生命不能承受之轻-第26章

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octor　is　someone　who　consents　to　spend　his　life　involved　with　human　bodies　and　all　that　they　entail。　That　basic　consent　（and　not　talent　or　skill）　enables　him　to　enter　the　dissecting　room　during　the　first　year　of　medical　school　and　persevere　for　the　requisite　number　of　years。
Surgery　takes　the　basic　imperative　of　the　medical　profession　to　its　outermost　border；　where　the　human　makes　contact　with　the　divine。　When　a　person　is　clubbed　violently　on　the　head；　he　collapses　and　stops　breathing。　Some　day；　he　will　stop　breathing　anyway。　Murder　simply　hastens　a　bit　what　God　will　eventually　see　to　on　His　own。　God；　it　may　be　assumed；　took　murder　into　account；　He　did　not　take　surgery　into　account。　He　never　suspected　that　someone　would　dare　to　stick　his　hand　into　the　mechanism　He　had　invented；　wrapped　carefully　in　skin；　and　sealed　away　from　human　eyes。　When　Tomas　first　positioned　his　scalpel　on　the　skin　of　a　man　asleep　under　an　anesthetic；　then　breached　the　skin　with　a　decisive　incision；　and　finally　cut　it　open　with　a　precise　and　even　stroke　（as　if　it　were　a　piece　of　fabric—a　coat；　a　skirt；　a　curtain）；　he　experienced　a　brief　but　intense　feeling　of　blasphemy。　Then　again；　that　was　what　attracted　him　to　it！　That　was　the　Es　muss　sein！　rooted　deep　inside　him；　and　it　was　planted　there　not　by　chance；　not　by　the　chief's　sciatica；　or　by　anything　external。
But　how　could　he　take　something　so　much　a　part　of　him　and　cast　it　off　so　fast；　so　forcefully；　and　so　lightly？
He　would　respond　that　he　did　it　so　as　not　to　let　the　police　misuse　him。　But　to　be　quite　frank；　even　if　it　was　theoretically　possible　（and　even　if　a　number　of　cases　have　actually　occurred）；　it　was　not　too　likely　that　the　police　would　make　public　a　false　statement　over　his　signature。
Granted；　a　man　has　a　right　to　fear　dangers　that　are　less　than　likely　to　occur。　Granted；　he　was　annoyed　with　himself　and　at　his　clumsiness；　and　desired　to　avoid　further　contact　with　the　police　and　the　concomitant　feeling　of　helplessness。　And　granted；　he　had　lost　his　profession　anyway；　because　the　mechanical　aspirin…medicine　he　practiced　at　the　clinic　had　nothing　in　common　with　his　concept　of　medicine。　Even　so；　the　way　he　rushed　into　his　decision　seems　rather　odd　to　me。　Could　it　perhaps　conceal　something　else；　something　deeper　that　escaped　his　reasoning？

8
Even　though　he　came　to　love　Beethoven　through　Tereza；　Tomas　was　not　particularly　knowledgeable　about　music；　and　I　doubt　that　he　knew　the　true　story　behind　Beethoven's　famous　Muss　es　sein？　Es　muss　sein！　motif。
This　is　how　it　goes：　A　certain　Dembscher　owed　Beethoven　fifty　florins；　and　when　the　composer；　who　was　chronically　short　of　funds；　reminded　him　of　the　debt；　Dembscher　heaved　a　mournful　sigh　and　said；　Muss　es　sein？　To　which　Beethoven　replied；　with　a　hearty　laugh；　Es　muss　sein！　and　immediately　jotted　down　these　words　and　their　melody。　On　this　realistic　motif　he　then　composed　a　canon　for　four　voices：　three　voices　sing　Es　muss　sein；　es　muss　sein；　ja；　ja；　ja；　ja！　（It　must　be；　it　must　be；　yes；　yes；　yes；　yes！）；　and　the　fourth　voice　chimes　in　with　Heraus　mit　dem　Beutel！　（Out　with　the　purse！）。
A　year　later；　the　same　motif　showed　up　as　the　basis　for　the　fourth　movement　of　the　last　quartet；　Opus　155。　By　that　time；　Beethoven　had　forgotten　about　Dembscher's　purse。　The　words　Es　muss　sein！　had　acquired　a　much　more　solemn　ring；　they　seemed　to　issue　directly　from　the　lips　of　Fate。　In　Kant's　language；　even　Good　morning；　suitably　pronounced；　can　take　the　shape　of　a　metaphysical　thesis。　German　is　a　language　of　heavy　words。　Es　muss　sein！　was　no　longer　a　joke；　it　had　become　der　schwer　gefasste　Entschluss　（the　difficult　or　weighty　resolution）。
