The JOKE

The JOKE Read Free

Book: The JOKE Read Free
Author: Milan Kundera
Tags: Fiction, General
Ads: Link
about coming to my place for a while, until I have to leave?" I could not have wished for anything better.

    Soon after leaving the hospital grounds, we came to a group of new buildings jutting up fitfully one after the next from an unleveled, dust-laden plot of land (without lawns, paths, or roads) and forming a pitiful scene at the town's edge, where it bordered on the empty flatness of farflung fields. We went in one of the doors and climbed a narrow staircase (the elevator was out of order) to the fourth floor, where I saw Kostka's card. As we walked from the entrance hall into the room, I was greatly pleased: in the corner stood a wide, comfortable divan; the room also had a table, an easy chair, a large collection of books, a record player, and a radio.
    I praised the setup and asked about the bathroom. "Nothing luxurious," said Kostka, pleased by my interest. He took me back to the entrance hall and opened the door to a small but pleasant bathroom complete with tub, shower, and sink. "Seeing this nice place of yours gives me an idea," I said. "What are you doing tomorrow afternoon and evening?" "Unfortunately I have to work late tomorrow," he answered apologetically. "I won't be back until seven or so. Are you free in the evening?" "Possibly," I answered,
    "but do you think you could lend me the place for the afternoon?"
    My question surprised him, but he replied immediately (as if worried I might think him unwilling), "I'd be only too glad to share it with you." Then, deliberately trying not to pry into my plans, he added, "And if you need a place to sleep tonight, you're welcome to stay here. I won't be back until morning. No, not even then. I'll be going straight to the hospital." "No, there's no need. I have a room at the hotel. The thing is, it isn't very pleasant, and tomorrow afternoon I need a pleasant atmosphere. Not just for myself, of course." "Of course," said Kostka, lowering his eyes, "I thought as much." He paused, then added, "I'm glad to be able to do you a favor."
    And after another pause: "Providing it really is a favor."
    Then we sat down at the table (Kostka had made coffee) and had a short chat (I tested the divan and found to my delight that it was firm and neither sagged nor creaked). Before long Kostka announced that it was time for him to be getting back to the hospital and quickly initiated me into the major mysteries of the household: the faucets in the bathtub needed extra tightening, contrary to generally accepted procedure hot water was available exclusively from the one marked C, the socket for the record player was hidden under the divan, and there was a newly opened bottle of vodka in the cupboard. He gave me two keys on a ring and showed me which was for the door of the building and which for the flat. During a lifetime of sleeping in various beds I had developed a personal cult of keys, and I slipped Kostka's into my pocket with silent glee.
    On our way out Kostka expressed the hope that his flat would bring me "something really beautiful." "Yes," I said, "it will help me to achieve a beautiful demolition." "Do you think demolition can be beautiful?" said Kostka, and I smiled inwardly, recognizing in his response (delivered mildly, but conceived as a challenge) the Kostka (at once likeable and ridiculous) I had first met more than fifteen years before. I replied, "I know you're a quiet workman on God's eternal construction site and don't like hearing about demolition, but what can I do? Myself, I'm not one of God's bricklayers. Besides, if God's bricklayers built real walls, I doubt we'd be able to demolish them. But instead of walls all I see is stage sets. And stage sets are made to be demolished."
    Which brought us back to where (some nine years before) we had parted ways; this time our dispute had a swiftly metaphorical pace: we were well aware of its fundamentals and did not feel the need to reiterate them; all we needed to repeat was that we had not changed, that we were as

Similar Books

The Beach House

JT Harding

4 Kaua'i Me a River

JoAnn Bassett

The Asylum

John Harwood

Nevada Nights

Ruth Ryan Langan

Kate and Emma

Monica Dickens