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o　action　at　all。　There　are　situations　in　which　people　are　condemned　to　playact。　Their　struggle　with　mute　power　（the　mute　power　across　the　river；　a　police　transmogrified　into　mute　microphones　in　the　wall）　is　the　struggle　of　a　theater　company　that　has　attacked　an　army。
Franz　watched　his　friend　from　the　Sorbonne　lift　his　fist　and　threaten　the　silence　on　the　other　side。
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For　the　third　time　the　interpreter　shouted　her　challenge　into　the　megaphone。
The　silence　she　again　received　in　response　suddenly　turned　Franz's　depression　into　rage。　Here　he　was；　standing　only　a　few　steps　from　the　bridge　joining　Thailand　to　Cambodia；　and　he　felt　an　overwhelming　desire　to　run　out　onto　it；　scream　bloodcurdling　curses　to　the　skies；　and　die　in　a　great　clatter　of　gunfire。
That　sudden　desire　of　Franz's　reminds　us　of　something；　yes；　it　reminds　us　of　Stalin's　son；　who　ran　to　electrocute　himself　on　the　barbed　wire　when　he　could　no　longer　stand　to　watch　the　poles　of　human　existence　come　so　close　to　each　other　as　to　touch；　when　there　was　no　longer　any　difference　between　sublime　and　squalid；　angel　and　fly。　God　and　shit。
Franz　could　not　accept　the　fact　that　the　glory　of　the　Grand　March　was　equal　to　the　comic　vanity　of　its　marchers；　that　the　exquisite　noise　of　European　history　was　lost　in　an　infinite　silence　and　that　there　was　no　longer　any　difference　between　history　and　silence。　He　felt　like　placing　his　own　life　on　the　scales；　he　wanted　to　prove　that　the　Grand　March　weighed　more　than　shit。
But　man　can　prove　nothing　of　the　sort。　One　pan　of　the　scales　held　shit；　on　the　other；　Stalin's　son　put　his　entire　body。　And　the　scales　did　not　move。
Instead　of　getting　himself　shot；　Franz　merely　hung　his　head　and　went　back　with　the　others；　single　file；　to　the　buses。
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We　all　need　someone　to　look　at　us。　We　can　be　divided　into　four　categories　according　to　the　kind　of　look　we　wish　to　live　under。
The　first　category　longs　for　the　look　of　an　infinite　number　of　anonymous　eyes；　in　other　words；　for　the　look　of　the　public。　That　is　the　case　with　the　German　singer；　the　American　actress；　and　even　the　tall；　stooped　editor　with　the　big　chin。　He　was　accustomed　to　his　readers；　and　when　one　day　the　Russians　banned　his　newspaper；　he　had　the　feeling　that　the　atmosphere　was　suddenly　a　hundred　times　thinner。　Nothing　could　replace　the　look　of　unknown　eyes。　He　thought　he　would　suffocate。　Then　one　day　he　realized　that　he　was　constantly　being　followed；　bugged；　and　surreptitiously　photographed　in　the　street。　Suddenly　he　had　anonymous　eyes　on　him　and　he　could　breathe　again！　He　began　making　theatrical　speeches　to　the　microphones　in　his　wall。　In　the　police；　he　had　found　his　lost　public。
The　second　category　is　made　up　of　people　who　have　a　vital　need　to　be　looked　at　by　many　known　eyes。　They　are　the　tireless　hosts　of　cocktail　parties　and　dinners。　They　are　happier　than　the　people　in　the　first　category；　who；　when　they　lose　their　public；　have　the　feeling　that　the　lights　have　gone　out　in　the　room　of　their　lives。　This　happens　to　nearly　all　of　them　sooner　or　later。　People　in　the　second　category；　on　the　other　hand；　can　always　come　up　with　the　eyes　they　need。　Marie…Claude　and　her　daughter　belong　in　the　second　category。
Then　there　is　the　third　category；　the　category　of　people　who　need　to　be　constantly　before　the　eyes　of　the　person　they　love。　Their　situation　is　as　dangerous　as　the　situation　of　people　in　the　first　category。　One　day　the　eyes　of　their　beloved　will　close；　and　the　room　will　go　dark。　Tereza　and　Tomas　belong　in　the　third　category。
