Chapter 9 Chapter Three The Poet's Self-blasphemy (2) (1)

Jaromil's body was sick and lying on the bed, but his mind was thinking about the big event that was coming.The anticipation of that day contained abstract pleasures and concrete anxieties.For Jaromil knew nothing of what it was to make love to a woman in every detail involved.He only knows that such an act requires preparation, skill, knowledge.He knew that behind sex, pregnancy would make a threatening squint, and he felt (this had been discussed countless times with his classmates) that there was a way to prevent it.In that barbaric age men (like knights put on their armor before battle) wore a sort of see-through sock during orgasm.From a theoretical point of view, Jaromil was well versed in such matters.But how to get such a little sock?Jaromil was too embarrassed to ask for one at the pharmacy!And how was he going to put it on when the girl wasn't looking?The little sock seemed to embarrass him, and he could not bear the thought that the girl might find it.Is it okay to put it on at home beforehand?Or did he have to wait until he stood naked in front of the girl to put it on?

He couldn't answer these questions.Besides, he didn't have any of these see-through socks, but he told himself he must get one at all costs and try to put it on.He surmised that success in this matter consisted chiefly of speed and skill, which required practice. He was also anxious about other things.What is it like to make love?How will people feel?What will happen inside his body?What if the pleasure is so strong that one screams out loud and cannot control oneself?Does that make him look ridiculous?How long will the whole thing go on?Oh my God, is it possible to be unprepared for something like this?

Until then, Jaromil had never experienced masturbation.He thinks such behavior is not worth it and a real man should avoid it.He felt he was destined for great love, not for self-blasphemy.However, without certain preparations, how can great love be realized?Jaromil came to believe that masturbation was an essential part of such a beginning, and he tempered his fundamental objections to it.He no longer sees it as a poor substitute for sex, but as a necessary step towards it; it is not a confession of poverty, but the foundation of abundance. So he started rehearsing his first love move (during a fever with a body temperature above 2.2 degrees).He was surprised to find that the masturbation lasted only a short time and did not stimulate him to cry out in ecstasy.This is both disappointing and reassuring.He repeated the experiment several times over the next few days, but failed to gain any new knowledge.He felt, however, that by this means he was gaining more and more control over himself, and now he could face his beloved with confidence.

A flannel bandage was wrapped around his neck, and he had been in bed for three or four days.Shortly after breakfast, his grandmother rushed into his room and said excitedly: "Jaromil! The whole town is mad!" He sat up. "What happened?" Grandma explained, and the radio downstairs announced that a revolution had broken out.Jaromil jumped out of bed, ran to the next room, turned on the radio, and heard Gottwald's voice. He understood the situation immediately.He has heard a lot of talk about it in recent days (he is not very interested in it, as we know he has bigger things on his mind): three non-Communist ministers threatened to resign the Communist Prime Minister Brother Twald.Now he heard Gottwald address a large crowd in the Old Town Square.He denounced the traitors for trying to weaken the Communist Party and prevent the country from moving towards socialism.He urged people to insist that the ministers resign and that a new revolutionary power would be established under the leadership of the Communist Party.

The old radio crackled as Gottwald's speech was drowned out by the thunderous cheers of the crowd.All this made Jaromil very excited. He stood in his grandmother's room in pajamas, with a bandage tightly wrapped around his neck, and shouted hoarsely: "Finally! It finally happened!" Grandma was not quite sure whether Jaromil's enthusiasm was justified. "Do you really think this is a good thing?" she asked worriedly. "Of course, Grandma, it's a good thing. Great!" He hugged her, pacing excitedly around the room.He said to himself that the crowds gathered in the square have thrown this day into the sky, where it will shine like a star for centuries.It occurred to him how ashamed he was to stay at home with his grandmother on such a glorious day instead of going out among the people in the street.But before he had time to think about this thought, the door opened suddenly, and his uncle appeared at the door, blushing and shouting excitedly: Did you hear what happened?Those bastards!Those vile bastards!Start a riot like this! "

Jaromil glanced at his uncle, who had always hated his uncle, his aunt, and their conceited son.He felt his moment of triumph had come at last.They stand facing each other.Behind his uncle was the door, and Jaromil was behind the radio, which made him feel that thousands of people were supporting him. When he spoke to his uncle, it was as if thousands of people were speaking to one person. "This is not a riot. This is a revolution," he said. "Go away with your revolution," replied my uncle, "it is of course easy to start a revolution when you have the army behind you, the police and a great power at your side."

