The Book of Laughter and Forgetting Read online

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  The evening was saved. Marketa ceremoniously took out a bottle and handed it to Karel, who opened it with a grandiose gesture, like a starter at the Olympics set­ting off the final race. Wine was poured into three glasses, and Eva went swaying to the record player, chose a record, and continued swiveling through the room to the music (not Bach this time but Duke Ellington).

  "Do you think Mama's already asleep?" asked Marketa.

  "It might make sense to go and say good night to her," Karel advised.

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  The Book of Laughter and Forgetting

  Mama

  little orgies out of pure sensuality—she as the worse one of the couple—they would certainly have given him pleasure. But as it had been agreed upon from the beginning that he was the worse one, all he could see in her debauchery was a painful self-sacrifice, a gen­erous effort to anticipate his polygamous inclinations and turn them into the gears of a happy marriage. He had been marked forever by the sight of Marketa's jealousy, that wound he himself had inflicted in the earliest days of their love. When he saw her in another woman's arms, he wanted to go down on his knees and ask her forgiveness.

  But are such debauchery games really an exercise in penitence?

  The thought then occurred to him that for their three-way lovemaking to become something joyous, Marketa shouldn't be feeling she was up against a rival. She should bring a friend of her own, a woman who doesn't know Karel and isn't interested in him. That is why he contrived Marketa and Eva's meeting at the sauna. The trick succeeded: the two women became friends, allies, accomplices who raped him, played with him, amused themselves at his expense, and desired him together. Karel hoped Eva would manage to drive away Marketa's anxiety about love, so he could finally be both free and guiltless.

  But now he saw that there was no way to change what had been decided years earlier. Marketa was still the same, and he was still the accused.

  But why then had he brought about the meeting of

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  Marketa and Eva? Why had he made love to the two women? On whose behalf had he done all that? For a long time now, anyone else could turn Marketa into a cheerful, sensual, and happy girl. Anyone but Karel. He saw himself as Sisyphus.

  Really as Sisyphus? Wasn't it Sisyphus Marketa had compared herself to?

  Yes, as the years went by, man and wife became twins, with the same vocabulary, the same ideas, the same des-tiny. Each had given the gift of Eva to the other, each to make the other happy. Each had the impression of hav­ing to push a boulder uphill. Each one was tired.

  Karel heard water gurgling and the two women laughing in the bathroom, and he reflected that he had never been able to live the way he wanted, to have the women he wanted and to have them the way he wanted them. He longed to run away to a place where he could weave his own story, weave it by himself to his own taste and out of the reach of loving eyes.

  And deep down he did not even care about weaving himself a story, he simply wanted to be alone.

  9

  Her clear-sightedness clouded by impatience, Marketa wasn't reasonable in believing Mama had fallen asleep

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  and thus in not going to say good night to her. During this visit at her son's, Mama's thoughts had taken to turning over more rapidly in her mind, and that evening they were particularly agitated. It was all because of that likable relative of Marketa's, who kept reminding her of someone from her youth. But who was it she reminded her of?

  At last she remembered: Nora! Yes, exactly the same figure, the same carriage, going through the world on beautiful long legs.

  Nora lacked kindness and modesty, and Mama had often been wounded by her behavior. But she wasn't thinking about that now. What mattered more to her was that she had suddenly found a bit of her youth here, a greeting reaching her from the distance of half a century. She was thrilled by the thought that every­thing she long ago experienced was still with her, sur­rounding her in her loneliness and speaking to her. Although she had never liked Nora, she was glad to meet her here, all the more because she was thoroughly tamed and embodied in someone who appeared to be filled with respect for Mama.

  When that thought came to her, she wanted to rush to rejoin them. But she controlled herself. She knew full well she was here today only by trickery and that those silly children wanted to be alone with their cousin. Well, let them tell each other their secrets! She wasn't at all bored in her grandson's room. She had her knitting, she had something to read, and most of all, she always had something to occupy her

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  Mama

  tnind. Karel had shaken up her thoughts. Yes, he was entirely right, of course she had graduated from high school during the war. She had been mistaken. The incident of the recitation with its forgotten last stanza had taken place at least five years earlier. True, the principal had pounded on the door of the toilet where she had locked herself in to weep. But that year she had been barely thirteen years old, and it had all happened at a school ceremony just before Christmas vacation. There had been a decorated Christmas tree on the platform, the children had sung Christmas carols, and then she had recited a little poem. Just before the last stanza her mind went blank and she couldn't go on.

  Mama was ashamed of her poor memory. What should she say to Karel? Should she admit she had been mistaken? As it was, they took her for an old woman. They were nice to her, all right, but she noticed they treated her like a child, with a kind of indulgence that annoyed her. If she now agreed that Karel had been entirely right and she really had con­fused a children's Christmas performance with a polit­ical ceremony, they would rise still higher and she would feel still smaller. No, no, she wouldn't give them the pleasure.

  She would tell them it was really true that she had recited a poem at that ceremony after the war. Yes, she had already graduated, but the principal remembered her because she had been the best at recitation and had asked his former pupil to come and recite a poem.

