Lovers for a Day

by Ivan Klíma

  He dismounted by an ordinary cliff at the side of the Vltava. Blanka was two paces behind him. They were both trudging along with rucksacks on their backs. Come on, I’ll give you a hand, he told her as they started to climb a narrow path in the rocks. But she only snapped at him, Leave off!

  There’s no need to be so … but he felt a pang of regret. Of course he ought to be happy that she had come with him and was now climbing with him up this path that led to a totally deserted forest, but he felt regret instead, because he suspected she was thinking of how to slip away from him, how to shut herself in her tent, keep quiet and act the innocent while he lost his temper because he loved her.

  He was definitely quite fond of her and could tell her so if he wanted, except that he never managed to say things like that … He let her move ahead of him and all he could see now were her tanned legs and the big rucksack and above it her almost-white hair.

  Babe, you’re fantastic, it occurred to him. He reached out and said, Come on, I’ll give you a hand.

  She didn’t object, but nor she did utter another word. So they climbed to the top of the slope and the footpath wound through a sparse birch wood.

  Listen, she said, why don’t do you do something … something … she could not find the right word, but it seemed she wanted to say: something decent, something classy, a white-collar job, a …

  What’s wrong? he snapped at her. Didn’t you see those bikes on the way here?

  So what? As if it was you who made them. You … she laughed, all you know how to do is stick a couple of cogs into the gear box, apart from that you’re totally ham-fisted and useless.

  Just like everyone else, he said angrily. But a fat lot you understand with your lacquered head!

  She was going to make some comment but he cut her short; And you can pack in all that crap. The last thing I want to do is go on about it here.

  But Bohouš, she said.

  About my bloody gear boxes, he let fly. I don’t need a girl who keeps harping on about things like that.

  But Bohouš, she repeated.

  It’s the last thing I need, he roared at her. Arguing the toss with you about our gear boxes.

  But Bohouš! Her voice now gave way and she started to wail like a siren.

  ‘The scorcher is on its way,’ Ladya said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. ‘I’d sooner jack it in and head straight for the water.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘When we were at school,’ Ladya said, ‘there was a whole gang of us. We’d just skive off and be down at the water first thing in the morning.’

  ‘True enough.’

  ‘It’s ages ago now – five years already, would you believe?’ and as he passed him the box he gave him a sympathetic look as if to say, Pack it in and get the hell out of here, go and make for the water, or just head off somewhere, straight ahead, ever onwards; and he felt an odd sensation in his legs, they were already on their way, running, the tar was a bit sticky underfoot, very sticky; he gulped and blinked his burning eyes. He picked up one big and three small cogs with his right hand and two small axles with his left, slid them on, let them click into place, tested it, then took four screws and inserted them into the holes. His horse was completely tired out and lay exhausted at his feet, nine thirty-five, great, he said to himself, it’ll soon be the main break, time will start to fly now, I’ll have two Coca-Colas. With Ladya she’d definitely be … he was already looking forward to the afternoon, however it turned out. Just so long as that meeting doesn’t … and he picked up one big and three small cogs with his right hand and two small axles with his left, gazing all the while at the white wall opposite.

  2

  Outside the hot, dazzling white light hit them. It always filled him with a yearning for distant countries. In the park in front of the factory he caught sight of Libuše still waiting for Ladya, the two whole hours they’d been stuck in that meeting. That was loyalty, all right; nobody hung around for him. They were bound to entreat him to go for a swim, but he was hardly going to play the third … so he headed off in the opposite direction.

  ‘Bohouš …’

  ‘I haven’t got the bike here,’ he shouted.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift home then. Libuše won’t mind waiting here a moment!’

  ‘I can’t today!’ He wandered along the hot street, just his luck, not a single … All the things you could do on a day like this, but what?

  At home there was just the tom-cat asleep. Mum and Dad were on the afternoon shift. In the flat the heat hung motionless. He opened a window. ‘Had your lunch, Matt?’