When he heard his uncle's conceited voice, speaking to him as if he were a child with a runny nose, Jaromil's hatred welled up in him, "To prevent a handful of bastards from turning the rest into slaves again, we The army and the police are needed." "You little idiot," replied my uncle, "the Reds already have most of the power in their hands. They started this riot just to get it all. Gosh, I knew you were a taciturn Little idiot." "I've also known for a long time that the working class would sweep bourgeois parasites like you into the dustbin of history!"

Jaromil said the last words angrily, almost without thinking.But let's see, these words are repeated over and over in Communist newspapers and in the speeches of Communist orators, and Jaromil has always disliked them, just as he dislikes all jargon.He considered himself a poet first and foremost, and even though he had revolutionary views, he would never give up his language.But just now he spoke of bourgeois parasites and the dustbin of history. Yes, this is weird!At the moment of excitement (and thus at the natural moment when his true self speaks), Jaromil abandons his own tone and serves as someone else's propaganda tool.And he did so with a great sense of euphoria; he felt that he had become part of a thousand-headed crowd, the mouthpiece of a hydra, which looked magnificent.Now he felt empowered to look down on those who made him blush and stammer just yesterday.The raw simplicity of the phrase (sweep the bourgeois parasites into the dustbin) delighted him.Because it places it in the ranks of those blunt people who are blind to nuance and whose wisdom lies in their understanding of the ludicrously simple essentials of life.

Jaromil (in pajamas, flannel wrapped around his neck) stood firmly in front of the radio, with his arms akimbo and legs apart, which was blaring loud cheers.He felt the noise flowing into him, filling his body with strength, until he towered over his uncle like a big tree, or like a laughing rock. His uncle, who thought Forter was Volt's father, stepped forward and gave Jaromil a hard slap across the face. Jaromil felt a burning pain in his face.He was disgraced, and because he felt as big and powerful as a tree or a rock (the hydra still roared behind him), he wanted to avenge himself on his uncle.But it took him a while to make up his mind, during which time his enishte turned away and left the room.

Jaromil yelled after him, "I want revenge! I want revenge, you pig!" and ran for the door.But Granny grabbed him by the sleeve of his pajamas and finally calmed him down.Jaromil kept muttering about the pig, the dirty pig.And then back to the bed he had left less than an hour ago—with his dream of the girl—and he could never think of her again.His uncle was still in front of him, and his face was still burning.He accused himself of behaving unmanlyly.In fact, he blamed himself so much that he began to cry, wet the pillow with tears of rage. Maman returned late that afternoon, relentlessly recounting the events of the day.They immediately removed the chief of her bureau; she had such respect for him that all the non-Party members in the bureau feared that they would be arrested soon.

