by Ivan Klíma
For the first time in his life, he starts to feel disgusted with his parents for having failed ever to speak to him about the soul and for leaving the world themselves with bitter resignation; disgusted with himself in his younger years when he didn’t find the time to worry about anything else but work, materials and numbers, when his head was soaking up countless figures, definitions, building plans, the characteristics of dozens of architectural schools, charts, ground plans, elevations, but not a single thing about the meaning of his own existence, not a single thought about who he actually was, or how it was that he of all people had come to be washed up in this cosmic sea of possibilities.
It is interesting that even Bára has been to church from time to time over this past year. When she first ventured there, he suspected that it was simply a cover for some other tricks, but when he cautiously asked her how it had been at church, she recounted to him almost the entire sermon with such fervour that he had joked at the time about her joining a convent in her old age. She had replied that after her marriages and her experiences with men in general it would come as a relief, but that she had been at a Protestant service and Protestants don’t have convents.
Maybe she too was seeking a way out of emptiness. Maybe everything we do is only a search for a path that will lead us from emptiness and allow us to forget the nothingness we came from and to which we must return.
Had he not found it humiliating to show interest in something that interested her, he would have asked Bára then to take him with her to church some time.
While Bára and her son were away in Spain against his wishes, Samuel went to a church in the Old Town for the first time in many years, but he did not feel at ease in the midst of all that marble, all that baroque ostentation and the crowds of tourists. The preaching did not catch his imagination and the Mass seemed to him like a long-drawn-out production of a play that had long since ceased to mean anything to anybody.
And then, for some unknown reason, he remembered an experience he once had in Amsterdam when he had found his way unerringly to a hidden market, even though he had never heard of it before, at least not in this life. And then there was that odd feeling when he first set eyes on Bára. She seemed familiar to him, as if he had met her a long time ago. What if, in both cases, it was the projection of some experience from a life long past? What had he been? Why was he born on the first day of September, the very same day as one of the most famous baroque architects? He recalled how, during the trip to Brno, that young colleague of his had referred to some Indian sect that believes in reincarnation. Apparently death takes one of your bodies, but God or fate offers you a new one. The sect has members over here too, according to Vondra.
Why shouldn’t he visit them, seeing that Bára can swan off around the world with her son?
He found the name of a sect that ran a vegetarian restaurant in the directory, and he also discovered where to go if he wanted to find out more.
On the Sunday before Bára’s return, he set off to the far side of town where, amidst factory buildings and grey blocks of flats, there huddled several small villas, one of which apparently housed the temple.
He hesitated for a moment outside the front entrance but then a young woman appeared wrapped in a pink sari and asked him if he was coming to visit them before inviting him in straight away.
He had to take off his shoes and then mount several steps to a prayer room of modest dimensions, at the far end of which stood a small altar with rather tacky and cheap-looking statues of some deity with several pairs of arms, as well as a whole lot of even more tasteless artificial flowers. The room was full of people, most of them young, who were sitting on the floor or on small cushions with their legs crossed beneath them. Most of the men had shaven heads and were dressed in white or pink flowing robes.
By one of the walls, hung with cheap garish prints, a priest or a guru or whatever he was sat enthroned behind a microphone, playing an exotic keyboard instrument and intoning a monotonous chant.
Samuel sat down on a small cushion at the very back of the room, and it took several moments for him to realize that this section was apparently reserved for women, but he didn’t dare stand up and move forward for fear of disturbing the ceremony.
The priest/guru was still singing the selfsame melody and words, invoking Krishna over and over again, and the people in the room joined in his chant, some of them clapping their hands in rhythm, others beating on small drums or jingling cymbals.
The melody had an insidious effect and he had the feeling that some of the women around him were falling into a trance.
He would have happily surrendered to the melody and that invocation of an unknown force but his mind was not relaxed enough, and as the chanting of the monotonous melody continued he felt himself becoming increasingly alienated from the ceremony and this gathering, and his thoughts started to wander: from the arguably successful buildings of his early days to his unsuccessful marriages, Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna, Krishna, Hare, Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama, Rama, Hare, Hare, to the daughters whom he had abandoned, who called him Daddy but didn’t love him; to the people he had helped by finding them jobs or passing on to them his knowledge free of charge – the only thing he had asked in return was a little professional integrity, without which buildings collapse and walls cave in, but even that had not gained him friends; there was no one on earth, not one single person, that he could say loved him. One travels through life, up hill and down dale, and with the passing of the years one becomes more and more aware of the futility of all effort, self-deception and loving words.
Samuel thinks about his wife, the last one, who feigns love even though she feels nothing towards him any more, except hatred maybe, or fear of his anger. And suddenly it emerges, goodness knows from what depths: a name – Mary Ann. In his mind he calls his wife, Mary Ann, and it occurs to him that he has just found her real name. Admit that you hate me, that you want to destroy me!
