生命不能承受之轻-第23章

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　to　new　adventures　of　betrayal。　But　what　if　the　paths　came　to　an　end？　One　could　betray　one's　parents；　husband；　country；　love；　but　when　parents　husband；　country；　and　love　were　gone—what　was　left　to　betray？
Sabina　felt　emptiness　all　around　her。　What　if　that　emptiness　was　the　goal　of　all　her　betrayals？
Naturally　she　had　not　realized　it　until　now。　How　could　she　have？　The　goals　we　pursue　are　always　veiled。　A　girl　who　longs　for　marriage　longs　for　something　she　knows　nothing　about。　The　boy　who　hankers　after　fame　has　no　idea　what　fame　is。　The　thing　that　gives　our　every　move　its　meaning　is　always　totally　unknown　to　us。　Sabina　was　unaware　of　the　goal　that　lay　behind　her　longing　to　betray。　The　unbearable　lightness　of　being—was　that　the　goal？　Her　departure　from　Geneva　brought　her　considerably　closer　to　it。
Three　years　after　moving　to　Paris；　she　received　a　letter　from　Prague。　It　was　from　Tomas's　son。　Somehow　or　other　he　had　found　out　about　her　and　got　hold　of　her　address；　and　now　he　was　writing　to　her　as　his　father's　closest　friend。　He　informed　her　of　the　deaths　of　Tomas　and　Tereza。　For　the　past　few　years　they　had　been　living　in　a　village；　where　Tomas　was　employed　as　a　driver　at　a　collective　farm。　From　time　to　time　they　would　drive　over　to　the　next　town　and　spend　the　night　in　a　cheap　hotel。　The　road　there　wound　through　some　hills；　and　their　pickup　had　crashed　and　hurtled　down　a　steep　incline。　Their　bodies　had　been　crushed　to　a　pulp。　The　police　determined　later　that　the　brakes　were　in　disastrous　condition。
She　could　not　get　over　the　news。　The　last　link　to　her　past　had　been　broken。
According　to　her　old　habit；　she　decided　to　calm　herself　by　taking　a　walk　in　a　cemetery。　The　Montparnasse　Cemetery　was　the　closest。　It　was　all　tiny　houses；　miniature　chapels　over　each　grave。　Sabina　could　not　understand　why　the　dead　would　want　to　have　imitation　palaces　built　over　them。　The　cemetery　was　vanity　transmogrified　into　stone。　Instead　of　growing　more　sensible　in　death；　the　inhabitants　of　the　cemetery　were　sillier　than　they　had　been　in　life。　Their　monuments　were　meant　to　display　how　important　they　were。　There　were　no　fathers；　brothers；　sons；　or　grandmothers　buried　there；　only　public　figures；　the　bearers　of　titles；　degrees；　and　honors；　even　the　postal　clerk　celebrated　his　chosen　profession；　his　social　significance—his　dignity。
Walking　along　a　row　of　graves；　she　noticed　people　gathering　for　a　burial。　The　funeral　director　had　an　armful　of　flowers　and　was　giving　one　to　each　mourner。　He　handed　one　to　Sabina　as　well。　She　joined　the　group。　They　made　a　detour　past　many　monuments　before　they　came　to　the　grave；　free　for　the　moment　of　its　heavy　gravestone。　She　leaned　over　the　hole。　It　was　extremely　deep。　She　dropped　in　the　flower。　It　sailed　down　to　the　coffin　in　graceful　somersaults。　In　Bohemia　the　graves　were　not　so　deep。　In　Paris　the　graves　were　deeper；　just　as　the　buildings　were　taller。　Her　eye　fell　on　the　stone；　which　lay　next　to　the　grave。　It　chilled　her；　and　she　hurried　home。
She　thought　about　that　stone　all　day。　Why　had　it　horrified　her　so？
She　answered　herself：　When　graves　are　covered　with　stones；　the　dead　can　no　longer　get　out。
But　the　dead　can't　get　out　anyway！　What　difference　does　it　make　whether　they're　covered　with　soil　or　stones？
The　difference　is　that　if　a　grave　is　covered　with　a　stone　it　means　we　don't　want　the　deceased　to　come　back。　The　heavy　stone　tells　the　deceased；　Stay　where　you　are！　
That　made　Sabina　think　about　her　father's　grave。　There　was　soil　above　his　grave　with　flowers　growing　out　of　it　and　a　maple　tree　reaching　down　to　it；　and　the　roots　and　flowers　offered　his　corpse　a　path　out　of　the　grave。　If　her　father　had　been　covered　with　a　stone；　she　would　never　have　been　able　to　communicate　with　him　after　he　died；　and　hear　his　voice　in　the　trees　pardoning　her。
What　was　it　like　in　the　cemetery　where　Tereza　and　Tomas　were　buried？
