'But she'd have phoned you, at least, wouldn't she? You ought to report it to the police right away.'
'I'll wait a little while longer.' I smoke one cigarette after another. I also call my ex-husband, even though I know it'll be pointless.
No, he hasn't seen Jana for at least three weeks. It grieves him because he feels lousy and doesn't know how much longer he has to live. He starts to give me a lengthy account of his ailments. He's only interested in himself now. I bring the pointless conversation to an end and light another cigarette. My fingers tremble and I want to cry. I have no one in the whole wide world apart from Mum, and she's already old. No, there is one person who loves me maybe, but how could he help me? He'd most likely think I'm being hysterical. I've told him almost nothing about Jana. I was embarrassed about her being nearer his age than I am.
I'll wait another half-hour and then go to the police. What we all have in the whole wide world is the police. Helplines and the police, who come and take a statement and that's that.
At last the phone rings. But it's only Lucie calling to tell me she's miserable and missing her swarthy lover. She is about to tell me all about it when I interrupt her with my present problem.
'But she'll come home,' my friend tries to reassure me.
When I hang up I'm convinced that Jana won't come home. She's sitting somewhere with her gang drinking — hopefully only drinking — and having a good time. I'm the one shaking with fear; she knows she has nothing to be afraid of. And as for her conscience, it didn't bother her when she stole my jewellery and that money and when she lied to me. So why would she do something desperate on account of a school report?
I shouldn't have let things come to this. The moment she comes in I'll drive her straight to the drug emergency unit at
Bohnice mental hospital! They'll give her a blood test and I'll finally find out what she's up to.
But what if she's had an accident? She could have got drunk or high and run under a car. She could have been attacked.
I really ought to go to the police, but I still hesitate. 1 don't want them putting her on some list and searching for her as if she was a prisoner on the run.
Jan, the master of the hero games and also someone who's had experience of detection, is my last hope. So I finally call him and share my fears with him, while apologizing for dragging him into my worries.
Without waiting for details, he tells me he'll be right over.
The waiting seems endless, even though he gets here in less than half an hour.
He wants to know what sort of report Jana was expecting, whether she is depressive, whether she drinks, what sort of crowd she hangs out with, and what pubs she goes to,
I dutifully tell him that she hangs out with punks, that I don't know what pubs she goes to — she told me she mostly sits around in the park.
He asks me if I've ever looked for her there.
I never have, because she has always come in earlier than me; three times a week my surgery lasts till six.
My replies surely can't satisfy him; I expect he thinks I'm a careless and irresponsible mother.
He ponders for a moment and then says that the punks often congregate on Kampa island. 'Even if we don't find Jana there, at least we might discover something.'
I'd agree with whatever he suggested, just so long as we're doing something. I take him down to my car, but ask him to drive because I'm too distraught.
At this time of the evening the streets are half-deserted and soon we're driving through Smíchov. He manages to park in one of the side streets and we walk down the steps to Kampa. The
sound of guitars already reaches our ears; it is getting dark but I can still make out punk haircuts. These are the ones we're looking for: I recognize my daughter even from behind. I run up to her. 'Jana!'
She turns to me. 'Is that you, Mum? What are you doing here?' She is painted as gaudily as a Papuan beauty queen.
'What are you doing here?' But I'm still relieved that I've found her and that she's alive.
'I'm here, that's all. School holidays started today, didn't they?' She acts arrogantly, not wanting to lose face with her friends. They have noticed me, but most of them look unconcerned.
'Why didn't you call me?'
'My card ran out.'
'Didn't it occur to you that I'd be worried about you?'
'Spare us the scene, Mum.'
'OK, I won't say any more. Just get your things, you're coming with me.'
By way of reply, she turns her back on me.
'Jana, get up and come with me!'
She doesn't look at me. She doesn't even budge. However Jan leans over her and says: 'Didn't you hear?'
'Who are you? Did you bring some cop with you, Mum?'
For a moment, my blood runs cold at the thought that the word 'cop' will incite the rest of them and they'll start to attack us.
'No,' he says, 'you're wrong. I just happen to like your mother and won't stand by while you torment her.'
'I don't torment her,' she replies; but she is so dumbfounded by what she has heard that she gets up, turns to the others and says, 'Bye then, see you tomorrow. I have to go with them now.'
'Where's your school report?' I ask, because all she is carrying is a little canvas bag.
'There,' she says, pointing towards the river.
'You threw it away?'
'Yeah. It was disgusting!' And she laughs a strange, alien laugh.
I say nothing.
jan seats the two of us in the back of the car and then turns to my daughter. 'You're high as a kite, aren't you?'
She looks at him. 'It's none of your business.' Then she yells, 'You're not my dad!'
'Jana!'
But she's laughing in that alien voice again. 'I feel great,' she informs us. 'I don't care what you think about it.'
'But I do care what's in your bloodstream and I intend to find out.'
She laughs. Then she starts to yell that she won't let anyone take her blood. She's not going anywhere with us and I'm to let her out of the car right away.
I don't intend to argue with her. I simply tell Jan where he is to drive to.
'You want me locked up with loonies?'
'I just want to find out what's up with you.'
'I won't go with you!' She tries to open the door as we are going along. I grab her, get my arms round her waist and hold her with all my strength. We struggle. She manages to open the window slightly and shout for help. When she realizes no one will hear her she tries to strangle me and lunges at Jan, jolting his seat and yelling that she doesn't care if we all get killed. 'I'll kill you. I hate you. You're vile! I'll kill you!'
I manage to drag her back into the seat. I'm lying on top of my daughter; I can smell her breath, which gives off an odd stench. I'm lying on my little girl, who is scratching me, biting my hand and kneeing me in the stomach. She is younger and stronger, and her brain is addled by some poison or other. I know I won't be able to hold her down, maybe she'll manage to jump out or throw me out of the car; then she'll leap on Jan from behind and wrench the wheel out of his hands. She really will kill us all.
Then suddenly she gives in. She is silent. I notice that her face is covered in blood. I have a moment of panic, but it is only blood from the scratches on my hand.
The long wall of the mental hospital looms out of the darkness ahead and Jan pulls up in front of the gates.
'You want to leave me here?' Jana asks me. Then she starts to snivel. 'Mummy, you aren't going to leave me here, are you?'
But the gates are already opening and I know I have to leave her.
7
Everything here is white and horrible: the walls, the beds, the lamps and the people. Except for the black bats that hang from the lights from time to time. The head doctor was completely out of his mind when I first saw him, I thought he was a loony in disguise or a junkie. When they dragged me off to the detox unit, which was the name they gave the clink on the first floor, I fought with them as hard as I could but they were well trained and used hypos instead of manacles and whips. They shot something into me and after that I slept for about a month like Sleeping Beauty. When I woke up I was in a foul mood and told them all to piss off. That loony in disguise told me cheerfully that I had classic withdrawal symptoms. He also told me that my blood had been full of all sorts of crap and I ought to be happy that I'm alive.