Alice to Prague

by Tanya Heaslip

  Karel introduced me to everyone as ‘our visiting Ohhhh-strahhh-lian teacher’. His friends were charming and welcoming. They also tried to size up my relationship with Karel. I could read their thoughts as the men smirked at Karel and the women stood back, arms folded, trying to get a measure on what a young traveller was doing with their Karel.

  Their Karel was always busy, so to compensate he took me with him often in those first few weeks. But when he didn’t or couldn’t, I spent time exploring the city on my own. I ambled and daydreamed, lost in my own world of magic and musing, and only when I’d walked too far or for too long would the bump of the cobblestones under my feet—and my sore soles—bring me back to the moment. I felt an occasional stab of guilt, too, when I remembered everyone else was working. In turn that reminded me I only had funds for about a month in Prague unless I found work too.

  Despite my best efforts, however, the Great Work Opportunity refused to manifest itself as I ‘crisscrossed the Prague’, either with Karel or on my own. I sat broadcast writing exams at Radio Prague and I waited in vain for the three language schools to contact me. When the responses finally came, they were negative. The media outlets wanted a real journalist, not a pretend one, which was fair enough. The two schools with unpronounceable names simply said, ‘No TEFL qualifications’. Well, I knew that already, and that was also fair enough. I didn’t have any qualifications in teaching English as a foreign language (TEFL); I’d entirely winged it in Sedlčany.

  The third school, English House, did not reply at all.

  Karel sought to reassure me each time. ‘Just take it easy, Táničko. Everything takes time in our country. You must remember we are run by former communists.’

  ‘How have you managed to create your own consultancy then?’ I challenged him.

  ‘It is not so easy. I must work very hard to make up for all my years of lost time—and at the same time, still not to expect too much too soon. It is, how you say, a balancing act.’

  I’d of course lost no time with my career back home, ever, and in the West we were expected to quickly raise our sights high. It was all very confusing and back-to-front.

  ‘What made you want to be a businessman in this new world, then?’ I persisted.

  He shrugged. ‘A chance finally to make some money. I need money to keep my girls and one day I dream to build them a family home.’

  ‘A family home?’

  ‘Like Jarda and Míša have.’

  Ah—a standalone house on a block of land.

  ‘But to tell you my honest thoughts, Táničko,’ he sighed, ‘it is not likely to be possible in my lifetime. No matter how hard I work. A family home in Prague is almost impossible for a local person. Only foreigners and corrupt former communists can afford one.’

  I thought how commonplace a family home, a backyard and a Hills hoist clothesline were in Australia in 1994, and how we took them for granted. I thought of sun-streaked afternoons, kids running around on dry lawns, backyard cricket, endless sunlit days for play. I thought of big houses and little houses, inside and out. Plenty of space—there was always space in Australia. That was my ‘normal’, yet Karel’s girls might never know it.

  Then he brightened up. ‘But perhaps one day I will renovate my Prosek palace instead.’ At my surprised face, he nodded confidently. ‘I have some plans, some ideas. I cannot make it bigger, of course, but I can make it nicer—not look so old, perhaps more modern. But that is a big project too and I need time.’ At this thought he sighed again. ‘I do not have that at present and do not know when.’

  I saw a string of emotions cross Karel’s face when he talked about his desire to succeed in this new world, the difficulty of doing so and the reality of the limitations he faced. I saw hope mixed with a sad fatalism. But just when I was starting to feel despondent myself, he laughed.

  ‘But we must find time to do the things that are important—that is Czech survival strategy. Tak! Shall we call my girls and our friends to share a sip of pivo?’

  Every Czech problem was solved by pivo. And any spare time was spent with his girls and friends. I fitted in where I could in the curves of his life, holding on to the hopes I had for my own.

