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But　the　fact　that　he　carried　his　life…support　system　with　him　everywhere　like　a　part　of　his　body　meant　that　Tereza　went　on　having　her　dreams。
They　had　been　in　Zurich　for　six　or　seven　months　when　he　came　home　late　one　evening　to　find　a　letter　on　the　table　telling　him　she　had　left　for　Prague。　She　had　left　because　she　lacked　the　strength　to　live　abroad。　She　knew　she　was　supposed　to　bolster　him　up；　but　did　not　know　how　to　go　about　it。　She　had　been　silly　enough　to　think　that　going　abroad　would　change　her。　She　thought　that　after　what　she　had　been　through　during　the　invasion　she　would　stop　being　petty　and　grow　up；　grow　wise　and　strong；　but　she　had　overestimated　herself。　She　was　weighing　him　down　and　would　do　so　no　longer。　She　had　drawn　the　necessary　conclusions　before　it　was　too　late。　And　she　apologized　for　taking　Karenin　with　her。
He　took　some　sleeping　pills　but　still　did　not　close　his　eyes　until　morning。　Luckily　it　was　Saturday　and　he　could　stay　at　home。　For　the　hundred　and　fiftieth　time　he　went　over　the　situation：　the　borders　between　his　country　and　the　rest　of　the　world　were　no　longer　open。　No　telegrams　or　telephone　calls　could　bring　her　back。　The　authorities　would　never　let　her　travel　abroad。　Her　departure　was　staggeringly　definitive。
14
The　realization　that　he　was　utterly　powerless　was　like　the　blow　of　a　sledgehammer；　yet　it　was　curiously　calming　as　well。　No　one　was　forcing　him　into　a　decision。　He　felt　no　need　to　stare　at　the　walls　of　the　houses　across　the　courtyard　and　ponder　whether　to　live　with　her　or　not。　Tereza　had　made　the　decision　herself。
He　went　to　a　restaurant　for　lunch。　He　was　depressed；　but　as　he　ate；　his　original　desperation　waned；　lost　its　strength；　and　soon　all　that　was　left　was　melancholy。　Looking　back　on　the　years　he　had　spent　with　her；　he　came　to　feel　that　their　story　could　have　had　no　better　ending。　If　someone　had　invented　the　story；　this　is　how　he　would　have　had　to　end　it。
One　day　Tereza　came　to　him　uninvited。　One　day　she　left　the　same　way。　She　came　with　a　heavy　suitcase。　She　left　with　a　heavy　suitcase。
He　paid　the　bill；　left　the　restaurant；　and　started　walking　through　the　streets；　his　melancholy　growing　more　and　more　beautiful。　He　had　spent　seven　years　of　life　with　Tereza；　and　now　he　realized　that　those　years　were　more　attractive　in　retrospect　than　they　were　when　he　was　living　them。
His　love　for　Tereza　was　beautiful；　but　it　was　also　tiring：　he　had　constantly　had　to　hide　things　from　her；　sham；　dissemble；　make　amends；　buck　her　up；　calm　her　down；　give　her　evidence　of　his　feelings；　play　the　defendant　to　her　jealousy；　her　suffering；　and　her　dreams；　feel　guilty；　make　excuses　and　apologies。　Now　what　was　tiring　had　disappeared　and　only　the　beauty　remained。
Saturday　found　him　for　the　first　time　strolling　alone　through　Zurich；　breathing　in　the　heady　smell　of　his　freedom。　New　adventures　hid　around　each　corner。　The　future　was　again　a　secret。　He　was　on　his　way　back　to　the　bachelor　life；　the　life　he　had　once　felt　destined　for；　the　life　that　would　let　him　be　what　he　actually　was。
For　seven　years　he　had　lived　bound　to　her；　his　every　step　subject　to　her　scrutiny。　She　might　as　well　have　chained　iron　balls　to　his　ankles。　Suddenly　his　step　was　much　lighter。　He　soared。　He　had　entered　Parmenides'　magic　field：　he　was　enjoying　the　sweet　lightness　of　being。
