The Ultimate Intimacy

'It's rather that He loves us. And as regards our love, I give priority to love for people. I believe that Jesus did and does likewise.'

'What form does Jesus's love for us take?'

'Jesus sacrificed his life for people's salvation.'

'Lots of people sacrifice their lives. But that happened a long time ago. What form has it taken since then?'

'That sacrifice still applies and prevails as it did then.'

'How can you tell? After all, how many dreadful things have happened since then?'

'You're right. Some of them were so terrible they are beyond my imagination. I believe that love endures none the less.'

And normal human love can endure an entire lifetime?'

'I believe it can.'

And you also maintain that love manifests itself when we're with someone who needs us. I'd like to meet someone who is able to love that way.'

'You haven't met anyone like that yet?'

'No, I certainly haven't. Except my mother maybe. But I didn't meet her. Without her I wouldn't be here at all.'

Are you glad you are?'

'Here and now, you mean?'

'I mean, in the world.'

'I'm glad I am here now — apart from that, I can't say. Or rather, sometimes yes, sometimes no. And there was one occasion when I decided to stop existing altogether. Am I keeping you?'

'No, I was expecting you, after all.'

She lights another cigarette. She has slender fingers: in that respect also she resembles his first wife.

'When I was seventeen I used to sing in a band. That's a long time ago. But I ought to start with something even longer ago than that.

When I was a very little girl, we used to spend the summer in a little village just outside Sedlčany, if you know that part of the world. It's not really important where it was. There was this hunchback living there, a dirty, crazy fellow who used to wear terribly muddy wellies and had black hairy arms like a gorilla. He used to kill small birds. Tiny redstarts, blackbirds, chaffinches and the like. Whenever he saw a nest in a tree he would climb up it, pull out the nestlings, wring their necks and throw them under the tree. I was terrified of him. Whenever I met him I would start to cry and my mother had to pick me up — at the age of five.'

'And the people there let him carry on?'

'It's conceivable that they forbade him to do it, but they couldn't lock him up for it, there was no law against it at the time. And maybe there isn't one even now, although there ought to be. But I don't expect he's doing it any more. He's probably dead. So when I was singing in that band — I don't want to take up too much of your time — one lad that used to play with us on the banjo travelled as far as Mexico and brought home with him some weird horrible thing — a mushroom. It was dried, and you could eat it or smoke it, or you could make it into a tea. It tasted bitter, not at all mushroom-like. We all took some of that mushroom and afterwards everyone had beautiful, colourful visions and the urge to make love — all except me. Instead I had the most horrible dream. I wasn't a human any more, but a nestling, and I saw that disgusting fellow climbing up towards me through the branches. And I began to be really terrified.'

Fear suddenly appears in her eyes. As she speaks she leans so near to him that he can smell her scent. Then abruptly she seizes him by the hand and squeezes it firmly, almost too tightly. 'Apparently I started to scream and there was no calming me down. That's how I spoiled their mushroom party. Why did I start telling you about it? Oh, yes. It was about me never finding it easy to be in the world. Well, it isn't, I tell you. That hunchback will suddenly jump up on to my breast and strangle me. I don't even have to eat any sort of mushroom any more. I simply have to wake up in the dead of night and I know that it'll happen one day. Death will come and wring my neck and no one, but no one will save me. Am I delaying you?'

Even now, it strikes Daniel, she might be under the influence of some drug. Maybe that is why she is squeezing his hand. People flee from death. He does too, except that he has chosen a different escape route.

'You're not delaying me. Is that why you came? On account of that anxiety?'

'Among other reasons. Don't be cross with me. My husband calls me hysterical. I am a bit. But only on the odd occasion. Tell me, what sense does it all make?' She finally releases his hand.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean life. The fact that we're here. No, don't tell me it's God's will. That that was the reason my father created me. And why do all those billions and billions of men father more and more children? That can't be God's will, can it? A God like that would have to have a computer in place of a head, except that a computer is incapable of love, so what use would such a God be?'

'Don't bother your head with questions like that. God is beyond our imagination, and so is his will.'

And you know he exists, even though you can't imagine him, and even though you can't produce convincing proof of his existence?'

'There is so much in the world and the universe that is beyond our imagination, and yet we believe it exists. God is no more understandable than the universe, for instance, and the universe is no more understandable than God.'

And do you think that's a good thing?'

'No, I wouldn't say so, but that's the way it is.'

'I'll give it some thought. I mustn't bother you with any more questions.'

'It's no bother. People are mostly afraid to ask frank questions.'

She gets up. 'You're not cross with me for taking up your time?'

'I've no reason to be.'

'Don't be so polite.' She shakes his hand.

'Did you come by car?'

'No, the car's my husband's. It was only when he took the firm's car on that trip that I had the use of the little Japanese one. I mostly travel by bus and tram.'

'If you'll permit me I'll drop you home. I owe you a long drive, don't forget.'

'You don't owe me a thing,' she says. 'On the contrary. You had the patience to listen to my hysterical questions.'

There is a flower stall at the tram stop. He pulls up and without even switching off the engine he goes and chooses three dark-red roses and returns to the car. 'Where do you live in Hanspaulka?'

'You still remember? At Baba, of course. But you only need to drop me at the bus stop. It will be better that way.' In the car she asks, 'Do you think I might be allowed to come and bother you again some time?'

He replies that if she finds it of some benefit, then of course she may.

'Thank you. And tell me also when it would be the least bother to you.'

'Come some day. Whenever it suits you.'

'Some time means never.'

'Monday week?'

'Yes, Monday's a good day. My husband usually has a meeting in the afternoon. At what time?'

'Whatever suits you.'

'Two o'clock, say,' she suggests. 'I oughtn't to accept them from you,' she says as he hands her the roses.

'I don't mean anything by it. It was just that — I had a kind of feeling of empathy when you were talking about your anxiety'

'It's a long time since anyone gave me roses.' She leans towards him and gives him a quick kiss. 'Thank you. And don't forsake me!'

2

Diary excerpts

Petr brought the sister of one of his former gypsy fellow prisoners to the youth meeting. Her name is Marika and she must be about sixteen, although she looks at least twenty. She said almost nothing at the first meeting and she looked more at the floor than at the others. But when we started to sing she quickly caught the melody and sang without a single mistake, even though her voice sounded — I'm not sure how to put it — perhaps 'wild' might be the most accurate way to describe it.

I was apprehensive about how the others would take to her, but they treated her with consideration and praised her singing. When we were saying goodbye, young Kodet told her we looked forward to her coming again. I asked her how she felt about being with us and she said: fine.