Lovers for a Day

HEAVEN, HELL, PARADISE

He thought it best to park two blocks from her building. When he got out he looked around carefully, but there was too much traffic to work out whether there had been a car tailing him.

He entered the building and stood waiting, hidden behind the front door. He noticed the thumping of his heart but what worried him more than the thought of being followed was how he would be received, half a year on, by the woman he had returned for. He had no idea, the last time they parted, that it would be for so long. And it could have been for ever if he'd made the same decision as most people in his situation. He should have phoned her beforehand, except that phones couldn't be trusted. He took a quick look into the street but there was no sign of anyone suspicious.

So he went up to the first floor, noticing the familiar odour of turpentine and thinner that escaped into the passage from inside the flat. There was the same painted plaque on the door:

a couple lying on a bed with Jan and Milada Kaska inscribed in copperplate. He rang the bell.

For a moment there was no sound. She couldn't be home, although — at least in the days when he'd had an interest in her timetable — she didn't usually leave the house until the afternoon. Then came the sound of familiar footsteps and the rattle of the lock. She was wearing make-up and an unfamiliar outfit, apparently on her way out somewhere.

'You're here?' To his surprise, she blushed. 'You're crazy, Doc! What if he was home?'

'He's got a job to go to.' He stepped inside and kissed her.

'You're crazy, you're crazy,' she repeated. 'What are you doing here? You were abroad!'

Yes, but you were here.'

'These days everyone's going in the opposite direction. Haven't you heard?'

'I couldn't care less what other people do.'

You're crazy. They'll put you in jail, sooner or later. And if they don't they'll sort you out, so you won't know where you are.'

'I'll be with you. There's no point in trying to get me to change my mind now I'm here. Can you spare a moment?'

'I had no idea you were corning. There's no way I could have known.'

He tried to put his arms round her, but she broke free of him. What do you think you're doing? How do you know I want you?'

'I can come some other time. I'll be able to now.'

'I would have thought that depended on me too — whether I feel like having you.'

'I came because of you. I came because I wanted you so much I couldn't bear it any longer.'

'What nonsense are you talking?' She finally retreated from the front hall into the living room and he followed her. The room was the same as when he was last there, apart from some new paintings on the walls which must have been her own work. She didn't sit down or offer him a seat. 'So you've come back for me?' she said with a shrug. 'It's your business why you've returned — I hope you don't think it's mine?' She was standing opposite him and staring at him as if he were a total stranger. As if she had forgotten all the days and nights they had spent together, when they'd exchanged endless protestations of love. 'I wasn't expecting you. You're crazy. You take me by surprise like this and immediately fling yourself at me. I'd already forgotten about you. After all there was no point waiting for you once I realized I'd never see you again.'

'I thought about you all the time!'

'It's your business if you thought about me.' She started. Someone was stamping up the stairs. A dog barked on the other side of the wall.

She came up close to him. 'You can't stay here!'

'Is he due back about now?'

'You act as though he was the only person in the world. It so happens he's gone off. He's far away. All he left me were these,' and she showed him two slim booklets. The green one was a savings book, the red one was clearly an identity card. 'Everyone's going off somewhere. I'm the only one hanging around.'

'Did he go in the same direction?'

'He went off on a business trip and it makes no difference what direction he went in. But a couple of dozen relatives have keys to this flat.'

'We'll take a trip somewhere. I've got my car here!'

'You're crazy, a complete nutcase. You've been away for about a hundred years and you turn up here expecting me to be ready and waiting with my nightdress and change of shoes in a suitcase. .'

'Yes,' he said, 'that's exactly what I expected. When's he getting back?'

'I've no idea. I didn't ask. And anyway, people can return unexpectedly — didn't you know?'

'I suppose so, if they're deeply in love,' he conceded.

'Or off their head. Just hang on for a moment. I have to make a phone call.'

The hotel had recently been renovated. The room was on the fifth floor at the very end of a corridor and was doing its best to look modern. The walls had been covered in blue wallpaper and the divans had been given colourful cretonne covers. The same material had been used to cover the armchairs and even the fixed-station radio receiver. On the glass-covered table top lay a bottle opener. However, instead of a bottle there was a telephone and a folder of writing paper.

