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ated　Sabina；　however；　he　closed　his　eyes。　The　pleasure　suffusing　his　body　called　for　darkness。　That　darkness　was　pure；　perfect；　thoughtless；　visionless；　that　darkness　was　without　end；　without　borders；　that　darkness　was　the　infinite　we　each　carry　within　us。　（Yes；　if　you're　looking　for　infinity；　just　close　your　eyes！）
And　at　the　moment　he　felt　pleasure　suffusing　his　body；　Franz　himself　disintegrated　and　dissolved　into　the　infinity　of　his　darkness；　himself　becoming　infinite。　But　the　larger　a　man　grows　in　his　own　inner　darkness；　the　more　his　outer　form　diminishes。　A　man　with　closed　eyes　is　a　wreck　of　a　man。　Then；　Sabina　found　the　sight　of　Franz　distasteful；　and　to　avoid　looking　at　him　she　too　closed　her　eyes。　But　for　her；　darkness　did　not　mean　infinity；　for　her；　it　meant　a　disagreement　with　what　she　saw；　the　negation　of　what　was　seen；　the　refusal　to　see。
4
Sabina　once　allowed　herself　to　be　taken　along　to　a　gathering　of　fellow　emigres。　As　usual；　they　were　hashing　over　whether　they　should　or　should　not　have　taken　up　arms　against　the　Russians。　In　the　safety　of　emigration；　they　all　naturally　came　out　in　favor　of　fighting。　Sabina　said：　Then　why　don't　you　go　back　and　fight？　
That　was　not　the　thing　to　say。　A　man　with　artificially　waved　gray　hair　pointed　a　long　index　finger　at　her。　That's　no　way　to　talk。　You're　all　responsible　for　what　happened。　You；　too。　How　did　you　oppose　the　Communist　regime？　All　you　did　was　paint　pictures。　。。。　
Assessing　the　populace；　checking　up　on　it；　is　a　principal　and　never…ending　social　activity　in　Communist　countries。　If　a　painter　is　to　have　an　exhibition；　an　ordinary　citizen　to　receive　a　visa　to　a　country　with　a　sea　coast；　a　soccer　player　to　join　the　national　team；　then　a　vast　array　of　recommendations　and　reports　must　be　garnered　（from　the　concierge；　colleagues；　the　police；　the　local　Party　organization；　the　pertinent　trade　union）　and　added　up；　weighed；　and　summarized　by　special　officials。　These　reports　have　nothing　to　do　with　artistic　talent；　kicking　ability；　or　maladies　that　respond　well　to　salt　sea　air；　they　deal　with　one　thing　only：　the　citizen's　political　profile　（in　other　words；　what　the　citizen　says；　what　he　thinks；　how　he　behaves；　how　he　acquits　himself　at　meetings　or　May　Day　parades）。　Because　everything　（day…to…day　existence；　promotion　at　work；　vacations）　depends　on　the　outcome　of　the　assessment　process；　everyone　（whether　he　wants　to　play　soccer　for　the　national　team；　have　an　exhibition；　or　spend　his　holidays　at　the　seaside）　must　behave　in　such　a　way　as　to　deserve　a　favorable　assessment。
That　was　what　ran　through　Sabina's　mind　as　she　listened　to　the　gray…haired　man　speak。　He　didn't　care　whether　his　fellow…countrymen　were　good　kickers　or　painters　（none　of　the　Czechs　at　the　emigre　gathering　ever　showed　any　interest　in　what　Sabina　painted）；　he　cared　whether　they　had　opposed　Communism　actively　or　just　passively；　really　and　truly　or　just　for　appearances'　sake；　from　the　very　beginning　or　just　since　emigration。
Because　she　was　a　painter；　she　had　an　eye　for　detail　and　a　memory　for　the　physical　characteristics　of　the　people　in　Prague　who　had　a　passion　for　assessing　others。　All　of　them　had　index　fingers　slightly　longer　than　their　middle　fingers　and　pointed　them　at　whomever　they　happened　to　be　talking　to。　In　fact；　President　Novotny；　who　had　ruled　the　country　for　the　fourteen　years　preceding　1968；　sported　the　very　same　barber…induced　gray　waves　and　had　the　longest　index　finger　of　all　the　inhabitants　of　Central　Europe。