（Did　he　feel　like　phoning　Sabina　in　Geneva？　Contacting　one　or　another　of　the　women　he　had　met　during　his　several　months　in　Zurich？　No；　not　in　the　least。　Perhaps　he　sensed　that　any　woman　would　make　his　memory　of　Tereza　unbearably　painful。）
15
This　curious　melancholic　fascination　lasted　until　Sunday　evening。　。On　Monday；　everything　changed。　Tereza　forced　her　way　into　his　thoughts：　he　imagined　her　sitting　there　writing　her　farewell　letter；　he　felt　her　hands　trembling；　he　saw　her　lugging　her　heavy　suitcase　in　one　hand　and　leading　Karenin　on　his　leash　with　the　other；　he　pictured　her　unlocking　their　Prague　flat；　and　suffered　the　utter　abandonment　breathing　her　in　the　face　as　she　opened　the　door。
During　those　two　beautiful　days　of　melancholy；　his　compassion　（that　curse　of　emotional　telepathy）　had　taken　a　holiday。　It　had　slept　the　sound　Sunday　sleep　of　a　miner　who；　after　a　hard　week's　work；　needs　to　gather　strength　for　his　Monday　shift。
Instead　of　the　patients　he　was　treating；　Tomas　saw　Tereza。
He　tried　to　remind　himself。　Don't　think　about　her！　Don't　think　about　her！　He　said　to　himself；　I'm　sick　with　compassion。　It's　good　that　she's　gone　and　that　I'll　never　see　her　again；　though　it's　not　Tereza　I　need　to　be　free　of—it's　that　sickness；　compassion；　which　I　thought　I　was　immune　to　until　she　infected　me　with　it。
On　Saturday　and　Sunday；　he　felt　the　sweet　lightness　of　being　rise　up　to　him　out　of　the　depths　of　the　future。　On　Monday；　he　was　hit　by　a　weight　the　likes　of　which　he　had　never　known。　The　tons　of　steel　of　the　Russian　tanks　were　nothing　compared　with　it。　For　there　is　nothing　heavier　than　compassion。　Not　even　one's　own　pain　weighs　so　heavy　as　the　pain　one　feels　with　someone；　for　someone；　a　pain　intensified　by　the　imagination　and　prolonged　by　a　hundred　echoes。
He　kept　warning　himself　not　to　give　in　to　compassion；　and　compassion　listened　with　bowed　head　and　a　seemingly　guilty　conscience。　Compassion　knew　it　was　being　presumptuous；　yet　it　quietly　stood　its　ground；　and　on　the　fifth　day　after　her　departure　Tomas　informed　the　director　of　his　hospital　（the　man　who　had　phoned　him　daily　in　Prague　after　the　Russian　invasion）　that　he　had　to　return　at　once。　He　was　ashamed。　He　knew　that　the　move　would　appear　irresponsible；　inexcusable　to　the　man。　He　thought　to　unbosom　himself　and　tell　him　the　story　of　Tereza　and　the　letter　she　had　left　on　the　table　for　him。　But　in　the　end　he　did　not。　From　the　Swiss　doctor's　point　of　view　Tereza's　move　could　only　appear　hysterical　and　abhorrent。　And　Tomas　refused　to　allow　anyone　an　opportunity　to　think　ill　of　her。　The　director　of　the　hospital　was　in　fact　offended。　Tomas　shrugged　his　shoulders　and　said；　Es　muss　sein。　Es　muss　sein。　
It　was　an　allusion。　The　last　movement　of　Beethoven's　last　quartet　is　based　on　the　following　two　motifs：

To　make　the　meaning　of　the　words　absolutely　clear；　Beethoven　introduced　the　movement　with　a　phrase；　Der　schwer　gefasste　Entschluss；　which　is　commonly　translated　as　the　difficult　resolution。　
This　allusion　to　Beethoven　was　actually　Tomas's　first　step　back　to　Tereza；　because　she　was　the　one　who　had　induced　him　to　buy　records　of　the　Beethoven　quartets　and　sonatas。
The　allusion　was　even　more　pertinent　than　he　had　thought　because　the　Swiss　doctor　was　a　great　music　lover。　Smiling　serenely；　he　asked；　in　the　melody　of　Beethoven's　motif；　Muss　es　sein？　
＇a；　es　muss　sein！　Tomas　said　again。

16