  In the pantry he found some dumplings soaked in gravy. He stuffed one in his mouth and tossed a piece to the tom-cat. The cat didn’t budge, in the heat. It was hot and there was a horrible bland emptiness, on a day like this; he went over to the cupboard and rummaged in the terrible mess until he found the SHIP’S LOG, but pointlessly, really: what sense was there at this moment and on a day like this, even if it was coming to its end? If only one wasn’t so totally, so utterly … What then? In fact there was only her, he swallowed, she was that day, or the end of it, his swelling hope. The telephone booth beneath his window loomed emptily.

  He was scarcely going to beg her, she’ll find some excuse anyway, but what else. Otherwise the whole day would just fizzle out if it were allowed to go dry without any moisture.

  The moment he stepped into the booth he was drenched in sweat.

  ‘Hello,’ came the voice.

  ‘It’s me. What are you doing this evening?’

  ‘What else?’ said the voice. ‘Swotting as usual.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Everything.’

  He fell silent. It was impossible to breathe in the booth. He should have gone to the river.

  ‘And what about you?’ said the voice.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  He wiped his forehead. ‘You won’t spend the whole time at it, though.’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘You’ll have done enough by this evening, won’t you?’

  ‘I can’t say,’ she repeated.

  ‘I’ll wait for you then. Near your place by the cinema. What time?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Seven then,’ he decided. ‘Will you come?’

  ‘Maybe …’

  ‘Bye, then.’

  ‘Ciao.’

  He went back home. This time he opened the ship’s log and wrote: 20th May: longitude 158° 13’ 27″ W., latitude 30° 5’ 16″ S., sea calm, a hot windless day A bit boring as before. Matt still sleeping. Holding course for the Friendly Isles. Four sharks to port. I’m already looking forward to this evening.

  Then he remembered: There’s only a few days’ supply of drinking water left, but we’ve not lost hope.

  He realized he was thirsty. He put the ship’s log away again. The beer in the pantry was like coffee. Then he took out the disassembled radio and gazed into the jumble of wires for a long time without moving. Nothing gave him pleasure lately: not even reading or repairing. He didn’t even particularly enjoy going swimming – everything seemed the same and everything was over so quickly, he had nothing to look forward to. Except her, a little. He liked her, even though he wasn’t sure where he stood, or maybe exactly because he didn’t.

  He abandoned the radio; there’s time enough for that at the rate I’m going. He couldn’t work out why he was so fed up lately. Well, actually he didn’t think about it too much, he just felt it, like a weariness: in his legs, in his head, in his hands and in front of his eyes.

  There were some people who were capable of putting up with anything: whether or not they won the lottery, or their side lost last Sunday … if they arrived a minute late that morning … if they had a row with the foreman. He couldn’t understand them, though they were probably better off than him. He strolled along the street – silent families going home, the smell of their dinner from the windows. He tried to think about Blanka, what he�
��d talk to her about. But he couldn’t think of anything. Nothing at all. Nothing had happened today or yesterday, apart from the fact he arrived four minutes late for work – but he could hardly talk to her about …

  He arrived five minutes early. He stood at the corner and leaned against a red and yellow railing. Two houses away there was a single-storey suburban cinema. The red neon sign paled in the setting sun. There was no one around, it must be in the middle of the film. In a window opposite a woman was walking around in her slip, but she was no longer young. The big green clock on the corner – someone had broken the glass with a stone and knocked off the minute hand, but the hour hand showed between eleven and twelve. He felt the urge to knock the hour hand off too and looked round for a stone, but couldn’t find one … it’s seven o’clock anyway. If she didn’t come this time he’d send her to … but it was only one minute past seven. In fact he began to miss her; if they were to start going out together for real, then in the summer they could all – Ladya, Libuše and the two of them – go off somewhere camping maybe. It would make a great fortnight. Ten past seven. He found the wait exhausting. When she comes, if she comes, he’d say something to her, but what then? He didn’t fancy the cinema; if she weren’t so stubborn it would be easy to go somewhere out of town; just a few streets away and you were in the scrub; there was somewhere there for lying down and everything else; he knew where it was – when they were still in eighth class a whole gang of them would go out and flash lamps – the guys would go mad – once a guy knocked out one of his teeth. Seven-fifteen. He spat. He walked past the broken clock and slouched along the footpath to the ugly blocks of flats.

