“I think,” Alice said, “I have to go home now.” The woman behind the desk said she just had to take the personal belongings her mother had had with her. She handed Alice a ballpoint pen and pointed to the space on the form where she was supposed to sign. Then she opened a large envelope containing several rings, a watch, a gold chain, an ID card, a wallet, a small journal, and an envelope with seventy-six crowns and a few hellers. Alice wasn’t in the mood to check anything and with an air of irritation signed to acknowledge receipt of the items. Jiří told the woman he would take care of the rest. She said that if they wanted to see the body of the deceased, they would have to call in advance, and handed Jiří a small card with a phone number and address on it. She said the body of the deceased was now at the address on the card. Alice stood, turned around, and left without saying good-bye. Jiří, realizing she was irritated, got up and followed her out. After they walked a few yards, the door to the office behind them opened again and the nurse who had led them in before came running out. “Mrs. Černá,” she called, “Mrs. Černá!” She caught up to Alice and handed her the paper with the translation of Josef’s letter. “You dropped this,” she said breathlessly. Alice took it, folded it into her handbag, and thanked the nurse. As they walked down the stairs, she looked at Jiří, pulled out the letter, and said, “Damn fools, why couldn’t they have told each other all this years ago? Old fools, both of them! Crazy fools. Why couldn’t they just talk? They were still in love. Why did my dad have to make it some complicated thing with a bunch of stupid secret writing? And my mom, too! Her too, Jiří!” She started to cry. “What were they playing around for like that? My crazy, stupid parents. Why did they have to do that? Christ on crutches, couldn’t they have just talked?” The nurse who handed her the letter watched from a distance. Jiří looked back at her several times, but as they walked down the stairs he lost sight of her. “I guess they did the best they could,” said Jiří, who was sad himself, since he felt sorry for Květa. He felt sorry, even though he had known her only briefly, and at that as a slightly arrogant, always elegantly dressed, but mostly impatient elderly lady. Alice waved her hand. “Those were different times, of course. I realize that, but he still loved her, and she loved him, so what were they doing, the crazy fools?” She stopped and looked at Jiří: “You think I wanted a pair of crackpot heroes for parents? God, no. That’s not what I wanted. I wanted normal parents who could be together and get along, more or less, but oh, no, not them. And now Mom goes and dies. They both piss me off. Now with this they’ve pissed me off for good. The both of them!”
They walked out the hospital door and headed home. Alice told Jiří not to hail a taxi, she preferred to walk. There were tears running down her cheeks, and some people turned to look at them in the street. Alice didn’t lean on Jiří for support, walking straight ahead, bolt upright. She was moving fast, but every few blocks she would suddenly stop, breathing frantically or digging through her handbag for a handkerchief. Jiří wanted to duck in somewhere and buy her tissues, but he was afraid he would lose her. He didn’t know his way around Prague that well yet. One minute she was giving him a little smile through her tears, the next she didn’t even seem to notice he was there. She was sobbing so loudly that some of the people waiting at the tram stop turned to look, assuming Jiří to be the cause. Even though he knew he had no reason to feel that way, he was embarrassed. He reassured himself with the thought, You wanted adventure, now you have it.
The funeral was a few days after Three Kings’ Day, and although it had been a tame winter up to then, a few days before the ceremony a genuine East European winter set in. It isn’t history or politics or philosophy that divides Eastern Europe from Western, Jiří mused. It’s much simpler than that. What it boils down to is what kind of winter they have. The difference between London and Prague was more than thirty-five degrees. It was so cold everyone assumed that Aunt Anna would stay at home and they would have to go to the funeral without her, but she’d made up her mind to go, and her decision was final. Jiří drove her to the crematorium, pulled into a parking space, and slowly helped her out of the car. The snow had been shoveled, but there were a few tongues of ice on the sidewalk here and there, which Aunt Anna, with Jiří holding her by the shoulders, carefully picked her way around. There were about twenty guests at the funeral. Kryštof, Libuše, Alice, Jiří, and Aunt Anna sat in the first row. After a short speech, the ceremony came to an end. The music stopped, the coffin rolled backstage on its bier, and the mourners approached to offer their condolences. Jiří stood between Alice and her aunt, and Alice was the only one who could convince Aunt Anna to sit. “Everybody’s dying, I’m the only one left,” she complained. “And now, on top of everything else, you’re stuck with me.”
A few days later, Alice made an appointment with her uncle Antonín. After an exchange of pleasantries and memories, she plucked up the courage to ask, “You must know, Uncle. What was the story between my mom and her lover, anyway?”
“You’re sure you want to hear?” Antonín asked.
“Yes, I’m sure. I want to know what really happened.”
“Well,” Antonín began, and he proceeded to tell Alice the story of the three friends. A story so clichéd it was almost embarrassing. Alice listened in amazement, shaking her head in disbelief and interrupting every now and then to ask a question. Before ending, Antonín said: “You know, it’s the most natural reaction there is. When somebody attacks someone, when they hurt them, when somebody has power over someone, the person who’s the victim tries to get along with their attacker. When you’re afraid for your loved ones — and your mother really was afraid for you and Josef — sometimes it happens that the victim establishes a relationship with the attacker. Sometimes they even fall in love. It may be irrational but it happens. It’s a reaction to help prevent more aggression on the part of the attacker. It’s been described and researched, and maybe some of the therapies that help people will eventually even make their way here to this country. But people like your mom have had to live with it all their lives. And the eroticization of pain is just one of many things that go along with it.”
“Well, that’s all well and good,” Alice said, “but the problem is it can be used as an excuse for anything. Plus there’s also the fact that she knew him before she married my dad.”
“We’re a small country,” Antonín said. “Everyone here will always know everyone else, more or less. In fact, maybe that’s what makes it worse.”
“Right, and as for her … shall we say temporary erotic preferences, nobody cares about that anymore. But she didn’t have to make my dad suffer.”
“I’m not so sure you should blame her for that.”
“But I’m really angry at her,” said Alice. “I’m furious.”
“How come?” Antonín asked.
“Because she died second. If Dad had died second, I’d probably be just as mad at him.”
Antonín shrugged. “Remember that pastry chef who made the cake for your wedding?”
“How could I not?” Alice said. “It’s the only one I’ve had so far and it wasn’t the kind of cake you forget.”