Ivan Klima - Lovers for a Day

'Nothing.'

'Lucky you.'

He wiped his forehead. 'You won't spend the whole time at it, though.'

'I can't say.'

'You'll have done enough by this evening, won't you?'

'I can't say,' she repeated.

'I'll wait for you then. Near your place by the cinema. What time?'

'I don't know.'

'Seven then,' he decided. 'Will you come?'

'Maybe. .'

'Bye, then.'

'Ciao.'

He went back home. This time he opened the ship's log and wrote: 20th May: longitude 158°13′27″ W., latitude 30°5′16″ S., sea calm, a hot windless day. A bit boring as before. Matt still sleeping. Holding course for the Friendly Isles. Four sharks to port. I'm already looking forward to this evening.

Then he remembered: There's only a few days' supply of drinking water left, but we've not lost hope.

He realized he was thirsty. He put the ship's log away again. The beer in the pantry was like coffee. Then he took out the disassembled radio and gazed into the jumble of wires for a long time without moving. Nothing gave him pleasure lately: not even reading or repairing. He didn't even particularly enjoy going swimming — everything seemed the same and everything was over so quickly, he had nothing to look forward to. Except her, a little. He liked her, even though he wasn't sure where he stood, or maybe exactly because he didn't.

He abandoned the radio; there's time enough for that at the rate I'm going. He couldn't work out why he was so fed up lately. Well, actually he didn't think about it too much, he just felt it, like a weariness: in his legs, in his head, in his hands and in front of his eyes.

There were some people who were capable of putting up with anything: whether or not they won the lottery, or their side lost last Sunday. . if they arrived a minute late that morning… if they had a row with the foreman. He couldn't understand them, though they were probably better off than him. He strolled along the street — silent families going home, the smell of their dinner from the windows. He tried to think about Blanka, what he'd talk to her about. But he couldn't think of anything. Nothing at all. Nothing had happened today

or yesterday, apart from the fact he arrived four minutes late for work — but he could hardly talk to her about. .

He arrived five minutes early He stood at the corner and leaned against a red and yellow railing. Two houses away there was a single-storey suburban cinema. The red neon sign paled in the setting sun. There was no one around, it must be in the middle of the film. In a window opposite a woman was walking around in her slip, but she was no longer young. The big green clock on the corner — someone had broken the glass with a stone and knocked off the minute hand, but the hour hand showed between eleven and twelve. He felt the urge to knock the hour hand off too and looked round for a stone, but couldn't find one. . it's seven o'clock anyway. If she didn't come this time he'd send her to. . but it was only one minute past seven. In fact he began to miss her; if they were to start going out together for real, then in the summer they could all — Ladya, Libuše and the two of them — go off somewhere camping maybe. It would make a great fortnight. Ten past seven. He found the wait exhausting. When she comes, if she comes, he'd say something to her, but what then? He didn't fancy the cinema; if she weren't so stubborn it would be easy to go somewhere out of town; just a few streets away and you were in the scrub; there was somewhere there for lying down and everything else; he knew where it was — when they were still in eighth class a whole gang of them would go out and flash lamps — the guys would go mad — once a guy knocked out one of his teeth. Seven-fifteen. He spat. He walked past the broken clock and slouched along the footpath to the ugly blocks of flats.

Buzzers on a grubby board.

'Yes?' asked the rusty interphone.

'It's me. What's the problem?'

'Is that you?'

'Who else would it be?' he said. 'You promised me. .'

'"Maybe",' the perforated metal corrected him. 'Actually I said I wasn't sure. I told you about all the cramming I've got to do. You don't know how lucky you are.'

'Yeah,' he said, 'not half.'

'You could come upstairs for a moment,' said the metal, 'though I don't know about my parents.'

'Bye, then. I'm not waiting any longer tonight.'

'Ciao, then.'

'Or tomorrow,' he added.

'Ciao.'

'Or ever again,' he concluded. But the rusty metal had fallen silent.

It wouldn't be night for a good while yet; he was hardly going to go home to bed. He didn't fancy going to find the other one either, not today anyway. Sometimes he used to look her up, but not today. He hadn't given her a thought the entire day, he'd had no desire to, in fact; so why this evening?

I should have taken my bike and gone to the river with Ladya, he thought as he sloped off towards the tram stop, there's always some fun by the river, and girls, and failing that there's sun and sand, sun and sand, someone playing a guitar, coloured swimsuits. He reached the main street. Wax dummies smiled out of shop windows. He gawked at them for a moment before getting on a tram. Jesus, but seeing. . The tram car was empty except for some old bird and her dog; out that late and with a dog too, the old bird; if only she, if only, there's nothing wrong with her, but I don't… I ought to get off. The rails screeched wearily. He was falling into a dark sack. He should have gone

to the river with Ladya instead. Ladya's a. . those tricks of his, like yesterday when he told the foreman, when he told the foreman… he chuckled quietly. This summer we could take our rucksacks and head off somewhere together. If he wanted to take Libuše, though, I'd have to. .

He got off the tram. The light from the dirty café lit the street — the Morning Star. What creep dreamed up that name for it. He went inside. There were three guys drinking beer. No one behind the counter. He leaned against it and waited.

Eventually she came out. In extremely grubby overalls. Small and thin, her cheeks grey after a long day. Her lipstick was almost all rubbed off. She caught sight of him and smiled wearily. Two gold teeth shone in her mouth. 'Is that you Bohouš?'

'Who else?'

'Come to see me?'

He leaned on the counter. His gaze was fixed on her face but he said nothing and gave nothing away.

So she said, 'I'm really tired today.'

'Yeah, it's evening already.'

She looked at the clock. 'I close up in another twenty minutes.'

'I'll wait for you!'

'I don't know. . I'm awful. . It's really nice of you to come, but I'm completely fagged out.'

'You'll perk up outside.'

'I don't think so. Not today. Do you want something?'

'Let me have a beer.'

She poured him a beer and he stared at her breasts beneath the grubby overalls. She was older than him, but not much, maybe only five years; he'd never asked her, maybe not so

much — girls soon went to seed in this job. She wasn't especially plain, apart from those gold teeth and her nose, but she'd never been his idea of. .

'Fancy something to eat? There's not much left anyway.' The last open sandwiches were going dry under the glass. She put two of them on a plate for him.

'It's the heat that does it,' she said. She smoothed her hair slightly and looked at him.

He took the beer and the sandwiches over to a table. The last of the three drinkers finished his beer and they left; just the two of them remained.

'Bohouš,' she said, coming over to him, 'you really oughtn't wait for me. It's nice of you, but I'm dreadfully tired today.'

'It doesn't matter. I'll wait.'

'It's up to you. . Would you pass me those glasses?'

He stood up and brought her the glasses the three had left. She rinsed them under the tap and stood them alongside the others. 'I shouldn't think there'll be anyone else in now,' she said. 'It wouldn't be worth their while.' She poured herself a beer and sat down with him at the table. 'So what were you doing today?'