When　the　distinguished　emigre　heard　from　the　lips　of　a　painter　whose　pictures　he　had　never　seen　that　he　resembled　Communist　President　Novotny；　he　turned　scarlet；　then　white；　then　scarlet　again；　then　white　once　more；　he　tried　to　say　something；　did　not　succeed；　and　fell　silent。　Everyone　else　kept　silent　until　Sabina　stood　up　and　left。
It　made　her　unhappy；　and　down　in　the　street　she　asked　herself　why　she　should　bother　to　maintain　contact　with　Czechs。　What　bound　her　to　them？　The　landscape？　If　each　of　them　were　asked　to　say　what　the　name　of　his　native　country　evoked　in　him；　the　images　that　came　to　mind　would　be　so　different　as　to　rule　out　all　possibility　of　unity。
Or　the　culture？　But　what　was　that？　Music？　Dvorak　and　Janacek？　Yes。　But　what　if　a　Czech　had　no　feeling　for　music？　Then　the　essence　of　being　Czech　vanished　into　thin　air。
Or　great　men？　Jan　Hus？　None　of　the　people　in　that　room　had　ever　read　a　line　of　his　works。　The　only　thing　they　were　all　able　to　understand　was　the　flames；　the　glory　of　the　flames　when　he　was　burned　at　the　stake；　the　glory　of　the　ashes；　so　for　them　the　essence　of　being　Czech　came　down　to　ashes　and　nothing　more。　The　only　things　that　held　them　together　were　their　defeats　and　the　reproaches　they　addressed　to　one　another。
She　was　walking　fast。　She　was　more　disturbed　by　her　own　thoughts　than　by　her　break　with　the　emigres。　She　knew　she　was　being　unfair。　There　were　other　Czechs；　after　all；　people　quite　different　from　the　man　with　the　long　index　finger。　The　embarrassed　silence　that　followed　her　little　speech　did　not　by　any　means　indicate　they　were　all　against　her。　No；　they　were　probably　bewildered　by　the　sudden　hatred；　the　lack　of　understanding　they　were　all　subjected　to　in　emigration。　Then　why　wasn't　she　sorry　for　them？　Why　didn't　she　see　them　for　the　woeful　and　abandoned　creatures　they　were？
We　know　why。　After　she　betrayed　her　father；　life　opened　up　before　her；　a　long　road　of　betrayals；　each　one　attracting　her　as　vice　and　victory。　She　would　not　keep　ranks！　She　refused　to　keep　ranks—always　with　the　same　people；　with　the　same　speeches！　That　was　why　she　was　so　stirred　by　her　own　injustice。　But　it　was　not　an　unpleasant　feeling；　quite　the　contrary；　Sabina　had　the　impression　she　had　just　scored　a　victory　and　someone　invisible　was　applauding　her　for　it。
Then　suddenly　the　intoxication　gave　way　to　anguish：　The　road　had　to　end　somewhere！　Sooner　or　later　she　would　have　to　put　an　end　to　her　betrayals！　Sooner　or　later　she　would　have　to　stop　herself！
It　was　evening　and　she　was　hurrying　through　the　railway　station。　The　train　to　Amsterdam　was　in。　She　found　her　coach。　Guided　by　a　friendly　guard；　she　opened　the　door　to　her　compartment　and　found　Franz　sitting　on　a　couchette。　He　rose　to　greet　her；　she　threw　her　arms　around　him　and　smothered　him　with　kisses。
She　had　an　overwhelming　desire　to　tell　him；　like　the　most　banal　of　women；　Don't　let　me　go；　hold　me　tight；　make　me　your　plaything；　your　slave；　be　strong！　But　they　were　words　she　could　not　say。
The　only　thing　she　said　when　he　released　her　from　his　embrace　was；　You　don't　know　how　happy　I　am　to　be　with　you。　That　was　the　most　her　reserved　nature　allowed　her　to　express。

5
A　Short　Dictionary　of　Misunderstood　Words　（continued｝
PARADES