'Can you see that neon sign?' she asked.

Immediately above their window shone a red and white fluorescent tube. The light from it came through the window onto their beds. 'We've a room with neon,' she laughed.

He put his arms round her. She let him kiss her and then pushed him away. 'Wait. I'm all sticky from that car ride.' She went into the bathroom, but as in the old days she left the door half open. Everything was like the old days, just as it ought to be. Up to this moment he still hadn't been sure it was wise to have returned, but now he knew he had made the right

decision. His place was here. His place was wherever he knew she was close by.

The window opened onto the square. In the centre was a church and a small park. Opposite was the bus station, without a single bus parked there. Instead two foreign military vehicles stood waiting. He wasn't used to them yet. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. 'It's hot here,' he said. 'Don't you think it's hot in here?'

She didn't reply; maybe she hadn't heard him. There were a few pensioners sitting in the little park as well as some man who happened to be staring into the hotel windows at that moment.

On his way back the frontier crossing had been conspicuously deserted, although it was only seven in the evening. 'Doctor Sláma,' a man in uniform read in his passport. 'Sláma.' The fellow checked through some list for a moment, while he himself looked to see where a Soviet soldier might be hiding or an enemy machine gun poking out. But neither of them found anything suspicious. Amazingly enough he wasn't on the list. Or more likely they hadn't received the proper list yet. The frontier guard returned his passport. 'Drive on.' It was quite easy to get in. But that was true about all traps. He had no doubt he was entering a trap, he even realized that he had set the bait himself. But he belonged here. He belonged where she was.

He wiped his forehead again.

'That guy at reception,' she said, behind him. 'I didn't like the way he looked at us.' She had already taken off her clothes and was wearing only a short nightdress and a lot of make-up. If her face had been as perfect as her figure she wouldn't have to use make-up at all. He gazed at her. He gazed at the woman for whom he had walked into the trap.

'He wasn't sitting there so you could like the way he looked at you.'

'I didn't like the way he looked at you.'

'Maybe he just envied me.'

'Maybe,' she conceded, 'but you know the way things are these days. I wouldn't 'want anybody particularly noticing that I've been here. That I've been here with you. Did you shout something at me when I was in the bathroom?'

'No. I just said how hot it is in here.'

'I'm glad. I like the heat. If I'd had my way I would have been born somewhere in Africa.'

'You were born in just the right place. Just where I had a chance of meeting you.' He hugged her and this time she let him lead her to the couch.

'Or in Brazil,' she added. 'It's hot in Brazil too. And they dance there as well. That's where they have that famous carnival, isn't it? Or isn't it?'

He undressed quickly.

'I know you're not interested in carnivals. It's not the sort of sophisticated entertainment you go in for. What if I were to find us some music?' she suggested and reached out for the radio.

There was a man's voice speaking in ingratiating tones, They have remained quite openly where basically they always were: on the side of counter-revolution.

'I don't want that!' she said interrupting the voice. 'They go on like that all the time now. Do you know that you've already been mentioned? I heard it one day by chance. I put on music when I'm drawing, and they mix that sort of rubbish in with the music. Just in little drops. And before you can reach the knob to switch it off they're playing music again.'

He would have liked to ask her what they had said about

him, but he realized there would be no point asking. She had registered his name, but the rest of the message had escaped her. Her concerns were her drawing, love and perhaps travel still. At most she was willing to listen to interesting stories. As long as they had nothing to do with politics, illness or anything serious.

He lay down by her.

'I'm at your side again, darling. Every night of those six months I imagined this moment.'

'You imagined me? It lasted you a good while, just imagining me.'

'But now I'm here.'

'Yes. Now you're here. And you're shivering all over. You're shivering despite the heat in here.'

'It's you making me shiver.'

'I've given you a fever! Shiver more! More! Even more!' She breathed quickly. She closed her eyes, while he continued to look at her. He knew every feature of her face. The artificial shadows under her eyes. The bluish green make-up on her eyelids. Then he too closed his eyes. Now all he could hear was her moaning. 'You're my love.'

'Ah. How much do you love me?'

'More than my life. More than anything. More than everything. That's why I came. Really.'

'Why do you love me so much?'

'I don't know. I really don't know.'

