'I won't,' he said perfunctorily. Last winter he had almost perished in the mountains. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it had been quite an experience anyway. How could he tactfully steer the conversation towards winter? In the meantime he asked, 'Do you go to the Semafor?'
'As if you cared.'
'That's real modern music. It manages to cheer you up, even when you know the next moment could be your last.' How was that for an ace conversational move! He glanced in her direction but her expression showed no trace of interest.
So he started to describe the dreadful fog, the howling storm, the ice crystals whipping into his face, his breath freezing at his lips.
She walked beside him, indifferent, concentrating on where she was placing her feet and staring straight ahead. It was four in the afternoon and the streets were starting to fill with people
who swarmed into shops, hot and sweaty, gaping at shop windows, and barging into him. The queue in front of the ice-cream shop grew longer. Few things could seem as senseless at that moment as a howling storm, snow drifts and the danger of the mountains.
He swallowed repeatedly in desperation as he tried to find a creditable way out of his bind. He described his feelings of total exhaustion.
Some actress or other grinned at him from a poster. Behind her a red car was hurtling into an abyss. He had no idea what kind of film it was, but the poster promised an Italian comedy, so he told her he'd heard it was supposed to be splendid.
She sneered slightly and he dashed off to buy tickets. The film had started long before, but fortunately this particular film didn't seem to need any beginning. He couldn't concentrate at all but tried to pretend he was enjoying himself, laughing loudly at the silliest jokes and looking round at her triumphantly. But she wasn't laughing. Her face was oddly taut, her eyes were barely open, obviously registering nothing, and her mouth seemed to indicate she was in some kind of distress.
There's something strange about her, he said to himself. Maybe something has happened to her. Something I haven't a clue about. Or to him maybe. That's why he didn't come to lunch and the whole time she's been thinking about him. Some tragedy, he decided, that could be quite interesting. It'll be a long while before she's able to confide in me. We were still strangers yesterday but you can count on me!
But it would call for some action, of course.
But what sort of action could one possibly come up with in this absurd world?
Short of taking the tram to Sarka, he thought to himself
peevishly, and throwing myself off the cliff. As proof of my love. Or chucking myself in the Vltava fully clothed. On the other hand, he thought, maybe I'll make do with an ordinary bench and the sort of things that people don't usually talk about. Such as the first time I fell in love, or how I discovered Dad was avoiding Mum, or how they bombed Prague when I was six months old. The house next door was hit. Can you believe it? I could have ceased to exist. If it had fallen a bit closer there could be an empty space sitting next to you.
The film ended.
'It was a bit tedious,' he admitted. 'I'm sorry if you found it boring.'
'Why?' she said in surprise. 'Have you got something even worse up your sleeve?'
'Like?'
'Dancing,' she said. 'That's the next invitation, isn't it? Dinner followed by dancing. I reckon you're the Shooters' Island type. You're not classy enough for the Café Vltava and they don't serve alcohol at the Luxor. You'd be hard pressed to look even slightly debauched there. And at the Fučík Park they only have oompah.'
A suicidal notion took hold of him. 'But that's precisely where I wanted to take you.'
'Aha, you're starting to be original.' She's bound never to have set foot in the place and be horrified of parks and daddies taking time out with their kiddies. 'I'm sure it'll be unforgettable,' she said. 'Will you buy me a balloon and some candy-floss?'
'Whatever you fancy!' He had only been there once himself and had a vague memory of hordes of people and unrelieved boredom. There's nothing more tedious than organized fun.
YOU ARE REQUIRED TO ENJOY YOURSELF! But
maybe he'd find something there, something he could use as a starting point! An exhibition of artificial flowers, perhaps. Or a poetry evening. Do you like Holub? Or Morgenstern? Do you know the one about the worm?
Hidden in its shell
A most peculiar worm did dwell
Do you know how the eunice viridis procreates? Ugh!
They got on a tram and he bought tickets. He had 16 crowns 40 hellers left.
The park gates were wide open and a man and woman emerged, tottering towards them. She had rumpled clothes and painted lips. Water flowed quietly from the beaks of china dabchicks. They veered to the right and circled the locked sports hall. Trampled paper cups lay scattered in front of empty stalls and a solitary sweeper was piling them into an untidy heap. As they passed, he looked up and nodded in the direction of the empty park benches lining the flower beds. 'Things aren't what they used to be. The lovers are all sitting at home watching telly.'
He was grateful for 'the lovers.' 'Not all of them, as you see.'
'Come on,' she urged, impatiently 'There has to be something here somewhere!'
There was a new layer of sand on the path and the dark buildings slumbered with their windows forbiddingly shuttered; the empty arena with its banks of seats, the amphitheatre and the great circular structure of the Circlorama. An abstract sculpture of shiny metal rose out of the grass.
He stopped in front of it.
'Anything but that,' she said quickly. 'I don't want to talk about modern art. I'm not interested in Miró or Klee. They don't concern me in the slightest.'
She turned towards him. Her hair shone red in the reflection of the setting sun. She was extremely beautiful at that moment and he forgot what he had intended to say. All he could think was that they might love each other.
'And what does concern you?' he asked.
'Come on,' she said, 'there must be something happening here somewhere.'
'There's nothing happening here… So what does concern you?'
'Not you, for sure,' she snapped, 'as you have to keep on asking.'
'But you concern me\ Because I love you.'
'Stop it! Stop that talk!'
'I've had a couple of girlfriends. One of them I really loved.'
'So what?'
'She left me. . She was my first. I thought I'd never love anyone as much again. But I'll love you more.'
From a long way off came the sound of a brass band, the rattle of goods trucks at the railway station and the clang of a tram car. The sounds only deepened the silence. And the two of them were quite alone in this immense cemetery of entertainment.
He stopped by one of the park benches. 'Shall we sit down?'
She placed her handbag between them and tried to pull her skirt down over her knees.
'I'm serious,' he said.
She stroked the leather of her bag and touched his hand in the process, maybe intentionally. If he hesitated now she would
be bound to think he was a beginner; he closed his hand over her fingers. He felt a momentary thrill at the touch. If she doesn't take her hand away, I'll put my arm around her. The thrill grew more intense while deeper inside lurked the fear that it had all been too easy, that she wasn't so remarkable, inaccessible or refined after all, that she could be sitting here with anyone, that she was the same as the rest of them.
She withdrew her hand and placed both hands on her knees without looking at him. Her breath came slowly and calmly. He looked into her face; her features were no longer taut, just very tired.