Ivan Klima - The Ultimate Intimacy

I also gathered for myself silver and gold and the treasure of kings and provinces; I got singers, both men and women, and many concubines, man's delight.

And whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them; I kept my heart from no pleasure. .

Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had spent in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.

I'm not sure whether they were capable of understanding the text. And what about me? Am I still capable of accepting its wisdom? If I am, I'll preach on it. No, if I still accept it, I'll live by it.

I was invited to take part in a radio phone-in on what was supposed to be a topical issue: Why are people losing confidence in the church. Apart from me, there was a parish priest, Father M., a tolerant and big-hearted man, plus some sociologist and an editor. The listeners who phoned in mostly attacked the Catholics, accusing them of hankering after property, of wanting to take possession of the national cathedral, and of having used power to force their beliefs on people and burn the innocent at the stake. I kept on waiting for someone to raise some serious objection, such as calling into question Christ's divinity or Mary's virginity, saying that everything we preach is based on a faith that is an insult to the intelligence of people nowadays, but nobody voiced anything of the sort. I left at the end with the galling feeling that the human mind just flitters on the surface, fascinated with property, violence and old grievances. As Comenius writes in his own biography: 'For I have observed that people do not speak at all, but only mouth things, i.e. they do not transfer a thing or the meaning of a thing from one mind to another, but instead they exchange among themselves words that are misunderstood, or understood insufficiently and wrongly. And this is done not merely by the populace, but also by the semi-learned crowd . .'

From the last letter of Mrs Milada Horáková, written a few hours before her execution on 27 June 1950:

'I'm completely calm and prepared. The minister has been here, and even though Dr Kučera couldn't come, I found it a great support — I begged him also to help you above all. Rely on all of those who can and want to support you. Live! Live!. . There are so many of you — I'm alone and also have to cope.

'I never doubted your strength, but you have surprised me. It will be painful for a while, but the pain will gradually diminish. Go out into the meadows and the woods, you'll find a little bit of me there in the scent of the flowers. Go into the fields, look at all the beauty and everywhere we'll be together. Look at the people around you and I'll be reflected in each of them in some way. I'm not at my wit's end or in despair — I'm not putting it on, I'm so peaceful inside because my conscience is clear.

'. . During these last moments everything has seemed so unreal to me, but in fact I have only minutes left to count. It's not so bad — you're the ones that matter now, not me any more. Be strong! I love you so much and a love like this can't be lost or just evaporate, can it? Nothing in the world is ever lost, everything goes on growing somehow and is renewed again. Follow only the things that are close to life. Cling on to each other and support one another!

'I repeat it once more: the new life that is now approaching has brought me incredible peace of mind. The play is over for me and the curtains coming down, but a new play is beginning. . Maybe I played my part badly, but it was an honest attempt. You can take my word for it. I meekly submit to the will of God — he set me this test and I accept it with just one ambition: to obey God's laws and preserve my good name as a human being. '

What would I write in such a situation? And to whom would I address my last letter?

Bára and I meet in Mother's old flat. We don't see each other more than twice a week and always briefly. We have no time. She talks to me about her work and her life. Several times she has brought a letter she wrote to me in the meantime. But she hasn't wanted me to read it at once. 'You're not going to waste the time you could be with me!' I find her letters almost spellbinding, although I know I must not accept the praise she heaps on me.

I told her that should her husband refuse to support her son's university study, she could rely on me. She said that such a thing was out of the question, but it is important for her that I say it.

Apparently, for several days her husband treated her and even his stepson with more consideration. I asked her if he had apologized for throwing the ruler at her.

'Apologize? To me? That's something he'd never do. In his eyes I'm not a fully developed human. I'm just a woman, aren't I?'

I also confided in her the news that I had found Dad's name on the list of police informers.

She asked if it distressed me very much.

I told her I would like to know the truth.

'But you'll never discover the truth,' she objected.

I said that if truth could not be discovered then there could be no justice on earth.

'And there isn't any, 'she said. 'There truly isn't any justice. '

It's fascinating how Marika, the gypsy girl, takes for granted the accounts of Jesus's miracles. For her, miracles are still part and parcel of life. Unclean spirits move amongst us and the seriously ill can be healed by the touch of a hand and a stormy sea can be calmed by a single command. Her grandmother knew how to exorcise evil spirits and her blind girlfriend was visited in a dream by her late father who prophesied that she would see.

'And did she see?'

'Yes, of course. '

In her world, the dead move about and still live together as they did in life. They are invisible to us, the living but they can visit us in dreams. She believes it is possible to charm or to offend the sun, the moon and the wind. Am I to explain to her that this is all superstition and error, that only our Lord was able to perform miraculous deeds, because he was the Son of God? Or am I, on the contrary to tell myself that the message of Scripture can only be accepted fully and unselfconsciously by people such as she?

Marek and Alois took her to visit the Pentecostals in Libeň. They came back in high spirits as they had experienced something out of the ordinary — even speaking in tongues and, as Marek put it, 'genuine piety. Their enthusiasm did not please me. Something is happening to

people: they are turning outwards instead of inwards. I remember watching a televised service of the Apostolic Church when I was visiting Rút in Oregon, although it looked less like a church service than a television show. The preacher dashed here and there on an enormous stage, yelling, crying and laughing, telling stories from the lives of basketball players and racing drivers, singing and invoking the Holy Spirit, which played some crucial role at the end of each of his stories. He had a pile of paper napkins to hand which he used to wipe the sweat from his brow and then threw them away all over the stage. I told the boys that speaking in tongues was not so much an expression of faith as an expression of confused minds, which leads them into a state of false ecstasy so that they believe they are speaking to our Lord. Wherever the conscious mind is absent, anything can gain a foothold, and mostly it is something bad, not something good.

Petr hasn't shown up for several weeks now. I asked Marek and Alois if they had any news of him and where he was actually living. Alois hadn't a clue, and Marek seemed to me to hesitate before replying — as if he knew something and was frightened to confide in me. I felt like shouting at him but I stopped myself Distrust is worming its way into our family and I myself am not without blame in this regard.