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  Mama

  It was a great honor! But Mama deserved it! She was a patriot! They had no idea what it had been like after the war, the collapse of Austria-Hungary! What joy! Those songs, those flags! And again she had a great longing to rush in to tell her son and daughter-in-law about the world of her youth.

  Besides, she now almost felt it her duty to go to them. Though she had promised not to disturb them, that was only half the truth. The other half was that Karel didn't understand how she could have partici- pated in a school ceremony after the war. Mama was an old lady and her memory sometimes failed her. She had not known right away how to explain it to her son, but now that she had at last recalled how it had really happened, she couldn't just pretend to have for­gotten his question. That wouldn't be nice. She would go to them (in any case, they had nothing so impor­tant to say to one another) and apologize: she didn't mean to disturb them, and she certainly wouldn't go back if Karel hadn't asked her how she could have recited at a school ceremony after she had already graduated.

  Then she heard a door opening and closing. She heard two women's voices and again a door opening. Then laughter and the sound of running water. She thought that the two young women were already washing up for the night. So it was high time she got there, if she still wanted to chat a bit with the three of them.

  10

  Mama's return was a hand extended to Karel with a smile by a playful god. The more her timing was off, the more timely her arrival. She didn't have to look for excuses, for Karel immediately bombarded her with cordial questions: what had she done all afternoon, wasn't she feeling a bit sad, why hadn't she come ear­lier?

  Mama pointed out that young people always had much to say to one another and that old people should know enough to avoid disturbing them.

  By now the two girls, shrieking with laughter, could be heard rushing toward the door. Eva came in first, in a dark-blue T-shirt that ended
just where her black pubic thatch began. Catching sight of Mama, she took IVight but, no longer able to retreat, could only give her a smile and head farther into the room toward an arm­chair, in which she very swiftly hid her poorly con-coaled nakedness.

  Karel knew Marketa was close behind and expected her to be in an evening gown, which in their private language meant that she would be wearing only a siring of beads around her neck and a scarlet velvet sash around her waist. He knew he should intervene to stop her from coming in and spare Mama a fright. But what could he do? Could he shout "Don't come in!" or

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  "Get dressed quick, Mama's here!"? There might have been another, more clever way to hold Marketa back, but in the one or two seconds he had for thought noth­ing came to him. To the contrary, he was overcome by a kind of euphoric torpor that robbed him of all pres­ence of mind. He did nothing, and Marketa headed for the room's threshold stark naked except for a necklace and a sash around her waist.

  Just then, Mama had turned to Eva and said with an affable smile: "Surely you want to go to bed, and I don't want to keep you." Eva, who had seen Marketa from the corner of her eye, answered with a no, not at all, actually nearly shouting it as though she were try­ing with her voice to cover the body of her friend, who understood at last and retreated into the corridor.

  When Marketa returned moments later, wrapped in a long bathrobe, Mama repeated what she had said to Eva: "Marketa, I don't want to keep you. Surely you want to go to bed."

  Marketa was ready to agree, but Karel cheerily shook his head: "No, Mama, we're glad to have you with us." And Mama was finally able to tell them the story of the recitation at the school ceremony after the end of the 1914 war, when Austria-Hungary collapsed and the principal asked his former pupil to recite a patriotic poem.

  The two young women weren't paying any attention to Mama, but Karel listened to her with interest. I want to be more exact: The story of the forgotten stanza didn't interest him much. He had heard it many times

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  Mama

  and forgotten it many times. What interested him wasn't the story told by Mama but Mama telling the story. Mama and her world that looked like a huge pear on which a tiny Russian tank had alighted like a ladybird. The toilet door on which the principal pounded his fist was in the foreground, and very much beyond that door, the eager impatience of the two young women was barely visible.

  That's what pleased Karel greatly. He gazed at Eva and Marketa with delight. Their nakedness quivered impatiently under T-shirt and bathrobe. All the more assiduously, he brought up further questions about the principal, the school, and the 1914 war, and finally he asked Mama to recite the patriotic poem whose last stanza she had forgotten.

  Mama thought for a moment and then with utter concentration began to recite the poem she had recited at the school ceremony when she was thirteen. Instead of a patriotic poem, they were some lines about a Christmas tree and the star of Bethlehem, but none of them noticed that detail. Not even Mama. She had only one thing on her mind: would she recall the lines of the last stanza? And she did remember them. The star of Bethlehem shines and the three kings come to the manger. Moved by her success, she laughed and shook her head.

  Eva applauded. Looking at her, Mama remembered the most important thing she had come to tell them: " Karel, do you know who your cousin reminds me of? Nora!"

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  Mama

  T-shirt. But Karel kept insisting, even though Mama loo started to protest: "The young lady isn't about to drill like in the army!"

  Karel persisted: "No, no, I want her to turn around." And Eva ended up obeying him.