Unlike　Parmenides；　Beethoven　apparently　viewed　weight　as　something　positive。　Since　the　German　word　schwer　means　both　difficult　and　heavy；　Beethoven's　difficult　resolution　may　also　be　construed　as　a　heavy　or　weighty　resolution。　The　weighty　resolution　is　at　one　with　the　voice　of　Fate　（　Es　muss　sein！　）；　necessity；　weight；　and　value　are　three　concepts　inextricably　bound：　only　necessity　is　heavy；　and　only　what　is　heavy　has　value。
This　is　a　conviction　born　of　Beethoven's　music；　and　although　we　cannot　ignore　the　possibility　（or　even　probability）　that　it　owes　its　origins　more　to　Beethoven's　commentators　than　to　Beethoven　himself；　we　all　more　or　less　share；　it：　we　believe　that　the　greatness　of　man　stems　from　the　fact　that　he　bears　his　fate　as　Atlas　bore　the　heavens　on　his　shoulders。　Beethoven's　hero　is　a　lifter　of　metaphysical　weights。
Tomas　approached　the　Swiss　border。　I　imagine　a　gloomy；　shock…headed　Beethoven；　in　person；　conducting　the　local　firemen's　brass　band　in　a　farewell　to　emigration；　an　Es　Muss　Sein　march。
Then　Tomas　crossed　the　Czech　border　and　was　welcomed　by　columns　of　Russian　tanks。　He　had　to　stop　his　car　and　wait　a　half　hour　before　they　passed。　A　terrifying　soldier　in　the　black　Uniform　of　the　armored　forces　stood　at　the　crossroads　directing　traffic　as　if　every　road　in　the　country　belonged　to　him　and　him　alone。
Es　muss　sein！　Tomas　repeated　to　himself；　but　then　he　began　to　doubt。　Did　it　really　have　to　be？
Yes；　it　was　unbearable　for　him　to　stay　in　Zurich　imagining　Tereza　living　on　her　own　in　Prague。
But　how　long　would　he　have　been　tortured　by　compassion？　All　his　life？　A　year？　Or　a　month？　Or　only　a　week？
How　could　he　have　known？　How　could　he　have　gauged　it？　Any　schoolboy　can　do　experiments　in　the　physics　laboratory　to　test　various　scientific　hypotheses。　But　man；　because　he　has　only　one　life　to　live；　cannot　conduct　experiments　to　test　whether　to　follow　his　passion　（compassion）　or　not。
It　was　with　these　thoughts　in　mind　that　he　opened　the　door　to　his　flat。　Karenin　made　the　homecoming　easier　by　jumping　up　on　him　and　licking　his　face。　The　desire　to　fall　into　Tereza's　arms　（he　could　still　feel　it　while　getting　into　his　car　in　Zurich）　had　completely　disintegrated。　He　fancied　himself　standing　opposite　her　in　the　midst　of　a　snowy　plain；　the　two　of　them　shivering　from　the　cold。
17
From　the　very　beginning　of　the　occupation；　Russian　military　airplanes　had　flown　over　Prague　all　night　long。　Tomas；　no　longer　accustomed　to　the　noise；　was　unable　to　fall　asleep。
Twisting　and　turning　beside　the　slumbering　Tereza；　he　recalled　something　she　had　told　him　a　long　time　before　in　the　course　of　an　insignificant　conversation。　They　had　been　talking　about　his　friend　Z。　when　she　announced；　If　I　hadn't　met　you；　I'd　certainly　have　fallen　in　love　with　him。　
Even　then；　her　words　had　left　Tomas　in　a　strange　state　of　melancholy；　and　now　he　realized　it　was　only　a　matter　of　chance　that　Tereza　loved　him　and　not　his　friend　Z。　Apart　from　her　consummated　love　for　Tomas；　there　were；　in　the　realm　of　possibility；　an　infinite　number　of　unconsummated　loves　for　other　men。
We　all　reject　out　of　hand　the　idea　that　the　love　of　our　life　may　be　something　light　or　weightless；　we　presume　our　love　is　what　must　be；　that　without　it　our　life　would　no　longer　be　the　same；　we　feel　that　Beethoven　himself；　gloomy　and　awe…inspiring；　is　playing　the　Es　muss　sein！　to　our　own　great　love。
Tomas　often　thought　of　Tereza's　remark　about　his　friend　Z。　and　came　to　the　conclusion　that　the　love　story　of　his　life　exemplified　not　Es　muss　sein！　（It　must　be　so）；　but　rather　Es　konnte　auch　anders　sein　（It　could　just