Jaromil sat up on his elbows and enthusiastically joined the conversation.He explained to his mother that what was happening was a revolution, that revolutions were brief episodes that required a certain amount of violence.So that by establishing a just society, violence can be abolished once and for all.Mothers have to understand it. Mamen vehemently retorted, but Jaromil was prepared for all her objections.He attacks the folly of the rule of the rich, the rule of the entrepreneurial and merchant society, and he wittily reminds Maman that there were these types of people in her own family who made her suffer.He points out her sister's ego and her brother-in-law's vulgarity. Maman began to waver, and Jaromil was very satisfied with the success of his words.He felt revenge for the slap just now.He was furious when he thought of what happened just now. "Mom, today I have made a big decision," he announced. "I want to join the Communist Party." He sensed disapproval in his mother's eyes, and he elaborated on his statement.He said he was ashamed that he hadn't joined long ago; it was the burden of his family background that separated him from his true comrades. "You mean you regret being born in this home? Are you ashamed of your mother?" Mamen seemed deeply hurt, and Jaromil hastened to say that she had misunderstood him: in his view, his mother—her latent true self—was no different from her sister or the rich man's Society has nothing in common. But Maman said, "If you really cared about me, don't do that. You know how hard it is to live with your uncle. If he finds out that you've joined the Communist Party, there will be a big fight. Be wise. ,please!" A wave of self-pity welled up Jaromil's throat.Not only did he fail to return his uncle's slap, but he got another slap instead.He turned his face away, and as soon as Maman left the room, he couldn't help crying again. Six p.m.The girl in a white apron met him at the door and led him into a small, cozy kitchen.Dinner turned out to be ordinary—scrambled eggs and salami—but it was the first time a woman (other than Maman and grandmother) had cooked for him, so with the satisfaction of a man in the care of his sweetheart, he ate Have relish. Then they went into the next room.There was a round terracotta table covered with a knitted tablecloth, on which stood a massive glass vase: the walls were adorned with forbidding paintings.A couch, adorned with ornate little pillows, occupies one side of the house.All set for the evening, they just need to pour into this cozy interior.But the strange thing was that the girl sat down on a hard chair by the round table, and so: he did the same.They sat on the hard chairs and talked for a long time, until Jaromil's voice became tense with anxiety. He must be home by eleven o'clock.He had begged his mother to allow him to stay out all night (he told her that his schoolmates were planning to give a dance), but his mother refused and he dared not insist on the matter.At the moment, he just hoped that the remaining four hours would be enough for his first intercourse. However, the girl kept talking, and the stipulated time was shortening rapidly.She talked about her family, about her brother who had attempted suicide because of his unrequited love. "It left an impression on me all my life. I can't be like other girls. I don't take love lightly," she said.Jaromil understood that these words were intended to add a little seriousness to the already promised sexual enjoyment.He got up from his chair, leaned over her, and said in a very serious voice, "I understand you, yes, I understand." Then he helped her up from her chair and led her to the couch There, let her sit comfortably. They kiss, hug, caress.It went on for a long time.Jaromil kept thinking that it was time to undress the girl, but, since he had never done such a thing before, he didn't know how to start.First, he didn't know whether to turn the light off or leave it on.From all the talk he had heard about such situations, he felt that the light should be turned off.In any case, there was a pack of little sheer socks in his jacket, and if at a critical moment he was going to put one on discreetly and quietly, darkness was a must.But in the midst of a close embrace, it seemed impossible for him to get up and walk over to the switch, which, aside from the question, would have been too rude for him (let's not forget, he was well educated), he In someone else's room, after all, it should be up to the hostess to decide whether to turn the lights on or off.Finally, he asked timidly, "Shall we turn off the light?" The girl replied: "No, no, please don't." Jaromil didn't understand what this meant—was the girl refusing further kisses, or she just didn't want to make love in the dark.Of course, he could have asked her, but he was afraid to put such a thought into words. He remembered again that he had to be home by eleven o'clock, and he forced himself to overcome his shyness.For the first time in his life he unbuttoned a woman.It was the collar button of her white blouse, and he waited anxiously for her reaction.She was silent.So he went on unbuttoning her, and pulling her blouse out from under her skirt, and at last managed to get it all off. Now she's lying on a pillow, wearing a skirt and bra.Strangely, even though she had kissed Jaromil passionately just now, now that she was taking off part of her clothes, she seemed stiff.She was motionless, clutching her breasts like a condemned prisoner