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nowhere　else。
He　was　so　upset　he　sat　straight　up　in　bed。　Tereza　was　breathing　deeply　beside　him。　The　woman　in　the　dream；　he　thought；　was　unlike　any　he　had　ever　met。　The　woman　he　felt　he　knew　most　intimately　of　all　had　turned　out　to　be　a　woman　he　did　not　even　know。　And　yet　she　was　the　one　he　had　always　longed　for。　If　a　personal　paradise　were　ever　to　exist　for　him；　then　in　that　paradise　he　would　have　to　live　by　her　side。　The　woman　from　his　dream　was　the　Es　muss　sein！　of　his　love。
He　suddenly　recalled　the　famous　myth　from　Plato's　Symposium：　People　were　hermaphrodites　until　God　split　them　in　two；　and　now　all　the　halves　wander　the　world　over　seeking　one　another。　Love　is　the　longing　for　the　half　of　ourselves　we　have　lost。
Let　us　suppose　that　such　is　the　case；　that　somewhere　in　the　world　each　of　us　has　a　partner　who　once　formed　part　of　our　body。　Tomas's　other　part　is　the　young　woman　he　dreamed　about。　The　trouble　is；　man　does　not　find　the　other　part　of　himself。　Instead；　he　is　sent　a　Tereza　in　a　bulrush　basket。　But　what　happens　if　he　nevertheless　later　meets　the　one　who　was　meant　for　him；　the　other　part　of　himself？　Whom　is　he　to　prefer？　The　woman　from　the　bulrush　basket　or　the　woman　from　Plato's　myth？
He　tried　to　picture　himself　living　in　an　ideal　world　with　the　young　woman　from　the　dream。　He　sees　Tereza　walking　past　the　open　windows　of　their　ideal　house。　She　is　alone　and　stops　to　look　in　at　him　with　an　infinitely　sad　expression　in　her　eyes。　He　cannot　withstand　her　glance。　Again；　he　feels　her　pain　in　his　own　heart。　Again；　he　falls　prey　to　compassion　and　sinks　deep　into　her　soul。　He　leaps　out　of　the　window；　but　she　tells　him　bitterly　to　stay　where　he　feels　happy；　making　those　abrupt；　angular　movements　that　so　annoyed　and　displeased　him。　He　grabs　her　nervous　hands　and　presses　them　between　his　own　to　calm　them。　And　he　knows　that　time　and　again　he　will　abandon　the　house　of　his　happiness；　time　and　again　abandon　his　paradise　and　the　woman　from　his　dream　and　betray　the　Es　muss　sein！　of　his　love　to　go　off　with　Tereza；　the　woman　born　of　six　laughable　fortuities。
All　this　time　he　was　sitting　up　in　bed　and　looking　at　the　woman　who　was　lying　beside　him　and　holding　his　hand　in　her　sleep。　He　felt　an　ineffable　love　for　her。　Her　sleep　must　have　been　very　light　at　the　moment　because　she　opened　her　eyes　and　gazed　up　at　him　questioningly。
What　are　you　looking　at？　she　asked。
He　knew　that　instead　of　waking　her　he　should　lull　her　back　to　sleep；　so　he　tried　to　come　up　with　an　answer　that　would　plant　the　image　of　a　new　dream　in　her　mind。
I'm　looking　at　the　stars；　he　said。
Don't　say　you're　looking　at　the　stars。　That's　a　lie。　You're　looking　down。　
That's　because　we're　in　an　airplane。　The　stars　are　below　us。　
Oh；　in　an　airplane；　said　Tereza；　squeezing　his　hand　even　tighter　and　falling　asleep　again。　And　Tomas　knew　that　Tereza　was　looking　out　of　the　round　window　of　an　airplane　flying　high　above　the　stars。
PART　SIX
The　Grand　March

1