At that moment, one of the shaven-headed youths steps up to the altar and draws the curtain; the guru finishes his chanting and starts his address with the assuring words that people are good and innocent, but they are misled, they are impatient, the dharma is in decline, the present age is Kali-yuga and gives rise to conflict, intolerance, rebellion and a longing for material happiness. People want to consume everything immediately and in this respect they resemble animals, and like them they easily fall into the trap set for them by Maya, the ruler of the material world. She leads people to neglect the Lord Krishna. It is necessary to raise the self above the body while focusing on the supreme personality, who is Krishna. He does not require us to give up everything, but simply wishes us to do everything we do with our minds on him. We can’t help eating, sleeping or conceiving children: after all, we are a combination of body and spirit. But it is necessary for us to satisfy our needs like people, not animals. One has to be gosvami, in other words, someone in perfect control of one’s senses and mind.
When the guru finishes they start to distribute metal plates of food smelling of exotic spices. Samuel is also served.
They all now eat their food in silence and what seems to him humility, and it strikes him that the place is run according to an order which they all observe. He doesn’t yet understand its rules or its source, but is aware of its presence and imagines that if Mary Ann, his latest wife, were to find herself here she would flee the place like an evil spirit exorcized by bell, book and candle.
When he has finished eating, one of the young men comes and sits with him and starts to talk to him: he welcomes him and wishes to tell him something about Krishna, who is the Supreme Personality of Godhead, and about atma or the soul, the spark of life in the body, which goes on migrating from one body to the next until it achieves such a state of perfection that it may escape from the cycle of life and death. Then it fuses with the cosmic soul and thereby attains its pure, true identity. If people live badly, serving only things and harming other people, their souls migra
te into worse bodies, and can even enter the body of a dog, a cat or an ape.
Samuel nods, even though it all sounds alien to him, being so very different from anything he has lived by so far. He makes an effort to listen attentively and when at last the young man invites him to come again some time, he thanks him for the invitation.
And indeed, three weeks later, by which time Bára and her son are back and he is treating her with silence, he sets out once again for the same assembly and listens once more to the same chanted invocation of the god about whom he knows nothing (but what can one know about God?), listens to the homily which confirms the order which he still knows nothing about either, hears that he, like every man, is fundamentally good, just corrupted, but there is hope for him to overcome that corruption and strengthen his true self. He eats the fragrant vegetarian food and on his way home it comes to him in a flash that Mary Ann was a mass murderer who poisoned several men and eventually her own children too. In fact, she got rid of her last husband when she was the same age as Bára is now. She was executed over a hundred years ago.
Is it possible that he had been one of her victims in some earlier existence and had only now recalled it? Is it possible for the souls of two people to meet again in this world and link their fates again by some tragic error? It seems unlikely to him; after all, nothing of their life together has ever come into his mind, only the features and that name, so it could be that at that time he had simply caught sight of the likeness, the name and a brief account of the case.
When he gets home, Bára is ironing in the lounge while listening to some piano concerto on the radio. Mary Ann glances at Samuel and even smiles at him, asking how it was and whether he wants dinner, but he declines, saying he has already eaten.
Bára asks how the food was and he tells her it was good.
He doesn’t go off to his room as has been his won’t in recent days, but instead sits down in one of the armchairs and says nothing. He reflects on the possibility of a soul being reincarnated in another body. It sounds odd but the fact is there must be about a billion people who believe it. And how else could one explain all the déjà vus he has read about, and also experienced himself?
But even if such things could happen, is it possible that the soul of a murderess could return to a human body and continue her poisoning? How many bodies would she have had to pass through since the time she was hanged?
It all seems strange and improbable to him, but how then is he to explain the fact that as every day passes, the sense of imperilment grows within him and he is constantly aware of Bára’s perfidy, in her every word and every movement?
A thought suddenly occurs to him and he says: ‘Wouldn’t you like some tea, Mary?’
Bára stiffens, then turns round and says, ‘Are you asking me?’
Samuel stares at her fixedly and says nothing. He has the feeling that Bára has blushed.
Mary Ann returns to her ironing. Samuel gets up and turns the music down.
Bára asks: ‘Why did you call me Mary?’
‘Why did you react?’
‘There’s no one else here!’
Samuel says nothing.
‘Sam, you’re off your head!’ Bára says in shock.
‘I’d like some tea,’ Samuel requests.
Bára switches off the iron and goes to the kitchen. She doesn’t close the door behind her so she disappears from his view for a moment before reappearing once more. He can see her run water into the kettle and then push the switch down. The water boils in the invisible kettle. Bára takes a cup and puts a teabag into it before going to fetch the kettle and something else. Once more he can see her: she pours water into the cup and then, from a little packet, she adds some sort of powder, and finally stirs it all with a spoon. The poisoned tea is ready. He has unmasked Bára’s true identity and in so doing brought nearer what was intended to happen anyway.
She wordlessly hands him the tea and switches the iron back on.
‘Don’t you want any?’ he asks.
