Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

‘Ssh!’ Fear gripped her.

‘I’ve had all sorts of girls but I didn’t love any of them. I was waiting for you to appear. For you to come and take me away.’

She couldn’t see his face, but could hear that his voice was alternating between elation and tears. From the very first moment she saw him, what had attracted her (if anything had at that moment) was his touching hunger for understanding and love. In that respect he resembled her and she felt an affinity for him. She had decided to try to give him some part of what he had been denied till then. At first on that trip she had not even thought about making love, or at least had not considered it consciously (for he was ten years younger than her at least). But being there, so far from everything that made up her usual life and responsibilities, when every evening yet another couple had sloped off for a quiet cuddle in the hotel, she was pleased to discover his love for her.

However, his demand for love had not diminished since that first evening, whereas she knew he ought to disappear from the cottage before Adam arrived, before the children realised that something untoward had happened, and before some irreparable disaster occurred. All assuming, of course, that it had not already taken place.

‘Honza, sweetheart, I must go downstairs now.’

‘I won’t survive up here without you.’ He replaced his arms around her.

‘But you know it’s impossible,’ she objected feebly. ‘You only came to look in on me. And I’ve got my family here.’

‘I know. I really did intend it that way, but now I’ve come to see that I can’t live without you.’

‘Don’t talk such nonsense!’

‘Alena,’ he declared solemnly, ‘I’ve been thinking about it since this morning and don’t know whether I have the right to say it: I can’t think of life without you. I want you. I want to marry you.’

Silence. This could not be happening. After all, she had a husband and children.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be able to provide for you all.’ He was probably about to talk about their future life together, but she put her hand over his mouth. ‘Not now. I have to go now.’ She slid cautiously off the bed.

‘Alena!

She was almost in the doorway.

‘Do you love me, at least?’

‘You know I do,’ she replied wearily. ‘Good night.’

‘I believe you. And I’m happy.’ He stretched his arms out towards her. ‘I’m happy that I’m here with you, that you came, that I have you and you love me.’

‘Good night,’ she said again. Cautiously she opened the door. Then she took the tray with the kettle and the tea cup and quietly closed it behind her. She crept through the attic — a lover who had now been granted everything: an amorous night, tenderness, declarations of love and even vows. As she reached the staircase she tripped on a loose floorboard. She managed to catch hold of the banister, but the kettle and the tea cup slid off the tray with a clatter that must have reached even the remotest corners of the cottage.

She stood motionless at the top of the stairs and waited. Tears, which she did not bother to wipe away, streamed from her eyes. She waited in case someone reacted, in case someone came up and found her out. But the house stayed silent. She picked up the pieces and carried them to the kitchen. She took out of a drawer the pad that she and Adam used for writing down jobs that needed doing or things they needed to bring there or take home, and tore a page out of it. She hesitated for a moment over how she should address him, but in the end wrote:

Dearest Honza,

You must find it odd that I should be writing you a letter when you are only upstairs and I see you several times a day. The trouble is that when I’m with you I find it impossible to say all the things I want to tell you. I’ll start with the offer you made to me just now. Even though it was sincere it was indiscreet and it didn’t only touch me, it horrified me as well. However can you even suggest something of the kind after we’ve known each other for just a few days? Didn’t you even think about the fact that I have two children and a husband? You’ve only just finished university and have everything, everything, in front of you. I know you’ll say you’ve thought it all out, but is it really possible to think everything out in advance? It’s not just a question of the material aspects. You’d have to step into something that is already functioning, with so many stereotypes, friends, relations. You’d have to accept the role of father of two children. Do you really think you’d be able to cope?

Maybe what I’m saying will surprise you and you’ll ask me how it was I didn’t know all this beforehand. Darling Honza, believe me that what I started, or what I permitted at least, wasn’t the flirtation whose upshot now worries me. What attracted me to you was your life-story, your personality. I realised that you were a really nice person but an unhappy one, and that what you lacked most of all was kindness and tenderness from those around you, and the ability on your part to relate to them in turn. I thought to myself that I would help you learn to communicate normally with other people and make friends with them, and that the only way I could do it was to establish such a friendship with you myself, and, as your friend, prove to you that you were as capable as anyone else of relating to others. I thought that as soon as you realised it yourself, you would be able to live and love like everyone else. But things went further than I’d anticipated. My fear now is that I have possibly freed you from your isolation but only in order to cause you even greater distress or at very least the sort of disappointment that will wound you, and leave you bitter. It would be lovely if you could continue to come and see me, continue to trust me and seek my help and comfort, or my advice as a close friend who loves you, but whose life cannot possibly take the same path as yours. Believe me that if I were to decide otherwise, I would only blight your journey through life — the only conceivable happiness you might have would be during the very first days of our togetherness.

And now I’m stroking your lovely thick hair.

Your A.

It was already two in the morning. But maybe for that very reason (they were all bound to be asleep by now) she dared to climb once more the creaky staircase. She slid the note under the door of his room. She had now said everything, everything was now coming to an end. From that moment on, all those disturbing and depressing indiscretions started to become things of the past. She returned to her room, reassured herself that her children were still sleeping peacefully, and immediately fell asleep herself.

‘Mummy, Mummy! Are you awake?’

She had no idea what the time was, but the room was already flooded with light. ‘Have you had breakfast yet?’ she asked her daughter.

‘Ages ago. Auntie Sylva made us fried eggs.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Mummy, Honza sent you a letter.’

‘Show me!’ She took the envelope from her daughter. There was nothing written on it. She still couldn’t pull herself together properly. Why ever was he sending her messages? Had he left, maybe? No, he couldn’t have, with his leg in plaster.

‘Uncle Robert came.’

‘Is he here?’

‘No, he went fishing this morning. Aren’t you going to read the letter?’

‘Later. I have to get washed first.’ She had a quick wash. After she had dressed, she realised that her daughter was watching her expectantly. With a sudden premonition of bad news she immediately tore open the envelope.

Alena,

My goddess, my love, MY HOPE,

my everything,

I feel as if my heart and head will burst. Maybe I’m going mad. Maybe I’ll die. I’m suffocating with the love I’ll never tell you now. I understand you, I UNDERSTAND YOU, and that’s why I’m dying! I’m leaving, my love, my love , MY LOVE! I’m holding the posy of pinks you gave me yesterday and crying. I reach out to you though I know I’ll never touch you now. LIGHT OF MY LIFE, MY SUNSHINE! But it can even be a consolation to die now I know who and what I’m dying for.