“But then you’ll run off anyway, won’t you…”
“It doesn’t depend on me.”
“On whom, then?”
“You wouldn’t understand. Take your bag and go. Good night.”
The next afternoon Kamila Ortova stood behind the curtains of her second-floor room in the yellow villa, smoking a Peer cigarette (her eighteenth of the day) and closely watching every movement in the white villa opposite.
At Time T (Jakub at work, the staff sergeant over his file cards, and Mother Jagrova just about to go shopping) Kamila placed the yellow watering can in the window next to the ficus in its majolica pot.
When she saw Zlatunka sneaking through the garden toward the secret exit, she looked at her gold wristwatch (Zlatunka was on her way to the heap of heating-plant ash and would wait there at least ten minutes, I’ll have to catch up with her during those ten minutes), she took a deep drag from her cigarettte, abruptly put it out, and then shook her head: Zlatunka and I have lost the game, but she’s so dense she doesn’t realize it, from now on then without her and against her.
Kamila got a firm grip on the yellow shopping bag she’d packed (inside it a linen dress, skirt, pullover, raincoat—Sonya is slimmer than me, but this will do—and in an envelope newspaper clippings and three hundred-notes) and emerged from the yellow villa, went through the silver-gray garden gate and the adjoining blue garden gate, and slipped into the white villa, into the house which belongs to ME—
In the kitchen Sonya was decorating a cake with whipped cream, Kamila looked at her wristwatch and quickly rattled off:
“Forgive me, Sonya, I realize how much wrong I’ve done you, but it was all Zlatunka’s plot against you—she would even have murdered you to keep her second floor. You must leave here right away, a great danger is threatening you—and my guilt complex compels me to help you get away. Here in this bag you’ll find everything you need for the first few days, even money—and I’ve cut out some ads about jobs in Teplice, there you’ll find work, just what you want. Teplice has spas with a world reputation, it’s full of big, lovely hotels … For tonight I’ve made you a reservation in the Hotel de Saxe, near the station.”
“My job is to be here,” Sonya said with a smile, “and so here is where I’ll stay.”
“But that would be crazy! After all that we’ve— that you’ve gone through here… Jakub would never consider you an equal partner. And Jakub will never marry his servant … forgive me, but I’m being very candid with you. I know Jakub better than you can imagine — and besides, I’m a student of psychology.”
“I’m only doing my job. And not without success, I’d say.”
“You’ve shown a truly angelic patience here — I admit it as I admit your other almost superhuman talents … But that’s just why it would be too bad for you to stay on here to work as a servant, or at best an enslaved wife, don’t you agree?”
“Why does this mean so much to you?”
“It’s all I’ve got left in the world. I’ve invested my twenty years and my whole emotional life in Jakub —You’ve got so many many more possibilities. Dr. Lubos Bily has fallen in love with you — he’s told me so himself. It was his idea that you should settle in Teplice … in his gas guzzler he could get there to see you in twenty minutes. And this very evening he’ll come see you at the Hotel de Saxe … He really yearns to help you.”
“My task is to remain here. Take your bag and give my best to Lubos Bily. He’s been very kind to me.”
By midnight Kamila Ortova had smoked forty-two cigarettes in her room, poring over psychology textbooks, falling into ever deeper confusion, gradually it dawned on her that the girl was a living miracle. . . She picked up book after book and in despair she leafed through them.
“Wundt (Völkerpsychologie, II, Mythus und Religion, 1906, II, p. 308) nennt das Tabu den ältesten ungeschriebenen Gesetzeskodex der Menschheit…,” that means the oldest unwritten statutory codex of mankind, Sonya is in some way strangely tabu: “ein natürliches oder direktes Tabu, welches das Ergebnis einer geheimnisvollen Kraft (Mana) ist…,” that means the outcome of the mysterious power of Mana. . . “Die Ziele des Tabu …,” that means the purposes of tabu are many: “a) To protect important persons such as chiefs, priests—” that could hardly be Sonya.
