Ivan Klima - Lovers for a Day

She was lying on a white mattress in a low hut woven from sugar cane. Her skin was very dark and her eyes were already blind.

He took out the syringe. He was still surrounded by people and when he stuck the needle into the dusky arm he could see the liquid slowly disappear from the glass tube.

She'll be better by evening, he announced to the old man who had been standing at his side throughout. They emerged from the hut and the man asked him, How shall I repay you?

He replied, I am merely doing my duty. And in fact he really did not want anything, he was very happy to be able to

do what he had done, to ride across the dusty plain and help a woman; if you were able to give her to me, he thought to himself, but said nothing and the man couldn't understand why he refused money, that he was genuinely happy to be doing something he really liked.

'In fact I don't know if we'll be going,' said Ladya.

'Why?'

'It's a drag. . And then there's the meeting,' he added with annoyance. 'How are you supposed to feel like going anywhere after that?'

'That's a fact,' he said, almost relieved. He now picked up one big and three small cogs with his right hand and two small axles with his left, slid them on, let them click into place, tested them, then took four screws and inserted them into the holes.

Unless you gave me a butterfly, he suggested, a blue butterfly. But his horse was tired and out of breath by now — the butterfly flapped around like a piece of crêpe paper that had torn itself away from some decorations at a village fete; Jesus, it's nine already, forty more minutes to go before the main break: I'll have a pickled herring today and a glass of that black muck — our Coca-Cola. He picked up one big and three small cogs with his right hand and two small axles with his left, gazing all the while at the white wall opposite: it looked like a flour sack, maybe if he breathed out hard enough the bag would collapse and cover him in floury darkness; he closed his eyes slightly and spurred his horse.

He dismounted by an ordinary cliff at the side of the Vltava. Blanka was two paces behind him. They were both trudging along with rucksacks on their backs. Come on, I'll give you a hand, he told her as they started to climb a narrow path in the rocks. But she only snapped at him, Leave off!

There's no need to be so. . but he felt a pang of regret. Of course he ought to be happy that she had come with him and was now climbing with him up this path that led to a totally deserted forest, but he felt regret instead, because he suspected she was thinking of how to slip away from him, how to shut herself in her tent, keep quiet and act the innocent while he lost his temper because he loved her.

He was definitely quite fond of her and could tell her so if he wanted, except that he never managed to say things like that. . He let her move ahead of him and all he could see now were her tanned legs and the big rucksack and above it her almost-white hair.

Babe, you're fantastic, it occurred to him. He reached out and said, Come on, I'll give you a hand.

She didn't object, but nor she did utter another word. So they climbed to the top of the slope and the footpath wound through a sparse birch wood.

Listen, she said, why don't do you do something. . something. . she could not find the right word, but it seemed she wanted to say: something decent, something classy, a white-collar job, a. .

What's wrong? he snapped at her. Didn't you see those bikes on the way here?

So what? As if it was you who made them. You. . she laughed, all you know how to do is stick a couple of cogs into the gear box, apart from that you're totally ham-fisted and useless.

Just like everyone else, he said angrily But a fat lot you understand with your lacquered head!

She was going to make some comment but he cut her short; And you can pack in all that crap. The last thing I want to do is go on about it here.

But Bohouš, she said.

About my bloody gear boxes, he let fly. I don't need a girl who keeps harping on about things like that.

But Bohouš, she repeated.

It's the last thing I need, he roared at her. Arguing the toss with you about our gear boxes.

But Bohouš! Her voice now gave way and she started to wail like a siren.

'The scorcher is on its way,' Ladya said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. 'I'd sooner jack it in and head straight for the water.'

'Yeah.'

'When we were at school,' Ladya said, 'there was a whole gang of us. We'd just skive off and be down at the water first thing in the morning.'

'True enough.'

'It's ages ago now — five years already, would you believe?' and as he passed him the box he gave him a sympathetic look as if to say, Pack it in and get the hell out of here, go and make for the water, or just head off somewhere, straight ahead, ever onwards; and he felt an odd sensation in his legs, they were already on their way, running, the tar was a bit sticky underfoot, very sticky; he gulped and blinked his burning eyes. He picked up one big and three small cogs with his right hand and two small axles with his left, slid them on, let them click into place, tested it, then took four screws and inserted them into the holes. His horse was completely tired out and lay exhausted at his feet, nine thirty-five, great, he said to himself, it'll soon be the main break, time will start to fly now, I'll have two Coca-Colas. With Ladya she'd definitely be… he was already looking forward to the afternoon, however it turned out. Just so

long as that meeting doesn't. . and he picked up one big and three small cogs with his right hand and two small axles with his left, gazing all the while at the white wall opposite.

2

Outside the hot, dazzling white light hit them. It always filled him with a yearning for distant countries. In the park in front of the factory he caught sight of Libuše still waiting for Ladya, the two whole hours they'd been stuck in that meeting. That was loyalty, all right; nobody hung around for him. They were bound to entreat him to go for a swim, but he was hardly going to play the third… so he headed off in the opposite direction.

'Bohouš. .'

'I haven't got the bike here,' he shouted.

'I'll give you a lift home then. Libuše won't mind waiting here a moment!'

'I can't today!' He wandered along the hot street, just his luck, not a single. . All the things you could do on a day like this, but what?

At home there was just the tom-cat asleep. Mum and Dad were on the afternoon shift. In the flat the heat hung motionless. He opened a window. 'Had your lunch, Matt?'

In the pantry he found some dumplings soaked in gravy. He stuffed one in his mouth and tossed a piece to the tom-cat. The cat didn't budge, in the heat. It was hot and there was a horrible bland emptiness, on a day like this; he went over to the cupboard and rummaged in the terrible mess until he found the SHIP'S LOG, but poindessly, really: what sense was there at this

moment and on a day like this, even if it was coming to its end? If only one wasn't so totally, so utterly. . What then? In fact there 'was only her, he swallowed, she was that day, or the end of it, his swelling hope. The telephone booth beneath his window loomed emptily.

He was scarcely going to beg her, she'll find some excuse anyway, but what else. Otherwise the whole day would just fizzle out if it were allowed to go dry without any moisture.

The moment he stepped into the booth he was drenched in sweat.

'Hello,' came the voice.

'It's me. What are you doing this evening?'

What else?' said the voice. 'Swotting as usual.'

'What?'

'Everything.'

He fell silent. It was impossible to breathe in the booth. He should have gone to the river.

'And what about you?' said the voice.