生命不能承受之轻-第12部分

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ke　love；　quite　the　contrary；　it　meant　she　was　tired　of　limiting　their　lovemaking　to　foreign　cities。
She　raised　her　glass　and　emptied　it　in　one　swig。　Franz　did　the　same。　He　was　naturally　overjoyed　that　her　refusal　to　go　to　Palermo　was　actually　a　call　to　love；　but　he　was　a　bit　sorry　as　well：　his　mistress　seemed　determined　to　violate　the　zone　of　Purity　he　had　introduced　into　their　relationship；　she　had　failed　to　understand　his　apprehensive　attempts　to　save　their　love　from　banality　and　separate　it　radically　from　his　conjugal　home。
The　ban　on　making　love　with　his　painter…mistress　in　Geneva　was　actually　a　self…inflicted　punishment　for　having　married　another　woman。　He　felt　it　as　a　kind　of　guilt　or　defect。　Even　though　his　conjugal　sex　life　was　hardly　worth　mentioning；　he　and　his　wife　still　slept　in　the　same　bed；　awoke　in　the　middle　of　the　night　to　each　other's　heavy　breathing；　and　inhaled　the　smells　of　each　other's　body。　True；　he　would　rather　have　slept　by　himself；　but　the　marriage　bed　is　still　the　symbol　of　the　marriage　bond；　and　symbols；　as　we　know；　are　inviolable。
Each　time　he　lay　down　next　to　his　wife　in　that　bed；　he　thought　of　his　mistress　imagining　him　lying　down　next　to　his　wife　in　that　bed；　and　each　time　he　thought　of　her　he　felt　ashamed。　That　was　why　he　wished　to　separate　the　bed　he　slept　in　with　his　wife　as　far　as　possible　in　space　from　the　bed　he　made　love　in　with　his　mistress。
His　painter…mistress　poured　herself　another　glass　of　wine；　drank　it　down；　and　then；　still　silent　and　with　a　curious　nonchalance；　as　if　completely　unaware　of　Franz's　presence；　slowly　removed　her　blouse。　She　was　behaving　like　an　acting　student　whose　improvisation　assignment　is　to　make　the　class　believe　she　is　alone　in　a　room　and　no　one　can　see　her。
Standing　there　in　her　skirt　and　bra；　she　suddenly　（as　if　recalling　only　then　that　she　was　not　alone　in　the　room）　fixed　Franz　with　a　long　stare。
That　stare　bewildered　him；　he　could　not　understand　it。　All　lovers　unconsciously　establish　their　own　rules　of　the　game；　which　from　the　outset　admit　no　transgression。　The　stare　she　had　just　fixed　on　him　fell　outside　their　rules；　it　had　nothing　in　common　with　the　looks　and　gestures　that　usually　preceded　their　lovemaking。　It　was　neither　provocative　nor　flirtatious；　simply　interrogative。　The　problem　was；　Franz　had　not　the　slightest　notion　what　it　was　asking。
Next　she　stepped　out　of　her　skirt　and；　taking　Franz　by　the　hand；　turned　him　in　the　direction　of　a　large　mirror　propped　against　the　wall。　Without　letting　go　of　his　hand；　she　looked　into　the　mirror　with　the　same　long　questioning　stare；　training　it　first　on　herself；　then　on　him。
Near　the　mirror　stood　a　wig　stand　with　an　old　black　bowler　hat　on　it。　She　bent　over；　picked　up　the　hat；　and　put　it　on　her　head。　The　image　in　the　mirror　was　instantaneously　transformed：　suddenly　it　was　a　woman　in　her　undergarments；　a　beautiful；　distant；　indifferent　woman　with　a　terribly　out…of…place　bowler　hat　on　her　head；　holding　the　hand　of　a　man　in　a　gray　suit　and　a　tie。
Again　he　had　to　smile　at　how　poorly　he　understood　his　mistress。　When　she　took　her　clothes　off；　it　wasn't　so　much　erotic　provocation　as　an　odd　little　caper；　a　happening　a　deux。　His　smile　beamed　understanding　and　consent。
He　waited　for　his　mistress　to　respond　in　kind；　but　she　did　not。　Without　letting　go　of　his　hand；　she　stood　staring　into　the　mirror；　first　at　herself；　then　at　him。