“b) To guard the weak—women, children, and ordinary people in general—against the powerful magical force of Mana …” hm. That’s extraordinary—
“c) To protect against dangers such as touching a dead body or eating certain foods.” That Bromargyl in Sonya’s porridge certainly didn’t have any effect—
“Als die Quelle des Tabu wird eine eigentümliche Zauber- kraft angesehen…” That’s it: magical powers! “Personen oder Dinge, die Tabu sind, können mit elektrisch geladenen Gegenständen verglichen werden…,” that is the fact that persons and things that are tabu are as if electrically charged… They are a seat of terrible power, which is transmitted by touching—”
The wall clock struck midnight, Kamila lit her forty-third Peer cigarette and began to read the chapter on magic.
“The husband should make it his responsibility to insure that the wife take part in his work, that he be concerned about her troubles, that he guide her activity and do away with her uncertainty…” Sonya read aloud at Jakub’s tubular desk from van de Velde’s The Perfect Marriage, while Jakub looked rapturously at her glittering green eyes and red hair in the warm, gold light radiating from his chrome desk lamp.
Sonya is wonderful: clever, tender, devoted, diligent, conscientious, obedient, and reassuring, beautiful and affectionate … Dad is ecstatic over her, Mom treats her as her own daughter, even Zlatunka says nothing to her now, even Kamila, on the basis of a deep psychological analysis, has announced that there’s something magical about Sonya…
Was she born with all this, or did I have a part in cultivating it myself? Or did she cultivate in me a capacity to recognize it? That love of which all men only dream—
“The husband must strive to guide a woman’s life, and she will be his beloved and she will be happy, whatever sacrifices are demanded of her…” Sonya read, and then she announced suddenly, looking out the window: “Yes, that’s the way it is. Just like that, and it’s so wonderful—” and then she read on: “… so says Mrs. Ferrero, and I do not wish to conceal her heartfelt sentiments from my readers.”
Jakub glanced at the last page of his spiral notebook, where the flowchart of Sonya’s obliteration and reconstruction ended on the right with a series of filled-in squares of red: work completed, it’s time to dissolve the GANG AGAINST SONYA. With superhuman strength Sonya had overcome them—
“Husbands,” Sonya read aloud, “who should in this respect serve chiefly as guides to their wives, I deal with you in particular because you often lack leadership qualities and even the virtues of a good partner—” and Sonya repeated to herself silently: “Leadership qualities and the virtues of a good partner…” at the same time looking out the window into the night, her eyes heavy with happiness.
Jakub caressed her with his gaze and again turned back to the last page of his notebook, to the column full of red squares and, on the right, in the column marked Fulfillment: SONYA IS THE IDEAL WOMAN … and the young engineer thoughtfully noted down at the very end of the last page of his notes concerning Sonya:
X = 1 + 2 + 3
MOTHER - BODY - HEART
And Jakub put two heavy red lines below the bottom-line formula for Sonya, snapped shut the notebook, and pushed it away. It will be a family souvenir…
“Sonya. I love you,” he said and got up.
“Really?” Sonya smiled over her book.
“I swear it.”
“Once, when things were going bad for me … back at the Hubertus when Ruda Mach deserted me … you wrote every day on pink stationery that you loved me. Could you write me one more letter like that now?”
“I’ll tell it to you a hundred times a day!”
“Yes, but I’d l
ike you to write it to me … I can’t tell you why, but I need it very much…”
Jakub pulled a sheet of pink paper out of the drawer and drew on it a letter L a good five inches high, “I’ll write I LOVE YOU across the entire page.”
“No. Write me that I’ve won back your love—exactly that—and sign it with your name.”
“Sure, if so much depends on it — But could I ask why you need it?”
“Can’t a woman have any secrets?”
Jakub bowed to Sonya, then pulled another sheet of pink stationery out of the drawer and wrote on it as Sonya had dictated.
“Is this all right?” he asked when he’d finished.
“Absolutely. And be so kind as to write today’s date.”
Sonya,
You have won back my love.
August 27.
Eng. Jakub Jagr
The next morning, in her room, Sonya reread the note and quickly wrote underneath it:
My Manek,
I have fulfilled your first task and am waiting for more. All I ask is that you not leave me here even a single hour in which I might have to lie to Jakub. Let me leave here and find work in the drying room, which so delighted me at the Hrusov Cottex.