  At the end of the second week I wandered alone towards the trams. The setting sun sent splashes of orange and gold along the rippling surface of the Vltava. Pigeons darted and fluttered in the dying rays, and the faint strains of an accordion from Charles Bridge floated across the water. I took in the burnished sky, the music from the bridge, the sparkle of spires overhead. Soon Prague Castle would be ablaze with lights and the city a glittering fairyland. I felt overwhelmingly, joyously at home and at peace.

  I sent out a prayer to the Gods of Prague.

  Please, please, pleeeease find work for me so I can stay.

  Arriving at the apartment an hour later, I saw an envelope addressed to me on the hall table. It bore the name ‘English House’ on the front.

  I ripped it open with trembling hands, then shrieked. ‘Karel! It says they have nine hours work for me! I’m to ring them to discuss! Oh Karel! I can stay! I can stay!’

  He came into the hall and I threw myself into his arms.

  He kissed me.

  I kissed him back.

  Something had changed. Everything had changed.

  20

  English House

  English House!

  The name evoked a three-storey Victorian house covered in ivy with wide wings and a sweeping drive out the front, a house where mysteries and the odd scary murder had once taken place.

  However, as I would soon discover, the Prague version of English House comprised two cramped, overstuffed rooms behind an unmarked door just beyond the outskirts of the Old Town. The dark lane in which it sat smelt of stale cigarettes and rising damp. It was there that two young and clever business partners, Scottish Anne and Czech Richard, ran a burgeoning TEFL business.

  Their strategy was simple: offer employment to young, hungry foreign teachers, contract them out to teach English to Czech government departments and businesses, and endeavour to make a profit. The brutal tax system and inefficient bureaucracy made this difficult, but they were optimists.

  And I was their next recruit.

  I went to meet Anne and Richard several mornings later. As the tram rocked towards Karlovo náměstí, the transport hub nearest to the school, I sat very still, my stomach in knots, a reference from Headmaster Zdeněk in my bag.

  I had a lot riding on this: my future here, my future with Karel, my future as a teacher.

  Anne met me at the door with a firm handshake and a warm smile. ‘Good morning, Tanya,’ she said in a soft Scottish brogue, rolling her ‘r’s like the Czechs did.

  With her blue eyes, long blonde hair, corduroy trousers, T-shirt and Doc Martens, she fitted neither my image of businesswoman nor of a headmistress. But she sounded like both.

  ‘Unfortunately, you are neither a teacher, nor trained to teach a second language, so we cannot offer you full-time work,’ she told me. ‘But despite your lack of qualifications, we have secured a contract with the Ministry of Justice and the High Court, who have agreed to accept you as a legal English consultant because you are a lawyer.’

  I stared at her, stunned.

  The Ministry of Justice and the High Court?

  When I found my voice, I fell over myself to assure her that yes, I would love to represent English House as a ‘legal English consultant’ and could certainly manage part-time to start with. And once I had my foot in the door, I thought, surely other opportunities would open up. In the meantime, who were the players and what would I do, exactly?

  ‘You will have individual lessons with the Minister for Justice, the Deputy Minister, the head of Legal International Relations, the head of the Courts, the Chief of Legislation and anyone else they suggest. You will teach advanced, intermediate and beginners in accordance with British TEFL textbooks.’

  As I was trying to get my head around this remarkable develop
ment and look confident, Czech Richard arrived. He was tall and thin with a shock of black hair and charming smile. He passed me a number of documents.

  ‘So now, please Tanya, you must execute these papers.’

  Oh dear God—not more documents that I didn’t understand to sign. But I had to trust these two people if I wanted to stay here. I felt the usual frisson of fear, took a deep breath and signed my life away. We shook hands and I hoped I could pull off this next daring adventure.

  ‘Now we go next door to official opening of fishing tackle shop,’ said Richard. ‘Please, would you care to accompany us?’

  The fishing tackle shop was through another dark entrance off the seedy lane. An excitable Czech who had more rods and packing boxes than available space was distributing heavy, acidic red wine in cracked cups and already doing a roaring trade. Richard networked and Anne giggled and dimpled. She spoke fluent Czech to the gathered punters. Overwhelmed by the morning’s events, I sculled the wine, choked and gazed at them in complete awe.