'Really really,' she repeated. 'Did we really make love just now?'

'Yes. For the first time in ages I knew I really existed. Over there it was just a bad dream. I used to walk along the street and see you everywhere in those foreign towns where you couldn't be. I saw you in every woman with long hair.'

'In every woman with long hair? Did it matter whether she was dark or blonde?'

'She had to have hair like yours.'

'She had to have black hair, short legs and a threadbare skirt. And did you make love to them when you saw me in them?'

'You know I didn't. Every day without you was pointless. I couldn't bear it any longer.'

'You bore it for quite a while,' she said, 'and I'm glad you bore it.'

'What do you mean?'

'I can't stand the feeling that someone can't bear to be without me, that I have to be with him just because he can't stand to be without me.'

'You're with me because you like being with me.'

'Yes, that's the only reason I was with you. What's the time?'

'I don't know. My watch stopped at the border. It couldn't handle the stress.'

'The watch didn't want to go with you. It had more sense than you had.'

'It had no one to come back to,' he said. 'Should I phone for the time?'

'No. It makes no difference what time it is, anyway.'

'We've only been here a little while,' he said. 'I'm hardly twelve hours back. In this country. Back home.'

'You don't feel at home yet?'

'I used to dream about it almost every night. I used to dream about you. I would be calling you from a phone booth but I'd never manage to dial the right number. Or I'd be waiting for you somewhere round the corner from your street, but you never came.'

'I expect I was somewhere with Jan. I have to be with him sometimes, since he's my husband,' she said. 'You realize I'm married, don't you?'

'But now you're with me,' he said as he embraced her.

'Do you want to do that again already?'

'We've so much lost time to make up for.'

She laughed. 'And then what will we do?'

He remembered he hadn't eaten a thing since morning. 'Then we'll go downstairs,' he suggested. 'There's a restaurant. A little one. It used to be good. Ten years ago.'

'Did you come here then?'

'Yes.'

'With some girl?'

'Yes, at that time you were. . you were barely fifteen.'

'And you were twenty-six. Did you make love that time?'

'It's not important. I didn't know you in those days.'

'True,' she admitted. 'But you shouldn't repeat things.'

'Do you mean making love?'

'I mean everything.'

'We won't order the same dish.'

'No, we'll have tomato soup. You didn't have tomato soup that time?'

'I don't think so.' He tried to recall the name of that girl. He wanted to say that he couldn't remember the name of the girl he was with, let alone what they had had to eat, but he was afraid she would feel humiliated, seeing it as a premonition of how he would forget her one day, and at that moment he suddenly remembered they had eaten toast with a very hot sauce and the girl's name was Dora. They had also drunk red wine and eaten liver with pineapple and he had spent almost all his month's money, but that was how he lived in those days. They

had both got drunk and then gone back to the hotel room, which didn't have blue wallpaper yet, of course, and where the beds were old and creaked. They had made love to the accompaniment of springs creaking and laughed about it.

'And then something absolutely ordinary,' she said, 'like dumplings fried with egg and a cucumber salad. Do you think they'll have a cucumber salad? And then we'll go to the cinema.'

'I'll let you have whatever you want, my love.'

She curled around him and he had the blissful feeling he always had when she touched him. She excited him even when he was dog tired, even when they had made love many times already 'Darling.'

'What's the time?' she asked afterwards. 'Whatever can the time be?'

'I don't know. I never know when I'm with you. But there is one thing I do know.'

'And what's that?'

'That it's lovely to be with you. I don't want to leave this room. I hate the thought of your having to get dressed.'

'Aha,' she said. 'We're going to stay in this bedroom for ever. And we'll just go on doing those things. But you promised me dinner.'

'That's true.' He sat up. If he craned his neck a bit he could see right down into the square. Pedestrians were hurrying past the park. It was only just evening. He turned back to her once more. 'It's so long since I've seen you. It's so long since I've been with you.'

'That light above your head,' she said. 'You look like a saint or an icon. But I expect saints weren't suppose to do things like this all the time.' She reached out for him. 'Why are you getting

up then?' Her hand stroked his thigh lightly. 'When did you get back?'

'Today, of course.'

