Ivan Klima - The Ultimate Intimacy

Samuel nods, even though it all sounds alien to him, being so very different from anything he has lived by so far. He makes an effort to listen attentively and when at last the young man invites him to come again some time, he thanks him for the invitation.

And indeed, three weeks later, by which time Bára and her son are back and he is treating her with silence, he sets out once again for the same assembly and listens once more to the same chanted invocation of the god about whom he knows nothing (but what can one know about God?), listens to the homily which confirms the order which he still knows nothing about either, hears that he, like every man, is fundamentally good, just corrupted, but there is hope for him to overcome that corruption and strengthen his true self. He eats the fragrant vegetarian food and on his way home it comes to him in a flash that Mary Ann was a mass murderer who poisoned several men and eventually her own children too. In fact, she got rid of her last husband when she was the same age as Bára is now. She was executed over a hundred years ago.

Is it possible that he had been one of her victims in some earlier existence and had only now recalled it? Is it possible for the souls of two people to meet again in this world and link their fates again by some tragic error? It seems unlikely to him; after all, nothing of their life together has ever come into his mind, only the features and that name, so it could be that at that time he had simply caught sight of the likeness, the name and a brief account of the case.

When he gets home, Bára is ironing in the lounge while listening to some piano concerto on the radio. Mary Ann glances at Samuel and even smiles at him, asking how it was and whether he wants dinner, but he declines, saying he has already eaten.

Bára asks how the food was and he tells her it was good.

He doesn't go off to his room as has been his wont in recent days, but instead sits down in one of the armchairs and says nothing. He reflects on the possibility of a soul being reincarnated in another body. It sounds odd but the fact is there must be about a billion people who believe it. And how else could one explain all the déjà vus he has read about, and also experienced himself?

But even if such things could happen, is it possible that the soul of a murderess could return to a human body and continue her poisoning? How many bodies would she have had to pass through since the time she was hanged?

It all seems strange and improbable to him, but how then is he to explain the fact that as every day passes, the sense of imperilment grows within him and he is constantly aware of Bara's perfidy, in her every word and every movement?

A thought suddenly occurs to him and he says: 'Wouldn't you like some tea, Mary?'

Bára stiffens, then turns round and says, 'Are you asking me?'

Samuel stares at her fixedly and says nothing. He has the feeling that Bára has blushed.

Mary Ann returns to her ironing. Samuel gets up and turns the music down.

Bára asks: 'Why did you call me Mary?'

'Why did you react?'

'There's no one else here!'

Samuel says nothing.

'Sam, you're off your head!' Bára says in shock.

'I'd like some tea,' Samuel requests.

Bára switches off the iron and goes to the kitchen. She doesn't close the door behind her so she disappears from his view for a moment before reappearing once more. He can see her run water into the ketde and then push the switch down. The water boils in the invisible kettle. Bára takes a cup and puts a teabag into it before going to fetch the kettle and something else. Once more he can see her: she pours water into the cup and then, from a little packet, she adds some sort of powder, and finally stirs it all with a spoon. The poisoned tea is ready. He has unmasked Bara's true identity and in so doing brought nearer what was intended to happen anyway.

She wordlessly hands him the tea and switches the iron back on.

'Don't you want any?' he asks.

'No thanks. I had some tea a moment ago.'

'You can have some of mine!'

'No, thank you.'

He rises, picks up the cup and hands it to her. 'Take a drink!'

'Don't force me. I don't want any!'

'What did you add to this tea?'

'What do you mean?'

'You added something from a sachet to it.'

'Do you mean the sugar?'

'I mean, what was in the sachet.'

'Sugar.'

'That's if it was sugar.'

'And what else was there supposed to be in it?' Bára goes into the kitchen and returns with the sachet: Sugar granulated. Weight 5 gm. Hygienically wrapped.

The sachet has had its corner ripped off and is empty. It is impossible to tell when it was torn and its contents replaced.

'That's if there was still sugar in it.'

'No, it was full of poison, you madman!'

'Drink it then!'

'I won't. And leave me alone. You really are insane.'

He feels the impotent rage rising up inside him. He should grab her and force the liquid down her throat.

'So take a drink if it's only sugar.'

'Leave me alone.' She picks the iron up again and runs it over his shirt.

Samuel stands up and goes to his bedroom. He opens the bottom drawer of his desk, where his pistol is hidden beneath a pile of old plans. He takes it out and loads it. He returns to the lounge. 'Look at me, Mary!' he orders Bára and takes aim at her.

Are you crazy?'

'Take that cup and drink it.'

'Is it loaded?'

Samuel says nothing.

'You really have gone off your head!'

'Drink that tea, you bitch!'

'No,' she says, 'I won't. I don't feel like it.'

Are you afraid of what you prepared for me?'

'I don't fancy any tea, that's all! And you can go ahead and shoot me!' Bára yells hysterically. 'Go on, shoot the mother of your own son. I won't have to put up with you any more, at least. Or with anything else. What sort of life is this, anyway?' Bára takes the cup and comes up so close to Samuel that he prefers to move away. 'I'd sooner chuck it in your ugly face,' Bára yells, 'but I'll leave it for you. You can take it down to the police station and let them analyse it!' and she turns and

runs out of the room. Samuel hears her lock her bedroom door. That is followed by several hysterical sobs and silence.

The very thought. Taking the cup of tea to the police. Hed done all sorts of things in his life, but he had never denounced anyone.

Samuel lays the pistol down next to the cup of tea and hesitates for a moment. But if its to happen, then let it happen. He picks up the tea cup and drains it to the bottom.

7

The trial was held in a small court room. There were only three benches for visitors but two remained empty.

The State Prosecutor's Office was represented by a woman, perhaps slightly younger than Hana, and there was nothing strict about her rather maternal appearance. If he were to meet her without her gown Daniel would never guess her profession. But then, if anyone were to meet him without his gown, they would hardly guess he was a pastor either. The chairman of the court was an older man. Petr's lawyer, Dr Kacíř, maintained that he had been a judge under the Communists, but had apparently behaved decently.

The prosecuting counsel accused Petr of obtaining and selling the drug pervitin, chiefly to minors. He had admitted the offence but refused to say who had supplied him with the drug, saying that he used to meet the person regularly on Republic Square in Prague but did not know their identity. Likewise, he didn't know the people he sold the drug to. The accused maintained that he sold only very small quantities of the drug, but no credit could be given to this assertion, as he had already had a previous conviction for the same offence. The prosecutor then went on to talk less about Petr than about the danger of drugs, how young people's lives were damaged or even destroyed; according to certain estimates, as many as 300,000 young people had tried drugs and about 13 per cent of young people were addicts. In such circumstances the behaviour of the accused represented a particular danger to society and the motives for his actions were entirely despicable. The profit motive had dominated his behaviour to such an extent that he had not been deterred from his activity either by the previous punishment or the care of those who had acted as his social