  When it was all over, Anne answered my many queries with more dimples and great modesty. She had taught English in China and Turkey, among other places, and spoke several languages. ‘Not long after I came to Prague, I met Richard, and we both had the same idea: why not pool our skills and start our own business, rather than work for someone else?’ she explained. ‘We wanted to set a standard that was higher than any other TEFL business here and secure the cream of the client crop. I manage most of the teaching side and Richard does most of the business development.’

  Not a bad effort for someone who was barely twenty-six.

  Taking off her Headmistress Hat, she asked, ‘Are you doing anything this evening?’

  I found myself accepting an invitation to join her for a rock concert. It would be held at the famous club Legenda, the artistic home of the underground movement during the Soviet era. One of Anne’s friends from university, Richard ‘Dickie’ Lyst, had travelled across Europe in a van with his band The Exploding Buddhas, and Anne had organised gigs for them all around Prague.

  I left the meeting in a daze, which seemed to be par for the course for my dealings in this country. Matters weren’t helped by a growing headache from the truly awful wine. But I did find the right tram stop, which gave me a sense of achievement, and I sat mesmerised as the tram rumbled alongside the grand River Vltava. Life stretched out before me like the tantalising, shimmering waters below, heading onwards to who knew where, bright and bold and beautiful.

  It was late when I made my way back to Prosek after The Exploding Buddhas’ high-voltage performance, but I hardly noticed. Dancing and partying with Anne and her friends felt like being back at university. Speaking English with native English speakers made me feel normal in some wild, free way—the way I used to feel. The whole evening was liberating. I had taken the first independent step towards creating my own life in Prague and I felt greatly emboldened.

  Opening the door to Karel’s apartment, I tiptoed into the tiny squashed passage overflowing with jackets and long coats and boots, hoping I wouldn’t trip or bang into anything.

  ‘Dobrý večer.’ Karel’s mellifluous tones floated out from his bedroom on the right. ‘Good evening, Táničko!’

  A smile widened across my face as I peered around the door to his broom-cupboard–sized boudoir. Karel sat perched on a chair at the end of the room. He was working at a new desk that he’d recently built into the wall. Czechs had little space in their apartments so they made the most of every bit available. Engineering plans and documents were spread out over the table and bed. It looked completely chaotic. My smile died away.

  He held out his arms, as though embracing him in such circumstances was the most normal thing to do. Then he paused and murmured some words into my hair. ‘I was worried about you this evening. It is now so late.’

  I pulled back and looked at him suspiciously but his eyes were soft. A rush of warmth tingled the back of my neck and then I felt ridiculously glad. I couldn’t remember when anyone last knew or cared where I’d been during the evening.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve had the most amazing night,’ I said breathlessly, then told him all about it. ‘I’ve been at your famous Legenda!’

  His eyes crinkled with pleasure. ‘I am happy for you. And now that you are at home, would you care to look at some legal document for me and give me your special advice?’

  He pushed a wad of papers across the table. ‘I am preparing for big negotiation tomorrow with our special Czech bureaucrats. I need to get permission for Dutch client to reconstruct some nice Prague building. You said yesterday you would like to help me so this could be a perfect start, yes?’

  What—now? It was nearly midnight. But delivering to Western clients took precedence over pretty much everything for Karel. Plus it was true that I’d made the offer, as helping Karel would be one way to pay him back for his generosity. It would have the added benefit of teaching me about Czech documents too, which would be important in generating more work. After all, documents were a lawyer’s bread and butter and the sooner I got to understand Czech legal documents, the better.

  ‘I will get us each one pivo to help,’ Karel suggested. He got up and padded towards the kitchen, returning with two cold bottles.

