No Saints or Angels

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.'

'You feel like being stuck here the whole summer?'

'Either here or around here.'

'But I don't. I spend the whole year looking forward to some rest.'

'But there's nothing to stop you going to the seaside.'

Her arrogant replies irritate me but I try to stay cool. 'And leaving you at home?'

'Why not?'

'Because I don't intend to leave you here on your own.'

'Mum, you have to realize I'm not a little girl any more.'

'I don't have to do anything. And you just bear in mind that you're not entirely grown-up.'

'I hate lounging around at the seaside. It's a waste of money.'

'The money's not your concern. What would you like to do?'

'Stay here.'

'And come home at midnight every night.'

Yeah.'

'Stoned out of your mind.'

'I want to spend my holidays with people I like being with.'

'I appreciate that.'

She looks at me in surprise.

'Everyone prefers to be with people they like being with. Do you think I don't?'

'There you go.'

'But you're coming with me because I won't leave you here to wander around at night with a crowd of punks that you think you like being with. Just because they let you do what you like and because they spend their time lazing around like you.'

'Mum, this is pointless. I won't go to the seaside with you anyway.'

'All right, we won't go to the seaside.'

'But I don't want to go anywhere.' Her expression is defiant. This is no longer the little girl who used to come and snuggle up with me in bed on a Sunday morning. I know I'm partly to blame. I ignored for too long the fact that things were going wrong with her. I wanted her childhood to be different from mine; I wanted her to have more freedom.

But what is freedom? The gateway to an unknown space that even adults get lost in, and my little girl isn't sixteen yet. She's lost in a landscape that lures her, but in fact it's a swamp that she'll go on sinking into until one day she'll disappear altogether.

I'm aware of tears falling from my eyes. I quickly wipe my face, but I can't stop myself from crying.

And this creature looks at me for a moment and then all of a sudden she shoves her aching head into my lap. 'Don't cry, Mummy. I didn't mean it. We'll go together if you like.'

5

I invited Kristýna to take part in a game I had thought up. It wasn't too crazy, or childish even. It was a game without monsters. I invited her because I wanted her to meet my friends. No, I wanted to prove to myself that she was mine not only in private but also in front of people. I wanted Věra to see her with me.

But I shouldn't have done it. Kristýna didn't feel right during the game, or rather she disliked it. I should have realized that she's

down-to-earth and not the playful type. She made an effort to please me, but I could tell she was uncomfortable. I didn't try to stop her when she decided to leave after two hours.

We went on playing almost the whole night. Věra acted as disdainfully as she was able. When we were saying goodbye she couldn't control herself any longer and asked, 'Wherever did you pick up that old relic?'

'I didn't pick up her, I discovered her in the archives,' I riposted. 'She has royal forebears.'

'I don't know about forebears, but she certainly has a large backside.'

I told her she was pathetic and that I pitied her.

She replied that she didn't know who was more to be pitied, but I was definitely the bigger dupe.

Dawn was breaking when I reached home. I had the feeling something crucial had happened in my life.

When Kristýna left that evening and we went on with the game, I suddenly realized that it no longer gave me any pleasure and I was simply wasting time. As if I saw myself with her eyes: a little boy still playing games instead of completing my studies, for instance.