Alice to Prague

by Tanya Heaslip

  Hundreds of students had joined in with me, slowly at first and then with gusto. They sang lustily, joyously, brokenly. They laughed as they sang. They clapped along in time, wildly, happily. They sang every verse and every chorus with me, right to the last note and the last breathless word. There was a lump in my throat that wouldn’t go away.

  After a flurry of farewells and kisses my time in Sedlčany was over, dissolving along with the distant blue hills on the horizon, shrouded in the midday shimmer.

  17

  Hello Prague!

  As I waited for Karel on the platform of Staroměstské náměstí metro station, in the Old Town Square, I felt like one of the teenagers I’d just left behind: cotton frock, leather sandals, tattered and overstuffed backpack.

  But Karel wasn’t there. My palms sweated. Stomach squirmed. Had I done the right thing? Was this all a mistake?

  Ten minutes passed.

  What if he’d forgotten me?

  If he had, where would I go? I hadn’t even tried to look for hostels. Why didn’t I prepare a backup plan? Idiot. Just as I was sliding into panic, I heard my name.

  ‘Ahoj, Tanya.’

  And through the crowd, a familiar voice. This time my heart leapt. Karel was pushing his way towards me. He leant down to kiss me on the cheek, his eyes smiling, his smooth, unlined cheek smelling of soap and spice. A rush of happiness drowned out my tangled thoughts. What had I been worried about?

  ‘Tak. It is good to see you again! You followed my instructions very well.’ He gazed down at me with those intense blue eyes. ‘Welcome back to our beautiful Prague! I am sorry to be late, but it is always surprise with our special metro as to when and how we arrive somewhere.’

  I remembered Jarda saying Karel was always late but smiled up at him before I could stop myself. ‘No, it’s fine, thank you.’

  Of course it would be fine. I’d followed my heart and I was here, standing on the threshold of a dream come true. I’d searched all my life to live somewhere as magical as Prague and today I’d arrived. I was standing on this platform with my heart open wide, welcoming in my next adventure where the possibilities were endless—an exciting job, an artist’s garret in the old cobblestoned part of Prague, and hopefully time with Karel and his city of stars on velvet.

  Karel and I could go into the Old Town Square right now. We could drink champagne in a gorgeous café with a red-and-white-striped umbrella to celebrate my new life and allow the next steps to unfold. Finally, I’d found a man with a bohemian take on life; he was no threat to me, nor me to him. I was ready for some fun at last.

  But before I could suggest anything, Karel hiked my backpack over one shoulder and led me down the platform, talking as we hurried along.

  ‘Tak. We go to my home in our suburb Prosek. My daughter Radka is preparing the late lunch for us and my other daughter Šárka will join us with her little girl Veronika. We call her “Princess”. My daughters are very much looking forward to meeting with you.’

  The smile on my face turned lopsided, froze.

  His daughters? This soon? And a granddaughter? I didn’t remember any reference to him being a grandfather. As quickly and thrillingly as thoughts of enjoying an afternoon with Karel arose, they vanished with the speed of a water droplet under a summer sun. I trudged behind him along the platform, unable to think of a response.

  The trip to Prosek took a long, hot and wearying hour, which involved climbing up and down many steps in many stations. Even though it was the first time I’d been with Karel on my own, and even though I’d been anticipating the moment, I lost my nerve and voice for most of the trip and sat mute, eyes shut between stops.

  When we arrived at Prosek, I opened my eyes to a utilitarian bus stop surrounded by acres of concrete stretching into the distance, beyond which panelák blocks reared up like demons. I thought my legs would give way. Oh my God, no. Karel hadn’t told me he lived in a suburb made of paneláky. No, no, no, not again, no, please . . .

  ‘Yes, thousands of people live here, Tanya,’ Karel confirmed as I followed him on a good ten-minute walk to his tower block, perspiration dripping down my back, my cotton dress clinging to my thighs inelegantly.

  The air was heavy and stifling. The bitumen burnt and shimmered with reflected heat. Each block was divided by more concrete playgrounds and more concrete walkways. The layout was virtually identical to that which I’d farewelled in Sedlčany—only it was much, much larger.