Your Sonya
Then she sealed the envelope, addressed it to Manuel Mansfeld, Hotel Imperial, Liberec, ran out of the white villa, and continued running the whole way to the Vseborice post office.
“Express, right?” said the clerk behind the grill.
“Express registered,” said Sonya, and she paid and left the post office. I’m finished now with everything here — I ought to be shouting with joy, but instead I feel an immense weariness…
If it had taken Sonya just four minutes to run to the post office, it took her a good half hour to drag herself back to the Jagrs’, her feet kept feeling heavier and heavier as she nearly staggered into the white villa.
“Is something wrong with you, Sonya?” Mother Jagrova was concerned. “Come here, I’ll show you the tablecloths you’ll get from us—”
“No, please. I’m awfully tired…”
“Of course you are, my poor little girl—you really do look dreadful… Would you like to lie down for a bit?”
“I really need to.”
Mother Jagrova put Sonya right to bed and placed two pillows under her head. Then she made tea, and when she brought it in, Sonya was sleeping as if she were dead.
And she slept until lunch, ate a few bites in bed, and then slept until dinner.
When she had woken up a bit, there Jakub was at her bedside with a tray of multi-vitamins, sulfonamide, and hormone preparations, as well as a diverse collection of psychopharmaceuticals and antibiotics, there Mother Jagrova was with a bowl of chicken bouillon with egg, and there Father Jagr was with a bottle of cherry brandy. Sonya took a little of everything and slept on until the next morning.
Listlessly she walked through the garden between the white and yellow villas, yawned and went to lie down, and slept the rest of the day, and then slept like a rock all night long.
In the morning she couldn’t even open her eyes, she turned onto the other side and stopped bothering to try.
“Sonya,” Jakub’s voice came out of the darkness somewhere, “there’s a telegram for you from Prague…”
In a second Sonya had leapt out of bed, grabbed the telegram out of Jakub’s hand, and run to the window. She devoured it in a single glance and then read it over more carefully, word by word:
LEAVE JAKUB TO KAMILA STOP FIND A JOB IN THE DRYING ROOM AND A NEW PLACE TO LIVE AND BEGIN A NEW LIFE
M.M.
“Bad news?” Jakub asked apprehensively.
“The best,” said Sonya, and looking out the window she asked, “What time is it?”
“Half past seven.”
“Morning or evening?”
“Morning…”
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“I wanted to take you to the doctor…”
“There’s no need for that. But you can see me off … I’ll be ready in a jiffy. Now leave me alone.”
Sonya threw into her shopping bag: Manek’s photo, two pairs of shoes (as always, one for good and one for everyday), a toothbrush, her citizen’s I.D. and a comb, two nightgowns (one ordinary and one for Manek), and three hundred-notes paid on account by Staff Sergeant Jagr (my pay for an entire month in a military prison), and she came out the front of the house, where Jakub was already waiting for her in the family’s blue van.
“You brought me here in this…” she said harshly, and she scratched the carefully preserved polish with her fingernail, “tied up like a bundle—”
“Sonya, that’s really very far from the truth…”
“It isn’t, but that no longer matters,” said Sonya, and she looked at the yellow villa next door and at the opposite slope of the green valley, and she went out through the blue garden gate onto Valley Street.
“Wait, Sonya, we’ll drive there…” said Jakub.
“No. You’ll walk me to the bus stop,” said Sonya, and in silence she walked in front of Jakub along the clay road, across the concrete highway, and between the pre-fab high-rises of the development to the stop for Town Bus Line No. 5.
She didn’t say a word until the red prow of the bus emerged from the turnabout, like the jaws of a kindly dragon, and as it grew larger Sonya spoke hurriedly to Jakub without looking at him:
“It’s all over between us, Jakub. Forever. I did like you, but it was never true love. Our marriage wouldn’t have been a good one. And I love another man. Marry Kamila Ortova—she’s the only one who can handle you. Goodbye forever.”
