Ivan Klima - The Ultimate Intimacy

'I don't understand that at all.'

'You see, Daddy. Not even you understand it.'

'I don't have to, I don't go to school any more. It's curious that Eva never needed anyone to explain things to her. Not even now that she's about to take her final exams.'

'Because Eva's clever. Because Eva's always the best. Because her mother was

'Magda!' he snapped at her.

'I'll work through it with her,' Marek suggested. 'Even someone so utterly thick is bound to grasp it in half an hour.'

Hana had got changed in the meantime. She had put on the black dress she had last worn at his mother's funeral. It was plain and very old. She wore no make-up. She never did wear make-up, not even lipstick. Her shoes were carefully polished, that was true, but there was no hiding the fact that they pre-dated the Velvet Revolution. It struck him that gold genuinely didn't suit what his wife was wearing, maybe it

didn't suit her at all. Hed wanted to please her, but had only disconcerted her.

'Isn't that dress a bit funereal?' he wondered.

'Everyone wears black nowadays,' she said. 'Even very young girls go around in black. Haven't you noticed?'

'No, I expect I don't look at the girls enough.'

He was left alone in the room. He realized that he did not feel at all pleased with himself. He had neglected his children, he didn't know what algorithms were and Magda had the feeling that he favoured Eva. He gave his wife jewellery instead of giving her love. And even his attempt to restore the health of some unknown Russian displeased him. It struck him that the action had not come from the heart, that there had been something ostentatious about it: a gesture intended to convince an unknown doctor about Christian love, or more likely it had been a gesture intended for himself, to prove how he disdained money and how easily he could part with it.

Was it possible for one to uphold order in a world that was so disordered?

The telephone rang. He picked up the receiver reluctantly.

'Good afternoon, Reverend, this is Bára.' The woman's voice was slightly harsher on the phone than in real life. 'I'm not sure whether you'll remember me.'

'My memory's not that bad, even at my age.'

'Age is an awful thing. It horrifies me when I realize which year I was born in and I'm pleased when everyone immediately forgets it. I hope you're not offended that I didn't come last Sunday.'

'Church attendance is not compulsory for anyone. Besides, as you said, you are not of our faith.'

'Did I put it as stupidly as that? I apologize. At this time of year my husband is raring to go down to our country house. I don't know when I'll next manage to escape on a Sunday.'

'Is there no local church near your country place?'

'I've no idea. I've never enquired.' Then she said, 'There are plenty of churches everywhere, but it's your sermons that interest me.'

'Thank you. I'm pleased that you got something out of my sermons.'

'Sundays are not going to be easy from now on,' she said. 'But what I actually called you for was to let you know that I have a small role in a television play tonight. It's being shown on Channel One at ten past eight. But maybe you don't watch television.'

'Not usually, but I would certainly watch you. But I won't be home this evening.'

'Please don't be offended — I don't know what came over me. I just had the feeling I was somehow indebted to you.'

'I'm sure you aren't. On the contrary, I'm the one indebted to you — for that lift. I regret we won't be able to watch it, but we're having a birthday celebration today.'

'It's your birthday today?'

'No, my wife's.'

'So, do please wish her from me lots of love in her life. I expect it's just as well you won't be watching — it might have put you off me. You see, it's not a particularly attractive little role. Anyway, I'm sorry for taking up your time.'

'You haven't. And I look forward to your finding a moment to come and join us some Sunday.'

'Yes,' she said, 'I'll do my best, I truly will!'

8 Letters

Dear Reverend Vedra,

Everyone is asleep here at home, except that you don't know where my home is (where else but Hanspaulka?). I can't get to sleep, I'm down in the dumps. It could be the rotten weather or the fact that Samuel told me that I ruin his life, even though I do everything I can to make him feel contented at home. Samuel is my husband, in case you'd forgotten.

I've decided to write to you because you strike me as wise and kind, and I have the impression that you're someone who is capable of listening sympathetically not because it is in your job description but because you really are someone fired by the love that you preach about so fervently in your sermons. Of course it's possible just to talk about love and most people are capable of jabbering on about it ad nauseam. But one can feel that you mean it, which is why I looked forward to hearing you every Sunday. Now I miss your words and your voice. There are so many things I'd like to ask you about. Such as what one must do to live in love and freedom, when one is

surrounded on every side by something else entirely: the pursuit of money, self-advancement and an awful lot of violence or at least selfishness, as well as male conceit and vanity, and men's craving to assert their own ego at the expense of their closest companions?

Now I'm astonished at my own effrontery, not only in writing to you but in burdening you with these questions, as a result of which I'm actually taking up your time. As if I couldn't make do with hearing you in church.

But if you could spare me a couple of lines I'd be eternally grateful.

Best wishes,

Yours admiringly,

Bára Musilová

Dear Mr Houdek,

Regarding our recent conversation about that young lad Petr Koubek, who has just been released from prison where he was baptized and who, I firmly believe, underwent a profound change of heart. You were so kind as to mention that he might be able to work in your splendid garden centre. He will therefore be coming to see you about a job next Monday. Working outdoors will do him good, after spending almost two years cooped up in prison. I am sure he'll show willingness, but I would entreat you none the less to be patient with him, in the beginning at least. When someone is in prison for such a lengthy period, his personality is bound to be affected, his reactions are often unpredictable and above all unreasonable. It is sometimes hard to take, but it is understandable when we consider the sort of surroundings he has moved in and the sort of people he could not help mixing with.

I do hope that Petr won't create any difficulties for you, but should any arise, don't hesitate to call me and I will try to intervene.

Please convey my best wishes to your wife and accept once again my thanks for your singular readiness to assist someone in need.

Yours sincerely, Daniel Vedra

Dear Mrs Musilová,

I do not merit the praise you heap on me. When I speak about love I do no more than pass on the most important thing about Christ's message.

The aim of what we do is to find real love. This was said most beautifully by St Paul: love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. These three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.'

What is one to do, you ask, in order to live in love and freedom, when there is so little of it around one? Do not expect me to speak as one possessed of understanding or capable of handing out prescriptions for how to live.

A life of love is, I suppose, the desire of anyone whose heart is in the right place. What was so terrible about the old regime was that hatred and struggle were regarded as so fundamental to life. To many this seemed to make sense because at first glance a life of love seems virtually unattainable. It is enough to turn on the television or read the newspaper headlines: terrorism, robbery, fraud, and all those killed in Bosnia or the Caucasus. And that is leaving aside our everyday life. Could we really hurt each other and quarrel the way we do every day if we lived in love? Could we hate people just because they have a different faith, or look different?