People　in　Italy　or　France　have　it　easy。　When　their　parents　force　them　to　go　to　church；　they　get　back　at　them　by　joining　the　Party　（Communist；　Maoist；　Trotskyist；　etc。）。　Sabina；　however；　was　first　sent　to　church　by　her　father；　then　forced　by　him　to　attend　meetings　of　the　Communist　Youth　League。　He　was　afraid　of　what　would　happen　if　she　stayed　away。
When　she　marched　in　the　obligatory　May　Day　parades；　she　could　never　keep　in　step；　and　the　girl　behind　her　would　shout　at　her　and　purposely　tread　on　her　heels。　When　the　time　came　to　sing；　she　never　knew　the　words　of　the　songs　and　would　merely　open　and　close　her　mouth。　But　the　other　girls　would　notice　and　report　her。　From　her　youth　on；　she　hated　parades。
Franz　had　studied　in　Paris；　and　because　he　was　extraordinarily　gifted　his　scholarly　career　was　assured　from　the　time　he　was　twenty。　At　twenty；　he　knew　he　would　live　out　his　life　within　the　confines　of　his　university　office；　one　or　two　libraries；　and　two　or　three　lecture　halls。　The　idea　of　such　a　life　made　him　feel　suffocated。　He　yearned　to　step　out　of　his　life　the　way　one　steps　out　of　a　house　into　the　street。
And　so　as　long　as　he　lived　in　Paris；　he　took　part　in　every　possible　demonstration。　How　nice　it　was　to　celebrate　something；　demand　something；　protest　against　something；　to　be　out　in　the　open；　to　be　with　others。　The　parades　filing　down　the　Boulevard　Saint…Germain　or　from　the　Place　de　la　Republique　to　the　Bastille　fascinated　him。　He　saw　the　marching；　shouting　crowd　as　the　image　of　Europe　and　its　history。　Europe　was　the　Grand　March。　The　march　from　revolution　to　revolution；　from　struggle　to　struggle；　ever　onward。
I　might　put　it　another　way：　Franz　felt　his　book　life　to　be　unreal。　He　yearned　for　real　life；　for　the　touch　of　people　walking　side　by　side　with　him；　for　their　shouts。　It　never　occurred　to　him　that　what　he　considered　unreal　（the　work　he　did　in　the　solitude　of　the　office　or　library）　was　in　fact　his　real　life；　whereas　the　parades　he　imagined　to　be　reality　were　nothing　but　theater；　dance；　carnival—in　other　words；　a　dream。
During　her　studies；　Sabina　lived　in　a　dormitory。　On　May　Day　all　the　students　had　to　report　early　in　the　morning　for　the　parade。　Student　officials　would　comb　the　building　to　ensure　that　no　one　was　missing。　Sabina　hid　in　the　lavatory。　Not　until　long　after　the　building　was　empty　would　she　go　back　to　her　room。　It　was　quieter　than　anywhere　she　could　remember。　The　only　sound　was　the　parade　music　echoing　in　the　distance。　It　was　as　though　she　had　found　refuge　inside　a　shell　and　the　only　sound　she　could　hear　was　the　sea　of　an　inimical　world。
A　year　or　two　after　emigrating；　she　happened　to　be　in　Paris　on　the　anniversary　of　the　Russian　invasion　of　her　country。　A　protest　march　had　been　scheduled；　and　she　felt　driven　to　take　part。　Fists　raised　high；　the　young　Frenchmen　shouted　out　slogans　condemning　Soviet　imperialism。　She　liked　the　slogans；　but　to　her　surprise　she　found　herself　unable　to　shout　along　with　them。　She　lasted　no　more　than　a　few　minutes　in　the　parade。
When　she　told　her　French　friends　about　it；　they　were　amazed。　You　mean　you　don't　want　to　fight　the　occupation　of　your　country？　She　would　have　liked　to　tell　them　that　behind　Communism；　Fascism；　behind　all　occupations　and　invasions　lurks　a　more　basic；　pervasive　evil　and　that　the　image　of　that　evil　was　a　parade　of　people　marching　by　with　raised　fists　and　shouting　identical　syllables　in　unison。　But　she　knew　she　would　never　be　able　to　make　them　understand。　Embarrassed；　she　changed　the　subject。
THE　BEAUTY　OF　NEW　YORK
Franz　and　Sabina　would　walk　the　streets　of　New