The Ultimate Intimacy

'I've dragged you away more than once. Besides, the work I do is slave labour anyway.' The architect, she explains, bringing him back down to earth, spends nine-tenths of his time on organization and the remainder on creative activity, at least that is how it works out with Musil. She doesn't even get that tenth, and spends her entire time dealing with phone calls, running between official departments and keeping an eye on construction firms to make sure they're not cheating too much. Formerly people stole from the State and thought there was nothing wrong with it. Now they steal from the State and have the

feeling they are acting according to market principles. She leans over and kisses him: 'You're trying to escape my chatter and you're driving like a lunatic.'

'I thought you were in a hurry.'

'We don't have much time, darling, but if we get killed, we won't have any. Not here on earth, at least. And up there, as you believe,' she says, pointing to the roof and on the source of his anguish, 'people don't meet again, do they? And certainly not sinners like the two of us.' Then she remembers something: 'Saša liked you, he said you're a man, which in his book means a real man.'

'But he hardly knows me.'

'Well, the most important things you don't learn anyway, you have to sense them. I also sensed it about you the first time I met you.'

'I liked him too.'

'My little lad has a high forehead and a good heart. Takes after me. I expect he likes the fact you believe in God. I like it too. Maybe that's why I love you so much, the fact you can believe in something that is mysterious and beyond us and that I still can't bring myself to believe in.'

They drive through shabby villages. He is still aware of Bara's closeness and realizes that something has radically changed in his life.

At a moment of anguish he had not run to the Lord, he had not battled for his faith, but had given up and run to this woman who did not belong to him, nor he to her. To the woman who likes the fact he believes. Or it excites her. And meanwhile his soul is filled with doubts. Formerly he would strive to act well according to his conscience, so that one day he could look back without shame, so that he should not do anyone any harm or lead others to sin by setting a bad example. And if your hand or your foot causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life maimed or lame than with two hands or two feet to be thrown into the eternal fire. (Matthew 18:8)

The pit terrifies him, whether it is full of fire or empty, but he is not only abandoning what he has believed his whole life — or has striven to believe in — he is also forsaking everything he has lived for so far: his family, his vocation, his future. A man without a future. That's the title of a novel. No, the title is: A Man Without Qualities. Der Mann ohne Eigenshaften.

One such method, that admittedly kills the soul, but then preserves it,

as it were, in little jars for general use, is to link it with reason, conviction and practical dealings, as has been practised with success by all moral codes, philosophies and religions.

'Darling,' Bára breaks the silence, you're sitting beside me but in fact you're not here at all. You're not taking the slightest bit of notice of me. What's up?' He blames all the bends in the road.

Half an hour later they pull up in Veltrusy Park. A chemical stench hangs in the air, mingling with the scent of mouldering leaves.

'Do you know it here?'

'No, I've never been here before.'

I haven't been here for ages either. At least ten years. But when I was small, my parents used to bring us here. My grandad who died before the war used to be the superintendent here, so in a way it was our park. There wasn't a stinking chemical works here then, although the little bridge with the sphinx and all those crazy neo-classical pavilions and artificial ruins were here, of course. And a flaming horses head used to haunt the park not far from here, though I never saw it. I didn't believe in ghosts. I didn't believe in anything that wasn't real. I couldn't manage to even when I was small.'

She leads him to a spot from where it was possible to see an Egyptian chamber and tells him that water still flowed through it in those days. She shows him a rare, enormous tulip-tree, a gingko pine and a true chestnut tree.

They sit down on a bench opposite the Temple of the Friends of the Countryside and Gardens. She unbuttons her yellow and blue coat and rests her head on his chest, her face turned to the sun. 'I once saw a gnome here,' she says. 'He had a big head, short crooked legs and red rrousers, and he had a pannier on his back.'

'How old were you?'

'I don't remember. Four or five maybe. I called to my dad to come quickly and see, but he was reading the paper, the stupid paper — there wasn't any other kind then — and before he put it down the gnome had run off. What's wrong with me today? First I waffle on about being cheated, now I'm going on about gnomes. Haven't I managed to put you off me yet?'

'No, you mean more to me than you can ever imagine.'

'You don't just want me for my body, do you?'

'Whatever makes you ask?'

'I just wanted to hear what you'd say. That you're also interested in my soul.'

'Love is a coming together, isn't it? And most of all a coming together of souls.'

'You think so too? And what form does it take?'

'Words, for instance. Words are the seeds of the soul. Even a dog or a crocodile has seeds of the body'

'What made you think of a crocodile of all creatures?'

'Actually it was a dragon that I first thought of. In the legends, dragons used to have maidens thrown to them.'

'Yes, I know. I wouldn't want you if you made love to me like a crocodile! Tell me, are you happy to be with me?'

'I couldn't be happier with anyone else.'

'So why aren't you with me always?'

'You said yourself. .'

'No, you don't have to explain anything. I have a husband who is my son's dad. It would be hard for him to lose him and me. And you have a wife and children, apart from which you are a pastor who is required to set an example to others.'

'Do you really think I lead an exemplary life?'

'You lead your life as best you can. That's why you're with me now. I also think I lead my life the best way I can. That's why I'm here with you now, and why I will never be with you for ever. When I was getting divorced I thought that it was all or nothing in this life. Either fidelity or infidelity. Love or indifference. Truth or lie. Either I'm with someone one hundred per cent or not at all. But in reality nothing is either or. With one exception.'

Are you thinking about death again?'

'Yes. I can see you really don't like what I say.'

'I have so often preached and defended the text that our yes should be yes and our no be no. Anything beyond that comes from evil.'

And do you think that always applies in life?'

'I definitely thought so when I preached it.'

'You'll leave me anyway,' she says, 'as soon as you grow weary of me. Or until it occurs to you that there are better ways for you to spend your time. In order to save your soul. In order for you to be sure once more what is good and what is evil. Because I come from evil. I have no written permission to have you!'

'I won't leave you.'

'Until when?'

'Until death.'

'Whose?'

'I'm speaking of my own.'

'I'd like you to be with me when I'm dying.'

'I won't be alive by then.'

'I would like you to be with me and hold my hand. Because I'll be frightened. But when you're with me, nothing frightens me. Even death wouldn't frighten me. Tell me you'll come.'

'I'd come if I were still alive.'

'Do you promise?'