  My pulse raced with panic and dispair. Time to change tack. I would have to escape. I had not come to Prague to replicate my life in another tower block. Admittedly, I’d learnt to appreciate my Sedlčany cell, in an ‘I have no choice’ way—but now I did have a choice. Tomorrow I’d go out and find some tiny bohemian nook in the Old Town, with views of the River Vltava, near the castle. I’d read in The Prague Post of others doing it, so it must be possible.

  Fighting the panic and despair, I trudged after Karel into his foyer, up a lift and down a corridor. The entire building was a replica of my panelák in Sedlčany, only bigger. I thought if I knocked on the door down the end of the far right, I’d find myself opening it to greet me in some kind of sliding doors nightmare.

  However, when Karel opened the door, we stepped into a cool oasis. His apartment was welcoming. There was a breeze. We crossed a tiny hallway into a small living room, neatly furnished with the ubiquitous wooden sideboards and wooden glass cabinets and central coffee table I’d seen everywhere in Sedlčany and that reminded me of Mum and Dad’s 1960s wedding furniture. I’d never forgotten my shock at first seeing them, that night at Maruška and Franta’s when I learnt that life under communism was more complicated than I had thought.

  The centre of Karel’s living room featured a squashy couch and two big armchairs; leading off the room was a tiny balcony from which I could feel the breeze. As Karel put down my bag, I thought perhaps I too might crumple with relief.

  ‘This is Radka, my youngest daughter.’ Karel puffed out his chest as he headed towards a dark-haired girl.

  She was leaning over a stove in the kitchen next to the living room. It was a narrow space. She turned and smiled shyly, all dark eyes, Czech-pretty.

  ‘Hello.’ She put her slim hands around Karel’s arms. ‘I do not, cannot, speak the English . . .’ She broke off and said to Karel, helplessly, ‘Please, Father . . .’

  He turned to me. ‘Radka is eighteen and studying English but is nervous. Perhaps you will help her.’

  Radka fluttered her long, lacquered eyelashes, released Karel, and then returned her attention to the stove. Expertly, she laid out slices of roast pork on a plate next to thick white dumplings. She was undisputedly the lady of the house. I smiled back, politely, not knowing what to say next. Perhaps some sort of reassurance, given Radka’s rather possessive hold of Karel? Like: Don’t worry, I’m not your father’s new girlfriend.

  The door flew open and a tall girl strode in, wearing tight jeans, a figure-hugging pink top and long dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Behind her ran a little girl, all blonde curls and eyes for only one person: Karel.

  ‘And this,’ said Karel, swinging the child up into his arms, his face lighting up, ‘is our Princess. And my older daughter, Šárka. She can speak English.’

  Šárka beamed at me, extending a strong hand and speaking in accented but clear English. ‘It is very nice to meet you, Tanya! It is nice you come to stay. Welcome to our Prague!’

  I felt an immediate rush of joy meeting Šárka. She reminded me of Naďa; glamorous, confident, headstrong, fun and potentially a friend. I beamed back. She was her father’s daughter. But then I reminded myself—no matter which way I considered it, she was her father’s daughter.

  Šárka was a single mum and told me all about her busy world as we sat down at a laminate table at the edge of the kitchen. I quickly gathered that Princess Veronika’s father was no longer part of their lives and that Šárka and Princess spent time with Karel and Radka as often as they could. I tried to g
et my thinking in order. This was the world Karel had alerted me to in Šumava. What had he said back then? ‘My girls are the most precious thing in my life.’

  Well, he hadn’t made it up. I was seeing it now, writ large.

  ‘We now have the lunch!’ Šárka translated for her sister. Radka served us all with the traditional Czech dish she had made and I thanked her. I was now very hungry, and impressed that it was so beautifully cooked, particularly given my own lack of prowess in the culinary department. Karel opened beers and poured a glass for each of us. It was ice-cold and delicious. While we ate, Princess climbed all over him, planting messy kisses all over his face. He chuckled down at her and everyone laughed and chatted in Czech throughout lunch, with Karel and Šárka translating constantly for my benefit.