  Let's not forget that Mama's vision was poor. She look boundary stones for a village, she confused Eva with Mrs. Nora. But with eyes half closed, Karel too could take boundary stones for houses. Hadn't he, for an entire week, envied Mama her perspective? With eyelids half shut, he saw before him a beauty of long

  ago.

  He had retained an unforgettable secret memory of it. Once when he was about four, he and Mama and Mrs. Nora were at a spa (where was it? he had no idea), and he had to wait for them in the deserted changing room. He waited there patiently, alone among all the forsaken feminine clothes. Then a tall, splendid-looking naked woman entered the changing room, turned her back to the child, and reached for the peg on the wall where her bathrobe was hanging. It was Nora.

  The image of that naked body, standing up and seen from behind, had never been effaced from his memory. He was very little and was seeing that body from below, from the perspective of an ant, and if he at his present height were to look up at her today, it would he as if she were a statue five meters high. He was close to the body, yet infinitely distant from it. Doubly distant. In space and in time. It rose very high above

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  11

  Karel looked at Eva, not believing what he had heard: "Nora? Mrs. Nora?"

  He clearly recalled Mania's friend from his child­hood. She was a dazzling beauty, tall and with the magnificent face of an empress. Karel did not like her, since she was haughty and inaccessible, and yet he could never take his eyes off her. My God, what resem­blance could there be between her and warmhearted Eva?

  "Yes," replied Mama. "Nora! All it takes is to look at her. That height. That walk. And that face!"

  "Stand up, Eva!" said Karel.

  Eva was afraid to stand up, because she wasn't sure her short T-shirt would cover her crotch. But Karel was so insistent she finally had to obey. She stood up and, arms pressed against her sides, discreetly tugged down on her T-shirt. Karel watched her intently and, all of a sudden, really did have the impression she looked like Nora. It was a distant resemblance and dif­ficult to grasp, appearing only in swift flashes that Karel tried to hold on to, for through Eva he wished, in a long-lasting way, again to see the beautiful Mrs. Nora.

  "Turn around!" he ordered her.

  Eva hesitated to make an about-face, because she had not stopped thinking about being naked under her

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  him and was separated from him by countless years. That double distance made the little four-year-old boy dizzy. Now he was again feeling the same dizziness, with immense intensity.

  He looked at Eva (she still had her back to him), and he saw Mrs. Nora. He was separated from her by two meters and one or two minutes.

  "Mama," he said, "it was really nice of you to come out and chat with us. But now the ladies want to go to sleep."

  Humble and docile, Mama left the room, and he immediately told the two women about his memory of Mrs. Nora. He crouched down in front of Eva and again made her turn her back to him, to let his eyes retrace the gaze of the child of long ago.

  His fatigue was swept away all at once. He threw her to the floor. She lay on her stomach, and he crouched at her feet and let his gaze glide up along her legs to her rump, then threw himself on her and took her.

  He had the impression that this leap onto her body was a leap across an immense period of time, the leap of a little boy hurling himself from childhood to man­hood. And then, while he was moving back and forth on her, he seemed incessantly to be describing the same movement, from childhood to adulthood and then in reverse, and once again from the little boy mis­erably gazing at the gigantic body of a woman to the man clasping that body and taming it. That move­ment, usually measuring fifteen centimeters at most, was as long as three decades.

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  Mama

  The two women yielded to his frenzy, and he went from Mrs. Nora to Marketa, then returned to Mrs. Nora, and so on. That lasted a very long time, and then he needed a bit of respite. He felt marvelously well, felt stronger than ever. Stretched out on an arm­chair, he contemplated the two women lying before him on the wide daybed. During that brief rest period, it wasn't Mrs. Nora he was seeing but his old girl­fri
ends, his life's witnesses Marketa and Eva, and he felt like a great chess player who has conquered oppo­nents simultaneously on two chessboards. The com­parison pleased him enormously, and he couldn't help laughing and shouting: "I'm Bobby Fischer! I'm Bobby Fischer!"

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  While Karel was yelling that he was Bobby Fischer (who not long before had won the world chess cham­pionship in Iceland), Eva whispered in Marketa's ear as they lay snuggled on the daybed: "All right?"

  Marketa nodded and pressed her lips against Eva's.

  An hour earlier, when they were in the bathroom together, Eva had asked Marketa (it was the idea she had arrived here with and whose decency had seemed questionable to her) to come visit someday in return.

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  She would gladly invite Karel as well, but Karel and Eva's husband were each too jealous to tolerate the presence of another man.

  At the moment, Marketa had thought it impossible to accept, and she merely laughed. Still, some minutes later, in the room where Mama and Karel's babble skimmed past their ears, she became all the more obsessed with Eva's proposition, just because it had at first seemed unacceptable. The specter of Eva's hus­band was here with them.

  And then when Karel began to yell he was four years old and crouched down to gaze at Eva standing up, she thought it was as if he really were a four-year-old, as if he were fleeing to his childhood, leaving the two women alone except for his extraordinarily efficient body, so mechanically robust that it seemed impersonal and empty, and imaginable with anyone else's soul. Even, if need be, the soul of Eva's husband, that per­fect stranger, a man without face or form.