My Golden Trades

'When I pay the rent, I have a hundred left from the advance. And when I get the rest at the end of the month, I try to send something to my boy — he's in the army.'

'You have a son that old?'

'I was eighteen when I got married.'

'And your second husband?'

She waved her hand dismissively.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.'

'Why not? He's in prison. Over in Ostrava.'

I didn't ask further, but she continued. 'He had an enterprising spirit — nothing more. In a normal world, he'd have opened a shop, and that would be it. He understood videos and tape recorders, even though he was a chemist. Just like my first husband — and like me.'

'You studied chemistry?'

'I taught it. Ten years. But then when my husband was arrested — well, they investigated me too. They had nothing on me; I wasn't involved. They were his deals, but they told me I couldn't teach any more.'

'Didn't you fight back?'

'What's the difference? They do whatever they want with you anyway. I was lucky to get this job. The people here are decent — but there's not much money, nor much work either, as you can see. Especially not now. And what about you? Are you going to be coming around for much longer?'

'That doesn't depend on me.'

'And if it did?'

'Another two weeks.'

'See what I mean? And what then?'

I shrugged my shoulders. 'Something will turn up.'

'Well, I don't want to pry. Will you have another drink?'

I said I'd had enough, but she poured herself another glass. 'If you hear of anything half decent, would you let me know?'

'But I have nothing to do with chemistry — not a thing.'

'Neither do I — any more, and I wouldn't want to, either.'

'What would you like?'

She stretched, and then attempted a smile. 'Right now I'd like to go swimming. How about it?'

'I'm not too fond of swimming.'

'Just my luck,' she said. 'My first husband didn't like swimming either. He was born under a fire sign. That was why he started doing what he did, and it was probably why he burnt himself out so soon, too. By the end, he was almost totally paralysed.'

'How old was he?'

'Thirty-one. We went to university together. He was a real athletic type — basketball, tennis, cross-country.' She filled her glass again. 'Am I annoying you with all this talk? But you don't like swimming. And it's hot in here. Aren't you hot?'

I was hot, but I didn't like the idea of swimming in the river, especially one as filthy as the Vltava. So I invited her to a pub near the bus stop, where we could sit in a small garden in the shade.

'Do you think I could leave now?' She was already taking a white handbag out of the cupboard. 'I'll leave the flowers here till tomorrow,' she decided. 'I spend more time here than at home anyway.' She locked the office.

Outside, they were laying another length of pipe with the crane. We had to wait for them to finish, and she put her arm in mine. 'My head's spinning a little,' she said. 'It's the sun. And I haven't had lunch.'

'Why didn't you have lunch?'

'I can't afford it.'

We found an empty table in the garden in the shade of a chestnut tree. The waiter offered us beer and a menu.

'Do you think I could have something to eat? I'll pick something cheap.'

'Order anything you'd like.'

'You haven't told me anything about you yet.'

'That's not important, after all.'

'All right, if it's not important, I'll have the wiener-schnitzel.'

'I was a teacher once myself,' I said. 'But only for half a year.'

'What did you teach?'

'Literature.'

'At university?'

'Yes.'

'Can you tell me something about literature?'

'What do you want to know?'

'What does it mean?'

'It's an encounter.'

'Who with?'

'With another person. The one who wrote the book.'

'I prefer live people.'

'So do I, mostly.'

The waiter brought her food.

'Thank you,' she said. 'You're very kind to me. That's what I thought when I first saw you: maybe that's what he'd have looked like if. .'

'Do you still think about him?'

'I'm sorry, I know it's not — polite.' For a while she ate in silence. Then she said, 'You know, they say that when you have that illness, it's really important how the sick person feels — his mental health. But I did look after him all that time, really well. And then, he couldn't even move, or anything. And Libor came to visit him too.'

'Who?'

'Libor — the one I married afterwards. He and Karel were friends. They worked in the same place. When Karel's illness began, lots of people came to visit, but then there

were fewer and fewer, you know how it is. In the end, only Libor came.'

'Because of you.'

'He helped me. It wasn't until. . But by that time, we knew it was the end.'

'Did your husband know it too?'

'I'm not sure what you mean.'

'Did he know Libor was coming because of you?'

'I don't know. We didn't do anything in front of him that might have. . But now sometimes I wonder… In those final weeks, I would sometimes get ready and go out in the evening… I was awfully tired. . No, not tired, really, but overwhelmed, and so I went out with Libor while my poor husband just lay there. He couldn't even move, or look out of the window to see where I was going. '

'Didn't he ask you?'

'No, he never did. He'd say: go out somewhere, go out and have some fun. You don't want to be cooped up with me all the time. He also asked me to put him in the hospital, but I knew he didn't really want that, that he was terrified of dying surrounded by strangers.'

'So you didn't put him in the hospital?'

'No!'

'That probably meant a lot to him.'

'Do you think so? Those final days keep coming back to me. The horror of it, and at the same time, the relief when it was all over. I was relieved. Don't you think that's awful? Someone I loved dies, and I feel relieved.'

'It's understandable.'

'I sometimes think that what happened afterwards was a punishment. Because I couldn't wait.'

'No, you mustn't think that way.'

'Forgive me. Here you are, treating me to a meal, and I'm carrying on like this.' She drained her glass. 'I only wanted you to know why I never smile. But now I can, now that I've told you all this. Now that you know what I'm capable of.'

Under the table, I could feel her shifting her leg to touch mine. Perhaps she hadn't made love to anyone for ages and was longing to be embraced and therefore offering herself to me. I only had to go with her, or invite her for a stroll in the wood that was just a short walk from here. Then again, perhaps this was just me, a man, imagining her longing. Perhaps she didn't really need to make love, perhaps she merely longed to hear words of absolution. Or she needed both, but felt that if she wanted absolution, she had to offer herself first. So I said something about how I thought she was more capable of good than of bad, then I paid the bill. We parted, saying that we'd certainly run into each other again.

When I went back to the office, the only one left was Miss Kosinová, her eyes red from crying. She told me that Mr Vandas's wife had died from an embolism. The funeral would probably be next Tuesday. Tomorrow they would take up a collection for a wreath. 'But you don't have to contribute,' Miss Kosinová said. 'You didn't know her, after all.'

Three

IN THE FOURTH-FLOOR office only the pretty manager was left. She was reading the satirical weekly Dikobraz and taking great pleasure from the fact that there was even greater chaos elsewhere in the economy than here. 'There's nothing today, again,' she said, welcoming me, 'but they say you should stop by in Vrsovice about nine. The labels have arrived. About twenty packages of them. That is, if you still feel like hauling them around on your last day.'