6
They left the theater and scattered at the street corner, but the guitarist accompanied Klima to his door. He was the only one to disapprove of the proposed plan. This plan seemed to him unworthy of the bandleader he revered: 'When you go to see a woman, arm yourself with a whip!' said he, quoting the one sentence he knew of Nietzsche's collected works.
'My boy,' Klima lamented, 'she's the one with the whip.'
The guitarist offered to go with Klima to the spa, lure the young woman out onto the road, and run her over: 'Nobody could prove she didn't throw herself under my wheels.'
The guitarist, the youngest musician in the group, greatly loved Klima, who was touched by his words: 'That's very kind of you,' he said to him.
The guitarist set out his plan in detail and with burning cheeks.
'That's very kind, but it's not possible,' said Klima.
'Why are you hesitating? She's a slut!'
'You're really very kind, but it's not possible,' said Klima, taking leave of the guitarist.
7
When he found himself alone, he thought about the young man's proposal and the reasons that had led him to reject it. It was not that he was more virtuous than the guitarist, but that he was more fearful. The fear of being accused as an accessory to murder was not less than the fear of being declared a father. He saw Ruzena run over by the car, he saw Ruzena stretched out on the road in a pool of blood, and he
had a momentary feeling of relief that filled him with joy. But he knew it was useless to indulge in illusions. And he had a serious concern now. He thought of his wife. My God, tomorrow is her birthday!
It was a few minutes before six, and the shops would close at six exactly. He rushed into a florist's to buy a gigantic bouquet of roses. What a difficult celebration he expected! He would have to pretend to be near her in heart and mind, would have to give himself over to her, show tenderness to her, amuse her, laugh with her, and never for a moment stop thinking about a faraway belly. He would make an effort to utter affectionate words, but his mind would be far away, imprisoned in the dark cell of a stranger's womb.
He realized that it would be too much for him to spend this birthday at home, and he decided no longer to delay going to see Ruzena.
But this was not an agreeable prospect either. The mountain spa seemed like a desert to him. He knew no one there. Except perhaps for that American taking the waters, who, behaving like a rich bourgeois of the old days, had invited the whole group to his hotel suite after the concert. He had plied them with excellent drink and with women chosen from among the resort's staff, so that he was indirectly responsible for what happened afterward between Ruzena and Klima. Ah, if only that man, who had shown him such unreserved warmth, were still at the spa! Klima clung to his image as if to a last hope, for in moments such as those he was about to experience a man needs nothing
more than the friendly understanding of another man.
He returned to the theater and stopped at the doorkeeper's cubicle. He picked up the phone and asked for long distance. Soon he heard Ruzena's voice. He told her he would be coming to see her tomorrow. He made no reference to the news she had announced some hours before. He spoke to her as if they were carefree lovers.
In passing he asked: 'Is the American still there?'
'Yes!' said Ruzena.
Feeling relieved, he repeated with somewhat more ease than before that he was greatly looking forward to seeing her. 'What are you wearing?' he asked then.
'Why?'
This was a trick he had used successfully for years in telephone banter: 'I want to know how you're dressed right now. I want to be able to imagine you.'
'I'm wearing a red dress.'
'Red must suit you very well.'
'Could be,' she said.
'And under your dress?'
She laughed.
Yes, they all laughed when they were asked this.
'What color are your underpants?'
'Also red.'
'I'm looking forward to seeing you in them,' he said, hanging up. He thought he had used the right tone. For a moment he felt better. But only for a moment. He quickly realized that he was actually incapable of thinking about anything but Ruzena, and that he would have to keep conversation with his wife this
evening to the barest minimum. He stopped at the box office of a movie theater showing an American Western and bought two tickets.
8
Although she was much more beautiful than she was unhealthy, Kamila Klima was nonetheless unhealthy. Because of her fragile health she had been forced, some years before, to give up the singing career that had led her into the arms of the man who was now her husband.
The beautiful young woman who had been accustomed to admiration suddenly had a head filled with the smell of hospital disinfectant. It seemed to her that between her husbands world and her own a mountain range had sprung up.
At that time, when Klima saw her sad face, he felt his heart break and (across that imaginary mountain range) he held loving hands out to her. Kamila realized that in her sadness there was a hitherto unsuspected force that attracted Klima, softened him, brought tears to his eyes. It was no surprise that she began to make use (perhaps unconsciously, but all the more often) of this unexpectedly discovered tool. For it was only when he was gazing at her sorrowful face that she could be
more or less certain no other woman was competing with her in Klima's mind.
This very beautiful woman was actually afraid of women and saw them everywhere. Nowhere could they escape her. She knew how to find them in Klima's intonation when he greeted her upon arriving home. She knew how to detect them from the smell of his clothes. Recently she had found a scrap of newspaper; a date was written on it in Klima's handwriting. Of course it could have referred to any one of a variety of events- a concert rehearsal, a meeting with an impresario-but for a whole month she did nothing but wonder which woman Klima was going to meet that day, and for a whole month she slept badly.
If the treacherous world of women frightened her so, could she not find solace in the world of men?
Hardly. Jealousy has the amazing power to illuminate a single person in an intense beam of light, keeping the multitude of others in total darkness. Mrs. Klima's thoughts could go only in the direction of that painful beam, and her husband became the only man in the world.
Now she heard the key in the lock, and then she saw the trumpeter with a bouquet of roses.
At first she felt pleased, but doubts immediately arose: Why was he bringing her flowers this evening, when her birthday was not until tomorrow? What could this mean?
And she greeted him by saying: 'Won't you be here tomorrow?'