  Karel told me he had lived in this panelák for nearly thirty years.

  Thirty? Yes, once assigned a panelák, Czech families did not move—or, rather, could not. There was nowhere else to go. As I knew, the communist regime had herded them into living groups and taken away their family homes.

  Šárka lived in a little flat nearby and usually drove to Prosek in Karel’s car. Karel did not drive.

  ‘Why would anyone drive in Prague?’ Karel shrugged. ‘It was not built for cars and is now very congested. But it is good for Šárka to have it and we go to the countryside often.’

  The sun eventually set across the panelák city of Prosek, sending rays of soft tangerine and gold across the balcony and soothing us after the heat of the day. We moved to the lounge. Šárka asked lots of questions in English and wanted to know about Australia. Radka pulled out her drawing books and showed me some of her work. She was studying at art school and her pictures were stunning. Princess spent her whole time climbing all over Karel and gurgling happily. Eventually, I relaxed enough to think that this was nice. Weird, but nice.

  I hadn’t been in a family setting for a long time. The warmth in this family reminded me a little of my own—of Mum and Dad, and of M’Lis, Brett and Benny. Thinking about them brought an unexpected pain to my heart. It had been a long day, with all the emotions of leaving Sedlčany, and I suddenly needed some space and time to come to terms with it all. Excusing myself, I stood up and headed for the bathroom.

  It was a tiny, cramped space but, like everything in the apartment, it was clean and neat as a pin. Even through my blur of emotions and fatigue, I felt a wave of gratitude to Radka. She had gone to a lot of trouble to prepare for my arrival. In the space of the bathroom, I wiped my eyes, pulled myself together and returned to the table, ready to express my appreciation for their kindness and friendship.

  Outside I found Šárka packing up her bag and Princess smothering Karel in farewell kisses. ‘We must go,’ she said to me, sounding regretful. ‘It has been so nice to meet you, Tanya. My father says you are staying for a while so it will be nice to see you again.’

  I had a happy sense Šárka and I could be friends, no matter where I lived, no matter what my connection was with her father.

  ‘Thank you, Šárka!’ I said and hugged her. ‘I look forward to seeing you too!’ Her eyes shone.

  Radka farewelled her sister and niece, then disappeared into her room to study for her next art exam. ‘I say good night later,’ she said, her eyelids lowered. She was very beautiful and I hoped that despite the language difficulties she wouldn’t mind me in her space ‘for a while’.

  ‘Tak! We have some special surprise to welcome you to Prosek, Tanya,’ said my host, heading for the kitchen.

  My throat felt dry. I really was on my own with him, for the first time, properly.

  He reappeared with a bottle of Bohemian Sekt and led me out onto the tiny balcony. The sun had set and the balcony was soft with dusk. He held two round crystal glasses in one hand and a dish of mandle—Czech salted almonds—in the other.

  ‘Your favourite šampaňské, yes?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it is.’ I was surprised and touched.

  He popped the cork and poured us a glass each. ‘I hope you will enjoy your time here with us.’

  The breeze across the balcony had picked up. Karel pulled my jacket off the back of the chair and draped it across my bare arms. I remembered that he’d done something similar at the end of our first night in Prague. Our eyes locked, then I lowered mine, suddenly shy.

  ‘Tell me of your plans, Tanya,’ said Karel easily, as he sat back into his chair.

  ‘Well,’ I said, regaining my composure, ‘I’ve written three application letters to three schools, but I’ve not heard back from them. I hope you don’t mind—I put your address in the letter in case they want to contact me.’

  ‘Není problem. You are welcome to do so whenever you want.’

  ‘Thank you!’ I was yet again touched by his openness. ‘I’ve also written to Prague Radio and The Prague Post. They need English journalists. Not that I am one, but I thought I might as well have a go.’

  Frankly it would be the coup of the year if I got a job in journalism, especially given that it was my long-term dream to become one. I could live in an attic in the Old Town and sit at a café under an umbrella and scribble stories to meet deadlines for these exciting papers.

