Ivan Klima - The Ultimate Intimacy

I'd like to write something personal, but I am shy to put it down on a piece of paper that will go through the post. So instead I heap all my pitiful little anxieties on to you. One of the reasons I do so is to let you know I'm not cold, that I feel things: both pain and kindness, that I'm capable of being grateful for every kind word. I also want you to know that I can be happy too. Nowadays, the only time I'm happy is when I realize that you are there and that I might get to see you from time to time. I think about you, about how you spend your days, what you may be doing, what you may be thinking about, what is going on in your soul, because you have a soul, a beautiful one. You also have a kind and good heart and try to give so much with all of it.

There, I've heaped a load of stuff on you again. Forgive me and don't forsake me.

Yours, Bára

Dear Mrs Bára Musilová,

I have thought a great deal about your last letter. It contains so much by way of feeling, pain, expectation and makes so many demands on life. I have been puzzling over what impels you to shower such praise on me, even though you do not know me at all. It struck me that you are in great need of something — or, more likely, someone — to believe in. Something good. Someone good. And from what you wrote about your husband I get the impression that you dream about a perfect man. But no man is perfect. People aren't perfect, only He is perfect. So you are always going to be disappointed, because only Jesus is incapable of disappointing us: he is the embodiment of love and understanding. The most that any of us can do is to seek in Him an example for our lives. You write: Do not forsake me! This is a plea that we address precisely to him. He alone is able never to forsake us because his love and his kindness are not restricted by time. The rest of us are here for just a short time, the length of a dream, and we do not know the moment when that dream will end.

We do not want to betray or forsake others. I know that I never want to forsake my wife as long as I live. I don't want to forsake any of the people who are near to me or who trust me. In that sense I do not wish to forsake you either. But what can I promise you? And so I simply beg you not to seek

God in people, apart from that of God which is in each of us. And try to find Him. He will never disappoint or forsake you.

I sense in you a great disquiet. I fear that it might send you hurtling off in a direction you don't want to go. One ought to strive to discern the consequences of one's actions.

I wish you success in your search for inner peace.

Yours, Daniel Vedra

Dear Reverend,

What a pagan I am that I never make it to church. And then the rheumatism has been troubling me just lately and I'm glad of a rest on Sunday. The gardens permitting, that is. And while I'm on the subject of the gardens, you know I'm not one to complain, but that young Koubek fellow, Petr, is going down in my estimation all the time. Two days last week he failed to turn up, and the next day he walked in bold as brass with no thought of excusing himself or anything. When he took his pay, and Reverend I don't pay badly, not when I think how much I had to slog every week when I was his age and what I'm giving him, he plays the lordship and sneers that it's not enough to buy a rope to hang himself. His very words. And this week he hasn't shown up at all and I've had to drive the tractor myself or ask Marie, and she's supposed to be in charge of the glass houses. So I'd be very glad if you'd let me know if I'm to count on him still or if I'm to find a replacement. I'm sorry to be the bringer of bad news.

Wishing you the best of health,

Yours truly, Břetislav Houdek

1

Bára Musilová arrives as they agreed. She is only a few minutes late. 'You're not cross with me for keeping you waiting?' she apologizes breathlessly.

'But I'm at home.'

'I hate keeping people waiting.'

She is wearing the same black skirt as last time. And the ribbon that ties her hair is black as well. Her white blouse is open at the neck. It strikes him that as always there is something provocative in her appearance. Not so much in the way she dresses as in the way she moves, or rather in the way she looks at him. Daniel feels uneasy. 'Would you like a coffee?'

'I'd like a small glass of red wine if you have any, and a drop of water. It was stifling in the bus. But I don't know — maybe I'm holding you up?'

He brings wine and mineral water and two glasses for her.

'Won't you have a glass with me?'

'I'm not accustomed to at this time of day.'

'Nor am I. Nor am I accustomed to sitting in a manse — that's why I asked you for the wine.'

'That's perfectly all right. I'm accustomed to sitting in a manse.'

'But not with me.'

He gets up and goes to fetch another glass. He also brings a small plate of savoury biscuits and slices some salami to go with them.

'You're going to feed me too? You mustn't waste any time. I don't want to lose even one second of the time I can be with you.' But she reaches impatiently for the glass. 'So here's to our meeting and a successful afternoon. Is it all right to drink to such banal things? Here at the manse, I mean?'

He clinks glasses with her.

'On the journey here, all sorts of things occurred to me that I might ask you, though I don't think any of my questions are particularly original. I expect everyone asks you the same things.'

'I don't know what you have in mind.'

'Doubt about God's existence, for instance.'

'People don't usually ask. Either they have no doubts, or, more likely, if they do, they're ashamed to admit them to the minister.'

'And you personally, do you have doubts?' She stares fixedly at him. As if his reply really mattered to her. It occurs to him that her ancestors on her mother's side might well have been in that country that Jesus walked in, that they might have actually set eyes on Him and been struck with wonder by His deeds but turned away from Him when He died such a shameful death.

'I find it hard to imagine someone who wouldn't doubt from time to time.'

'I'm glad you replied that way. I was afraid you never doubted. I wanted to ask: Are you able to imagine the universe?'

That was not a question he had ever had to answer before. 'No, I'm not. My son is interested in astronomy. It's a pity he's not here; he might be able to give you a better answer.'

'It's just as well he's not here; it's your answer I'm interested in. Are you unable to imagine the universe because it's too big?'

'Partly.'

'How could God, who created all that, have assumed the form of a Jewish infant?'

'Jewish because God was fulfilling the promise made to Abraham. All the tribes of the Earth shall bless themselves in you.'

'No, you haven't understood me. I mean, how is it that someone who had the strength to create the universe could suddenly change into a human baby?'

'But God created with the Word. He didn't knock it together with his bare hands.'

'What does "created it with the Word" mean?'

'Let's call it "a command", then.'

'Like on a computer?'

'It's best not to compare God with anything. And I'd definitely not compare him to a computer.'

She sighs. 'I still don't understand. To create the universe and time

and change himself into a baby that grows and ages until one day, in purely human time, some Roman bureaucrat has him executed. How does that differ from some Red Indian or Hindu myths?'

'I don't reject myths. They are rungs to understanding.'

'To understanding what?'

'To understanding existence. The beginning and the end.'

'And that myth of yours, is that just "a rung" too?'