Ivan Klima - The Ultimate Intimacy

'I can't go on,' she complains. 'They've dug a hole in my way.'

'Come back, then!'

'How?'

'Turn round!'

'I can't turn round, the hole is all around me.' Bára stands motionless above the abyss, her legs suddenly turn to jelly and she knows she won't manage to turn round and therefore won't be able to return. She will remain standing here until the moment when suddenly an enormous wave rolls in and sets the vessels rocking, and her jelly legs will give way and she will tumble into the depths. She senses the waves breaking on the side of the ship; in a few moments, maybe, it will happen. She feels the floor rocking, she won't hold on much longer.

'Hold on, I'll go and fetch my civil engineer. He'll get you down.'

'Don't go anywhere!'

'Hold on, then, for heavens sake!' Her friend calls to her from some distant shore and gets up from the bench on the dockside, but she is starting to stagger. 'Here comes the sea-sickness now, at last,' and instead of going to Bára, she heads for the harbour wall. She vomits.

Bára stands alone on the very edge. All of a sudden she feels like crying because she is standing here all alone, and nobody will come to help her. She would like to call out, Daddy! But her father is filling out his betting forms somewhere, or playing cards, or sitting at home with his feet up on the table staring at television. He doesn't care that his younger daughter has cut her wrists on his account and is now once more standing above the abyss, he doesn't care, because he skived off into the grave long ago, and even if he did manage to claw his way out of that grave he wouldn't come, he never did come when she needed him. The only one who ever came was her mummy, but her mummy is seventy-seven and she can't come, the lift's not working and she'd never climb up those twelve floors. Samuel won't come either; he's working hard on his career somewhere far away. She would come,

though, if it was him that was standing here, and she'd lift him down and bandage the cuts on his wrists and then comfort her poor little mummy's boy.

'You look like the statue of Aphrodite,' Helena calls to her from afar, 'just like a statue standing there. Now I know what's missing here: statues of Aphrodite and Hephaestus.' She vomits again.

And at that moment Bára remembers the pastor who looked at her in such a kind and shy way. He'd come, he'd be bound to come if she called him, because he already loves her, even though he hasn't allowed the idea to enter his head yet. And Bára suddenly feels relieved and is able to move once more. She turns towards the terrace and jumps down on to the tiles.

Helena says: 'You were beautiful. You looked just like the goddess of beauty.'

'I know I'm more beautiful than any goddess,' Bára says and bursts out laughing.

7

Daniel invited his friend Martin Hájek to speak to the young people of his congregation about sects. It was a topic that Martin had been studying for a long time. Why was it that people often found nonsensical ideas more attractive than the teachings of the church? Was it because the church was in a rut, that it wasn't looking for new ways of speaking to people, or perhaps that it had nothing to say?

Martin spoke first about each of the different sects and then tried to identify what they had in common. Most people wanted to feel they shared in some sort of exclusive destiny, that their particular faith marked them out from other mortals. They wanted to believe that in addition to the Saviour, who was long dead, they had found a new saviour, one who was alive, powerful, charismatic, and that he would lead them to what they yearned for; he would negotiate their journey to the heavenly kingdom and guide them along the path that would ensure them salvation and eternal life. Often such people would fall for simple-minded tricks and be taken in by confidence tricksters; they would be willing to give up their property and even their own minds, to leave their nearest and dearest and entrust their

lives to the one they venerated. All the same, it had to be said that their experience was often both genuine and mystical, and possibly more profound than the experience of most Christians. What was typical for sects, therefore, was that they had a prophet who was unique among all the exponents of Christian scripture or any other holy book, and that the sect's members believed that the world would be transformed or end now, and not in some indefinite future. Some preached asceticism, others loose behaviour, some a life of love, others a life of hate. Some espoused exclusivity while others, on the contrary, believed they would become the one universal community. In none of the cases did they entertain any doubts about their path being the correct one.

Daniel regretted that Petr had not come. It was particularly on his account that he had invited Martin. On account of Petr and Eva. Admittedly, Eva was sitting here, but her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. On the other hand, Marek and Alois, who had both come — as Marek had confided to him — because they found the topic 'really interesting', would whisper to each other every now and then during the talk.

When Martin finished and asked for questions, a customary silence ensued, and then Alois, who, if he attended such meetings was always silent, surprisingly raised his hand. Marek had probably egged him on.

What was the difference between the sects and the early church? In those days people had also believed in a miraculous Saviour. They also gave up their property and regarded their faith as the only right one, even though they were persecuted for it.

Martin conceded that every religion arose out of nothing, as it were, in that some chosen person heard God's voice and answered his call. At first glance, the similarities were striking, particularly as regards those who received a call and whose longing for faith, change, comfort and hope often blinded them. But when all was said and done, with a bit of effort we were able to distinguish the voice of the truly chosen from the voice of the charlatan who arrogantly convinces himself and others that he is the one and only infallible exponent of Scripture, the point being that he always chooses just the part of the message that suits his ends.

Daniel did not have the feeling that Alois found this answer convincing. It had not convinced him either, although he would probably

have given the same answer in Martin's place. Over the centuries, we have come up with answers that seem to us acceptable even though we are unable to prove their truthfulness.

There were no further questions, so they sang another song, said a prayer and wound up the meeting.

At supper, Hana returned once more to the topic of the talk. Not long ago a young fellow had been admitted to their hospital with burns and wounds that had obviously been caused by flogging. He was said to be the victim of a satanic ritual. The lad was in such pain that they had been obliged to give him morphine, but when they asked him how he came by the injuries he either said nothing or claimed he couldn't remember.

'I expect he was doped when it happened,' Alois suggested as an explanation.

'Even if he was,' Martin objected, 'he is bound to have known where the black mass was held. Also he must have known that if he betrayed it, something even worse could happen to him. The sects don't generally countenance deserters. That is true not only of religious sects but also of most closed societies, whether it be the secret services or revolutionaries.'

After supper, Marek and Alois wanted to show the guests their telescope through which, they said, Saturn's rings were visible.

While Martin strove in vain to make out anything at all, Marek commented, 'If you ask me, you people don't really give a toss about science.'