So　Beethoven　turned　a　frivolous　inspiration　into　a　serious　quartet；　a　joke　into　metaphysical　truth。　It　is　an　interesting　tale　of　light　going　to　heavy　or；　as　Parmenides　would　have　it；　positive　going　to　negative。　Yet　oddly　enough；　the　transformation　fails　to　surprise　us。　We　would　have　been　shocked；　on　the　other　hand；　if　Beethoven　had　transformed　the　seriousness　of　his　quartet　into　the　trifling　joke　of　a　four…voice　canon　about　Dembscher's　purse。　Had　he　done　so；　however；　he　would　have　been　in　the　spirit　of　Parmenides　and　made　heavy　go　to　light；　that　is；　negative　to　positive！　First　（as　an　unfinished　sketch）　would　have　come　the　great　metaphysical　truth　and　last　（as　a　finished　masterpiece）—the　most　frivolous　of　jokes！　But　we　no　longer　know　how　to　think　as　Parmenides　thought。
It　is　my　feeling　that　Tomas　had　long　been　secretly　irritated　by　the　stern；　aggressive；　solemn　Es　muss　sein！　and　that　he　harbored　a　deep　desire　to　follow　the　spirit　of　Parmenides　and　make　heavy　go　to　light。　Remember　that　at　one　point　in　his　life　he　broke　completely　with　his　first　wife　and　his　son　and　that　he　was　relieved　when　both　his　parents　broke　with　him。　What　could　be　at　the　bottom　of　it　all　but　a　rash　and　not　quite　rational　move　to　reject　what　proclaimed　itself　to　be　his　weighty　duty；　his　Es　muss　sein！'　？
That；　of　course；　was　an　external　Es　muss　sein！　reserved　for　him　by　social　convention；　whereas　the　Es　muss　sein！　of　his　love　for　medicine　was　internal。　So　much　the　worse　for　him。　Internal　imperatives　are　all　the　more　powerful　and　therefore　all　the　more　of　an　inducement　to　revolt。
Being　a　surgeon　means　slitting　open　the　surface　of　things　and　looking　at　what　lies　hidden　inside。　Perhaps　Tomas　was　led　to　surgery　by　a　desire　to　know　what　lies　hidden　on　the　other　side　of　Es　muss　sein！　；　in　other　words；　what　remains　of　life　when　a　person　rejects　what　he　previously　considered　his　mission。
The　day　he　reported　to　the　good…natured　woman　responsible　for　the　cleanliness　of　all　shop　windows　and　display　cases　in　Prague；　and　was　confronted　with　the　result　of　his　decision　in　all　its　concrete　and　inescapable　reality；　he　went　into　a　state　of　shock；　a　state　that　kept　him　in　its　thrall　during　the　first　few　days　of　his　new　job。　But　once　he　got　over　the　astounding　strangeness　of　his　new　life　（it　took　him　about　a　week）；　he　suddenly　realized　he　was　simply　on　a　long　holiday。
Here　he　was；　doing　things　he　didn't　care　a　damn　about；　and　enjoying　it。　Now　he　understood　what　made　people　（people　he　always　pitied）　happy　when　they　took　a　job　without　feeling　the　compulsion　of　an　internal　Es　muss　sein！　and　forgot　it　the　moment　they　left　for　home　every　evening。　This　was　the　first　time　he　had　felt　that　blissful　indifference。　Whenever　anything　went　wrong　on　the　operating　table；　he　would　be　despondent　and　unable　to　sleep。　He　would　even　lose　his　taste　for　women。　The　Es　muss　sein！　of　his　profession　had　been　like　a　vampire　sucking　his　blood。
Now　he　roamed　the　streets　of　Prague　with　brush　and　pole；　feeling　ten　years　younger。　The　salesgirls　all　called　him　doctor　（the　Prague　bush　telegraph　was　working　better　than　ever）　and　asked　his　advice　about　their　colds；　aching　backs；　and　irregular　periods。　They　seemed　almost　embarrassed　to　watch　him　douse　the　glass　with　water；　fit　the　brush　on　the　end　of　the　pole；　and　start　washing。　If　they　could　have　left　their　customers　alone　in　the　shops；　they　would　surely　have　grabbed　the　pole　from　his　hands　and　washed　the　windows　for　him。