  I decided to read the document quickly, tell Karel what he wanted to know, and then escape to sleep. But the document was extremely complicated. Drafted mostly in Czech, it included paragraphs of mangled English and terms I didn’t understand relating to construction and property development. My head ached.

  Sighing, I put down the document. ‘First, tell me about your negotiations. What are you trying to achieve?’

  ‘Ah. Well, it all boils down to simple psychology.’ Settling back into his chair, Karel looked at me sideways, mischievously. ‘You must understand the special way that people in bureaucracies think. As you know, most of these people are still in the same jobs they had under former regime. For them, nothing has changed. The rules are still the rules to be followed, even if they are without meaning or even if they make hardship for people. You have to be clever to get around such stupid rules. And number one thing is they must think that they have created the solution. It takes a lot of time and careful strategies.’

  ‘Doesn’t it frustrate you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. But I am patient man. And when I get that important piece of paper or authority for next step of my project that no one else can get, and everyone else says is not possible, then clients are always very happy.’

  ‘So—give me an example.’

  ‘Okay. You must look at the person and work out some strategy for them. Should it be a compliment to a bad-tempered woman in front desk about her hair or nice blouse? Or should I make a lunch with the important secretary? Or do I give a promise of some necessary favour to high-up chief? Or is it clearly and simply about money that they want from my client?’

  He refilled my glass of pivo and went on cheerfully, warming to his theme.

  ‘When they finally reach brave decision to let you proceed under some difficult and technical law, or step over it altogether, you must praise their vision and courage. Then also you might offer some champagne or flowers or a dinner, or perhaps just money.’

  ‘But . . .’ The implications of his story were slowly dawning on me. ‘Isn’t this all . . . bribery? Isn’t it dishonest?’

  ‘No. It is survival. It is the only way to get outcomes in this country. If you wish to work here, it is only way. You have to know how to be more clever than them.’

  My puritanical Protestant principles registered a protest. But then again, what did I know? I hadn’t spent a lifetime behind the Iron Curtain under a communist regime where the common view was that if you didn’t steal from the government you stole from your family.

  ‘So what would you say is your secret to success? To flirt with the women and charm the men?’

  Karel nodded seriously. ‘Remember, I did not make the rules. You will find out, soon enough
, that it is necessary to know some tricks if you want to stay here.’

  I suddenly felt very tired. English House had advised me that I needed three visas: living, working and residential. They would sort out the working one and I had to organise the other two. ‘Karel, I have to go to the Department of Foreign Police this week. English House tell me I have to go early and it will take all day. They also suggested’—I now bit my own lip—‘that I might have to pay extra money for the privilege.’

  He shrugged. ‘To je normální.’

  Now I was also depressed. Back home, laws were clear, obeyed, and bribes forbidden. At least in the home I knew. Putting down my pilsner, I decided it was time for sleep. There was nothing I could do to help Karel with his document tonight, or my visa situation for that matter. My ardour had definitely cooled.

  The day of the first teachers’ meeting at English House arrived. When I walked in there was standing room only, and the room buzzed with the noise of a first day back at school. Bags and textbooks were squashed into every conceivable corner. The majority of the occupants were in their mid-twenties and everyone spoke with a different accent.

  Anne made introductions and everyone said a little about themselves.

  It was a veritable United Nations and it made my head swim.

  Jo, pixie-like, punk-looking, hailed from inner London. She lived in an apartment just off Wenceslas Square (I was immediately envious and wondered how soon I could score an invitation). Next was James, a tall, blue-eyed, brooding Welshman, accessorised by a glamorous Czech girl who wore cheap jewellery and smiled dazzlingly. Then came Mark, tousled and scruffy, locks of sandy hair falling over his face, who’d come straight from County Cork in Ireland. There was Rose, a weathered sixty-year-old ballet dancer from New Zealand; Andrea, a Frenchwoman with a gorgeous mass of curls who taught the French expat community; and Vera, half-English and half-Czech, a teacher and lawyer and an enigmatic beauty.