'You must be tired. We don't have to go anywhere. I'll lose a bit of weight at least. I put on weight when you were away. I missed the exercise!' She laughed. 'Tell me what sort of time you had there.'

'I've told you. I couldn't bear to be without you.'

'Did you have a girlfriend?'

'Yes, but I wasn't in love with her. I can't love anyone else the way I love you.'

'What was she like? Have you got a photo of her with you?'

'No!'

'Didn't she give you a photo when she heard you were coming here to me?'

'There's something I'm beginning to remember. .' The scene returned to him so powerfully that he could actually see the cripple and if he'd been able to draw like her, he could have sketched a portrait of him. 'I found myself a really miserable job at Waterloo — nothing to do with medicine. I used to travel to it every morning. One day when I was getting on the underground train in Finchley there was a little guy on crutches standing there staring by the newspaper stand. He wasn't buying or selling anything, just leaning on his crutches gaping. He was still young and he was ginger-haired the way that only the English can be, or rather the Welsh or the Scots. And he was staring at me. He had to go and choose me out of all people. He was smiling but it wasn't a pleasant smile, there was something cunning or hateful about it.'

'And were you scared of him?'

'No. I somehow knew I needn't be afraid of him.'

'Is that all?' she asked when he fell silent.

'No. That was only the beginning.'

She pressed him to her. 'Do you still love me?'

'Yes. I love you so much that I had to come back and didn't care what would happen to me.'

'Do you think they'll put you in prison?'

'It doesn't matter. I knew I couldn't stay somewhere I had no chance of seeing you.'

'I wouldn't want them to send you to prison. At least not now that I'm with you,' she explained. 'That guy at reception — didn't you notice the way he was looking at you?'

He shook his head. 'I wasn't looking at him. My eyes were on you.'

'You ought to have been looking. You ought to be a little wary — when you're with me, at least. I'm married, don't forget. But you didn't finish telling me about the ginger man.'

'Oh, yes. Well, just imagine, when I got off the underground at Waterloo station that fellow was standing at the top of the escalator. He was standing there watching me as I rose towards him.'

'I expect he was tailing you. And he'd come there by car.'

'At that time of day the underground is the fastest way to go. He was standing there on his crutches. Ginger and smirking. No, he didn't follow me. He went off towards the exit and didn't look back once. So I decided to follow him, even though I was on my way to work. He was making for some working-class houses that are all over that area, and I set off after him. He lurched along on those crutches like a walking scarecrow. Eventually he disappeared inside one of the houses — a working-class brick house. I hesitated for a moment but I knew I had to go in after him. The passage was lined

with doors and no other way out. I should have left, but instead I started to ring their bells one by one. It occurred to me that I wouldn't leave, that I couldn't leave, until he had opened his door and explained to me how he came to be at the station. But he didn't open up. I started to thump one of the doors and shout. I made such a racket that it must have been heard on the street, but the door didn't open and the silence inside seemed to me almost deathly. Like the first time I set foot in an autopsy room or a mortuary. I've no idea where the fellow disappeared to. Unless he jumped out of the window. With those crutches.'

He was so absorbed in his story that for a moment he had forgotten all about her. Now he looked in her direction. She was asleep.

He got up. The heat was almost unbearable. He went over to the window and tried in vain to open it. Even the floor tiles in the bathroom were warm. He turned on the cold-water tap but nothing came out. So he ran a little hot water into the basin and washed his face. He caught the sound of footsteps quietly approaching in the corridor. They stopped when they reached their door.

He waited for them to start moving away again, but silence had descended on the corridor again. He realized that he was afraid. He ought to open the door and find out who, if anyone, was standing outside, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He stood there wet, naked, tense and alert in the middle of a strange bathroom in a country which, although he had decided to come back to it, was in reality now also alien to him, and his fear increased by the moment.

He returned to the bedroom. She was sleeping. Red and white reflections played on her naked body. Why were the

windows here sealed? Why had the desk clerk watched him so closely? Did he know him from somewhere?

He continued to listen intently. There was still no sound from the corridor. Outside a car sounded its horn and from a long way off a strange rumble started to approach. It could be the sound of machines in an unseen factory or the sound of tanks on the move. Whose tanks? All tanks were under the same unified enemy command. Why had he returned, in fact? Had he really come back on account of the woman who happened to be with him at this moment but actually belonged to another man? Had he returned for this moment of ecstasy that he could have found more easily elsewhere, as he'd never had a problem finding women to experience it with?