challenging the firing squad. Jaromil had no choice but to continue undressing her.He found the zipper on the hem of her skirt and undid it.The poor fellow knew nothing about skirt hooks, and for several minutes he tried in vain to pull the skirt up to the hips of the girl, who still hugged her breasts, resisting the invisible firing squad and doing him no favors , perhaps without even realizing his predicament. Oh, let us be merciful and skip Jaromil's painful fifteen or twenty minutes.He finally succeeded in taking all the girl's clothes off.When he saw her lying so faithfully on the pillow, waiting for the moment they'd been planning for so long, he realized he couldn't avoid undressing.However, the chandelier was shining brightly, and Jaromil was embarrassed to take off his clothes.An idea occurred to him: he glimpsed the bedroom off the living room (an old-style bedroom with two queen beds); the lights were off there; he could undress there, in the dark, even with a Cover yourself with a quilt. "Shall we go into the bedroom?" he suggested vaguely. "Why? Why do we need a bedroom?" The girl laughed. We don't know why she laughs.Her laughter was needless, sudden, and unsettling.It hurt Jaromil, though.He worried that he had said something stupid, that the idea of ​​him going to the bedroom betrayed his ridiculous inexperience.Suddenly he felt dejected and abandoned, in a strange room under the prying light of a chandelier, with a strange woman who was making fun of him. At that moment, he realized that there could be nothing between the two of them this night.He sat sullenly on the sofa; he was saddened by what had happened, but relieved at the same time.There's no need to agonize over turning lights on or off, or undressing.He's glad it wasn't his fault.She shouldn't be laughing so stupidly. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Nothing," Jaromil said.He knew that it would only make him look more ridiculous if he said why he was in a bad mood.So he restrained himself, helped her up from the sofa, and looked at her nonchalantly (he wanted to be the master of the situation, he felt that the examiner was the master of the examinee).Finally he said, "You're beautiful, you know." As soon as the girl sat up on the sofa where she lay stiff and waiting, he felt his complete relief.She was back to her talkative, confident self again.She doesn't care about being looked at at all (maybe she feels the person being looked at is the master of the person being looked at) and she asks, "Do I look good in clothes, or in nothing at all?" There are some typical women's problems that every man will face in his life and which should be part of a young man's education.But, like the rest of us, Jaromil went to the wrong school, so he didn't know how to answer.He tried his best to guess what kind of answer the girl wanted to hear, but he was confused. A girl usually appeared in front of people with clothes on, so she would be satisfied if she said she was beautiful in clothes.On the other hand, nudity can be seen as the actual state of the body, and from this point of view it would please her more to tell her that she is more attractive naked. "You look beautiful both with and without clothes," he said, but the girl was not at all pleased with his ambiguity.She danced around the room, gesticulating in front of Jaromil, urging him to answer directly. "I want to know which way you like me better." When the question is asked in a more personal way, the answer is much easier.It seemed inappropriate to him to say that she wasn't very attractive in clothes if other people knew her only by the way she was dressed.But if she now asks him his subjective opinion, he can safely claim that, personally, he prefers her nude, because that answer implies that he likes her just the way she is—he appreciates her for real. Your real, unabashed self doesn't need artificial finery. He was obviously right, for when the girl heard his opinion, she responded approvingly.She didn't dress again until he said good-bye, she kissed him many times, and when he was about to leave (a quarter to eleven, Maman would be satisfied), she whispered in his ear, "Tonight I found you, love me. You are so kind, you really think about me. Yes, you are right, this is better. Let's keep it for now, so we have something to look forward to." During that period, he began to write a long poem.It is a narrative poem about a man who suddenly feels old and finds himself abandoned and forgotten.On the last stand of fate: They're whitewashing his walls, move out his things; There is no trace of what it used to be. He escapes from the house, pursued by relentless time, and rushes back to the place where he spent the hottest hours of his life: Back stairs, third floor, second back door, The faded name on the door plate was too blurry to read. "Twenty years have passed, please let me in!" An old woman opened the door, awakened from the indifference after years of solitude.She bit her pale lips; she tried to straighten her thin, unwashed hair in a gesture she had forgotten much; she stretched out her arms in embarrassment to block the photo of the old lover hanging on the wall.Then it dawned on her that all was well and appearances didn't matter. twenty years, you are back the last time in my life important meeting... Yes, everything is fine.Wrinkles, poor clothes, yellow teeth, thinning hair, saggy skin, bloodless lips, it doesn't matter anymore.There are better things than beauty or