I told her that should her husband refuse to support her son's university study, she could rely on me. She said that such a thing was out of the question, but it is important for her that I say it.
Apparently, for several days her husband treated her and even his stepson with more consideration. I asked her if he had apologized for throwing the ruler at her.
'Apologize? To me? That's something he'd never do. In his eyes I'm not a fully developed human. I'm just a woman, aren't I?'
I also confided in her the news that I had found Dad's name on the list of police informers.
She asked if it distressed me very much.
I told her I would like to know the truth.
'But you'll never discover the truth,' she objected.
I said that if truth could not be discovered then there could be no justice on earth.
'And there isn't any, 'she said. 'There truly isn't any justice. '
It's fascinating how Marika, the gypsy girl, takes for granted the accounts of Jesus's miracles. For her, miracles are still part and parcel of life. Unclean spirits move amongst us and the seriously ill can be healed by the touch of a hand and a stormy sea can be calmed by a single command. Her grandmother knew how to exorcise evil spirits and her blind girlfriend was visited in a dream by her late father who prophesied that she would see.
'And did she see?'
'Yes, of course. '
In her world, the dead move about and still live together as they did in life. They are invisible to us, the living but they can visit us in dreams. She believes it is possible to charm or to offend the sun, the moon and the wind. Am I to explain to her that this is all superstition and error, that only our Lord was able to perform miraculous deeds, because he was the Son of God? Or am I, on the contrary to tell myself that the message of Scripture can only be accepted fully and unselfconsciously by people such as she?
Marek and Alois took her to visit the Pentecostals in Libeň. They came back in high spirits as they had experienced something out of the ordinary — even speaking in tongues and, as Marek put it, 'genuine piety. Their enthusiasm did not please me. Something is happening to
people: they are turning outwards instead of inwards. I remember watching a televised service of the Apostolic Church when I was visiting Rút in Oregon, although it looked less like a church service than a television show. The preacher dashed here and there on an enormous stage, yelling, crying and laughing, telling stories from the lives of basketball players and racing drivers, singing and invoking the Holy Spirit, which played some crucial role at the end of each of his stories. He had a pile of paper napkins to hand which he used to wipe the sweat from his brow and then threw them away all over the stage. I told the boys that speaking in tongues was not so much an expression of faith as an expression of confused minds, which leads them into a state of false ecstasy so that they believe they are speaking to our Lord. Wherever the conscious mind is absent, anything can gain a foothold, and mostly it is something bad, not something good.
Petr hasn't shown up for several weeks now. I asked Marek and Alois if they had any news of him and where he was actually living. Alois hadn't a clue, and Marek seemed to me to hesitate before replying — as if he knew something and was frightened to confide in me. I felt like shouting at him but I stopped myself Distrust is worming its way into our family and I myself am not without blame in this regard.
I had a talk with Marek about love and the beauty of the female body. I told him that the really beautiful woman is the one that you love. And suddenly I realized that all the while I was thinking of Bára, and I thought to myself, what right have I to preach to Marek?
Almost every night I wake up with an oppressive awareness of the lie I am living. I ought to give up preaching (not just to my children). How am I supposed to talk about morality, love and honour when the way I live denies them all?
Bára believes that white lies are merciful precisely to those whom we deceive. I won't leave my husband who hurls rulers at me, she told me, and you won't leave your wife, who looks after you, who brought up your daughter, bore you two more children and loves you. So everything will stay the way it is, I'm sure of it. So why cause them pain?
It's a philosophy I can't accept, but on the other hand I am unable — and too craven — to suggest anything else.
B. rang me this morning to say she's ill. She was with her husband at their country place at the weekend and it looks as if she slipped a disc when she was digging the flower bed. She managed the homeward journey, but this morning she was unable to get out of bed. Fortunately, her husband stayed in the country, as he wanted to do some drawing in peace. She told the boys to go to their grandmother's after school and now she's lying at home like an invalid.
I told her it was a pain I was familiar with and had some tablets I could bring her.
She doesn't want tablets, she hates tablets, but if I wanted to, if I were to find a moment and come over, I could find out where and how she lives.
I bought a bunch of roses and a small glass vase from Nový Bor.
'You're crazy 'she said when she opened the door. 'You mustn't go wasting time rushing around the shops. ' She was wearing some faded sweater and tattered jeans. I'm lying down,' she announced. 'You won't mind that I first invited you to our house on the very day I'm unable to stand upright?'
We walked (or in her case, limped) through a spacious lounge in which stood several flower pots containing miniature citrus trees as well as a fig tree that almost touched the ceiling.
I certainly have had little occasion to visit houses of that kind, and I was taken aback by the luxuriousness of the Finnish furniture and the emotional vacuity of the abstract paintings intended to embellish the white walls. She noticed and asked whether I disliked modern art. I replied that I found some works disconcerting and had the impression that some of their creators had no wish other than to be original, whereas I was always looking for some message.
You're a pastor, she said, you have to look for a message in everything. It's good enough for me if they make me happy or I enjoy the colours. Then she added that she accepted no responsibility for the furniture. Although she was an interior designer, the entire arrangement of the house, apart from her own room, had been Samuel's choice, as he couldn't bear to live in anything that was not organized according to his scheme of things.
Then we arrived at her own room. I was fascinated by an enormous desk that took up the entire length of one wall. The desk-top, which rested on a steel base, was made up of smallish square wooden blocks. 'That, 'she said, indicating the desk-top, 'was once a floor in an old villa. They were going to lay linoleum on top of it, the philistines, so I
bought it from them. They have linoleum on concrete and I have a splendid desk that even has a patina. '
The room also contained a divan and an armchair, by which stood a steel standard lamp whose base, I noticed, was formed from the three spikes of a garden fork. You see, she said, a lamp like that has to be in here, Samuel can't abide anything that's slightly off-beat. She lay down, groaned and asked me to cover her with the rug that was lying on the armchair. I asked her if there was anything I could do for her, whether she was thirsty or hungry. She told me I wasn't here to wait on her; no one had ever waited on her. All she wanted was for me to sit down and be with her now. If you hadn't come, she said, I would be brooding on my powerlessness and death.