requirements, to seduce a girl as it is to know enough girls one hasn't yet seduced.
Therefore he asserts that it is necessary always, no matter where, and at every opportunity, systematically to sight women, that is, to record in a notebook or in our memories the names of women who have attracted us and whom we could one day board.
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The Golden Apple of Eternal Desire
Boarding is a higher level of activity and means that we will get in touch with a particular woman, make her acquaintance, and gain access to her.
He who likes to look back boastfully will stress the names of the women he's made love to; but he who looks forward, toward the future, must above all see to it that he has plenty of women sighted and boarded.
Over and above boarding there exists only one last level of activity, and I am happy to point out, in deference to Martin, that those who do not go after anything but this last level are wretched, primitive men, who remind me of village soccer players pressing forward thoughtlessly toward the other team's goal, forgetting that it is not enough to score a goal (and many goals) out of the frenetic desire of the kicker, but that it is first necessary to play a conscientious and systematic game on the field.
"Do you think you'll go look her up in Traplice sometime?" I asked Martin, when we were driving again.
"You never know," said Martin.
Then I said: "In any case the day is beginning propitiously for us."
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Laughable Loves
Game and Necessity
We arrived at the hospital in B. in excellent spirits. It was about three-thirty. We called our nurse on the phone in the lobby. Before long she came down in her cap and white uniform; 1 noticed that she was blushing, and I took this to be a good sign.
Martin began to talk right away, and the girl informed us that she finished work at seven and that we should wait for her at that time in front of the hospital.
"Have you already arranged it with your girlfriend?" asked Martin, and the girl nodded.
"Yes, we'll both be there."
"Fine," said Martin, "but we can't confront my colleague here with a fait accompli."
"Okay," said the girl, "we can drop in on her; she's in the surgery ward."
As we walked slowly across the hospital courtyard I shyly said: "I wonder if you still have that thick book?"
The nurse nodded, saying that she did, and in fact it was right here at the hospital. A weight fell from my heart, and I insisted that we had to get it first.
Of course it seemed improper to Martin that I should openly give preference to a book over a woman about to be presented to me, but I just couldn't help it. I confess that I had suffered greatly during those few days that the book on Etruscan culture was out of my sight. And it was only through great self-restraint that 1 had stoically put up with this, not wishing under any circumstances to
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The Golden Apple of Eternal Desire
spoil the Game, whose value I've learned to respect since my youth and to which I now subordinate all my personal interests and desires.
While I was having a touching reunion with my book, Martin continued his conversation with the pretty nurse, and got as far as getting her to promise that she would borrow a cabin at nearby Lake Hoter from a colleague for the evening. We were all perfectly happy. Finally we went across the hospital courtyard to a small green building, where the surgery ward was.
Just then a nurse and a doctor came walking toward us. The doctor was a funny-looking beanpole with protruding ears, which fascinated me all the more because at this moment our nurse elbowed me: I let out a short laugh. When they had passed us Martin turned to me: "You're in luck, my boy. You don't deserve such a gorgeous young woman."
I was ashamed to say that I had only looked at the beanpole, so I simulated approbation. After all, there wasn't any hypocrisy on my part. That is to say I trust Martin's taste more than my own, because I believe that his taste is supported by a much greater interest than mine. I like objectivity and order in everything, even in love affairs, and consequently I have more respect for the opinion of a connoisseur than for that of a dilettante.
Someone might consider it hypocritical for me to call myself a dilettante?I, a divorced man who is right now relating one of his (obviously in no way exceptional) affairs. But still I am a dilettante. It could be said that I am playing at something that Martin lives. Sometimes
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Laughable Loves
I have the feeling that the whole of my polygamous life is a consequence of nothing but my imitation of other men; although I am not denying that I have taken a liking for this imitation. But I cannot rid myself of the feeling that in this liking there remains, all the same, somethi
ng entirely free, playful, and revocable, something that characterizes visits to art galleries or foreign countries, something not submitted to the unconditional imperative I have suspected behind Martin's erotic life. It is precisely the presence of this unconditional imperative that has raised Martin in my eyes. His judgment about a woman seems to me to be that of Nature herself, Necessity herself speaking through his lips.
Home Sweet Home
When we found ourselves outside the hospital Martin pointed out that everything was going tremendously well for us, and then he added: "Of course we'll have to hurry this evening. I want to be home by nine."
I was amazed: "By nine? That means we'll have to leave here at eight. But then we came here for no reason! I counted on having the whole night!'' "Why do you want us to waste our time?" "But what sense is there in driving here for one hour? What can you do between seven and eight?"
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The Golden Apple of Eternal Desire
"Everything. As you noticed, I got hold of the cabin, so that everything will go swimmingly. It will depend only on you, you'll have to show that you're sufficiendy determined."
"But why, I ask, must you be home at nine?"
"I promised Jirinka. She's used to playing a game of rummy before going to bed on Saturdays."
"Oh, God ..." I sighed.
" Yesterday Jirinka had a bad time at the office again, so I should give her this little bit of joy on Saturday, shouldn't I? You know, she's the best woman I've ever had. After all," he added, "you should be pleased anyway that you'll still have the whole night before you in Prague."
I understood that it was useless to object. Martin's misgivings about his wife's peace of mind could never be appeased, and his faith in the endless erotic possibilities of every hour or minute could never be shaken by anything.
"Come," said Martin, "there are still three hours till seven! We won't be idle!"
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Laughable Loves
A Delusion
We started on our way along the broad path of the local park, which served the inhabitants as a promenade. We inspected several pairs of girls who walked by us or were sitting on the benches, but we didn't like the look of them.
Martin, it must be admitted, accosted two of them, entered into conversation with them, and finally arranged a meeting with them, but I knew that he didn't mean it seriously. This was so-called boarding practice, which he engaged in from time to time for fear of losing his touch.
Dissatisfied, we went out of the park into the streets, which yawned with small-town vacuity and boredom.
"Let's get something to drink; I'm thirsty," I said to Martin.
We found an establishment above which was the sign CAFE. We entered, but inside there was only self-service. It was a tiled room that gave off an air of coldness and hostility. We went over to the counter and bought ourselves watered-down lemonades from a sullen woman, and then carried them over to a table, which, being moist with gravy, invited us to depart hastily.
"Don't worry about it," said Martin. "In our world ugliness has its positive function. No one feels like staying anywhere, people hurry on, and thus arises the desirable pace of life. But we won't let ourselves be pro-
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The Golden Apple of Eternal Desire
voked by this. We can now talk about all sorts of things in the safety of this ugly place." He drank some lemonade and asked: "Have you boarded that medical student yet?"