1 In this way, after many years, I returned to my hometown.Standing on the central square (I have walked on it thousands of times in childhood, childhood, and youth), there is no enthusiasm for virtue.The clock tower on the square looks down on the roofs of every house (the clock tower looks like a soldier wearing a pointed helmet), which reminds me of the huge arena of a certain barracks.Once a bulwark against Magyars and Turk raids, the Moravian city's military past has left its hideous and irrevocable stamp on its face. For so many years, nothing has tempted me to embark on the journey back to the place where I was born.I thought I was completely indifferent to it.This seems to me to be a matter of course: I have been living abroad for 15 years, and there are only a few acquaintances here, or only a few old classmates left (and I would rather avoid seeing them); my mother has been buried in a In the cemetery of outsiders, I can't take care of it.However, I was still wrong: the so-called indifference is actually hatred.I can't say why I hate it, because in the city I was born in, like any other place, I have had both good and bad experiences, but anyway, I just have a heart for it. Resentment.It was only on this trip that I became aware of it.The mission that brought me back to my hometown could have been done in Prague, but the opportunity to do it in my hometown suddenly became so attractive to me that I couldn't help it.Just kidding, because this mission has a thick skin to do, it's vulgar and vulgar.But it saves people from suspecting that I have come here out of false nostalgia for the past.

I glanced at this unsightly square again with mocking eyes, and then turned my back and walked towards the street of the hotel where I stayed. The room had already been booked.The doorman handed me a key with a pear-shaped wooden sign and said, "Third Floor".The room was not very pleasant: there was a bed against the wall, a small table and the only chair in the middle of the room, a barely sufficient mirrored dressing table of mahogany beside the bed; The washbasin has mottled glaze.I put the towel on the table and went to open the window: I could see the yard and some houses with their bare and dirty backs facing the hotel.I close the window, draw down the curtains, and go to the sink.One of the two faucets was marked red and the other blue; I tried both, and the water was cold.I looked at the table, at best there was room for a water bottle and two water glasses; unfortunately, only one person could sit at the table because there was no second chair in the entire room.I pushed the table to the side of the bed, trying to sit on the bed, but the bed was too low and the table was high; besides, the bed collapsed under my weight, and as soon as I sat on it, I knew that not only could the bed not be used as a chair, but it could even be used as a chair. The duty of the bed is also very questionable.I propped myself on the bed with two fists, raised my shoed feet, took care not to stain the sheets and quilt (almost clean), and lay down.The mattress was sunken everywhere under my body, and I seemed to be sleeping in a bunk, or rather a narrow grave: it was impossible to imagine that anyone could share this bed with me.

I sat in a chair, looking at the curtains that were transparently illuminated by the light, completely lost in thought.At this moment, footsteps and voices were heard in the passage; a man and a woman were talking, and every word could be heard clearly: they talked about a man named Peter who ran away from home; A befuddled Aunt Clara, always spoiling children; then I heard the key turn in the lock, the door opened, and the two voices entered the next room; I heard the woman sigh (yes, even the sigh sent directly to my ear!), the man said that he must talk to Clara once. I stood up and had an idea in my mind.I washed my hands in the sink, dried them with a towel, and left the hotel without knowing where I was going.All I ask is: the hotel room is too unsatisfactory. If I don't want to lose confidence in completing the mission because of this, then I should--although I didn't intend to do this at all--quietly ask a local friend for help. Do me a favor.I flicked through the faces of my teenage years one by one, then dismissed them all because the assistance I needed was confidential, and I had to work hard to build a bridge to bridge the years. --and I haven't seen them at all in all these years--I don't want to.But then I remembered that there must be another one here, for whom I had once secured employment here, and who, as far as I knew him, would be glad to have the opportunity to work for me.This guy is eccentric, suspicious and indecisive by nature.As far as I know, his wife has been divorced from her for many years, the reason is very simple: he can live anywhere, but not with him and their son.I thought that he might have remarried, and I became anxious again. Having a family would make my request very troublesome, so I walked towards the hospital more quickly.

The hospital here is composed of a group of large and small buildings scattered here and there in a large courtyard.I broke into the ugly hut next to the main door and asked the doorman sitting behind a desk to put me in touch with the virology department; he pushed the telephone on the edge of the desk towards me and said, "02! "So I dialed 02 and learned that Dr. Koska had just left and that this was him walking towards the gate.Afraid to miss it, I went to sit on a stool near the gate, and watched those people in blue and white striped pajamas walking around for a while, and then I saw him, coming, thinking of something , tall, thin, with a sense of kindness in his appearance, yes, that's him.I got up from the bench and ran towards him as if to bump into him.He glanced at me unhappily, but immediately recognized me and opened his arms.An impression was created: he was very excited about this unexpected reunion, and I was relieved by his unthinking welcome.