Once　more　she　started　thinking　about　them。　From　time　to　time　they　would　drive　over　to　the　next　town　and　spend　the　night　in　a　cheap　hotel。　That　passage　in　the　letter　had　caught　her　eye。　It　meant　they　were　happy。　And　again　she　pictured　Tomas　as　if　he　were　one　of　her　paintings：　Don　Juan　in　the　foreground；　a　specious　stage…set　by　a　naive　painter；　and　through　a　crack　in　the　set—Tristan。　He　died　as　Tristan；　not　as　Don　Juan。　Sabina's　parents　had　died　in　the　same　week。　Tomas　and　Tereza　in　the　same　second。　Suddenly　she　missed　Franz　terribly。
When　she　told　him　about　her　cemetery　walks；　he　gave　a　shiver　of　disgust　and　called　cemeteries　bone　and　stone　dumps。　A　gulf　of　misunderstanding　had　immediately　opened　between　them。　Not　until　that　day　at　the　Montparnasse　Cemetery　did　she　see　what　he　meant。　She　was　sorry　to　have　been　so　impatient　with　him。　Perhaps　if　they　had　stayed　together　longer；　Sabina　and　Franz　would　have　begun　to　understand　the　words　they　used。　Gradually；　timorously；　their　vocabularies　would　have　come　together；　like　bashful　lovers；　and　the　music　of　one　would　have　begun　to　intersect　with　the　music　of　the　other。　But　it　was　too　late　now。
Yes；　it　was　too　late；　and　Sabina　knew　she　would　leave　Paris；　move　on；　and　on　again；　because　were　she　to　die　here　they　would　cover　her　up　with　a　stone；　and　in　the　mind　of　a　woman　for　whom　no　place　is　home　the　thought　of　an　end　to　all　flight　is　unbearable。
11
All　Franz's　friends　knew　about　Marie…Claude；　they　all　knew　about　the　girl　with　the　oversized　glasses。　But　no　one　knew　about　Sabina。　Franz　was　wrong　when　he　thought　his　wife　had　told　her　friends　about　her。　Sabina　was　a　beautiful　woman；　and　Marie…Claude　did　not　want　people　going　about　comparing　their　faces。
Because　Franz　was　so　afraid　of　being　found　out；　he　had　never　asked　for　any　of　Sabina's　paintings　or　drawings　or　even　a　snapshot　of　her。　As　a　result；　she　disappeared　from　his　life　without　a　trace。　There　was　not　a　scrap　of　tangible　evidence　to　show　that　he　had　spent　the　most　wonderful　year　of　his　life　with　her。
Which　only　increased　his　desire　to　remain　faithful　to　her。
Sometimes　when　they　were　alone　in　his　flat　together；　the　girl　would　lift　her　eyes　from　a　book；　throw　him　an　inquiring　glance；　and　say；　What　are　you　thinking　about？　
Sitting　in　his　armchair；　staring　up　at　the　ceiling；　Franz　always　found　some　plausible　response；　but　in　fact　he　was　thinking　of　Sabina。
Whenever　he　published　an　article　in　a　scholarly　journal；　the　girl　was　the　first　to　read　it　and　discuss　it　with　him。　But　all　he　could　think　of　was　what　Sabina　would　have　said　about　it。　Everything　he　did；　he　did　for　Sabina；　the　way　Sabina　would　have　liked　to　see　it　done。
It　was　a　perfectly　innocent　form　of　infidelity　and　one　eminently　suited　to　Franz；　who　would　never　have　done　his　bespectacled　student…mistress　any　harm。　He　nourished　the　cult　of　Sabina　more　as　religion　than　as　love。
Indeed；　according　to　the　theology　of　that　religion　it　was　Sabina　who　had　sent　him　the　girl。　Between　his　earthly　love　and　his　unearthly　love；　therefore；　there　was　perfect　peace。　And　if　unearthly　love　must　（for　theological　reasons）　contain　a　strong　dose　of　the　inexplicable　and　incomprehensible　（we　have　only　to　recall　the　dictionary　of　misunderstood　words　and　the　long　lexicon　of　misunderstandings！）；　his　earthly　love　rested　on　true　understanding。
The　student…mistress　was　much　younger　than　Sabina；　and　the　musical　composition　of　her　life　had　scarcely　been　outlined；　she　was　grateful　to　Franz　for　the　motifs　he　gave　her　to　insert。　Franz's　Grand　March　was　now　her　creed　as　well。　Music　was　now　her　Dionysian　intoxication。　They　often　went　dancing　together。　They　lived　in　truth；　and　nothing　they　did　was　secret。　They　sought　out　the　company　of　friends；　colleagues；　students；　and　strangers；　and　enjoyed　sitting；　drinking；　and　chatting　with　them。　They　took　frequent　excursions　to　the　Alps。　Franz　would　bend　over；　the　girl　hopped　onto　his　back；　and　off　he　ran　through　the　meadows；　declaiming　at　the　top　of　his　voice　a　long　German　poem　his　mother　had　taught　him　as　a　child。　The　girl　laughed　with　glee；　admiring　his　legs；　shoulders；　and　lungs　as　she　clasped　his　neck。
The　only　thing　she　could　not　quite　fathom　was　the　curious　sympathy　he　had　for　the　countries　occupied　by　the　Russian　empire。　On　the　anniversary　of　the　invasion；　they　attended　a　memorial　meeting　organized　by　a　Czech　group　in　Geneva。
The　room　was　nearly　empty。