Ivan Klima - Lovers for a Day

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Ranging over nearly three decades, the stories collected in Ivan Klíma's
offer a fine cross section of the Czech writer's career. Yet the book also traces the misunderstandings and frustrations, the hopes and disenchantments of an entire nation-where, ironically enough, Klíma's creations were banned until the mid-1990s. How does this fictional barometer work? The earlier tales, which tend toward dissections of private life, seldom mention the Communist regime-yet their protagonists are so thoroughly warped by political circumstance that even love becomes an avatar of control and constraint. In the later, post-perestroika stories, Klíma's characters explore their newfound freedom. Yet that, too, turns out to be something of a mixed bag, in both the public and private sector. No wonder the judge in "It's Raining Out" finds his new beat-divorce court-nearly as dispiriting as the old regime's political trials:
He would divorce couples on grounds of infidelity or mutual incompatibility. Some of them were husbands and wives who had stopped living together long ago, but in spite of that, he could never rid himself of the conviction that most of the divorces were unnecessary, that people were attempting to escape the inescapable: their own emptiness, their own incapacity to share their lives with another person.
For Klíma's countryman Milan Kundera desire represents a zone of freedom: an assertion of the unique self in the face of a collective state. For Klíma, alas, eros is yet another venue for repression. Suggesting that national politics might inscribe itself onto the deepest contours of the individual, he's able to write about both at once. It's a grim equation, perhaps. But Klíma's mastery of the medium, and his rare emotional intelligence, make for a superb exposition of love among the ruins.

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It struck him that paradise was a state of innocence. Being unaware of evil. The absence of fear. He could only think of negative definitions. Paradise was the presence of God, of course, and hence the absence of death. Therefore paradise was a delusion. But there was no sense in saying any of that out loud. So all he said was, 'I would like to be with you entirely one day. And for you to be with me alone.'

'I've been entirely with you today,' she pointed out. 'Do you think I could be with you even more than that?'

'You wouldn't have to leave me for someone else, there would be just the two of us. In a secluded house with a garden.'

'Just a moment ago you were saying that was precisely what that play thought was hell.'

'But it would be possible to leave that house. And have visitors.'

'Yes. And lie out in the garden and sunbathe. In Brazil. Or Spain. Would we have a swimming pool?'

'Why not?'

'Okay. That villa could stand right by the seaside; that would be even better. And in the evenings we'd visit some little tavern or pizzeria. What would we drink?'

'Wine,' he suggested.

'Wine, naturally. But what kind?'

'That would depend on what we were eating. You'd drink the kind of wine that happened to take your fancy.' Then he remembered, 'Do you remember that little hotel by the dam? We were there all on our own and the woman in charge brought us Italian wine wearing a ball gown.'

'No,' she said, shaking her head.

'Ruffino. We drank a whole bottle of it though we weren't able to make love. There wasn't anywhere handy — you had to be home that evening.'

'No,' she said, 'I never remember things that have happened. I expect I had to get home, if you say so. You know I'm married, don't you? But now I'm with you and at this moment I'm ready to drink any old wine. What is the time, anyway?'

'I don't know. It must be fairly late. Perhaps midnight. Can you hear that rumbling? Are those tanks?'

'Is the restaurant closed already?'

'Yes, I expect so. Listen to it, for heaven's sake!'

'You promised me tomato soup!'

'Don't think about it now. It's too late. I haven't eaten today either. Not a thing.'

'But you've got a different stomach, haven't you,' she said. 'It's no consolation to me that you're hungry too. Won't you put on some music, at least?'

He turned the knob. 'They've packed up already. It's late. They've switched it off so that the hotel guests don't disturb each other. Though mind you. .' Someone's attempt to prevent him being disturbed seemed absurd at that moment. In this country. And to the sound of distant engines and caterpillar tracks.

'I'm thirsty,' she said. 'Bring me some water, at least.'

The tiles were still warm and still only the hot water worked. Once more the sound of creeping feet came from the other side of the door. Hell is fear, it struck him. And paradise is the absence of fear, the certainty of safety. The certainty of loyalty. That was why paradise was a delusion.

