Ivan Klima - The Ultimate Intimacy

During the last hymn, the pastor hurries out and so does the woman at Matouš s side. His agitation gradually recedes.

A middle-aged man stands outside the door shaking everyone by the hand. He also greets Matouš. 'You're here for the first time today, aren't you?'

He confirms this and explains that he was in hospital and the pastor s wife invited him.

'It's nice of you to have come,' the man says with pleasure. 'I hope you have enjoyed being with us.'

The pastor's wife also notices him. 'You really did come then, Mr Volek?'

'I said to myself it would do me no harm to go to church once. But actually I was only looking for an excuse to see you again.'

'There's not much to see,' she says. 'But my husband will be pleased if you come more frequendy.'

'I actually agreed with quite a lot of his sermon,' he says, chiefly to please her.

'Really? You ought to tell him. He'd be happy to hear it.'

'I don't know when I would have the opportunity.'

'If you like, and if you have no particular plans, you can join us now,' she suggests. 'You can have lunch with us. My husband will be back at noon; he has another service today. And our children will enjoy listening to you. I have spoken about you at home.'

Her invitation takes him aback. Could he really have captivated this woman? He protests that he could not be such an inconvenience. But the pastor's wife dismisses his protests. They are always having someone home for lunch.

And so he manages to enter the flat in the manse.

In fact, it is a very long time since anyone has invited him to lunch. He has no friends, only acquaintances, and he tends to meet them in pubs or wine bars.

Stepping into the front hall, he certainly does not have the impression of entering a manse. The walls of the front hall are hung with posters: Michael Jackson; alongside him some space rocket on course for Saturn; and below that the open jaws of an enormous salmon begging to be protected.

'Marek and Magda hung all of them there. The poster with the salmon was sent to us by my husband's sister. She lives in America,' the pastors nice little wife explains and leads him into the living room

where normal pictures hang on the walls. On the piano stands a vase of purple irises. 'You see? I have really nice patients who bring me flowers,' she says with approval. 'If you like you could take a seat here — there are lots of books on the shelves, or you could play the piano, unless you'd prefer to take a walk in the garden. I have to get on with the cooking.'

He follows her out, of course, and even suggests that if she had some French beans, dried mushrooms, soy sauce, pepper and something he could use to make a meat broth, he could cook a piquant Chinese soup.

To his surprise the pastor's wife accepts his offer and brings him everything he has requested and also lends him an apron. 'We are used to our guests making themselves at home,' she explains. 'If you didn't enjoy it, you wouldn't have offered. And you really will be helping me, as I still have my packing to do.'

So he prepares the meat broth while the good wife at his side scrapes the potatoes. He has no objection to such a division of labour here, he senses the relaxed, homely atmosphere — a good home. When they were still living together Klára would refuse to cook. He had to cook for himself or they would go to the pub. She said to him once: 'When you buy a car I'll cook you what the Queen of England has for dinner.' But he could never afford a car and she never even cooked him the handful of rice that the Chinese ricksaw driver has for supper.

A freckled little girl with glasses bursts into the kitchen. The pastor's wife says it's their Magda, and he loses his composure slightly, being unused to dealing with children and aware that it would be a good idea to entertain the little girl somehow. He recalls the fable of the giant leviathan that could appear in the form of fish or fowl and as a bird could rise to a height of ninety thousand miles, in other words higher than any satellite or rocket. The trouble is, the fable does not really have a plot and turns into a morality story, unsuitable for telling, least of all to children.

Happily, Magda ignores him and takes a banana from the fruit basket, asking whether she ought to pack Eva's old black swimming costume or take her own old one. When Mrs Vedra suggests they go out the next day to buy a new one, Magda exclaims that that would be super and dashes out again.

'You have a pretty daughter.'

'Except for the glasses. Her eyes are getting worse all the time.'

'I've worn glasses since I was ten. My eyes won't get any worse now.'

'The doctor promised me it will stop when she reaches puberty.'

'You said you had two children of your own and one step-child, Matron. If it's not too bold a question, was your husband divorced?'

'The very idea!' There was a note of amazement or even offence in her voice. 'His wife died when Eva was just a baby.'

'And did you always work in a hospital?'

'Yes. After the Charter they wouldn't let my husband remain in Prague. He was only allowed a little church in the highlands. It took me almost an hour to get to work from there.'

And did you have no option?'

'My husband had a really tiny salary. Admittedly people would make us gifts of food, but I realized the congregation was too small to support us.'

And now you wouldn't need to?'

She shrugs. Then she says, 'No, not any more. My husband got back an apartment house in Vinohrady in the restitution and sold it for a lot of money. But I wouldn't like to be stuck at home.'

And what would you like to do?'

The pastor's wife again shrugs, seemingly unsure of what she would like to do.

'You could find something nice to spend your time on.'

'What do you have in mind?'

'There are so many opportunities nowadays.'

The matron shakes her head and he quickly adds: 'I don't mean having fun, but doing something where you'd be your own boss.'

'I'm hardly going to start a business somewhere. I wouldn't know how, anyway'

'I could easily imagine you managing some trust to assist disabled children. Or lonely grandmothers.'

The pastor's wife ponders his words. She neither says anything, nor protests. Maybe she could make a contribution towards the publication of his poetry. And what plans do you have for your money?'

'I don't concern myself with it. We bought the children new clothes. And my husband bought himself a car. He needs it, since he also has. the charge of a congregation in the country'

'But it must be an interesting feeling to come into wealth all of a sudden.'

'No, I prefer not to think about it.'

He observes this woman. Her hair is already greying, but the skin on her arms is still smooth and her round face is almost free of wrinkles. If she were to dye her hair she would look younger. But it would seem she has no desire to, in the same way she has no desire for money. That is, if it were possible for a woman not to have any desire for money. How much could they have received from the house sale? How much is a lot of money? Money interests Matouš; it would help him lead an independent existence. But he had had nothing to demand back in the restitution, his forebears had been ordinary peasants or workers. One of his grandfathers had been a gamekeeper and he could have asked for his shotgun back if it had actually been his own.

And did returned property also belong equally to the spouse? Probably not — at least not during the life of the recipient. If this good wife were to divorce she'd remain poor, she'd only be rich when that preacher-sermonizer of hers died and returned to the Lord, which shouldn't be long by the look of it. Unless he divorced her first. But pastors probably don't divorce, and certainly not very often. But what about their wives? He hasn't any notion of how pastors' wives behave. Most probably just like any other woman in our part of the world; you can win their favour so long as you find the right way to their hearts. But that was an art he had never mastered.