The bus opened its pneumatic door, Sonya hopped in and remained standing in the open door to keep Jakub from climbing up, the two halves of the door hissed and the bus pulled quietly out, through the window Jakub’s chalky white face receded and, beyond it, in the hole between the pre-fab high-rises a strip of concrete highway, the roofs of the garden villas on Valley Street and, above them, the yellow-striped Strizek Mountain in the milky haze. Sunbeams penetrated the mist with the promise of a fine day.
Sonya walked to the middle of the empty bus and, with her eyes closed, went through the streets she knew so well, whenever the bus stopped people got on, rubbed against her, and bumped into her. As if she had only just now fully awakened, Sonya looked with wonder at a woman with coral earrings, at the white moustache of a gentleman wearing a plastic raincoat, at a bespectacled daddy with a little girl in his arms, at a boy in blue jeans and a blue-striped T-shirt (a real good-looking boy), at lovers kissing near the pole at the exit door, at two schoolgirls with pigtails (one had hers fastened with a row of plastic daisies and the other with red ladybugs). Sonya smiled a little, felt the gaze of the good-looking boy in the blue-and-white T-shirt, through the window the mainstreet shop windows flashed past and on the sidewalks people, people, so many people … The good-looking boy in the T-shirt began to make his way toward Sonya, he would come with me just like that, Sonya raised her head and somewhere deep within her an extraordinary sort of laughter came to life, rose up through her throat, and seemed ready to choke her, Sonya bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from bursting into laughter and smiled prettily at the good-looking boy, the boy clawed his way through the bus as through a jungle but the bus was already coming to a stop at the main square, Sonya jumped down the metal steps, put her shopping bag down on the pavement, and arched her back in a seizure of gargantuan, cosmic laughter.
And the glittering shop windows gleamed and whirled above the dry but shiny pavement in a fast-spinning vortex, suddenly a spinning disc rose out of the square, spreading in all directions to the ends of the earth, the windows melted into little tears spraying up towards the sun, and since there is no longer anything to fear under the sun, the tears drowned in the eternal blue once they were glassless, the whole world uncoupled and, in that cosmic laughter, overflowed, recoiled, and jerked away like a joyful, naked child, it used its bare feet to push rivers of si
lk out into what used to be streets, now suddenly transformed into dancefloors and playgrounds, it used its hands to spill gold rings out of what used to be jewelry shops and chocolate- covered cherries out of the suddenly empty sweet shops, it exploded with laughter and the corks popped out of all the bottles, it roared with laughter and all the doors of all the houses lay on their backs and suddenly we are all living in one large doorless apartment and we are all joining in the laughter.
“What are you up to, Miss!” a Security Police officer said to Sonya, who was shaking with laughter and staggering in the middle of Usti’s main square.
“But I’m just thinking about the world, Sergeant.”
“Officer,” the officer said drily. “Do you need anything?”
“No, nothing, just a job and a place to live, but those are funny little things…”
“You mean to say you don’t have a job or a place to live?”
“By lunchtime I’ll have them, you want to bet on it? Just now, for instance, riding with me on the bus was a real nice boy, wearing a blue-striped T-shirt, and if I could catch up with the bus—and I could, by taxi maybe, because I’ve got heaps of money. I’ve got three hundred crowns, Sergeant!”
“Officer. Show me your citizen’s I.D.”
“It’s right here. I’ve got everything I need.”
“Till August twenty-ninth employed in the restaurants operated by the Hotel Hubertus in Hrusov on the Jizera,” the officer read from Sonya’s I.D. (Jakub had fixed it up for me, it was great!) “and since then?”
“I’ve been employed as a house servant at the Jagrs’, Valley Street number four. Now I’m looking for a job and a place to live. I’m trying to start a new life, Mr…”
“Officer. Listen here, Miss … Cechova, there’s something about you I don’t very much care for!”
“That’s the first time in my life I’ve heard that from a man. Officer…” Sonya (S.-Marikka) said, and she smiled prettily at him.
“Well … What sort of work are you looking for?”
“In the drying room, Officer!”
Four Sonyas Page 23