Milan Kundera - Farewell Waltz

The door opened, and a child came in. It was a little girl about five years old; she was wearing a ruffled white dress belted with a broad white ribbon tied in back with a huge bow looking like a pair of wings. She was holding a flower by the stem: a large dahlia. Seeing in the room so many people who all seemed to be staring dumbfounded at her, she stopped, not daring to go farther.

Then Bertlef, beaming, stood up and said: "Don't be afraid, little angel, come on in."

And the child, as though she were seeing support in Bertlef's smile, burst out laughing and ran over to Bertlef, who accepted the flower and kissed her on the forehead.

The guests and the waiter watched this scene with surprise. With the huge white bow on her back, the child really did look like a little angel. And Bertlef, bending over her with the dahlia in his hand, made one

think of the Baroque statues of saints to be seen in the country's small towns.

"Dear friends," he said, turning to his guests, "I have had a very pleasant time with you, and I hope that you too have enjoyed yourselves. I would gladly stay with you late into the night, but as you can see, I am unable to. This beautiful angel has come to summon me to a person who is waiting for me. I told you that life has struck me with all kinds of blows, but women have loved me."

Bertlef held the dahlia against his chest with one hand and with the other touched the little girl's shoulder. He bowed to his small group of guests. Olga thought him ridiculously theatrical, and she was delighted to see him go and that, finally, she would soon be alone with Jakub.

Bertlef turned around and, taking the little girl's hand, headed toward the door. But before leaving the room he bent over the cigar box to fill his pocket with an ample fistful of coins.

The waiter stacked the dirty dishes and empty bottles on the cart, and when he had left the room, Olga asked: "Who is that little girl?"

"I've never seen her before," said Skreta.

"She really did have the look of a little angel," said Jakub.

"An angel who procures mistresses for him?" said Olga.

"Yes," said Jakub. "A procurer and go-between angel. It's exactly how I picture his guardian angel."

"I don't know if she's an angel," said Skreta, "but what's curious is that I've never seen this little girl before, although I know nearly everybody around here."

"In that case there's only one explanation," said Jakub. "She's not of this world."

"Whether she's an angel or the chambermaid's daughter, I can guarantee you," said Olga, "that he hasn't gone to meet a woman! He's a terribly vain character, and all he does is brag."

"I find him likable," said Jakub.

"He might well be," said Olga, "but I still insist he's the vainest kind of character. I'm willing to bet that an hour before we arrived he gave some of those fifty-cent coins to that little girl and asked her to come here at a certain time holding a flower. Believers have a great talent for staging miracles."

"I very much hope you're right," said Dr. Skreta. "Because Mister Bertlef is actually a very sick man, and a night of love would expose him to great danger."

"You see, I was right. All his hints about women are just bluster."

"My dear young woman," said Dr. Skreta, "I'm his

physician and his friend, and yet I'm not so sure. I don't know."

"Is he really so ill?" asked Jakub.

"Why do you think he's been staying here for nearly a year now, and his young wife, to whom he's very attached, comes to see him only now and again?"

"And all of a sudden it's a bit dreary here without him," said Jakub.

True, all three suddenly felt orphaned and not at home in the room, and they had no wish to stay any longer.

Skreta got up from his chair: "You and I are going to take Miss Olga home, and then we'll go for a walk. We've got a lot of things to discuss."

Olga protested: "I don't want to go to sleep yet!"

"On the contrary, it's high time. I'm ordering you to as your physician," Skreta said sternly.

They left the Richmond and headed across the park. On the way Olga found an opportunity to say softly to Jakub: "I wanted to spend the evening with you…"

But Jakub merely shrugged his shoulders, for Skreta was imperiously imposing his will. They escorted the young woman to Karl Marx House, and in his friend's presence Jakub did not even pat her on the head, as he usually did. The doctor's antipathy toward her plumlike breasts had deterred him. He saw the disappointment in Olga's face and was annoyed with himself for distressing her.

"So what do you think?" asked Skreta when he found himself alone with his friend on the path. "You

heard me say I need a father. It would have wrung tears from a stone. But he started talking about Saint Paul! Is it really so hard for him to understand? For two years now I've been telling him I'm an orphan, two years praising the advantages of an American passport. I've alluded a thousand times in passing to various adoption cases. I figured all these allusions would have given him the idea of adopting me long ago.

"He's too absorbed in himself," said Jakub.

"That's so," Skreta agreed.

"If he's seriously ill, that's not surprising," said Jakub. "Is he really as sick as you said he is?"

"It's really worse," said Skreta. "Six months ago he had his second and very serious heart attack, and since then he hasn't been allowed to travel far, and he lives here like a prisoner. His life hangs by a thread. And he knows it."

"You see," said Jakub, "in that case you should have realized a long time ago that the allusions method is no good, because any allusion only causes him to think about himself. You should make your request directly. He certainly will agree, because he likes to please people. It fits with his idea of himself. He wants to give people pleasure."

"You're a genius!" Skreta exclaimed, coming to a stop. "It's simple once you think of it, and exactly right! Like an idiot I've wasted two years of my life because I didn't know how to figure him out! I've spent two years of my life going about it in roundabout ways!

And it's your fault, because you should have advised me long ago."

"You should have asked me long ago!"

"You haven't come to see me for two years!"

The two friends strolled on in the dark park, breathing in the crisp early autumn air.

"I made him a father," said Skreta, "so maybe I deserve his making me his son!"

Jakub agreed.

"What's unfortunate," Skreta went on after a long silence, "is that one is surrounded by idiots. Is there anyone in this town I can ask for advice? Merely by being born intelligent, you right away find yourself in absolute exile. I don't think about anything else, because it's my specialty: mankind produces an incredible quantity of idiots. The more stupid the individual, the more he wants to procreate. The perfect creatures at most engender a single child, and the best of them, like you, decide not to procreate at all. That's a disaster. And I spend my time dreaming of a world a man would come into not among strangers but among brothers."

Jakub listened to Skreta's speech without finding much of interest in it.

Skreta went on: "Don't think those are just words! I'm not a politician but a physician, and the word 'brother' has an exact meaning for me. Brothers are those who have at least a mother or a father in common. All of Solomon's sons, even though they had a hundred different mothers, were brothers. That must have been marvelous! What do you think?"

Jakub breathed the crisp air and could not think of anything to say.

"Of course," Skreta went on, "it's very hard to force people while they're having sex to take an interest in future generations. But that's not what it's about. In our century there should really be other ways of solving the problem of rational procreation of children. We can't go on forever mixing up love and procreation."