and Hanuš. Both of them are jealous. I saw one of the scenes Hanuš made; he gasped, red-faced, and kicked the walls and the furniture with almost as much fury as Božena’s husband does. On another occasion I saw Hanuš, that ultrasensitive man, had puffy red eyes, just like me when I can’t sleep at night and cannot cope with the sadness of my useless existence.
Božena, I could ruin you, that is to say, your dreams, like Vítek when he cut down the willow tree! But I’m not going to do it, there’s no need. The police will take care of it.
You also received many passionate letters, often from men who you didn’t think much of. Not long ago, your husband showed me one of them. I had to make an effort not to burst out laughing when I saw the veins in his neck popping and those feet of his in worn-out house slippers. When he gave the wall a good kick he yelled ow ow ow ow! like a piglet and grabbed his big toe. I can imagine the scene he must have made with you when he found the letter. He reckons that that graceless letter was from one of your doctors, from Lambl, when in fact it was the work of that dolt from the beer factory who you keep at a distance. Lambl was a bright spot among the men with whom you became intimate, Božena. Were you aware of that? I suppose not, because even though you liked him, you didn’t feel the same passion for him that you did for some of the others who treated you badly.
Lambl helped and defended you. He invited you to meet his mother and then you went almost every day to their home on Saint Francis Quay and read aloud to them from your recent work: Slovak folktales; At the Castle, At the Village, a novel of which even George Sand, whom you admire so much, would have been proud.
Lambl clung to you more and more tightly while another man entered your life, the young doctor who is looking after you now, the one with the Oriental air about him. Johanna and Sophie were jealous of your relationship with Lambl; I envy you your new friend, though I do not envy you.
One morning, he was at the door. His eyes shone, his mouth was laughing. He said: “Strong as life, sweet as love, bitter as death and oblivion. What is it?”
She and Vítězka, who had opened the door, were having a cup of tea. She sat at a low table made from a drawer. She had wrapped herself in a dark blue velvet dressing gown tied with a wide sash. She wore her hair loose.
“What is it? Beautiful words, a poem. But I can’t guess the answer.”
“It’s tea. It has to be that way, according to an Arabic proverb. I would have a cup of it with you ladies, if you would allow me to do so.”
“Well, I . . . I’m going to fix my hair; I look a fright.”
“Don’t go anywhere. Yes, it’s true you look a fright. A beautiful one. Too beautiful.”
Božena didn’t know how to react. She shook her head. How he’s changed! Is it him? What’s happened to him?
Suddenly the animal lurking inside her emerged, bristling.
“Do have a cup of tea, friend. My friend Vítězka will keep you company,” she told him, icily. “Unfortunately, I have to go. I’m late.”
He was bewildered.
“I was joking. If you want to fix your hair, please do so. If you want to tidy yourself up, tidy yourself up, and I will happily wait for you. I have come back several days early, just for you,”
The strange beast opened its mouth to bite.
“I cannot possibly stay. I have a meeting with my publisher. But Vítězka is excellent company.”
No, those words were not hers. That wasn’t she.
But it wasn’t he, either.
While she changed clothes and combed her hair restlessly, the beast still squirmed.
Later, hurrying along the street as fast as she could go, as if fleeing from something, she felt a touch of satisfaction blended in with her desperation. But this satisfied sense of pride grew weaker and weaker, until it disappeared altogether, and despair occupied all the available space on the throne.
Guten Tag, Fräulein Zaleski. Do you know who Father Štulc is?”
“Of course. The priest who writes patriotic verse with a strong Catholic bent.”
“What are his verses like?”
“Dull, superficial, rhetorical.”
“Who does this priest see?”
“I know, above all,