Farewell Waltz

he took them into account, he never doubted they existed and had to go on existing and would always be his persecutors. But that young woman, she was his eternal defeat. She was pretty, and she had appeared on the scene not as a persecutor but as a spectator who, fascinated by the spectacle, identified with the persecutors. Jakub was always horror-stricken by the idea that onlookers are ready to restrain the victim during an execution. For, with time, the hangman has become someone near at hand, a familiar figure, while the persecuted one has taken on something of an aristocratic smell. The soul of the crowd, which formerly identified with the miserable persecuted ones, today identifies with the misery of the persecutors. Because to hunt men in our century is to hunt the privileged: those who read books or own a dog.
He felt the animal’s warm body under his hand, and he realized that the blonde young woman had come to announce to him, as a secret sign, that he would never be liked in this country and that she, the people’s messenger, would always be ready to hold him down so as to offer him up to the men threatening him with poles with wire loops. He hugged the dog and pressed him close. He mused that he could not leave him here at risk, that he must take him along far away from this country as a souvenir of persecution, as one of those who had escaped. Then he realized that he was hiding this merry pooch here as if he were an outlaw fleeing the police, and this notion seemed comic to him.
Someone knocked at the door, and Dr. Skreta entered: “You’re finally back, and it’s about time. I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. What have you been up to?”
“I went to see Olga, and then …” He started to tell about the dog, but Skreta interrupted him:
“I should have known. Wasting time like that when we’ve got a lot of things to discuss! I’ve already told Bertlef you’re here, and I’ve arranged for him to invite both of us.”
At that moment the dog jumped off the daybed, went over to the doctor, stood up on his hind legs, and put his front legs on Skreta’s chest. He scratched the dog on the nape of the neck. “Yes, yes, Bob, you’re a good dog …” he said, not surprised to see him there.
“His name is Bob?”
“Yes, it’s Bob,” said Skreta, and he told him that the dog belonged to the owner of an inn in the forest nearby; everyone knew the dog, because he roamed everywhere.
The dog understood that they were talking about him, and this pleased him. He wagged his tail and tried to lick Skreta’s face.
“You’re shrewd psychologically,” said the doctor. “You have to study Bertlef in depth for me today. I don’t know how to handle him. I’ve got great plans for him.”
“To sell his pious pictures?”
“Pious pictures, that’s silly,” said Skreta. “This is about something much more important. I want him to adopt me.”
“Adopt you?”
“Adopt me as a son. It’s vital to me. If I become his adopted son, I’ll automatically acquire American citizenship.”
“You want to emigrate?”
“No. I’m engaged in long-term experiments here, and I don’t want to interrupt them. By the way, I have to talk to you about that too today, because I need you for these experiments. With American citizenship, I’d also get an American passport, and I could travel freely all over the world. You know very well that otherwise it’s difficult to leave this country. And I want very much to go to Iceland.”
“Why exactly Iceland?”
“Because it has the best salmon fishing,” said Skreta. And he went on: “What complicates things a bit is that Bertlef is only fifteen years older than I am. I have to explain to him that adoptive fatherhood is a legal status that has nothing to do with biological fatherhood, and that theoretically he could be my adoptive father even if he were younger than I. Maybe he’ll understand this, though he has a very young wife. She’s one of my patients. By the way, she’ll be arriving here the day after tomorrow. I’ve sent Suzy to Prague to meet her when she lands.”
“Does Suzy know about your plan?”
“Of course. I urged her at all costs to gain her future mother-in-law’s friendship.”
“And the American? What does he say about it?”
“That’s just what’s most difficult. The man can’t understand it if I don’t spell it out for him. That’s why I need you, to study him and tell me how to handle him.”
Skreta looked at his watch and announced that Bertlef was waiting for them.
“But what are we going to do with Bob?” asked Jakub.
“How come you brought him here?” said Skreta.
Jakub explained to his friend how he had saved the dog’s life, but Skreta was immersed in his thoughts and listened to him absentmindedly. After Jakub had finished, he said: “The innkeeper’s wife is one of my patients. Two years ago she gave birth to a beautiful baby. They love Bob, you should bring him back to them tomorrow. Meanwhile, let’s give him a sleeping tablet so he won’t bother us.”
He took a tube out of his pocket and shook out a tablet. He called the dog over, opened his jaws, and dropped the tablet down his gullet.
“In a minute, he’ll be sleeping sweetly,” he said, and he left the room with Jakub.
9
Bertlef welcomed his two visitors, and Jakub ran his eyes over the room. Then he went over to the painting of the bearded saint: “I’ve heard that you paint,” he said to Bertlef.
“Yes,” Bertlef replied, “that is Saint Lazarus, my patron saint.”
“Why did you paint a blue halo?” asked Jakub, showing his surprise.
“I am glad you asked me that question. As a rule people look at a painting and don’t even know what they are seeing. I made the halo blue simply because in reality halos are blue.”
Jakub