Most　of　Tomas's　orders　came　from　large　shops；　but　his　boss　sent　him　out　to　private　customers；　too。　People　were　still　reacting　to　the　mass　persecution　of　Czech　intellectuals　with　the　euphoria　of　solidarity；　and　when　his　former　patients　found　out　that　Tomas　was　washing　windows　for　a　living；　they　would　phone　in　and　order　him　by　name。　Then　they　would　greet　him　with　a　bottle　of　champagne　or　slivovitz；　sign　for　thirteen　windows　on　the　order　slip；　and　chat　with　him　for　two　hours；　drinking　his　health　all　the　while。　Tomas　would　move　on　to　his　next　flat　or　shop　in　a　capital　mood。　While　the　families　of　Russian　officers　settled　in　throughout　the　land　and　radios　intoned　ominous　reports　of　police　functionaries　who　had　replaced　cashiered　broadcasters；　Tomas　reeled　through　the　streets　of　Prague　from　one　glass　of　wine　to　the　next　like　someone　going　from　party　to　party。　It　was　his　grand　holiday。
He　had　reverted　to　his　bachelor　existence。　Tereza　was　suddenly　out　of　his　life。　The　only　times　he　saw　her　were　when　she　came　back　from　the　bar　late　at　night　and　he　woke　befuddled　from　a　half…sleep；　and　in　the　morning；　when　she　was　the　befuddled　one　and　he　was　hurrying　off　to　work。　Each　workday；　he　had　sixteen　hours　to　himself；　an　unexpected　field　of　freedom。　And　from　Tomas's　early　youth　that　had　meant　women。
9
When　his　friends　asked　him　how　many　women　he　had　had　in　his　life；　he　would　try　to　evade　the　question；　and　when　they　pressed　him　further　he　would　say；　Well；　two　hundred；　give　or　take　a　few。　The　envious　among　them　accused　him　of　stretching　the　truth。　That's　not　so　many；　he　said　by　way　of　self…defense。　I've　been　involved　with　women　for　about　twenty…five　years　now。　Divide　two　hundred　by　twenty…five　and　you'll　see　it　comes　to　only　eight　or　so　new　women　a　year。　That's　not　so　many；　is　it？　
But　setting　up　house　with　Tereza　cramped　his　style。　Because　of　the　organizational　difficulties　it　entailed；　he　had　been　forced　to　relegate　his　erotic　activities　to　a　narrow　strip　of　time　（between　the　operating　room　and　home）　which；　though　he　had　used　it　intensively　（as　a　mountain　farmer　tills　his　narrow　plot　for　all　it　is　worth）；　was　nothing　like　the　sixteen　hours　that　now　had　suddenly　been　bestowed　on　him。　（I　say　sixteen　hours　because　the　eight　hours　he　spent　washing　windows　were　filled　with　new　salesgirls；　housewives；　and　female　functionaries；　each　of　whom　represented　a　potential　erotic　engagement。）
What　did　he　look　for　in　them？　What　attracted　him　to　them？　Isn't　making　love　merely　an　eternal　repetition　of　the　same？
Not　at　all。　There　is　always　the　small　part　that　is　unimaginable。　When　he　saw　a　woman　in　her　clothes；　he　could　naturally　imagine　more　or　less　what　she　would　look　like　naked　（his　experience　as　a　doctor　supplementing　his　experience　as　a　lover）；　but　between　the　approximation　of　the　idea　and　the　precision　of　reality　there　was　a　small　gap　of　the　unimaginable；　and　it　was　this　hiatus　that　gave　him　no　rest。　And　then；　the　pursuit　of　the　unimaginable　does　not　stop　with　the　revelations　of　nudity；　it　goes　much　further：　How　would　she　behave　while　undressing？　What　would　she　say　when　he　made　love　to　her？　How　would　her　sighs　sound？　How　would　her　face　distort　at　the　moment　of　orgasm？
What　is　unique　about　the　I　hides　itself　exactly　in　what　is　unimaginable　about　a　person。　All　we　are　able　to　imagine　is　what　makes　everyone　like　everyone　else；　what　people　have　in　common。　The　individual　I　is　what　differs　from　the　common　stock；　that　is；　what　cannot　be　guessed　at　or　calculated；　what　must　be　unveiled；　uncovered；　conquered。
Tomas；　who　had　spent　the　last　ten　years　of　his　medical　practice　working　exclusively　with　the　human　brain；　knew　that　there　was　nothing　more　difficult　to　capture　than　the　human　I。　There　are　many　more　resemblances　between　Hitler　and　Einstein　or　Brezhnev　and　Solzhenitsyn　than　there　are　differences。　Using　numbers；　we　might　say　that　there　is　one…millionth　part　dissimilarity　to　nine　hundred　ninety…nine　thousand　nine　hundred　ninety…nine　millionths　parts　similarity。
Tomas　was　obsessed　by　the　desire　to　discover　and　appropriate　that　one…millionth　part；　he　saw　it　as　the　core　of　his　obsession。　He　was　not　obsessed　with　women；　he　was　obsessed　with　what　in　each　of　them　is　unimaginable；　obsessed；　in　other　wo