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You do have the courage, I think, Tanya. As you know, we do not try for different positions here. We start with one and we mostly stay in it all our lives. Where does this courage come from?’ His eyes focused on me.

  I felt a little breathless at his attention. ‘I think growing up in the bush. Well, we had to learn to do things from a young age, give it a go. But I don’t think of it as brave. It is a great adventure for me.’

  ‘You are very unusual person, Tanya. I think you will find something in our city, in ways perhaps a Czech person could not.’

  I grew hot with pleasure in the darkness.

  ‘Are you applying for full-time jobs?’ he added.

  ‘Yes—I’ve only got three months left on my visa, but the Gymnázium Sedlčany told me my visa can be extended if I have a job. The employer has to tell the government.’

  ‘Ah, the visa process.’ Karel clicked his tongue. ‘I am afraid that will require lots of time and patience and’—he paused—‘special techniques.’

  Panic re-emerged. ‘Like . . . bribery? Anything worse?’

  He shrugged. ‘We are still in the world of Švejk, and the bureaucrats have special ways. But I am sure your employer will help you.’

  ‘Er—right.’ I didn’t feel so confident.

  ‘I will help you too.’ His steady tone was reassuring. ‘I work with bureaucrats all the time and we will find a way for it to happen. Do not worry!’

  I tried to smile and he changed tack, perhaps to distract me. ‘And what about your home? Do you not miss your family?’

  ‘Yes, all the time,’ I said without thinking. My rush of homesickness this afternoon had been intense and I was having surges of longing for the land, my land, and friends and family. Then I shook myself. ‘But this is an amazing opportunity and I want to try everything before I go back. I’ve a year-long plane ticket until March next year.’

  He shook his head, musing slowly. ‘It is surprise for me that you can stay away for such a long time. We Czechs stay most of our life where we were born.’

  ‘I . . . I’m a bit of a gypsy.’ I paused, emboldened by my own words. ‘We don’t all live with our families in Australia like you Czechs do.’

  He shrugged. ‘Perhaps you do not know yourself truly yet. I do not think you can ever really leave your country and your family. They will always call you back, in your heart, in your mind.’

  I looked at him curiously.

  Before either of us could say any more, Radka emerged in the balcony doorway. She moved like a shadow and said something softly to Karel. He turned and kissed her cheek with the tenderness reserved for a child. They spoke in Czech, after which she turned to me and said haltingly, ‘Good night. I go . . . bed.’

  ‘Good night, Radka! Thank you again so very mu
ch for the lovely dinner.’

  Bed—what a good idea. Aided and abetted by the Sekt, the day had truly caught up with me. ‘Karel, I’d like to go to bed too.’

  ‘You will sleep in my bed,’ he said.

  I was stunned.

  ‘And I will sleep on couch in living room.’

  ‘No! No, Karel, that’s not right. I am perfectly happy to sleep on the couch. I’m used to sleeping in all sorts of different places when I travel.’

  He shook his head. ‘You are a special guest and you shall have my bed. For as long as you stay. For as long as you wish to be with us.’

  Nervously I crawled into crisp white sheets on a small double bed in Karel’s room. The room was right next to Radka’s room, which was smaller again. My head was about three feet from the toilet and bathroom across the narrow corridor. Everything in paneláky was small. It was a good thing I was small as well.

  ‘There is no privacy in paneláky,’ Karel said wryly, as he leant into the doorway to say goodnight. ‘For example, we have many old jokes about our thin walls.’ He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘Best joke of all is about a couple lying in the bed arguing about the best way to make love.’

  My mouth was suddenly dry again.

  ‘Joke says that next morning the neighbours from paneláky above, and below, and each side, meet up with couple at the lift on their way to work, and offer them solutions to their problems.’

  He closed the little wooden door behind him, chuckling. I lay there, wishing for a moment he had leant over and brushed my lips with his. Then I told myself I’d been on my own too long and was living in a fantasy land. He had children. He was much older. I was from Australia and, after his words tonight, I was sure he was pushing me back there. I thought of Radka sleeping only a few feet from me on the other side of the flimsy interior wall and shut my eyes.