Not　until　1980　were　we　able　to　read　in　the　Sunday　Times　how　Stalin's　son；　Yakov；　died。　Captured　by　the　Germans　during　the　Second　World　War；　he　was　placed　in　a　camp　together　with　a　group　of　British　officers。　They　shared　a　latrine。　Stalin's　son　habitually　left　a　foul　mess。　The　British　officers　resented　having　their　latrine　smeared　with　shit；　even　if　it　was　the　shit　of　the　son　of　the　most　powerful　man　in　the　world。　They　brought　the　matter　to　his　attention。　He　took　offense。　They　brought　it　to　his　attention　again　and　again；　and　tried　to　make　him　clean　the　latrine。　He　raged；　argued；　and　fought。　Finally；　he　demanded　a　hearing　with　the　camp　commander。　He　wanted　the　commander　to　act　as　arbiter。　But　the　arrogant　German　refused　to　talk　about　shit。　Stalin's　son　could　not　stand　the　humiliation。　Crying　out　to　heaven　in　the　most　terrifying　of　Russian　curses；　he　took　a　running　jump　into　the　electrified　barbed…wire　fence　that　surrounded　the　camp。　He　hit　the　target。　His　body；　which　would　never　again　make　a　mess　of　the　Britishers'　latrine；　was　pinned　to　the　wire。

2
Stalin's　son　had　a　hard　time　of　it。　All　evidence　points　to　the　conclusion　that　his　father　killed　the　woman　by　whom　he　had　the　boy。　Young　Stalin　was　therefore　both　the　Son　of　God　（because　his　father　was　revered　like　God）　and　His　cast…off。　People　feared　him　twofold：　he　could　injure　them　by　both　his　wrath　（he　was；　after　all；　Stalin's　son）　and　his　favor　（his　father　might　punish　his　cast…off　son's　friends　in　order　to　punish　him）。
Rejection　and　privilege；　happiness　and　woe—no　one　felt　more　concretely　than　Yakov　how　interchangeable　opposites　are；　how　short　the　step　from　one　pole　of　human　existence　to　the　other。
Then；　at　the　very　outset　of　the　war；　he　fell　prisoner　to　the　Germans；　and　other　prisoners；　belonging　to　an　incomprehensible；　standoffish　nation　that　had　always　been　intrinsically　repulsive　to　him；　accused　him　of　being　dirty。　Was　he；　who　bore　on　his　shoulders　a　drama　of　the　highest　order　（as　fallen　angel　and　Son　of　God）；　to　undergo　judgment　not　for　something　sublime　（in　the　realm　of　God　and　the　angels）　but　for　shit？　Were　the　very　highest　of　drama　and　the　very　lowest　so　vertiginously　close？
Vertiginously　close？　Can　proximity　cause　vertigo？
It　can。　When　the　north　pole　comes　so　close　as　to　touch　the　south　pole；　the　earth　disappears　and　man　finds　himself　in　a　void　that　makes　his　head　spin　and　beckons　him　to　fall。
If　rejection　and　privilege　are　one　and　the　same；　if　there　is　no　difference　between　the　sublime　and　the　paltry；　if　the　Son　of　God　can　undergo　judgment　for　shit；　then　human　existence　loses　its　dimensions　and　becomes　unbearably　light。　When　Stalin's　son　ran　up　to　the　electrified　wire　and　hurled　his　body　at　it；　the　fence　was　like　the　pan　of　a　scales　sticking　pitifully　up　in　the　air；　lifted　by　the　infinite　lightness　of　a　world　that　has　lost　its　dimensions。
Stalin's　son　laid　down　his　life　for　shit。　But　a　death　for　shit　is　not　a　senseless　death。　The　Germans　who　sacrificed　their　lives　to　expand　their　country's　territory　to　the　east；　the　Russians　who　died　to　extend　their　country's　power　to　the　west—yes；　they　died　for　something　idiotic；　and　their　deaths　have　no　meaning　or　general　validity。　Amid　the　general　idiocy　of　the　war；　the　death　of　Stalin's　son　stands　out　as　the　sole　metaphysical　death。
3
When　I　was　small　and　would　leaf　through　the　Old　Testament　retold　for　children　and　illustrated　in　engravings　by　Gustave　Dore；　I　saw　the　Lord　God　standing　on　a　cloud。　He　was　an　old　man　with　eyes；　nose；　and　a　long　beard；　and　I　would　say　to　myself　that　if　He　had　a　mouth；　He　had　to　eat。　And　if　He　ate；　He　had　intestines。　But　that　thought　always　gave　me　a　fright；　because　even　though　I　come　from　a　family　that　was　not　particularly　religious；　I　felt　the　idea　of　a　divine　intestine　to　be　sacrilegious。