The　time　for　the　happening　had　come　and　gone。　Franz　was　beginning　to　feel　that　the　caper　（which；　in　and　of　itself；　he　was　happy　to　think　of　as　charming）　had　dragged　on　too　long。　So　he　gently　took　the　brim　of　the　bowler　hat　between　two　fingers；　lifted　it　off　Sabina's　head　with　a　smile；　and　laid　it　back　on　the　wig　stand。　It　was　as　though　he　were　erasing　the　mustache　a　naughty　child　had　drawn　on　a　picture　of　the　Virgin　Mary。
For　several　more　seconds　she　remained　motionless；　staring　at　herself　in　the　mirror。　Then　Franz　covered　her　with　tender　kisses　and　asked　her　once　more　to　go　with　him　in　ten　days　to　Palermo。　This　time　she　said　yes　unquestioningly；　and　he　left。
He　was　in　an　excellent　mood　again。　Geneva；　which　he　had　cursed　all　his　life　as　the　metropolis　of　boredom；　now　seemed　beautiful　and　full　of　adventure。　Outside　in　the　street；　he　looked　back　up　at　the　studio's　broad　window。　It　was　late　spring　and　hot。　All　the　windows　were　shaded　with　striped　awnings。　Franz　walked　to　the　park。　At　its　far　end；　the　golden　cupolas　of　the　Orthodox　church　rose　up　like　two　gilded　cannonballs　kept　from　imminent　collapse　and　suspended　in　the　air　by　some　invisible　Power。　Everything　was　beautiful。　Then　he　went　down　to　the　embankment　and　took　the　public　transport　boat　to　the　north　bank　of　the　lake；　where　he　lived。
2
Sabina　was　now　by　herself。　She　went　back　to　the　mirror；　still　in　her　underwear。　She　put　the　bowler　hat　back　on　her　head　and　had　a　long　look　at　herself。　She　was　amazed　at　the　number　of　years　she　had　spent　pursuing　one　lost　moment。
Once；　during　a　visit　to　her　studio　many　years　before；　the　bowler　hat　had　caught　Tomas's　fancy。　He　had　set　it　on　his　head　and　looked　at　himself　in　the　large　mirror　which；　as　in　the　Geneva　studio；　leaned　against　the　wall。　He　wanted　to　see　what　he　would　have　looked　like　as　a　nineteenth…century　mayor。　When　Sabina　started　undressing；　he　put　the　hat　on　her　head。　There　they　stood　in　front　of　the　mirror　（they　always　stood　in　front　of　the　mirror　while　she　undressed）；　watching　themselves。　She　stripped　to　her　underwear；　but　still　had　the　hat　on　her　head。　And　all　at　once　she　realized　they　were　both　excited　by　what　they　saw　in　the　mirror。
What　could　have　excited　them　so？　A　moment　before；　the　hat　on　her　head　had　seemed　nothing　but　a　joke。　Was　excitement　really　a　mere　step　away　from　laughter？
Yes。　When　they　looked　at　each　other　in　the　mirror　that　time；　all　she　saw　for　the　first　few　seconds　was　a　comic　situation。　But　suddenly　the　comic　became　veiled　by　excitement：　the　bowler　hat　no　longer　signified　a　joke；　it　signified　violence；　violence　against　Sabina；　against　her　dignity　as　a　woman。　She　saw　her　bare　legs　and　thin　panties　with　her　pubic　triangle　showing　through。　The　lingerie　enhanced　the　charm　of　her　femininity；　while　the　hard　masculine　hat　denied　it；　violated　and　ridiculed　it。　The　fact　that　Tomas　stood　beside　her　fully　dressed　meant　that　the　essence　of　what　they　both　saw　was　far　from　good　clean　fun　（if　it　had　been　fun　he　was　after；　he；　too；　would　have　had　to　strip　and　don　a　bowler　hat）；　it　was　humiliation。　But　instead　of　spurning　it；　she　proudly；　provocatively　played　it　for　all　it　was　worth；　as　if　submitting　of　her　own　will　to　public　rape；　and　suddenly；　unable　to　wait　any　longer；　she　pulled　Tomas　down　to　the　floor。　The　bowler　hat　rolled　under　the　table；　and　they　began　thrashing　about　on　the　rug　at　the　foot　of　the　mirror。
But　let　us　return　to　the　bowler　hat：