  Buzzers on a grubby board.

  ‘Yes?’ asked the rusty interphone.

  ‘It’s me. What’s the problem?’

  ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Who else would it be?’ he said. ‘You promised me …’

  ‘“Maybe”,’ the perforated metal corrected him. ‘Actually I said I wasn’t sure. I told you about all the cramming I’ve got to do. You don’t know how lucky you are.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘not half.’

  ‘You could come upstairs for a moment,’ said the metal, ‘though I don’t know about my parents.’

  ‘Bye, then. I’m not waiting any longer tonight.’

  ‘Ciao, then.’

  ‘Or tomorrow,’ he added.

  ‘Ciao.’

  ‘Or ever again,’ he concluded. But the rusty metal had fallen silent.

  It wouldn’t be night for a good while yet; he was hardly going to go home to bed. He didn’t fancy going to find the other one either, not today anyway. Sometimes he used to look her up, but not today. He hadn’t given her a thought the entire day, he’d had no desire to, in fact; so why this evening?

  I should have taken my bike and gone to the river with Ladya, he thought as he sloped off towards the tram stop, there’s always some fun by the river, and girls, and failing that there’s sun and sand, sun and sand, someone playing a guitar, coloured swimsuits. He reached the main street. Wax dummies smiled out of shop windows. He gawked at them for a moment before getting on a tram. Jesus, but seeing … The tram car was empty except for some old bird and her dog; out that late and with a dog too, the old bird; if only she, if only, there’s nothing wrong with her, but I don’t… I ought to get off. The rails screeched wearily. He was falling into a dark sack. He should have gone to the river with Ladya instead. Ladya’s a … those tricks of his, like yesterday when he told the foreman, when he told the foreman … he chuckled quietly. This summer we could take our rucksacks and head off somewhere together. If he wanted to take Libuše, though, I’d have to …

  He got off the tram. The light from the dirty café lit the street – the Morning Star. What creep dreamed up that name for it. He went inside. There were three guys drinking beer. No one behind the counter. He leaned against it and waited.

  Eventually she came out. In extremely grubby overalls. Small and thin, her cheeks grey after a long day. Her lipstick was almost all rubbed off. She caught sight of him and smiled wearily. Two gold teeth shone in her mouth. ‘Is that you Bohouš?’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Come to see me?’

  He leaned on the counter. His gaze was fixed on her face but he said nothing and gave nothing away.

  So she said, ‘I’m really tired today.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s evening already.’

  She looked at the clock. ‘I close up in another twenty minutes.’

  ‘I’ll wait for you!’

  ‘I don’t know … I’m awful … It’s really nice of you to come, but I’m completely fagged out.’

  ‘You’ll perk up outside.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not today. Do you want something?’

  ‘Let me have a beer.’

  She poured him a beer and he stared at her breasts beneath the grubby overalls. She was older than him, but not much, maybe only five years; he’d never asked her, maybe not so much – girls soon went to seed in this job. She wasn’t especially plain, apart from those gold teeth and her nose, but she’d never been his idea of …

  ‘Fancy something to eat? There’s not much left anyway.’ The last open sandwiches were going dry under the glass. She put two of them on a plate for him.

  ‘It’s the heat that does it,’ she said. She smoothed her hair slightly and looked at him.

  He took the beer and the sandwiches over to a table. The last of the three drinkers finished his beer and they left; just the two of them remained.

  ‘Bohouš,’ she said, coming over to him, ‘you really oughtn’t wait for me. It’s nice of you, but I’m dreadfully tired today.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll wait.’