He sat down in the armchair. He took a sheet of writing paper out of the folder and started to fold it into a shape he remembered from his childhood. He no longer felt any yearning, or even happiness at being close to the woman he had yearned for. He felt hungry, tired and vaguely uneasy. Where would he go tomorrow? And the following day? He was too old to go back to his parents and he had no home of his own. All he had was a room for tonight and tomorrow morning. Unless he prolonged the stay and persuaded her to remain a day or two longer. The thought of having to leave the room and go out into the street seemed unbearable.

The rumble of the distant tanks did not stop. He completed the shape and laid it to one side on the glass table top. Then he got ready to start another one.

'Doc,' he heard from behind him, '-what are you up to? Why aren't you here with me?'

He started. 'It's a sort of game.' He inserted his fingers into the paper pockets and opened and closed the paper mouth.

Heaven, hell, paradise

where's your soul to go?

Into heaven, into hell

Just like so.

'Where are you now?' she asked.

He listened to the roaring from outside. He thought it was coming closer. When the soldier knocked down the door, he ought to tackle him. But the only weapon he had available was the bottle opener. 'Here,' he replied, 'with you.'

'And what about your soul?'

'I don't know if I have a soul.' When he was small he had believed he had one and that it was immortal, but he had seen too many people die since then, and little had remained of their souls after their brain cells had been eroded by old age or disease. He was going to say something more but she spoke first. 'No, yqu don't have a soul. That's why you're able to do those things so well!'

Yes, that's what he was to her — a means of pleasure. While he happened to be around. Who had been the means when he was away?

'What's hell?' she asked.

He shrugged. He knew she wasn't expecting a serious answer. None the less he said, 'I went to see a play when I was over there. There were these people shut in one room, where they were together all the time. For eternity, you understand — the same people. That was the author's idea of hell.'

'And what's yours?'

'I don't know. I think hell is different things for different people. Hell is being defenceless when someone is pointing a pistol at you and telling you he's doing it because he loves you.

Hell is suffering. Having a bad conscience. Being bored. Listening to lies. Hearing the truth. Losing your freedom. .'

'You're beating about the bush. And how about paradise? Do you know what paradise is, at least?' she asked.

It struck him that paradise was a state of innocence. Being unaware of evil. The absence of fear. He could only think of negative definitions. Paradise was the presence of God, of course, and hence the absence of death. Therefore paradise was a delusion. But there was no sense in saying any of that out loud. So all he said was, 'I would like to be with you entirely one day. And for you to be with me alone.'

'I've been entirely with you today,' she pointed out. 'Do you think I could be with you even more than that?'

'You wouldn't have to leave me for someone else, there would be just the two of us. In a secluded house with a garden.'

'Just a moment ago you were saying that was precisely what that play thought was hell.'

'But it would be possible to leave that house. And have visitors.'

'Yes. And lie out in the garden and sunbathe. In Brazil. Or Spain. Would we have a swimming pool?'

'Why not?'

'Okay. That villa could stand right by the seaside; that would be even better. And in the evenings we'd visit some little tavern or pizzeria. What would we drink?'

'Wine,' he suggested.

'Wine, naturally. But what kind?'

'That would depend on what we were eating. You'd drink the kind of wine that happened to take your fancy.' Then he remembered, 'Do you remember that little hotel by the dam? We were there all on our own and the woman in charge brought us Italian wine wearing a ball gown.'

'No,' she said, shaking her head.

'Ruffino. We drank a whole bottle of it though we weren't able to make love. There wasn't anywhere handy — you had to be home that evening.'

'No,' she said, 'I never remember things that have happened. I expect I had to get home, if you say so. You know I'm married, don't you? But now I'm with you and at this moment I'm ready to drink any old wine. What is the time, anyway?'

'I don't know. It must be fairly late. Perhaps midnight. Can you hear that rumbling? Are those tanks?'

'Is the restaurant closed already?'

'Yes, I expect so. Listen to it, for heaven's sake!'

'You promised me tomato soup!'

