The Joke by Milan Kundera

Author:Milan Kundera [Kundera, Milan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-12-22T18:30:00+00:00

The day of the funeral arrived. From early morning I felt nervous at the prospect of meeting Ludvik again. But Ludvik never came. Only a handful of people followed the coffin. I asked the Kouteckys where Ludvik was. They shrugged their shoulders and said they didn't know.

The procession stopped at a large tomb with a heavy marble stone and the white statue of an angel.

The property of the rich builder's family had been confiscated and they were living on a meager income. All they had left was this large family vault with a white angel. I knew all this, but I couldn't understand why the coffin was being interred there.

Only later did I learn that Ludvik had been in prison at the time. His mother was the only one in town who'd known. When she died, the Kouteckys took over the body of an unloved sister-in-law and proclaimed it their own. At last they were avenged on their ungrateful nephew. They had robbed him of his mother. They had covered her up with a heavy marble stone guarded by a white angel with curly hair and a palm frond. I'll never forget that angel. He was soaring above the ravaged life of a friend from whom even the bodies of his parents had been stolen. The angel of robbery.

9

Vlasta doesn't like extravagance. Sitting out in the garden at night is an extravagance. I heard a vigorous tapping at the win-dowpane. Behind the window loomed the severe shadow of a woman's figure in a nightdress. I am obedient. I can never say no to those weaker than myself. And because I am six feet two and can lift a two-hundred-pound sack with one hand, in all my life I have yet to find anyone I can resist.

So I went in and lay down beside Vlasta. To break the silence, I mentioned seeing Ludvik earlier in the day. "And so?" she said with a display of indifference. There's nothing I can do about it. She can't stomach him. All this time, and she can't stand him. Not that she has anything to complain about. Since our wedding she's seen him exactly once. In fifty-six.

By then I could no longer gloss over the gulf dividing us, not even to myself.

Ludvik had been through military service, a prison sentence, and several years in the mines. He was making arrangements in Prague to resume his studies and had come to our town to take care of a few legal formalities. I was nervous about meeting him again. But the man I met wasn't a broken malcontent. Not at all. He was different from the Ludvik I had known. There was a toughness about him, a solidity, and he was perhaps calmer.

Nothing calling for pity. It looked as though we'd have no trouble bridging the gulf I had so feared. To renew old ties, I invited him to a rehearsal of our ensemble. I still thought of it as his ensemble too. What did it matter

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