生命不能承受之轻-第18章

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2
It　was　a　program　about　the　Czech　emigration；　a　montage　of　private　conversations　recorded　with　the　latest　bugging　devices　by　a　Czech　spy　who　had　infiltrated　the　emigre　community　and　then　returned　in　great　glory　to　Prague。　It　was　insignificant　prattle　dotted　with　some　harsh　words　about　the　occupation　regime；　but　here　and　there　one　emigre　would　call　another　an　imbecile　or　a　fraud。　These　trivial　remarks　were　the　point　of　the　broadcast。　They　were　meant　to　prove　not　merely　that　emigres　had　bad　things　to　say　about　the　Soviet　Union　（which　neither　surprised　nor　upset　anyone　in　the　country）；　but　that　they　call　one　another　names　and　make　free　use　of　dirty　words。　People　use　filthy　language　all　day　long；　but　when　they　turn　on　the　radio　and　hear　a　well…known　personality；　someone　they　respect；　saying　fuck　in　every　sentence；　they　feel　somehow　let　down。
It　all　started　with　Prochazka；　said　Tomas。
Jan　Prochazka；　a　forty…year…old　Czech　novelist　with　the　strength　and　vitality　of　an　ox；　began　criticizing　public　affairs　vociferously　even　before　1968。　He　then　became　one　of　the　best…loved　figures　of　the　Prague　Spring；　that　dizzying　liberalization　of　Communism　which　ended　with　the　Russian　invasion。　Shortly　after　the　invasion　the　press　initiated　a　smear　campaign　against　him；　but　the　more　they　smeared；　the　more　people　liked　him。　Then　（in　1970；　to　be　exact）　the　Czech　radio　broadcast　a　series　of　private　talks　between　Prochazka　and　a　professor　friend　of　his　which　had　taken　place　two　years　before　（that　is；　in　the　spring　of　1968）。　For　a　long　time；　neither　of　them　had　any　idea　that　the　professor's　flat　was　bugged　and　their　every　step　dogged。　Prochazka　loved　to　regale　his　friends　with　hyperbole　and　excess。　Now　his　excesses　had　become　a　weekly　radio　series。　The　secret　police；　who　produced　and　directed　the　show；　took　pains　to　emphasize　the　sequences　in　which　Prochazka　made　fun　of　his　friends—Dubcek；　for　instance。　People　slander　their　friends　at　the　drop　of　a　hat；　but　they　were　more　shocked　by　the　much…loved　Prochazka　than　by　the　much…hated　secret　police。
Tomas　turned　off　the　radio　and　said；　Every　country　has　its　secret　police。　But　a　secret　police　that　broadcasts　its　tapes　over　the　radio—there's　something　that　could　happen　only　in　Prague；　something　absolutely　without　precedent！　
I　know　a　precedent；　said　Tereza。　When　I　was　fourteen　I　kept　a　secret　diary。　I　was　terrified　that　someone　might　read　it　so　I　kept　it　hidden　in　the　attic。　Mother　sniffed　it　out。　One　day　at　dinner；　while　we　were　all　hunched　over　our　soup；　she　took　it　out　of　her　pocket　and　said；　'Listen　carefully　now；　everybody！'　And　after　every　sentence；　she　burst　out　laughing。　They　all　laughed　so　hard　they　couldn't　eat。　
3
He　always　tried　to　get　her　to　stay　in　bed　and　let　him　have　breakfast　alone。　She　never　gave　in。　Tomas　was　at　work　from　seven　to　four；　Tereza　from　four　to　midnight。　If　she　were　to　miss　breakfast　with　him；　the　only　time　they　could　actually　talk　together　was　on　Sundays。　That　was　why　she　got　up　when　he　did　and　then　went　back　to　bed。
This　morning；　however；　she　was　afraid　of　going　back　to　sleep；　because　at　ten　she　was　due　at　the　sauna　on　Zofin　Island。　The　sauna；　though　coveted　by　the　many；　could　accommodate　only　the　few；　and　the　only　way　to　get　in　was　by　pull。　Luckily；　the　cashier　was　the　wife　of　a　professor　removed　from　the　university　after　1968　and　the　professor　a　friend　of　a　former　patient　of　Tomas's。　Tomas　told　the　patient；　the　patient　told　the　professor；　the　professor　told　his　wife；　and　Tereza　had　a　ticket　waiting　for　her　once　a　week。
She　walked　there。　She　detested　the　trams　constantly　packed　with　people　pushing　into　one　another's　hate…filled　embraces；　stepping　on　one　another's　feet；　tearing　off　one　another's　coat　buttons；　and　shouting　insults。