'Don't think about it now. It's too late. I haven't eaten today either. Not a thing.'

'But you've got a different stomach, haven't you,' she said. 'It's no consolation to me that you're hungry too. Won't you put on some music, at least?'

He turned the knob. 'They've packed up already. It's late. They've switched it off so that the hotel guests don't disturb each other. Though mind you. .' Someone's attempt to prevent him being disturbed seemed absurd at that moment. In this country. And to the sound of distant engines and caterpillar tracks.

'I'm thirsty,' she said. 'Bring me some water, at least.'

The tiles were still warm and still only the hot water worked. Once more the sound of creeping feet came from the other side of the door. Hell is fear, it struck him. And paradise is the absence of fear, the certainty of safety. The certainty of loyalty. That was why paradise was a delusion.

She drank several gulps of warm water. 'What are you standing there for? Why don't you come here, at least, seeing you

don't want to go anywhere any more? Or don't you love me now?'

'If I didn't love you I wouldn't be here.' And he had a longing, an absurd longing, for certainty, for safety, for her loyalty.

She clung to him. 'And we wanted to go to the cinema,' she said ruefully.

'We will go. We'll go often, you'll see.'

'Do you think so? I don't know that we'll ever go again. But I wanted to go today. Maybe they won't even send you to prison. Maybe you just imagined it all.'

'What did I imagine?'

'The business with that hunchback. You just imagined it. You've got nothing to worry about.'

'He was lame,' he corrected her.

'I'd be more afraid of that guy at reception. He'll tell them you're here if they ask. AU of a sudden there'll be a knock on the door and it'll be them. And I'll cop it along with you!'

'They don't know I'm here.'

'They don't know you're here?' she said in amazement. 'But they put you in the register.'

'I didn't show them my identity card. I borrowed your husband's when I was at your place. They never check the photo, they just want the document. I thought it would be better for you if I didn't sign in under my own name.'

'You borrowed his identity card and didn't even tell me? So I'm actually here with my husband. I've simply been fulfilling my conjugal duties.'

'Are you cross?'

'No. Why should I be?' she said in surprise. 'My only worry is that you won't love me so much if you think I'm just fulfilling my conjugal duties.'

'I love you. Nobody could love you more than I do.'

'That's why you came so far,' she said. 'To prove it. And you registered under his name, so it was actually him who's been showing his prowess. I love you for that.'

'I want you to love me for eternity.'

'"Eternity"? Eternity and really. You always use the funniest words. Isn't it enough that I'm here with you?'

When he woke up it was already getting light. There was someone walking up and down the corridor and it filled him with such terror that beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He listened to the strange footsteps without moving. They went away and then came back again. Someone was standing guard outside the door. His head ached. Most likely due to the heat and the agitation, not to mention the lack of sleep and hunger, possibly.

She lay next to him, asleep. She hadn't washed last night and make-up was smeared over her eyelids and cheeks and there were droplets of sweat on her forehead. A puffy, smudgy, ordinary woman. She was the reason he'd returned. She was the reason he'd walked into a trap.

He was hungry. He quietly opened his suitcase. Several dirty shirts, some magazines and a folded suit. Not a single sweet or even chewing gum. He closed the case again.

'What are you rummaging for?' came her voice. 'You don't happen to have a pistol there, do you? People like you have to carry a weapon, don't they? And don't look at me now. I'm ugly in the morning.' He heard her footsteps and then from the bathroom the sound of running water.

She emerged naked, but immaculately made up once more. 'Do you still find me attractive?'

'You're beautiful. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen. You

must believe me that I couldn't bear it there without you any more.'

'I believe you. What are we going to do now?' she asked. 'Do you think they're serving breakfast yet?'

'I doubt it.' And he was startled by the thought that he would soon have to abandon this close, airless room.

'There's no reason why they shouldn't bring it up to us,' she said. 'Call them and tell them we want our breakfast here.'

He lifted the receiver and waited for someone to reply.

'I'll have ham,' she said. 'Ham and eggs and tea. I love tea, I could drink it all day long.'

'It's dead.' There was no point fooling themselves. They were trapped. No trick with a borrowed identity card was going to help him. They were outside the door waiting for him to emerge.

