Four Sonyas

by Paral, VladimIr

  Then the gleaming strips of rails when we crossed the tracks, a light at the gas station, the butcher’s shop window, the produce store and the grocery store, the lighted gatehouse at Cottex with its barrier lowered — and then there was only darkness and the lighted piece of highway ahead of us, which kept on slipping past.

  I wake up in a strange room, leap out of bed, and fly to the window: far below, the roar of a city street, red street-cars clang, cars hum by in both directions, and the sidewalks are full of people…

  Suddenly I remember everything and fall back on the bed. The free-for-all in the bar … the stranger from Prague … waiting in the Bridal Suite … the ride through Hrusov at night (I left the light on in the Bridal Suite) … and the long trip over the nighttime roads.

  Where has he brought me? I spent the whole trip sitting in the back seat looking at his silhouette. I didn’t want to talk, I was afraid of conversation, of familiarity, of intimacy … and so, when after the long trip the lights of a large city sprung out all over the place, I didn’t even ask which city it was, I may be in Prague — had we driven that far? I don’t know, I don’t have a watch. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what city it is.

  I am in a hotel … He brought me to some sort of hotel, I think a large one. At the reception desk I scrawled my name on a piece of paper, the stranger gave the clerk some money, then there was some sort of enormous lobby all done up in gleaming mahogany (this I’m sure about), I trod after him across the red carpet, then we went up in an elevator…

  Down on the street, cars and streetcars go by. I’m in a hotel. What’s next? But why worry about it: there’s always something next. And it’s much more comfortable here than in prison.

  My (the third already) hotel room is first-category: white furniture, a tall mirror, a conference table with two armchairs, even a desk … And you don’t go right out of the room and into the hall: there’s a small anteroom here with wardrobes built into the walls, and even a bathroom!

  I take a bath and a shower just the way I like, with hot and cold water, endlessly, and then I comb my hair (with my fingers, since I don’t have a comb). Finally, there’s a knock at the door. What will he want from me now?…

  But it’s only a uniformed waiter carrying an enormous breakfast tray. Leaning against the tea kettle is a letter for me, inside is a stiff card with these words:

  I would be grateful to you if you would have lunch with me at 1:00 P.M. in the hotel dining room.

  M.M.

  And in the envelope were three hundred crowns for me (not even Mr. Ziki had given me so much when he was recruiting me for his villa in Usti) and next to the letter a white rose with a sprig of asparagus fern … My new master M.M. evidently has a thing for roses.

  So I have time for a walk, until one o’clock — with my fingernails I pare off the flounces on my white dress so that I can go out, I run downstairs (I’m on the sixth floor), the hotel lobby really is all done up in gleaming mahogany and there’s a red carpet here, I place my key (No. 522) on the reception desk and go through a glass door out of the hotel, on the pavement outside I turn around once more so that I can find the hotel again when I come back. The Imperial.

  There are streetcars here, something I haven’t seen for years … they’re red and they clang nicely. And the cars! And the stores…

  The streets here are all made of glass, and behind the glass are oranges and bananas, phonograph records in colorful covers, rivers of wool and silk, hundreds of slippers in the same store, some of them silver, and next door, behind glass, a hundred cakes, lilies, roses, and orchids, and next door a window full of gold, pearls, and precious stones.

  This is where I want to live!

  My new master gave me three hundred crowns, and probably not just for lemonade or ice cream, so first of all some proper clothes … My first husband didn’t buy me any—

  I bought myself a pretty green dress (green goes best with my hair and eyes), a plastic comb, nice and cheap, then a shopping net to carry all my things, sweet pink toothpaste called Perlicka and a green toothbrush. Then for my master a beautiful white lace handkerchief (I adore buying men handkerchiefs) and with the rest of the money some refreshments, ice-cold lemonade like I’d never had before (wonderful!), vanilla ice cream with whipped cream (topped off with chopped hazelnuts!) and—I was still in business—five dekas of chocolate- covered cherries, and then I flew back to the hotel.