And　finally　there　is　the　fourth　category；　the　rarest；　the　category　of　people　who　live　in　the　imaginary　eyes　of　those　who　are　not　present。　They　are　the　dreamers。　Franz；　for　example。　He　traveled　to　the　borders　of　Cambodia　only　for　Sabina。　As　the　bus　bumped　along　the　Thai　road；　he　could　feel　her　eyes　fixed　on　him　in　a　long　stare。
Tomas's　son　belongs　in　the　same　category。　Let　me　call　him　Simon。　（He　will　be　glad　to　have　a　Biblical　name；　like　his　father's。）　The　eyes　he　longed　for　were　Tomas's。　As　a　result　of　his　embroilment　in　the　petition　campaign；　he　was　expelled　from　the　university。　The　girl　he　had　been　going　out　with　was　the　niece　of　a　village　priest。　He　married　her；　became　a　tractor　driver　on　a　collective　farm；　a　practicing　Catholic；　and　a　father。　When　he　learned　that　Tomas；　too；　was　living　in　the　country；　he　was　thrilled：　fate　had　made　their　lives　symmetrical！　This　encouraged　him　to　write　Tomas　a　letter。　He　did　not　ask　him　to　write　back。　He　only　wanted　him　to　focus　his　eyes　on　his　life。
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Franz　and　Simon　are　the　dreamers　of　this　novel。　Unlike　Franz；　Simon　never　liked　his　mother。　From　childhood　he　searched　for　his　father。　He　was　willing　to　believe　his　father　the　victim　of　some　sort　of　injustice　that　predated　and　explained　the　injustice　his　father　had　perpetrated　on　him。　He　never　felt　angry　with　his　father；　because　he　did　not　wish　to　ally　himself　with　his　mother；　who　continually　maligned　the　man。
He　lived　with　her　until　he　was　eighteen　and　had　finished　secondary　school；　then　he　went　off　to　Prague　and　the　university。　By　that　time　Tomas　was　washing　windows。　Often　Simon　would　wait　long　hours　to　arrange　an　accidental　encounter　with　Tomas。　But　Tomas　never　stopped　to　talk　to　him。
The　only　reason　he　became　involved　with　the　big…chinned　former　editor　was　that　the　editor's　fate　reminded　him　of　his　father's。　The　editor　had　never　heard　of　Tomas。　The　Oedipus　article　had　been　forgotten。　It　was　Simon　who　told　him　about　it　and　asked　him　to　persuade　Tomas　to　sign　the　petition。　The　only　reason　the　editor　agreed　was　that　he　wanted　to　do　something　nice　for　the　boy；　whom　he　liked。
Whenever　Simon　thought　back　to　the　day　when　they　had　met；　he　was　ashamed　of　his　stage　fright。　His　father　couldn't　have　liked　him。　He；　on　the　other　hand；　liked　his　father。　He　remembered　his　every　word；　and　as　time　went　on　he　saw　how　true　they　were。　The　words　that　made　the　biggest　impression　on　him　were　Punishing　people　who　don't　know　what　they've　done　is　barbaric。　When　his　girlfriend's　uncle　put　a　Bible　in　his　hands；　he　was　particularly　struck　by　Jesus'　words　Forgive　them；　for　they　know　not　what　they　do。　He　knew　that　his　father　was　a　nonbeliever；　but　in　the　similarity　of　the　two　phrases　he　saw　a　secret　sign：　his　father　agreed　with　the　path　he　had　taken。
During　approximately　his　third　year　in　the　country；　he　received　a　letter　from　Tomas　asking　him　to　come　and　visit。　Their　meeting　was　a　friendly　one。　Simon　felt　relaxed　and　did　not　stammer　a　bit。　He　probably　did　not　realize　that　they　did　not　understand　each　other　very　well。　About　four　months　later；　he　received　a　telegram　saying　that　Tomas　and　his　wife　had　been　crushed　to　death　under　a　truck。
At　about　that　time；　he　learned　about　a　woman　who　had　once　been　his　father's　mistress　and　was　living　in　France。　He　found　out　her　address。　Because　he　desperately　needed　an　imaginary　eye　to　follow　his　life；　he　would　occasionally　write　her　long　letters。