youth: inevitable. life last and the most merciful gift. So he crossed the room, dragging his hand wearily across the table. his soft glove wipes Traces of former lovers. He saw that she had known many men, a great company of lovers, abused all the brilliance of her skin. A long-forgotten song haunted him.God, what was that song like? Float on the sand bed, float,... You're drifting, drifting, until there's nothing left but your core, the core of your own heart. She realized he had nothing left to give him either, no strength, no youth.but these tired moments now i feel it the purity of nature Confirmation of Calm and Necessary Process I only bequeath you... They were deeply moved, touching each other's wrinkled faces.He called her "my little girl," and she called him "my dearest little boy," and they cried. nothing between them No glances or words to communicate to hide his misfortunes—or hers. It was their mutual misfortune that they craved with parched tongues.They suck it on each other greedily.They caressed each other's wretched bodies, and heard the engines of death roar softly under each other's skin.They know that they belong to each other completely and forever, and this is their last and greatest love, because the last love is always the greatest. man thinks: This love has no door to the outside This love is like a wall... woman thinks: death may be far away But its shadow is now close to both of us. Slump back in the chair, the job is done. our feet find peace Our hands don't need to touch anymore... nothing more to do just wait for the saliva on the mouth become dew. When Maman read this eccentric piece, she was astonished, as usual, by her son's remarkable maturity—a maturity that enabled him to comprehend a stage of life that was far removed from his own.She failed to see that the characters in the poem did not show the real psychology of old age at all.When Jaromil finally showed the poem to his girlfriend, she also failed to understand its true nature, calling it necrophilia. No, this poem has nothing to do with an old man or a granny.If we asked Jaromil how old these two figures were, he would say with embarrassment that they were between forty and eighty years old.Old age as he knew it was the time when a man had passed his maturity; when destiny was over; when there was no need to fear a horrible, mysterious future; In fact, Jaromil was worried; he approached the naked woman like stepping on thorns.He longed for a body, but was afraid of it.That is why, in his love poems, he escapes from the concrete body into the world of children's play.He deprives the body of reality, imagining the female genitalia as a buzzing toy.In this poem he flees in the opposite direction: into old age, where the body is no longer dangerous and lofty, but miserable and pathetic; the unhappiness of an aging body somehow reconciles him with the arrogance of a young female body , the latter will become old one day. The poem is full of naturalistic ugliness.Jaromil did not ignore the yellow teeth, the dirt around the eyes and the sagging belly.But behind the harshness of these details is a deep desire to confine love to its eternal constituents, to that part of a love that can take the place of a mother's embrace, a love that is not governed by time, a love that Represents "a true heart" capable of overcoming the strength of the body, overcoming the dangers of the flesh that lay before him like an unknown land infested with wild beasts. He wrote many poems about an unreal innocent love, about an unreal death, about an unreal old age.Beneath the three pale blue banners, he advances nervously towards the real body of a grown woman. When she arrived (Maman and grandma had gone to the country for a few days), it was dark though.He didn't turn on a single light.They ate dinner and then sat in Jaromil's room.At about ten o'clock (which is the time Mama usually puts him to bed), he said something he had practiced all day to sound casual and commonplace: "Shall we go to bed?" She nodded, and Jaromil made the bed.Yes, everything is going according to plan without any unexpected obstacles.The girl was undressing in one corner, Jaromil in another (much clumsier than the girl).He quickly put on his pajamas (the pack of condoms had been carefully placed in the pajamas pocket) and hurried into bed (he knew the pajamas didn't fit him, it was too big and made him look small) .He watched the girl undress (well, she looked even more beautiful in the dim light than last time). She slipped into bed, snuggled up next to him, and began kissing him passionately.After a while, it occurred to Jaromil that it was time to open the packet.He reached into his pocket, trying to get the pouch out without her noticing. "What are you looking for?" asked the girl. "Nothing," he replied, immediately placing the hand that was about to grasp the packet on the girl's breast.Then he decided it would be better to say sorry, go away for a while, and go to the bathroom, better prepared.But while he was thinking like this (the girl kept kissing him).He noticed that all the apparent passion he had first felt in the flesh was disappearing.This threw him into a new panic as he realized that there was no point in opening the packet now.So while he was caressing the girl with all his might and passion, he watched anxiously to see if the lost excitement was returning.It didn't come back, and fear gripped his body as he watched uneasily.If anything, it's shrinking, not growing.