  ‘It’s up to you … Would you pass me those glasses?’

  He stood up and brought her the glasses the three had left. She rinsed them under the tap and stood them alongside the others. ‘I shouldn’t think there’ll be anyone else in now,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be worth their while.’ She poured herself a beer and sat down with him at the table. ‘So what were you doing today?’

  ‘You know,’ he mumbled. ‘I was supposed to be going for a swim but it didn’t work out.’

  ‘Someone diddled me again today,’ she said, slowly. ‘I don’t see how it could have happened.’

  She fixed a tired gaze on him and her arm lay wearily on the table top: a small hand, the veins showing through coarse skin; her nail varnish had cracked during the day. He covered her hand with his own. She didn’t move a muscle but just kept staring into his face, or beyond it, somewhere behind him. Then she raised her glass and finished her beer. ‘I don’t see how it could have happened,’ she repeated. ‘I suppose I must have miscounted when I was giving that tram bloke his change.’

  ‘Which bloke?’ he asked and took two ten-crown notes out of his wallet.

  ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘Just forget it.’

  He left the money on the table. ‘There was one guy today,’ she began to tell him, ‘with a sort of a limp. I see him in here occasionally. He got drunk and kept going on about being falsely convicted or something. It seems he went to jail,’ she went on slowly, ‘and got out last year, before Christmas. But what does he have to keep thinking about it for? There’s no point thinking about it the whole time.’ She took his glass and her own and stood them on the counter. Then she went to the door and pulled down the grill.

  She let him out the back way.

  ‘Well, then?’ he asked.

  “Fraid not.’

  Her house stood at the end of a dark street. If only she weren’t so tired. Just a little further. Go dancing, at least. If only she weren’t so tired. ‘Can you smell that?’ he said. There was the scent of something but he couldn’t tell what. She unlocked the door. ‘You must have an early start tomorrow too …’

  ‘I know’

  He followed her down a long row of doors. She lived in a single room; water dripped quietly in the passage. ‘I’
ll have to mend that for you,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve been promising that … Ever since you first came …’

  She started making up the bed on the couch. The place was empty apart from a cupboard, a small table, a chair and the couch. And two pictures on the wall: some sort of cliff above a river and a birch wood. He sat down and waited.

  ‘Why don’t you have a wash in the meantime?’ she asked.

  ‘Okay.’ He went out into the passage. Hair grips, a bottle of egg shampoo, lipstick and a few half-squeezed tubes lay scattered on the shelf by the sink. He ran some water before taking off his shirt.

  ‘There was a bloke I knew once …’ she called. ‘You don’t mind me talking about them?’

  ‘No!’ he said, over the sound of the water.

  ‘There’s no point, though.’ He heard her slapping the eiderdown. ‘I’m completely fagged out today,’ she called. ‘Should I make some coffee?’

  She opened the door slightly and he could see the kettle in her hand. ‘Fill it for me.’

  He had finished washing long ago, but he stayed there splashing himself with the cold water.

  ‘He used to drink an awful lot of coffee,’ she remembered, ‘that bloke. He’d drink four coffees of an evening. Big ones, and I used to have to make them with three spoonfuls of coffee. He’d always bring it with him. He was a doctor. They posted him to somewhere in the country where he was all on his own. And had to make night calls too. He used to before … and he said he had got used to it. So he couldn’t get to sleep,’ she said. ‘Some nights he didn’t manage to fall asleep at all.’

  He dried himself with a soft, fragrant towel. ‘You told me before.’

  ‘About that bloke?’

  ‘About him driving to see that woman who was dying.’

  ‘There you go,’ she said, ‘I’d completely forgotten.’

  ‘What’s he doing now?’

  ‘Him? No idea. He hasn’t shown up in ages. Some of them disappear all of a sudden. They don’t even try to get in touch … As if we hadn’t been … You won’t, will you?’