Spontaneously；　without　any　theological　training；　I；　a　child；　grasped　the　incompatibility　of　God　and　shit　and　thus　came　to　question　the　basic　thesis　of　Christian　anthropology；　namely；　that　man　was　created　in　God's　image。　Either/or：　either　man　was　created　in　God's　image—and　God　has　intestines！—or　God　lacks　intestines　and　man　is　not　like　Him。
The　ancient　Gnostics　felt　as　I　did　at　the　age　of　five。　In　the　second　century；　the　great　Gnostic　master　Valentinus　resolved　the　damnable　dilemma　by　claiming　that　Jesus　ate　and　drank；　but　did　not　defecate。　
Shit　is　a　more　onerous　theological　problem　than　is　evil。　Since　God　gave　man　freedom；　we　can；　if　need　be；　accept　the　idea　that　He　is　not　responsible　for　man's　crimes。　The　responsibility　for　shit；　however；　rests　entirely　with　Him；　the　Creator　of　man。
4
In　the　fourth　century；　Saint　Jerome　completely　rejected　the　notion　that　Adam　and　Eve　had　sexual　intercourse　in　Paradise。　On　the　other　hand；　Johannes　Scotus　Erigena；　the　great　ninth…century　theologian；　accepted　the　idea。　He　believed；　moreover；　that　Adam's　virile　member　could　be　made　to　rise　like　an　arm　or　a　leg；　when　and　as　its　owner　wished。　We　must　not　dismiss　this　fancy　as　the　recurrent　dream　of　a　man　obsessed　with　the　threat　of　impotence。　Erigena's　idea　has　a　different　meaning。　If　it　were　possible　to　raise　the　penis　by　means　of　a　simple　command；　then　sexual　excitement　would　have　no　place　in　the　world。　The　penis　would　rise　not　because　we　are　excited　but　because　we　order　it　to　do　so。　What　the　great　theologian　found　incompatible　with　Paradise　was　not　sexual　intercourse　and　the　attendant　pleasure；　what　he　found　incompatible　with　Paradise　was　excitement。　Bear　in　mind：　There　was　pleasure　in　Paradise；　but　no　excitement。
Erigena's　argument　holds　the　key　to　a　theological　justification　（in　other　words；　a　theodicy）　of　shit。　As　long　as　man　was　allowed　to　remain　in　Paradise；　either　（like　Valentinus'　Jesus）　he　did　not　defecate　at　all；　or　（as　would　seem　more　likely）　he　did　not　look　upon　shit　as　something　repellent。　Not　until　after　God　expelled　man　from　Paradise　did　He　make　him　feel　disgust。　Man　began　to　hide　what　shamed　him；　and　by　the　time　he　removed　the　veil；　he　was　blinded　by　a　great　light。　Thus；　immediately　after　his　introduction　to　disgust；　he　was　introduced　to　excitement。　Without　shit　（in　both　the　literal　and　figurative　senses　of　the　word）；　there　would　be　no　sexual　love　as　we　know　it；　accompanied　by　pounding　heart　and　blinded　senses。
In　Part　Three　of　this　novel　I　told　the　tale　of　Sabina　standing　half…naked　with　a　bowler　hat　on　her　head　and　the　fully　dressed　Tomas　at　her　side。　There　is　something　I　failed　to　mention　at　the　time。　While　she　was　looking　at　herself　in　the　mirror；　excited　by　her　self…denigration；　she　had　a　fantasy　of　Tomas　seating　her　on　the　toilet　in　her　bowler　hat　and　watching　her　void　her　bowels。　Suddenly　her　heart　began　to　pound　and；　on　the　verge　of　fainting；　she　pulled　Tomas　down　to　the　rug　and　immediately　let　out　an　orgasmic　shout。
5
The　dispute　between　those　who　believe　that　the　world　was　created　by　God　and　those　who　think　it　came　into　being　of　its　own　accord　deals　with　phenomena　that　go　beyond　our　reason　and　experience。　Much　more　real　is　the　line　separating　those　who　doubt　being　as　it　is　granted　to　man　（no　matter　how　or　by　whom）　from　those　who　accept　it　without　reservation。
Behind　all　the　European　faiths；　religious　and　political；　we　find　the　first　chapter　of　Genesis；　which　tells　us　that　the　world　was　created　properly；　that　human　existence　is　good；　and　that　we　are　therefore　entitled　to　multiply。　Let　us　call