Ivan Klima - No Saints or Angels

'I'm not going to any clinic.'

'You'll go with me where I tell you.'

'I won't.'

'Jana, you don't realize what you're doing. Once you get into it, you'll never get out of it and you'll ruin your life. For good.'

'I haven't got into anything.'

'So what did you need the money for?'

'I didn't take any money. Or anything else.'

'I already know you stole from me. I'll have to find out about the rest.'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'And you really think I'll just sit back and watch you ruin yourself?'

'You ruin yourself too.'

'Jana, I won't put up with that sort of impudence.'

'Dad always used to say. .'

'I don't want to hear a single word about your father.'

'I'm not going anywhere with you.'

'So I'll have you taken there.'

'I'll run away instead.' Suddenly she starts to yell hysterically: 'You're vile. You play the cop with me. You phone the fucking school to find out whether I've bunked off. Now you accuse me of taking money. And you're always telling me what I ought to be like and what'll happen if I'm not. It's my life, not yours. You've fucked yours up anyway, so what's mine got to do with you?'

My hackles rise and I go to strike her even though she's already bigger and stronger than I am. But at that moment my knees give way and my hand, which remains firm even when I'm wrestling with a crooked root during tooth extraction, starts to shake like a leaf.

My daughter takes advantage of my momentary weakness, slips past me and a moment later the front door bangs.

I turn and run after her. I just manage to catch sight of her as she disappears round the corner of our street. I know I won't catch up with her, but I keep on running. I tear along the street with cars rushing by me, past people I don't know, who don't know me and don't care that I'm in distress, who don't care that I exist.

But I do exist. And I'm all alone. There's no one I can turn to for advice or help. If I ran to that boy who tells me over and over again that he loves me and plays at preventing the destruction of Castle Sion, he'd most likely be scared that I'm trying to burden him with something that's none of his business. He didn't father the child, and the person who did is the one who'll help me least of all.

I could try calling my pal Lucie; she'd most likely try to cheer me up somehow. But I don't need cheering up, I need to take action.

Tomorrow morning I'll cancel the surgery and take Jana to the drop-in clinic.

That's if she comes home this evening and if I manage to drag her there.

4

My darling daughter came home after the television news. She was in her room with the door locked before I had a chance to say anything. The next morning she emerged and announced curtly that she was going to school. I could fight with her but I'd probably lose. Anyway I can't decide whether or not to drag her to the addiction advice clinic. There is no point in her meeting real drug addicts and coming to the conclusion that compared to them she is as pure as the driven snow. I ought to seek some advice first.

There's only one person I know who might advise me. I didn't talk to him for twenty years and when we happened to meet in that restaurant the other day I wasn't particularly nice to him.

I don't relish the thought of talking to him, but I call him from the surgery none the less.

Surprisingly enough, I get straight through and over the phone it sounds as if he'd be pleased to meet me; he'll readily see me in his office at the Ministry of Health if I like.

It's only a short distance from home to the ministry, but like most of my colleagues I loathe that particular institution and have no yearning to step inside it, so I agree to meet in a pub.

We meet early in the evening. He's bound to think I've been missing him since the day I saw him again. Perhaps he's got wind of how things turned out for me and, knowing I'm on my own, sees an opportunity to worm his way into my favour for a while without committing himself. He once more tells me I'm more beautiful than I was those years ago. And he assures me that out of all the girls he ever knew, I was the most beautiful — in the same way he assured all the others. But I haven't come for flattery that's another thing I don't miss; I'm here for him to advise me what to do about my daughter.

He listens to me with feigned interest; everything I tell him is as banal as when someone tells me about their aching teeth.

He feels I need reassuring. He recalls our younger days: were we any better? Didn't we rebel against our parents too? It needs calm and patience, he tells me, using the formula he uses to allay the fears of frightened parents.

Then he advises me to find out what my daughter is taking. If it is something really hard we'll have to take immediate action. However, if she is only smoking grass on the odd occasion, he would advise me to go easy. The main thing is for me to find out who she is mixing with. If it's a bad crowd I should try to get her away from them, although that tends to be the most difficult thing of all. Fortunately term ends in a week's time and he would advise me to take Jana off to somewhere a long way away, where I can keep an eye on her all the time.

He also asks how Jana feels at home. Without realizing it, parents often do something that pushes their child in a direction they don't want them to take. Sometimes it is excessive strictness, sometimes it is excessive pampering. He reels off a list of recommendations that he has prepared for the occasion: I must try not to play the schoolmistress with my daughter or harangue her; I

must make sure she doesn't spend nights away from home but not make her feel she's in prison. Instead I should give her the feeling of being loved.

While he speaks, his gaze invades my body as it did years ago; maybe it's all that interests him. He couldn't care less about my daughter, naturally. Why should he, seeing that he also rejected the child he conceived with me that time.

Maybe he'd like to hear that I'm sad, neglected and lonely, that I'm unable to cope on my own with what life has in store for me, and my daughter suffers as a result. Then he could offer me his help, which would consist of adding his worries to mine.

He continues for a while longer with his ready-made recommendations. I could probably make them up myself; nevertheless the realization that Jana's case is nothing out of the ordinary is a slight comfort.

I thank him. He invites me to call him and let him know how things work out, and any other time I might need his advice. 'I'm flying to Londqn next week,' he tells me, as we make for the exit. 'Do you fancy coming with me? I'd take care of your ticket.'

I wouldn't go with you even if they paid me, I don't tell him. 'But you know I've got my daughter here.'

'And how about this evening?'

'I have her this evening too.'

I walk home and my anxiety grows as I approach our building.

But my daughter is at home sitting in the armchair with a damp cloth on her head.

'Headache?'

'A little bit. But it'll be OK.'

She seems pale to me. 'Did you have some supper?'

'I wasn't hungry. Because of my head.'

'What about school?'

'The teachers have packed up. We just loaf around now.'

Silence. I mustn't give her cause to feel she's in prison. Give her cause to feel like a queen.

'Your holidays start next week.'

'I know.'

'I'm taking my summer break in July. I've booked us a chalet at Hvar for the last two weeks.'

Silence. 'I don't fancy going to the seaside,' she announces eventually.

'Why not?'

'I don't fancy going anywhere.'

'You don't fancy going anywhere or you don't fancy going with me?'

She hesitates a moment before replying. 'I prefer being at home.'