Farewell Waltz

preparations in two days.”
By way of response, Skreta got up and went over to the phone. He dialed a number, but there was no answer. “The most important thing is to order the posters right away. Unfortunately the secretary must have gone to lunch,” he said. “Getting the use of the hall is child’s play. The People’s Education Association has an anti-alcohol meeting scheduled for Thursday, and one of my colleagues is supposed to give the lecture. He’ll be delighted when I ask him to cancel because of illness. But of course you’ll have to get here on Thursday morning so the three of us can rehearse. Unless it’s unnecessary.”
“No, no,” said Klima. “It’s essential. You have to prepare in advance.”
“That’s my opinion too,” said Skreta. “Let’s play them the most surefire program. I’m good at backing up ‘St. Louis Blues’ and ‘When the Saints Go Marching In.’ I’ve got some solos ready, I’m curious to know what you’ll think of them. For that matter, are you free this afternoon? Would you like to give it a try?”
“Unfortunately, this afternoon I have to persuade Ruzena to consent to an abortion.”
Skreta waved his hand: “Forget about that! She’ll consent without any coaxing.”
“Doctor,” Klima pleaded, “better on Thursday.”
Bertlef interceded: “I too think you would do better to wait until Thursday. Today our friend would be unable to concentrate. Anyway, I don’t believe he has brought his trumpet with him.”
“That’s a good reason!” Skreta acknowledged, and began to lead his two friends to the restaurant on the other side of the park. But Skreta’s nurse caught up with them and begged him to return to his office. The doctor excused himself and let the nurse take him back to his infertile patients.
7
About six months earlier Ruzena had left her parents’ house in a nearby village to move into a small room in Karl Marx House. God knows what she promised herself from this room’s independence, but she soon realized that her room’s and her freedom’s benefits were much less pleasant and much less intense than what she had dreamed of.
This afternoon, having returned to her room from the thermal building a little after three o’clock, she had the unpleasant surprise of finding her father waiting for her sprawled on the daybed. That was hardly convenient, for she wanted to devote herself entirely to her appearance, to do her hair and carefully choose a dress.
“What are you doing here?” she asked irritably. She held it against the doorkeeper that he was an acquaintance of her father’s and always ready to let him into her room in her absence.
“I had a bit of free time,” said her father. “We’re having an exercise in town today.”
Her father was a member of the Public Order Volunteers. Because the spa’s medical staff made fun of the old men pacing up and down the streets with their armbands and their self-important manner, Ruzena was ashamed of this activity of her father’s.
“If that’s what amuses you!” she muttered.
“You should be glad to have a papa who’s never been a loafer and never will be. We’re pensioners, but we’re going to show you young people we still know how to do things!”
Ruzena decided to let him talk while she concentrated on choosing her dress. She opened the wardrobe.
“I’d really like to know what things you do,” she said.
“A lot of things. This town, my little girl, is an internationally known spa. And what do you see? Kids running all over the grass!”
“So what?” said Ruzena, rummaging through her dresses. Not a single one pleased her.
“Not only kids, but dogs too! The Municipal Council a long time ago issued an order that dogs have to be leashed and muzzled outdoors! But nobody here obeys it. Everybody does what he pleases. Just look at the park!”
Ruzena took out a dress and began to change behind the open wardrobe door.
“They piss everywhere. Even in the playground sandbox! Think of a toddler dropping his slice of bread and jam in the sand! And then people wonder why there’s so much sickness! Here, all you have to do is look,” said her father, heading toward the window. “Right now four dogs are running loose there.”
Ruzena reappeared and examined herself in the mirror on the wall. The little mirror was the only one she had, and she could barely see down to her waist.
“You’re not interested, are you?” her father asked.
“Of course I’m interested,” said Ruzena, moving back from the mirror on tiptoes to try to gauge how her legs would look in that dress. “But, please don’t be angry, I’ve got to meet somebody and I’m in a hurry.”
“The only dogs I can tolerate are police dogs and retrievers,” said her father. “But I don’t understand people who keep dogs at home. Soon women will stop bearing children and cradles will be filled with poodles!”
Ruzena was dissatisfied with the image the mirror reflected. She went back to the wardrobe to find a more becoming dress.
“We’ve decided that people should be allowed to have dogs at home only if everybody in the building agrees to it at the tenants’ meeting. Also, we’re going to increase the dog-license fee.”
“I can see you have serious concerns,” said Ruzena, delighted that she no longer lived with her parents. Ever since childhood, her father’s moral lessons and commands had been repugnant to her. She craved a world in which people spoke a language other than his.
“It’s no laughing matter. Dogs really are a serious problem, and I’m not the only one who thinks so, the highest authorities think so too. You’ve probably never been asked what’s important and what isn’t. Of course you’d answer that the most important things in the world are your dresses,” he said, noting that his daughter had again hidden behind the wardrobe door to change.
“They’re certainly more important than your dogs,” she replied, once again standing on tiptoes in front of the mirror. And once again she was dissatisfied. But dissatisfaction with herself slowly changed