Farewell Waltz

water are flowing into tubs, masseurs are kneading naked backs, and a private car has just pulled into the parking lot. Not the big, luxurious white sedan that had been in the same spot the day before, but the ordinary car one can see so many of in this country. The man behind the wheel is about forty-five, and he is alone. The back seat is cluttered with suitcases.
The man gets out, locks the doors, gives a five-crown coin to the parking-lot attendant, and heads toward Karl Marx House; he walks along the corridor until he comes to the door with Dr. Skreta’s name on it. He enters the waiting room and knocks on the office door. A nurse appears, the man introduces himself, and then Dr. Skreta comes out to greet him: “Jakub! When did you get here?”
“Just now!”
“Wonderful! We’ve got a lot of things to discuss. Listen …” he says after a moment’s thought, “I can’t leave right now. Come with me into the examining room. I’ll lend you a coat.”
Jakub was not a physician and had never before entered a gynecologist’s examining room. But Dr. Skreta had already taken him by the arm and led him into a white room, where an undressed woman was lying on an examination table with her legs spread.
“Give the doctor a coat,” Skreta said to the nurse, who opened a cabinet and handed Jakub a white coat. “Come take a look, I want you to confirm my diagnosis,” he said to Jakub, inviting him to go near the patient, who was visibly quite pleased by the idea that the mystery of her ovaries, which despite great efforts had not yet produced any descendants, was going to be explored by two medical specialists.
Dr. Skreta resumed palpating the patient’s womb, uttered some Latin words to which Jakub grunted approval, and then asked: “How long are you staying here?”
“One day.”
“One day? That’s absurdly brief, we won’t be able to discuss anything!”
“It hurts when you touch me like that,” said the woman with the raised legs.
“It should hurt a little bit, it’s nothing,” said Jakub to amuse his friend.
“Yes, the doctor’s right,” said Skreta. “It’s nothing, it’s normal. I’m going to prescribe a series of shots for you. Be here every morning at six, and the nurse will give you your shot. You can get dressed now.”
“I really came to say goodbye to you,” said Jakub.
“What do you mean, goodbye?”
“I’m going abroad. I’ve got permission to emigrate.”
The woman dressed and took leave of Dr. Skreta and his colleague.
“What a surprise! I never expected that!” Dr. Skreta marveled. “Seeing that you came to say goodbye to me, I’m going to send these women home.”
“Doctor,” the nurse interrupted, “you sent them away yesterday too. We’ll have a big backlog at the end of the week!”
“All right then, send in the next one,” said Dr. Skreta with a sigh.
The nurse sent in the next one, whom the two men glanced at absentmindedly, noting that she was prettier than the last one.
Dr. Skreta asked her how she had been feeling since she began the baths, and then asked her to undress.
“It took forever to get my passport. But after that I was ready to leave in two days. I didn’t want to say goodbye to anyone.”
“Then I’m all the happier that you stopped here,” said Dr. Skreta, and then he asked the young woman to climb up on the examination table. He put on a rubber glove and thrust his hand into the patient.
“I don’t want to see anybody but you and Olga,” said Jakub. “I hope she’s all right.”
“Everything’s fine, fine,” said Skreta, but from the sound of his voice it was obvious he was not aware of what he was saying to Jakub. He was concentrating all his attention on the patient: “We’re going to do a little procedure,” he said. “Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.” Then he opened the glass door of a cabinet and took out a hypodermic syringe with a small plastic nozzle at the end instead of a needle.
“What’s that?” asked Jakub.
“During many years of practicing medicine, I’ve perfected some extremely effective new methods. You might find it selfish of me, but for the moment I consider them my secret.”
Her voice more flirtatious than fearful, the woman lying with her legs spread asked: “It won’t hurt?”
“Not at all,” replied Dr. Skreta, dipping the syringe into a test tube he was handling with meticulous care. Then he came close to the woman, inserted the syringe between her legs, and pushed the plunger.
“Did that hurt?”
“No,” said the patient.
“I also came here to give you back the tablet.”
Dr. Skreta barely took notice of Jakub’s words. He was still busy with his patient. He inspected her from head to toe with a serious and thoughtful expression and said: “In your case, it would really be a shame if you didn’t have a child. You’ve got long legs, a well-developed pelvis, a beautiful rib cage, and quite a pleasant face.”
He touched the patient’s face, chucked her chin, and said: “A nice jaw, sturdy and well-shaped.”
Then he took hold of her thigh: “And you’ve got marvelously firm bones. It looks like they’re shining under your muscles.”
He went on for a time praising the patient while manipulating her body, and she didn’t protest or giggle any longer, for the seriousness of the physician’s interest in her put his touchings well on this side of shamelessness.
At last he indicated that she should get dressed, and he turned to his friend: “What were you saying?”
“That I came to give you back the tablet.”
“What tablet?”
As she was dressing the woman said: “Well, Doctor, do you think there’s any hope for me?”
“I’m extremely satisfied,” said Dr. Skreta. “I think that things are developing positively and that we, you and I both, can count on a success.”
Thanking him, the woman left the examining room, and then Jakub said: “Years ago you gave me a tablet nobody else would give me. Now that I’m