  I went up on the elevator to my room, No. 522 (the number “5” is in it), quickly changed, combed my hair, brushed my teeth with Perlicka (at Volrab’s I used a disgusting toothpowder they had stolen before the war), and on stationery with the hotel crest, which was laid out on the beautiful blue leather table tops, I wrote out my accounts for my master.

  I combed my hair a little bit more, smiled prettily at myself in the mirror, and went down on the elevator for lunch (my heart in my mouth), my master was waiting for me in the hotel dining room, I greeted him politely, presented him with my accounts and the lace handkerchief, and smiled at him prettily.

  “So sit down, please,” M.M. said to me, and he smiled himself (quite nicely), he stuck the handkerchief in his pocket, then he crumpled up my accounts and threw them away. “Do you need any more money?”

  “No. I’ve already got everything I need.”

  “I’ll cover your expenses. I like the color of your new dress better than I do the cut … but that we can take care of. Green suits your red hair and your green eyes.”

  “I know.”

  “An aperitif? Appetizer? Soup?”

  “I enjoy taking suggestions.”

  The suggestions I enjoyed taking were Cinzano Rosso, eggs à la Henri IV, turtle soup, filet Orlov, Emmenthal cheese, sacher torte with whipped cream, and coffee with cognac (S.-Marikka rejoiced, S.-Marie wrung her hands in despair, Antisonya grinned: “At least stuff yourself full before he tosses you out!” And Sonya Undivided knew less than ever what she was getting herself into).

  “What should I do now?” I asked.

  “Whatever you wish.”

  “Even go back to Hrusov?”

  “Of course. If you like it there…”

  “I don’t like it there at all, but…”

  “Then don’t go.”

  We laughed. He was around thirty, perhaps a bit younger, but perhaps a great deal older. On the whole he was good- looking: tall, dark, fine hands. Gray-green eyes. Thick, short hair with the first threads of silver. He looked very distinguished, but when he smiled he looked like a boy again … He’s someone to watch out for.

  “You’re very kind, sir. But I don’t know how long I can … this way…”

  “As long as you wish.”

  “You’re awfully kind, but I…”

  “… I make you nervous, don’t I? You really have no reason to be. To start with, unwind and relax.”

  “I’m completely and absolutely calm…”

  “No you’re not. Stop playing with the tablecloth under the table and relax. You keep worrying that I’ll want something from you. But I won’t. Nothing at all. So don’t worry about a thing. Whenever you wish—at any time—I’ll take you back to Hrusov.”

  “No— I mean, maybe it’s not so very urgent that I go back so fast…”

  “Is there anything you might wish to do next?”

  “I enjoy taking suggestions.”

  “Would you care to go for a little drive?”

  “Let’s go.”

  We got into his car — I sat right beside him this time, so that he didn’t look like a chauffeur — and I went with him for a drive. That’s my job here…

  We drove fast through the city streets.

  “I suppose that you’ve already looked the town over.”

  “Yes … how did you know? Did you follow me?”

  “Not today.”

  “And before that?”

  “How else could I have found you?”

  “Why did you look for me?”

  “Because I like you.”


  We took a forest highway to some ruins, above the ruins was a tower and at the foot of the tower was a little inn. We drank white wine and all the men stared at me.

  “All the men are staring at you,” said M.M.

  “I know. I’m too conspicuous.”

  “You’re too pretty … A phantom of beauty which strayed out of Heaven into Northern Bohemia.”

  “Thank you, sir. But my appearance causes me a great deal of trouble.”

  “Like when a princess arrives at a railway station. The travelers gape and forget to take their locals or buy seats for the express.”

  “If all men did was gape at me, I could put up with it. But so often they’re dissatisfied and then—”

  “The sexual drive.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A permanent all-male charge.”

  “You could put it like that. But who’s supposed to put up with it?”