She drank several gulps of warm water. 'What are you standing there for? Why don't you come here, at least, seeing you

don't want to go anywhere any more? Or don't you love me now?'

'If I didn't love you I wouldn't be here.' And he had a longing, an absurd longing, for certainty, for safety, for her loyalty.

She clung to him. 'And we wanted to go to the cinema,' she said ruefully.

'We will go. We'll go often, you'll see.'

'Do you think so? I don't know that we'll ever go again. But I wanted to go today. Maybe they won't even send you to prison. Maybe you just imagined it all.'

'What did I imagine?'

'The business with that hunchback. You just imagined it. You've got nothing to worry about.'

'He was lame,' he corrected her.

'I'd be more afraid of that guy at reception. He'll tell them you're here if they ask. AU of a sudden there'll be a knock on the door and it'll be them. And I'll cop it along with you!'

'They don't know I'm here.'

'They don't know you're here?' she said in amazement. 'But they put you in the register.'

'I didn't show them my identity card. I borrowed your husband's when I was at your place. They never check the photo, they just want the document. I thought it would be better for you if I didn't sign in under my own name.'

'You borrowed his identity card and didn't even tell me? So I'm actually here with my husband. I've simply been fulfilling my conjugal duties.'

'Are you cross?'

'No. Why should I be?' she said in surprise. 'My only worry is that you won't love me so much if you think I'm just fulfilling my conjugal duties.'

'I love you. Nobody could love you more than I do.'

'That's why you came so far,' she said. 'To prove it. And you registered under his name, so it was actually him who's been showing his prowess. I love you for that.'

'I want you to love me for eternity.'

'"Eternity"? Eternity and really. You always use the funniest words. Isn't it enough that I'm here with you?'

When he woke up it was already getting light. There was someone walking up and down the corridor and it filled him with such terror that beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He listened to the strange footsteps without moving. They went away and then came back again. Someone was standing guard outside the door. His head ached. Most likely due to the heat and the agitation, not to mention the lack of sleep and hunger, possibly.

She lay next to him, asleep. She hadn't washed last night and make-up was smeared over her eyelids and cheeks and there were droplets of sweat on her forehead. A puffy, smudgy, ordinary woman. She was the reason he'd returned. She was the reason he'd walked into a trap.

He was hungry. He quietly opened his suitcase. Several dirty shirts, some magazines and a folded suit. Not a single sweet or even chewing gum. He closed the case again.

'What are you rummaging for?' came her voice. 'You don't happen to have a pistol there, do you? People like you have to carry a weapon, don't they? And don't look at me now. I'm ugly in the morning.' He heard her footsteps and then from the bathroom the sound of running water.

She emerged naked, but immaculately made up once more. 'Do you still find me attractive?'

'You're beautiful. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen. You

must believe me that I couldn't bear it there without you any more.'

'I believe you. What are we going to do now?' she asked. 'Do you think they're serving breakfast yet?'

'I doubt it.' And he was startled by the thought that he would soon have to abandon this close, airless room.

'There's no reason why they shouldn't bring it up to us,' she said. 'Call them and tell them we want our breakfast here.'

He lifted the receiver and waited for someone to reply.

'I'll have ham,' she said. 'Ham and eggs and tea. I love tea, I could drink it all day long.'

'It's dead.' There was no point fooling themselves. They were trapped. No trick with a borrowed identity card was going to help him. They were outside the door waiting for him to emerge.

'Don't,' she said. 'We'll go downstairs. What shall I put on?'

'Nothing. I like you best 'when you've got nothing on.'

'Do you think I ought to have breakfast in the nude? Or are you going to bring me breakfast in bed? Will you go down and fetch it?'

He nodded and stepped over to the window. It was already dawn. There were several buses waiting at the bus station. Below, almost indiscernible from five floors up, a man on crutches hurried about on a narrow strip of grass. A ball flew towards him from some unseen opponent around the corner. The man on crutches hobbled over and kicked the ball. He observed the game, watching the ball fly back and forth — watching his imminent fate.

'What can you see there?' she asked.

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