First；　it　was　a　vague　reminder　of　a　forgotten　grandfather；　the　mayor　of　a　small　Bohemian　town　during　the　nineteenth　century。
Second；　it　was　a　memento　of　her　father。　After　the　funeral　her　brother　appropriated　all　their　parents'　property；　and　she；　refusing　out　of　sovereign　contempt　to　fight　for　her　rights；　announced　sarcastically　that　she　was　taking　the　bowler　hat　as　her　sole　inheritance。
Third；　it　was　a　prop　for　her　love　games　with　Tomas。
Fourth；　it　was　a　sign　of　her　originality；　which　she　consciously　cultivated。　She　could　not　take　much　with　her　when　she　emigrated；　and　taking　this　bulky；　impractical　thing　meant　giving　UP　other；　more　practical　ones。
Fifth；　now　that　she　was　abroad；　the　hat　was　a　sentimental　object。　When　she　went　to　visit　Tomas　in　Zurich；　she　took　it　along　and　had　it　on　her　head　when　he　opened　the　hotel…room　door。　But　then　something　she　had　not　reckoned　with　happened：　the　hat；　no　longer　jaunty　or　sexy；　turned　into　a　monument　to　time　past。　They　were　both　touched。　They　made　love　as　they　never　had　before。　This　was　no　occasion　for　obscene　games。　For　this　meeting　was　not　a　continuation　of　their　erotic　rendezvous；　each　of　which　had　been　an　opportunity　to　think　up　some　new　little　vice；　it　was　a　recapitulation　of　time；　a　hymn　to　their　common　past；　a　sentimental　summary　of　an　unsentimental　story　that　was　disappearing　in　the　distance。
The　bowler　hat　was　a　motif　in　the　musical　composition　that　was　Sabina's　life。　It　returned　again　and　again；　each　time　with　a　different　meaning；　and　all　the　meanings　flowed　through　the　bowler　hat　like　water　through　a　riverbed。　I　might　call　it　Heraclitus'　（　You　can't　step　twice　into　the　same　river　）　riverbed：　the　bowler　hat　was　a　bed　through　which　each　time　Sabina　saw　another　river　flow；　another　semantic　river：　each　time　the　same　object　would　give　rise　to　a　new　meaning；　though　all　former　meanings　would　resonate　（like　an　echo；　like　a　parade　of　echoes）　together　with　the　new　one。　Each　new　experience　would　resound；　each　time　enriching　the　harmony。　The　reason　why　Tomas　and　Sabina　were　touched　by　the　sight　of　the　bowler　hat　in　a　Zurich　hotel　and　made　love　almost　in　tears　was　that　its　black　presence　was　not　merely　a　reminder　of　their　love　games　but　also　a　memento　of　Sabina's　father　and　of　her　grandfather；　who　lived　in　a　century　without　airplanes　and　cars。
Now；　perhaps；　we　are　in　a　better　position　to　understand　the　abyss　separating　Sabina　and　Franz：　he　listened　eagerly　to　the　story　of　her　life　and　she　was　equally　eager　to　hear　the　story　of　his；　but　although　they　had　a　clear　understanding　of　the　logical　meaning　of　the　words　they　exchanged；　they　failed　to　hear　the　semantic　susurrus　of　the　river　flowing　through　them。
And　so　when　she　put　on　the　bowler　hat　in　his　presence；　Franz　felt　uncomfortable；　as　if　someone　had　spoken　to　him　in　a　language　he　did　not　know。　It　was　neither　obscene　nor　sentimental；　merely　an　incomprehensible　gesture。　What　made　him　feel　uncomfortable　was　its　very　lack　of　meaning。
While　people　are　fairly　young　and　the　musical　composition　of　their　lives　is　still　in　its　opening　bars；　they　can　go　about　writing　it　together　and　exchange　motifs　（the　way　Tomas　and　Sabina　exchanged　the　motif　of　the　bowler　hat）；　but　if　they　meet　when　they　are　older；　like　Franz　and　Sabina；　their　musical　compositions　are　more　or　less　complete；　and　every　motif；　every　object；　every　word　means　something　different　to　each　of　them。
If　I　were　to　make　a　record　of　all　Sabina　and　Franz's　conversations；　I　could　compile　a　long　lexicon　of　their　m