  “Tell me something about yourself.”

  “You mean when I was little?”

  “That’s a good place to start!”

  “When I was little … I remember how, once in winter, with Jarunka Slana—that’s my best friend—we were making impressions of our ski boots in the snow, I had wavy lines on my soles, while she had squares. Each of us insisted that her impression was prettier, and we started shoving each other away. I’ll tell my Daddy on you, Jarunka shouted at me. My Daddy is stronger, I shouted back, although it wasn’t true—Mr. Slany would certainly have beaten my Daddy. But because it was my Daddy … I lost him two years ago. Mama died long before.”

  “I know. Let’s not talk for a while,” said M.M.

  And he was silent for a long time. I was grateful to him for that. And then he said softly: “If your Daddy could see you … he certainly would like you very much.”

  “You know, I loved Daddy very much … he meant the whole world to me. I’d like to find a man like him—”

  “You’ll find the man you want.”

  “But I’m looking for the ideal man.”

  “I fully approve.”

  We laughed and drank some white wine. M.M. was right: only now did I begin to relax.

  “If I wanted to leave now…” I tested M.M., “would you let me go?”

  “Where do you want me to take you?”

  “The road to Hrusov…”

  He paid and actually took me to his car—

  “No,” I said right away (so he wouldn’t seriously take me back to the Volrabs’), “I’m beginning to like it here. What will we do now?”

  “Whatever you wish.”

  “I enjoy taking suggestions.”

  “Shall we go to the movies?”

  “Let’s go!”

  The theater was large and beautiful, the film was historical—it was called Angelica—and it too was probably beautiful, but I didn’t pay much attention to it, because the four Sonyas within me had so much to talk about (S.-Marikka kept rejoicing, S.-Marie was of the opinion that M.M. “was a good man who needs someone to make him happy,” Antisonya prophesied a mess, but Antisonya always prophesies a mess as a matter of principle, Sonya Undivided felt good and quite relaxed already).

  In the midst of the crowd of people leaving the theater, I nonchalantly took M.M.’s arm (how good it felt to have a man at my side—) and M.M. didn’t grumble the way Mr. Ruda Mach did, he led me nicely by my arm (that new rhythm of walking with a man at my side) in that dignified public embrace which symbolizes the fact that a man is protecting a woman…

  We dined in an elegant little restaurant called The Gastronome, behind a window a cook in a tall white hat was throwing crepes into the air (he flipped them beautifully), as an aperitif we ordered chilled vodka, it glistened like mercury.

  “And now you tell me something about yourself,” I asked after I’d had some vodka.

  “Some other time, perhaps … But don’t expect anything interesting.”

  “It just so happens that I already think you’re interesting enough.”

  “Thank you.”

  We laughed and finished our vodkas at the same time.

  “At least tell me your name, Mr. M.M.!”

  “My parents gave me too many names for anyone to remember, of which the most congenial is no doubt Manuel.”

  “That’s like out of a fairy tale, and I’m afraid the fairy tale will soon be over … I’ll call you, quite simply, Manek.”

  “Manek … isn’t that something like a little man?”

  “Why little? And what else does the M.M. mean?”

  “Manek Mansfeld.”

  “Your name has a lot of men in it…”

  We laughed, drank, and ate. All of a sudden, I felt good being with Manek—

  “What would you like to have most of all out of everything in the world — besides your ideal man?” he asked.

  “A decent and contented life. To be happy. To have someone who loves me and whom I love—”

  ”Besides your ideal man.”

  “He always butts into everything, doesn’t he. So then: a decent job. To have clothes to wear and never to go hungry.”

  “That’s no problem now. Wish for more.”

  “Will you fulfil my wish?”

  “If you wish it hard enough…”

  “To sit by my own fireplace, with a fire burning in it. To dance on the deck of a steamer at night on the Indian Ocean. To see Mount Everest—”

  “It’s a tiny white point the size of a child’s fingernail.”

