those two. The following day we met as usual. Her eyes were swollen from crying and from lack of sleep. Her husband, she explained to me, had consistently denied the existence of that woman, now at last she’d caught him. They’d been awake all night, she said things to him he’d probably never forget, she’d reminded him of what he’d be without her. In the end she’d given him a choice: either he stayed with her alone, or else he could pack his things and leave. He had to promise to stay with her.
I was afraid she might have had to make a similar promise. But she had not accepted any talk about herself and me: that was totally different. After all, she’d never denied or concealed my existence.
I am disgusting, she now screams at me, first I get her into such a humiliating and shaming situation, she’d never thought this kind of thing could happen to her, and now I have the effrontery to reproach her with it.
She starts to sob.
How long have I now been listening to her passionate accusations which seem to her flawless? I am the only guilty party and I have no hope of defending myself.
She changes her clothes and attends to her eyes. She’ll have a drink somewhere but she doesn’t want me to come with her.
She wants me to persuade her to stay with me or to let me go with her. She loves me, she merely demands that I should decide for her, she is afraid that otherwise she might lose me. In order not to lose me she’s going out. She slams the door behind her.
On the other bed, near enough for me to touch it, lies her open suitcase. Immediately next to it lies her leather skirt, the stone dust is still clinging to it.
The Garden of Eden, as a learned rabbi described it two thousand years ago, has two gates adorned with rubies. At each of them stand sixty thousand comforters. The joyful features of each one of them shines like the light in the firmament. When a just and faithful person approaches they will take off his clothes, in which he’d risen from the grave, and clothe him in eight robes of clouds of glory, on his head they will place two crowns, one of precious stones and pearls, the other of gold from Parvaim, into his hands they will place eight twigs of myrtle, and they will say to him: Go forth and eat your nourishment: in joy!
Each person, according to the honour he deserves, has his chamber, from which flow four springs: one of milk, one of wine, one of balsam, and one of honey. Sixty angels hover over each just and faithful person. They repeat to him: Go forth and eat honey in joy, for thou hast devoted thyself to the Torah, which is like unto honey, and drink wine, for thou hast devoted thyself to the Torah, which is like unto wine.
For the just there is no more night, night-time is transformed for them into three periods of wakefulness. During the first the just becomes a child and enters among children and delights with them in childish games. In the second he becomes a young man, he enters among young men and delights in their games. In the third he becomes an old man, he enters among old men and delights in their games. In the midst of the Garden of Eden grows the Tree of Life, its branches reach out over the whole garden and provide five hundred thousand kinds of fruit – all different in appearance and taste.
The just and faithful are divided into seven classes and in their midst the Holy Everlasting, blessed be his name, explains to them the Writ, where it is said: I shall choose from all the land the faithful, so they can dwell with me.
When I awoke in the morning I realised that I was alone in the room. Her skirt and suitcase had disappeared. It was odd I didn’t wake up when she packed her things, I am a rather light sleeper.
I went down to the hall where the talkative receptionist was watering the plants.
The lady had been in a hurry to catch the morning train, she told me. She asked how long I intended to stay. But I had no reason to stay on at all. I went back up to my room and began to pack my things. I realised that my predominating sensation was relief.
We have been expelled from paradise, but paradise was not destroyed, Kafka wrote. And he added: In a sense, the expulsion from paradise was a blessing, because if we hadn’t been driven out paradise itself would have had to be destroyed.
The vision of paradise persists within us, and with it also the vision of togetherness. For in paradise there is no such thing as isolation, man lives there in the company of angels and in the proximity of God. In paradise we shall be ranged in a higher and eternal order, which eludes us on earth, where we are cast, where we are outcast.
We long for paradise and we long to escape from loneliness.
We attempt to do so by seeking a great love, or else we blunder from one person to another in the hope that someone will at last take notice of us, will long to meet us or at least to talk to us. Some write poetry for this reason, or go on protest marches, cheer some figure, make friends with the heroes of television serials, believe in gods or in revolutionary comradeship, turn into informers to ensure they are sympathetically received at least at some police department, or they strangle someone. Even murder is an encounter between one man and another.
Out of his isolation man can be liberated not only by love but also by hate. Hate is mistakenly regarded as the opposite of love, whereas in reality it stands alongside love and the opposite of both of them is loneliness. We often believe that we are tied to someone by love, and meanwhile we’re only tied to them by hate, which we prefer to loneliness.
Hate will remain with us so long as we do not accept that loneliness is our only possible, or indeed necessary, fate.
When we got back the others had gone on a little way with their equipment, up to the seats on which, while it was improper to sit down while on duty, one could comfortably put down the bottles of beer.
The foreman smoked and talked a lot. He promised better jobs to all of us, provided of course he managed to gain influence in the organisation. He’d send us to clean at the building sites, where, admittedly, you may get a damn tough job but you can earn more. I could move up into his place, he’d fix that. He’d make some significant changes without delay. He’d try to introduce some light mechanisation, he’d also make sure they drove us straight to our workplace. This would save a lot of time, we’d make more money, our earnings would really go up. That’s what he’d do, whereas those in charge of street cleaning now didn’t give a monkey’s, all they were interested in were their own bonuses, and they relied on perverts walking about all ponged up like hard-currency tarts.
The foreman was getting more and more agitated, and less assured. He stopped talking only when he took a swig from his bottle or when he looked in the direction of the prison, from where, it seemed, he was expecting the insidious attack.
He wouldn’t like us to think he was afraid of anything, he knew what was what, and he’d been in a few tight spots in his life. Had he ever told us how, years ago, when they first introduced the supersonic MIG-19s, it happened that a machine, almost as soon as it had taken off, sucked in a pigeon or some other bird, and instantly plunged down again. It was piloted by his chum, Lojza Havrda. He should have ejected straight away, stands to reason, but because it was a brand-new plane he didn’t want to abandon it. Naturally he was way off the runway, and as he tried to brake his MIG he took along with him anything that stood in his way: bushes, empty drums, and the mock planes outside the hangar. Worst of all, he was headed straight for the new quarters. They were just having their midday break when someone yelled: Get the hell out! He’d looked out of the window and saw the eight-ton giant, fully tanked up, tearing straight towards them. No one quite knew what was happening, they leapt out of the back windows. He alone stayed behind and watched Lojza wrestling with that kite. It was like a dream, but a few yards from the men’s quarters he braked it to a halt. Now of course he should have got out of the crate as quickly as possible, but not Lojza! And he, the foreman, had wasted no time then, jumped out of the window and raced up to the plane. Found Lojza in the cockpit, all bloody, unable to move by himself. He got him out of the harness and carried him down on his back. Not till he’d dragged his mate to the crew quarters did it occur to him that the whole caboodle could have blown up, and them with it.
‘And did it?’ I asked.
The foreman hesitated, as if he couldn’t remember, then he shook his head. ‘The fire crew drove up and sprayed it with foam.’
‘D’you know that he gave me a picture?’ Mrs Venus said to me.
‘Who?’ I didn’t understand.
‘My old gent, of course. About a month ago. A big picture he had over his bed.’
‘Oil?’
‘Virgin with the infant Jesus. Said to me: “You take this picture, dear lady, I can’t see it any longer anyway.”’
