Farewell Waltz

sudden they were face to face with one of the men they considered responsible!”
“From the moment your father put on the prison uniform, he was a prisoner among prisoners. There was no sense in harming him, especially under the guards’ complacent eyes. It was nothing but cowardly revenge. The vilest desire to trample on a defenseless victim. And these letters you got are fruits of the same kind of revenge, which I now see is stronger than time itself.”
“But Jakub! Nevertheless a hundred thousand people were put in prison! And thousands never came back! And not a single one of those responsible was ever punished! This desire for revenge is really just an unsatisfied desire for justice!”
“Taking revenge on the father through the daughter has nothing to do with justice. Remember that because of your father you lost your home, you were forced out of your home town, you were denied the right to attend the university. Because of a dead father you barely knew! And because of your father should you be persecuted now? I’m going to tell you the saddest discovery of my life: the persecuted are no better than the persecutors. I can easily imagine the roles reversed. You might see in this logic the desire to shift your father’s responsibility onto the Creator who made man as he is. And maybe it’s good for you to see things this way. Because to come to the conclusion that there’s no difference between the guilty and the victims is to abandon all hope. And that, my girl, is what is called hell.”
5
Ruzena’s two colleagues were burning with impatience. They wanted to know how the previous day’s meeting with Klima had gone, but they were on duty at the other end of the thermal building, and it was not until about three o’clock that they could get to their friend and bombard her with questions.
Ruzena hesitated to answer and finally said uncertainly: “He said he loved me and he’d marry me.”
“You see! I told you so!” said the thin one. “And is he going to get a divorce?”
“He said yes.”
“He’ll have to,” the fortyish one said cheerfully. “A baby’s a baby. And his wife’s never had one.”
Now Ruzena had to admit the truth: “He said he’s going to take me to Prague. He’s going to find me a job there. He said we’re going to Italy on vacation. But he doesn’t want a child right away. And he’s right. The first years are the most beautiful, and if we had a child we wouldn’t be able to make the most of each other.”
The fortyish one was stunned: “What, you’re going to have an abortion?”
Ruzena nodded.
“You’ve gone crazy!” the thin one exclaimed.
“He’s twisted you around his little finger,” said the fortyish one. “The minute you get rid of the child, he’ll send you packing!”
“Why would he?”
“You want to bet?”
“Even if he loves me?”
“And how do you know he loves you?” said the fortyish one.
“He told me he does!”
“And why didn’t you hear from him for two months?”
“He was afraid of love,” said Ruzena.
“What?”
“How can I explain it to you? He was afraid of being in love with me.”
“And that’s why he gave no sign of life?”
“It was a test he set himself. He wanted to be sure he couldn’t forget me. That’s understandable, isn’t it?”
“I see,” said the fortyish one. “And when he found out he’d knocked you up, he suddenly realized he couldn’t forget you.”
“He said he’s glad I’m pregnant. Not because of the child, but because I phoned him. It made him realize he loved me.”
“My God, what an idiot you are!” the thin one exclaimed.
“I don’t see why I’m an idiot.”
“Because this child is the only thing you’ve got,” said the fortyish one. “If you give up the child, you’ll have nothing, and he’ll spit on you.”
“I want him to want me for my own sake and not for the child’s sake!”
“Who do you think you are? Why would he want you for your own sake?”
They discussed the matter passionately for a long time. Her two colleagues went on repeating to Ruzena that the child was her only trump card and that she must not give it up.
“I’d never have an abortion, I can tell you that. Never, do you understand? Never,” the thin one declared.
Ruzena suddenly felt like a little girl and said (they were the same words that, the day before, had restored Klima’s desire to live): “So tell me what I should do!”
“Don’t give in,” said the fortyish one, and then she opened a drawer and took out a tube of tablets. “Here, take one! You’re a nervous wreck. It’ll calm you down.”
Ruzena put the tablet in her mouth and swallowed it.
“Keep the tube. Three times a day, but take them only when you need to calm down. So you don’t go doing stupid things while you’re agitated. Don’t forget he’s a slippery character. It’s not his first time! But this time he won’t get out of it so easily!”
Once more she didn’t know what to do. A little while ago she had thought her mind was made up, but her colleagues’ arguments seemed convincing, and once more she was upset. Torn by indecision, she went downstairs.
In the building’s entrance hall, an excited, red-faced young man rushed toward her.
“I told you never to wait for me here,” she said, looking at him rancorously. “And after what happened yesterday, I can’t believe you’ve got the gall!”
“Please don’t be angry!” the young man cried out in a tone of desperation.
“Shush!” she yelled. “And on top of it don’t make a scene here too,” and she turned to go.
“Don’t go away like that if you don’t want me to make a scene!”
There was nothing she could do. Patients were coming and going through the building lobby and staff people in white coats passing by. She didn’t want to attract attention, and so she had to stay and try hard to look natural: “All right, what do