It　was　drizzling。　As　people　rushed　along；　they　began　opening　umbrellas　over　their　heads；　and　all　at　once　the　streets　were　crowded；　too。　Arched　umbrella　roofs　collided　with　one　another。　The　men　were　courteous；　and　when　passing　Tereza　they　held　their　umbrellas　high　over　their　heads　and　gave　her　room　to　go　by。　But　the　women　would　not　yield；　each　looked　straight　ahead；　waiting　for　the　other　woman　to　acknowledge　her　inferiority　and　step　aside。　The　meeting　of　the　umbrellas　was　a　test　of　strength。　At　first　Tereza　gave　way；　but　when　she　realized　her　courtesy　was　not　being　reciprocated；　she　started　clutching　her　umbrella　like　the　other　women　and　ramming　it　forcefully　against　the　oncoming　umbrellas。　No　one　ever　said　Sorry。　For　the　most　part　no　one　said　anything；　though　once　or　twice　she　did　hear　a　Fat　cow！　or　Fuck　you！　
The　women　thus　armed　with　umbrellas　were　both　young　and　old；　but　the　younger　among　them　proved　the　more　steeled　warriors。　Tereza　recalled　the　days　of　the　invasion　and　the　girls　in　miniskirts　carrying　flags　on　long　staffs。　Theirs　was　a　sexual　vengeance：　the　Russian　soldiers　had　been　kept　in　enforced　celibacy　for　several　long　years　and　must　have　felt　they　had　landed　on　a　planet　invented　by　a　science　fiction　writer；　a　planet　of　stunning　women　who　paraded　their　scorn　on　beautiful　long　legs　the　likes　of　which　had　not　been　seen　in　Russia　for　the　past　five　or　six　centuries。
She　had　taken　many　pictures　of　those　young　women　against　a　backdrop　of　tanks。　How　she　had　admired　them！　And　now　these　same　women　were　bumping　into　her；　meanly　and　spitefully。　Instead　of　flags；　they　held　umbrellas；　but　they　held　them　with　the　same　pride。　They　were　ready　to　fight　as　obstinately　against　a　foreign　army　as　against　an　umbrella　that　refused　to　move　out　of　their　way。

4
She　came　out　into　Old　Town　Square—the　stern　spires　of　Tyn　Church；　the　irregular　rectangle　of　Gothic　and　baroque　houses。　Old　Town　Hall；　which　dated　from　the　fourteenth　century　and　had　once　stretched　over　a　whole　side　of　the　square；　was　in　ruins　and　had　been　so　for　twenty…seven　years。　Warsaw；　Dresden；　Berlin；　Cologne；　Budapest—all　were　horribly　scarred　in　the　last　war。　But　their　inhabitants　had　built　them　up　again　and　painstakingly　restored　the　old　historical　sections。　The　people　of　Prague　had　an　inferiority　complex　with　respect　to　these　other　cities。　Old　Town　Hall　was　the　only　monument　of　note　destroyed　in　the　war；　and　they　decided　to　leave　it　in　ruins　so　that　no　Pole　or　German　could　accuse　them　of　having　suffered　less　than　their　share。　In　front　of　the　glorious　ruins；　a　reminder　for　now　and　eternity　of　the　evils　perpetrated　by　war；　stood　a　steel…bar　reviewing　stand　for　some　demonstration　or　other　that　the　Communist　Party　had　herded　the　people　of　Prague　to　the　day　before　or　would　be　herding　them　to　the　day　after。
Gazing　at　the　remains　of　Old　Town　Hall；　Tereza　was　suddenly　reminded　of　her　mother：　that　perverse　need　one　has　to　expose　one's　ruins；　one's　ugliness；　to　parade　one's　misery；　to　uncover　the　stump　of　one's　amputated　arm　and　force　the　whole　world　to　look　at　it。　Everything　had　begun　reminding　her　of　her　mother　lately。　Her　mother's　world；　which　she　had　fled　ten　years　before；　seemed　to　be　coming　back　to　her；　surrounding　her　on　all　sides。　That　was　why　she　told　Tomas　that　morning　about　how　her　mother　had　read　her　secret　diary　at　the　dinner　table　to　an　accompaniment　of　guffaws。　When　a　private　talk　over　a　bottle　of　wine　is　broadcast　on　the　radio；　what　can　it　mean　but　that　the　world　is　turning　into　a　concentration　camp？