'Don't,' she said. 'We'll go downstairs. What shall I put on?'

'Nothing. I like you best 'when you've got nothing on.'

'Do you think I ought to have breakfast in the nude? Or are you going to bring me breakfast in bed? Will you go down and fetch it?'

He nodded and stepped over to the window. It was already dawn. There were several buses waiting at the bus station. Below, almost indiscernible from five floors up, a man on crutches hurried about on a narrow strip of grass. A ball flew towards him from some unseen opponent around the corner. The man on crutches hobbled over and kicked the ball. He observed the game, watching the ball fly back and forth — watching his imminent fate.

'What can you see there?' she asked.

'Nothing.' Although he sensed that he was to see him again, he couldn't yet work out how and where it might happen.

'Is that your hunchback?' she said, looking over his shoulder.

He shrugged and stretched out on the bed. The paper game lay on the table. Where's your soul to go?

'He's fallen over,' she called from the window. 'He slipped as he tried to kick the ball. It's only a young lad. That fellow wasn't a young lad, 'was he?'

'Do you love me?' he asked.

'I don't know. At this moment I'm hungry. How am I supposed to think about whether I love you when I'm thinking about ham and eggs?'

'Come over here. I want you.'

'Let's go and eat instead.'

'Afterwards. They're not open yet anyway.'

'We can buy a roll at a shop.'

'Afterwards.'

'You're crazy. You always want to make love and never want to eat!' She knelt at the side of the bed and placed her lips on his. She let herself be kissed. 'That's why I love you: because you're crazy. And now come on!'

He could feel the apprehension sneaking up on him. Where will I run to? But so long as he was here, so long as he was with her, so long as he could hear her breath and cling to her body, he remained, he was still alive and had one certainty: her. He could touch her, feel her closeness, and that awoke in him a sense of blissfulness and peace. He put his arms around her and drew her to him, kissing her, his lips weary and dry. I love you. Don't leave me! Stay with me!

She made love with him in silence and that made him even more uneasy. 'Just a little while longer,' he whispered, 'and then we'll go.'

When he next awoke the room was bathed in light,

although he was sure he'd slept only a few minutes. She was in the bathroom again. In the corridor footsteps went back and forth. Men's, women's, maybe even children's footsteps. A medley of footsteps. He sat down and looked out of the sealed window.

'Is he there?' she asked from behind him.

'No, he isn't, sweetheart.' He looked at her. She was already half dressed. No, she'll leave. He had no one to hold on to any more.

'Are we going to eat?' she asked. 'They must be open by now. It can't be far off midday. I'll have soup. I'll eat two servings of soup and three rolls. Will they have fresh rolls?'

'Don't get dressed yet, darling!'

'We have to go now. I've got to be home this afternoon. You don't have to drive me if you don't feel like it. I'll thumb a lift.'

'I'll drop you home. I want to. I want to be with you.'

'You're tired and I'm hungry.' She sat down next to him. She kissed him. 'Come on, my pet. We'll leave the things here and come back here for a little afterwards!'

He didn't move. Nor did the time. He stood motionless in the blue hotel room. The blue cell. The sun bobbed out of the mist and its rays heated the hot air even more.

'Have you got something to read here?'

'No, only magazines.'

'Read to me. Read me something.'

' They're specialized journals.'

'That's fine. They'll take your mind off things, at least.'

'They're English.'

'That doesn't matter. You can translate them for me, can't you?'

He got up and opened his case. The suitcase and the things

in it were from over there — where she was absent, but so was fear. Then he leaned over her. Her lips were tightly pursed and her eyes half closed. He looked for a moment at that unfamiliar face. '"From ancient times",' he translated, '"doctors were interested in the construction of the human skeleton. They noticed that bone had different characteristics from all other tissue. .

'What sort of bones do cripples have?' she asked.

'That all depends. Do you really want me to explain it?'

'Yes, really,' she grinned at him. 'Really and at length. .' — He remained silent. Love was the only thing they ever talked about together. There was no point in reading aloud to her. He closed the journal and tossed it on to the floor.

'Come on. We will be coming back, after all.'

He put his arms around her.

'Leave me alone!' she said crossly.

'Don't you love me any more?'

'You're crazy and I'm hungry.'