‘No thanks. I had some tea a moment ago.’
‘You can have some of mine!’
‘No, thank you.’
He rises, picks up the cup and hands it to her. ‘Take a drink!’
‘Don’t force me. I don’t want any!’
‘What did you add to this tea?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You added something from a sachet to it.’
‘Do you mean the sugar?’
‘I mean, what was in the sachet.’
‘Sugar.’
‘That’s if it was sugar.’
‘And what else was there supposed to be in it?’ Bára goes into the kitchen and returns with the sachet: Sugar granulated. Weight 5 gm. Hygienically wrapped.
The sachet has had its corner ripped off and is empty. It is impossible to tell when it was torn and its contents replaced.
‘That’s if there was still sugar in it.’
‘No, it was full of poison, you madman!’
‘Drink it then!’
‘I won’t. And leave me alone. You really are insane.’
He feels the impotent rage rising up inside him. He should grab her and force the liquid down her throat.
‘So take a drink if it’s only sugar.’
‘Leave me alone.’ She picks the iron up again and runs it over his shirt.
Samuel stands up and goes to his bedroom. He opens the bottom drawer of his desk, where his pistol is hidden beneath a pile of old plans. He takes it out and loads it. He returns to the lounge. ‘Look at me, Mary!’ he orders Bára and takes aim at her.
‘Are you crazy?’
‘Take that cup and drink it.’
‘Is it loaded?’
Samuel says nothing.
‘You really have gone off your head!’
‘Drink that tea, you bitch!’
‘No,’ she says, ‘I won’t. I don’t feel like it.’
‘Are you afraid of what you prepared for me?’
‘I don’t fancy any tea, that’s all! And you can go ahead and shoot me!’ Bára yells hysterically. ‘Go on, shoot the mother of your own son. I won’t have to put up with you any more, at least. Or with anything else. What sort of life is this, anyway?’ Bára takes the cup and comes up so close to Samuel that he prefers to move away. ‘I’d sooner chuck it in your ugly face,’ Bára yells, ‘but I’ll leave it for you. You can take it down to the police station and let them analyse it!’ and she turns and runs out of the room. Samuel hears her lock her bedroom door. That is followed by several hysterical sobs and silence.
The very thought. Taking the cup of tea to the police. He’d done all sorts of things in his life, but he had never denounced anyone.
Samuel lays the pistol down next to the cup of tea and hesitates for a moment. But if it’s to happen, then let it happen. He picks up the tea cup and drains it to the bottom.
7
The trial was held in a small court room. There were only three benches for visitors but two remained empty.
The State Prosecutor’s Office was represented by a woman, perhaps slightly younger than Hana, and there was nothing strict about her rather maternal appearance. If he were to meet her without her gown Daniel would never guess her profession. But then, if anyone were to meet him without his gown, they would hardly guess he was a pastor either. The chairman of the court was an older man. Petr’s lawyer, Dr Kacíř, maintained that he had been a judge under the Communists, but had apparently behaved decently.
The prosecuting counsel accused Petr of obtaining and selling the drug pervitin, chiefly to minors. He had admitted the offence but refused to say who had supplied him with the drug, saying that he used to meet the person regularly on Republic Square in Prague but did not know their identity. Likewise, he didn’t know the people he sold the drug to. The accused maintained that he sold only very small quantities of the drug, but no credit could be given to this assertion, as he had already had a previous conviction for the same offence
. The prosecutor then went on to talk less about Petr than about the danger of drugs, how young people’s lives were damaged or even destroyed; according to certain estimates, as many as 300,000 young people had tried drugs and about 13 per cent of young people were addicts. In such circumstances the behaviour of the accused represented a particular danger to society and the motives for his actions were entirely despicable. The profit motive had dominated his behaviour to such an extent that he had not been deterred from his activity either by the previous punishment or the care of those who had acted as his social guarantors. Although the accused denied it, it was obvious that he acted as part of an organized gang involved in the manufacture and sale of drugs. Society and particularly minors had to be protected from these people. The prosecutor asked for a sentence at the upper end of the scale.
Daniel felt as though he was in the dock. His throat was dry and his forehead burned as if he had a fever. Eva sat next to him motionless, her gaze fixed on the prosecuting counsel. What was she going through as she heard such negative judgements about the father of her baby?
Daniel was unable to come to terms with the fact that his daughter was expecting a baby out of wedlock, let alone the fact that the father was a criminal who had betrayed her trust and his. He had tried to persuade her that it was better to live as a single parent than to bind herself to someone who repeatedly demonstrated that he was incapable of leading a decent life. But Eva stuck to her guns. Petr wasn’t bad, he had just had a hard childhood and suffered from insufficient love. ‘Haven’t you always preached the importance of love for people’s lives, Daddy?’
‘Yes, real love.’
‘What is real love? How do you recognize it?’ And she answered herself: ‘Real love never abandons others even when they fall short.’