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Sabina　continued　to　receive　letters　from　her　sad　village　correspondent　till　the　end　of　her　life。　Many　of　them　would　remain　unread；　because　she　took　less　and　less　interest　in　her　native　land。
The　old　man　died；　and　Sabina　moved　to　California。　Farther　west；　farther　away　from　the　country　where　she　had　been　born。
She　had　no　trouble　selling　her　paintings；　and　liked　America。　But　only　on　the　surface。　Everything　beneath　the　surface　was　alien　to　her。　Down　below；　there　was　no　grandpa　or　uncle。　She　was　afraid　of　shutting　herself　into　a　grave　and　sinking　into　American　earth。
And　so　one　day　she　composed　a　will　in　which　she　requested　that　her　dead　body　be　cremated　and　its　ashes　thrown　to　the　winds。　Tereza　and　Tomas　had　died　under　the　sign　of　weight。　She　wanted　to　die　under　the　sign　of　lightness。　She　would　be　lighter　than　air。　As　Parmenides　would　put　it；　the　negative　would　change　into　the　positive。
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The　bus　stopped　in　front　of　the　Bangkok　hotel。　No　one　any　longer　felt　like　holding　meetings。　People　drifted　off　in　groups　to　sightsee；　some　set　off　for　temples；　others　for　brothels。　Franz's　friend　from　the　Sorbonne　suggested　they　spend　the　evening　together；　but　he　preferred　to　be　alone。
It　was　nearly　dark　when　he　went　out　into　the　streets。　He　kept　thinking　about　Sabina；　feeling　her　eyes　on　him。　Whenever　he　felt　her　long　stare；　he　began　to　doubt　himself：　he　had　never　known　quite　what　Sabina　thought。　It　made　him　uncomfortable　now　as　well。　Could　she　be　mocking　him？　Did　she　consider　the　cult　he　made　of　her　silly？　Could　she　be　trying　to　tell　him　it　was　time　for　him　to　grow　up　and　devote　himself　fully　to　the　mistress　she　herself　had　sent　to　him？
Picturing　the　face　with　big　round　glasses；　he　suddenly　realized　how　happy　he　was　with　his　student…mistress。　All　at　once；　the　Cambodia　venture　struck　him　as　meaningless；　laughable。　Why　had　he　come？　Only　now　did　he　know。　He　had　come　to　find　out　once　and　for　all　that　neither　parades　nor　Sabina　but　rather　the　girl　with　the　glasses　was　his　real　life；　his　only　real　life！　He　had　come　to　find　out　that　reality　was　more　than　a　dream；　much　more　than　a　dream！
Suddenly　a　figure　emerged　out　of　the　semi…darkness　and　said　something　to　him　in　a　language　he　did　not　know。　He　gave　the　intruder　a　look　that　was　startled　but　sympathetic。　The　man　bowed　and　smiled　and　muttered　something　with　great　urgency。　What　was　he　trying　to　say？　He　seemed　to　be　inviting　him　somewhere。　The　man　took　him　by　the　hand　and　started　leading　him　away。　Franz　decided　that　someone　needed　his　help。　Maybe　there　was　some　sense　in　his　coming　all　that　distance。　Wasn't　he　being　called　to　help　somebody？
Suddenly　there　were　two　other　men　next　to　the　first；　and　one　of　them　asked　him　in　English　for　his　money。
At　that　point；　the　girl　with　the　glasses　vanished　from　his　thoughts　and　Sabina　fixed　her　eyes　on　him；　unreal　Sabina　with　her　grand　fate；　Sabina　who　had　made　him　feel　so　small。　Her　wrathful　eyes　bored　into　him；　angry　and　dissatisfied：　Had　he　been　had　once　again？　Had　someone　else　abused　his　idiotic　goodness？
He　tore　his　arm　away　from　the　man；　who　was　now　holding　on　to　his　sleeve。　He　remembered　that　Sabina　had　always　admired　his　strength。　He　seized　the　arm　one　of　the　other　men　was　lifting　against　him；　and；　tightening　his　grip；　tossed　him　over　his　shoulder　in　a　perfect　judo　flip。
Now　he　was　satisfied　with　himself。　Sabina's　eyes　were　still　on　him。　She　would　never