Dust swirled in the beam of sunlight. He felt the urge to go and look out the window at the patch of grass. But he resisted it.

'You don't love me either,' she said. 'You're just scared. You've been scared ever since you entered this room. You're scared of every footstep outside the door, you're scared of being left here on your own. You're longing for some certainty. Jesus,' she burst out, 'what are you doing here with me? Why didn't you stay over there and find yourself some nice, faithful woman?' She stood up.

He reached out and tried to draw her to him.

'Don't touch me!' she shouted, scratching at his chest. Her nails gouged out long bloody furrows.

'Darling, don't leave me now!' He watched her dress. The scratches stung. He felt his own blood running down his chest.

He switched on the radio — at last there was some music. He wasn't aware of it, only of his tiredness and the hunger that filled his body with inertia. He was aware of his inertia and uncertainty. What will happen next? I'll close my eyes and stay lying here. I'll have a sleep. Towards evening I'll get up and have something to drink. One has to drink, at least. He was aware of his thirst. He got up and went to the bathroom and drank two glasses of hot water, one after the other.

She sat in front of the mirror combing her hair. 'What sort of hair did she have, the one who was here?'

'Does it make a difference?'

'Did you torture her with hunger, too?'

'No, things were different in those days.'

'Things are always different. Why are you lying down again? You don't mean to stay here, do you?'

He broke into a sweat. He shouldn't have drunk so much water. But it didn't matter. He tried to listen carefully to the sounds from the corridor and from outside, but the music drowned out everything else.

'What are you scared of, in fact?' she asked. 'Did you kill someone over there?'

'Maybe people who kill are better off than people who don't.'

'Do you think so?' She was beautiful once more.

Blood trickled from the scratches on his chest. He thought he heard some footsteps, close by. Then someone seized the door handle. He started to panic. 'Could you switch that radio off for a moment?'

His eyes were glued to the door handle. It didn't move.

Maybe they won't come, while she's here. 'Do you love me a bit?'

'At this moment I'm hungry,' she said.

'Will you leave without me?'

She took him by the hand. 'Come on,' she said. 'Come on.'

As if there was any point eating. He listened for footsteps in the corridor. One step, another and then a strange knocking sound. One step, another and then the knock. 'Can you hear?' he asked and held his breath.

'I don't want to stay here any more!' She let go of his hand.

Someone had stopped in front of the door and was quietly sliding a key into the lock.

She turned towards him and a look a horror came on her face.

'Don't be afraid,' he said. 'I'll protect you.'

'You're bleeding,' she noticed. 'How come you're bleeding?'

She leaned towards him and kissed his chest.

He felt her lips suck at his chest, he felt her cool fingertips and he felt his bleeding slow. 'My darling,' he whispered. He knew they were touching each other for the last time. This was the last time he would say those words to her. She was leaving. She didn't need his protection or his love. She didn't need his return or his sacrifice. She was leaving like the rest, like everything. It was impossible to hold on to things, it was impossible to return. Nothing could be returned, that was the only certainty, the chilling, depressing certainty that everything would pass, including this moment and this anxiety. He could calmly close his eyes. And peace really began to envelop him and he was deaf even to the thumping of strangers' fists on the door. He sank into the bed.

They came in. There were two of them. The first was the

desk clerk, now dressed in blue overalls, the second was a young man with bright ginger hair, who walked with a stick. In his left hand he carried a large travelling bag.

'So what's going on?' said the first of the men. 'What's up with you? You should have vacated the room ages ago.'

She stood up and hastily wiped her mouth. With the other hand she pulled up the covers to hide her lover's nakedness. 'We were sleeping, that's all. He's still asleep,' she said and walked quickly past the two men and out of the door, as if she were ashamed that they had found her still there. The desk clerk went over to the bed. 'Wakey, wakey Mr Kaska!' Then he turned to the ginger-haired young man. 'Christ, did you get a look at her?' and he smacked his lips softly.

The ginger-haired man put his walking stick and his bag down on the armchair. Then his eye fell on the folded paper game. 'Heaven, hell, paradise.' He spoke the words tenderly. 'Paradise,' he repeated and he glanced out of the open door, as if in hope of catching another glimpse of her.

(1969)