Almost　from　childhood；　Tereza　had　used　the　term　to　express　how　she　felt　about　life　with　her　family。　A　concentration　camp　is　a　world　in　which　people　live　crammed　together　constantly；　night　and　day。　Brutality　and　violence　are　merely　secondary　（and　not　in　the　least　indispensable）　characteristics。　A　concentration　camp　is　the　complete　obliteration　of　privacy。　Prochazka；　who　was　not　allowed　to　chat　with　a　friend　over　a　bottle　of　wine　in　the　shelter　of　privacy；　lived　（unknown　to　him—a　fatal　error　on　his　part！）　in　a　concentration　camp。　Tereza　lived　in　the　concentration　camp　when　she　lived　with　her　mother。　Almost　from　childhood；　she　knew　that　a　concentration　camp　was　nothing　exceptional　or　startling　but　something　very　basic；　a　given　into　which　we　are　born　and　from　which　we　can　escape　only　with　the　greatest　of　efforts。
The　women　sitting　on　the　three　terraced　benches　were　packed　in　so　tightly　that　they　could　not　help　touching。　Sweating　away　next　to　Tereza　was　a　woman　of　about　thirty　with　a　very　pretty　face。　She　had　two　unbelievably　large；　pendulous　breasts　hanging　from　her　shoulders；　bouncing　at　the　slightest　movement。　When　the　woman　got　up；　Tereza　saw　that　her　behind　was　also　like　two　enormous　sacks　and　that　it　had　nothing　in　common　with　her　fine　face。
Perhaps　the　woman　stood　frequently　in　front　of　the　mirror　observing　her　body；　trying　to　peer　through　it　into　her　soul；　as　Tereza　had　done　since　childhood。　Surely　she；　too；　had　harbored　the　blissful　hope　of　using　her　body　as　a　poster　for　her　soul。　But　what　a　monstrous　soul　it　would　have　to　be　if　it　reflected　that　body；　that　rack　for　four　pouches。
Tereza　got　up　and　rinsed　herself　off　under　the　shower。　Then　she　went　out　into　the　open。　It　was　still　drizzling。　Standing　just　above　the　Vltava　on　a　slatted　deck；　and　sheltered　from　the　eyes　of　the　city　by　a　few　square　feet　of　tall　wooden　panel；　she　looked　down　to　see　the　head　of　the　woman　she　had　just　been　thinking　about。　It　was　bobbing　on　the　surface　of　the　rushing　river。
The　woman　smiled　up　at　her。　She　had　a　delicate　nose；　large　brown　eyes；　and　a　childish　glance。
As　she　climbed　the　ladder；　her　tender　features　gave　way　to　two　sets　of　quivering　pouches　spraying　tiny　drops　of　cold　water　right　and　left。
6
Tereza　went　in　to　get　dressed　and　stood　in　front　of　the　large　mirror。
No；　there　was　nothing　monstrous　about　her　body。　She　had　no　pouches　hanging　from　her　shoulders；　in　fact；　her　breasts　were　quite　small。　Her　mother　used　to　ridicule　her　for　having　such　small　breasts；　and　she　had　had　a　complex　about　them　until　Tomas　came　along。　But　reconciled　to　their　size　as　she　was；　she　was　still　mortified　by　the　very　large；　very　dark　circles　around　her　nipples。　Had　she　been　able　to　design　her　own　body；　she　would　have　chosen　inconspicuous　nipples；　the　kind　that　scarcely　protrude　from　the　arch　of　the　breast　and　all　but　blend　in　color　with　the　rest　of　the　skin。　She　thought　of　her　areolae　as　big　crimson　targets　painted　by　a　primitivist　of　pornography　for　the　poor。
Looking　at　herself；　she　wondered　what　she　would　be　like　if　her　nose　grew　a　millimeter　a　day。　How　long　would　it　take　before　her　face　began　to　look　like　someone　else's？
And　if　various　parts　of　her　body　began　to　grow　and　shrink　and　Tereza　no　longer　looked　like　herself；　would　she　still　be　herself；　would　she　still　be　Tereza？
Of　course。　Even　if　Tereza　were　completely　unlike　Tereza；　her　soul　inside　her　would　be　the　same　and　look　on　in　amazement　at　what　was　happening　to　her　body。
Then　what　was　the　relationship　between　Tereza　and　her　body？　Had　her　body　the　right　to　call　itself　Tereza？　And　if　not；　then　what　did　the　name　refer　to？　Merely　something　incorporeal；　intangible？
（These　are　questions　that　had　been　going　through　Tereza's　head　since　she　was　a　child。　Indeed；　the　only　truly　serious　questions　are　ones　that　even　a　child　can　formulate。　Only　the　most　naive　of　questions　are　truly　serious。　They　are　the　questions　with　no　answers。　A　question　with　no　answer　is　a　barrier　that　cannot　be　breached。　In　other　words；　it　is　questions　with　no　answers　that　set　the　limits　of　human　possi