  “You’ve seen Mount Everest?

  “From Sandakf, that’s a four-hour journey from Darjeeling and about twelve thousand feet above sea level. We rode out after midnight with the Sikkim Maharajah Raj Ashraf Ram Singh V—that’s a comical residuary king to whom the government of Western Bengal has given two free seats and “Red Carpet Treatment” on each airplane starting its flight in Bagdogra. It is the custom to view Mount Everest at dawn. Out of the red strip of dawn in the east the first ray of sunlight flares up and flies through the darkness and strikes the peaks of the highest mountains on earth, and then the sun rises and spreads its golden-red fire over the eternal snows of Everest and its lieutenants Makal and Lhotse … On the way back we brought down an old, frozen, sleepy tiger and drank tea with yak butter in a monastery of escaped Tibetan lamas under the tops of the cryptomedias, which look like slender upright clouds, something between a cypress and a cedar. As for dancing at night on the deck of a steamer, it’s nice, but first you have to rub on oil to keep the mosquitoes away.”

  “Oh, Manek…”

  The wine had made me a little high, I called him Manek and said lots of silly things.

  At the Grapevine we were greeted by a racket like an express train passing through a station. Starting right at the doorway we danced out onto the dancefloor … Manek danced marvelously and held me tenderly in his arms … so tenderly that I might have lost him in that crowd, and so I held him all the closer. He did not resist. If he had tried to kiss me then—I wouldn’t have resisted much. Manek didn’t try.

  We danced without interruption and talked about a million things — that is, I talked; Manek just asked. So attentive … and so interested in me — like no one had ever been before.

  “Tell me more about yourself—” my new master inquired again.

  “At sixteen I began to write a novel.”

  “About a woman?”

  “Of course. The first sentence went like this: I steal down the stairs of the hotel and feel that I have a wild past before me.”

  “That’s a nice, crisp beginning. And what is Mr. Ruda Mach to you?”

  “What was he. I loved him … but I guess I don’t have to, now that he’s left me, right? He used to read to me from the magazine Youth World—all he read was magazines, but otherwise he was great—that a Japanese woman must prepare for her husband a life in which he can spend his free time resting, with a maximum of relaxation, calm, and pleasure … he had all that with me and still he left me. He’s probably found a new Japane
se woman already. Do you long for a Japanese, too?”

  “I’d probably be bored. I’m looking for a princess I can love, court, bring flowers to, and think up ever new joys for … I’m looking for the ideal woman.”

  “So when we find our ideal partners some day, we’ll all be friends, and all four of us will go on outings together, that’ll be wonderful…”

  “It’d be even more wonderful if just the two of us went on those outings…”

  We went on dancing and embraced one another tightly.

  “With you as my partner, dancing is a beautiful thing, Miss.”

  “Same with me, sir, and you may call me by my first name. It’s Sonya.”

  “Mine is Manek.”

  To celebrate the rite of familiar address, we had a bottle of magnificent Hungarian sparkling wine, Fortuna.

  “Tell me more about yourself,” Manek asked insatiably.

  “But by now you know everything about me … now you yourself can tell what I’m like.”

  “Inquisitive, a believer in miracles, timid, acquiescent, optimistic, modest, eager, exultant, mournful, greedy, tender, wild, insatiable, and submissive.”

  “And what else am I like…”

  “Irrepressible and longing to obey. Untouchable and passionately longing to surrender.”

  “And what else am I like…”

  “Indestructible.”

  “And what will I be?”

  “Knocked down and beaten up.”

  “But in the end?”

  “Victorious.”

  And so I kissed him. He didn’t resist, and he responded beautifully.

  We danced on in silence—everything had already been said—and in silence we kissed on the dancefloor, in the street, in the parked car, in the gleaming mahogany lobby, in the elevator, and in front of the door to my room, No. 522 … and then Manek silently disappeared into his own.