CHAPTER 17 - Whatthefuck?
THE next day, I went to a used mobile phone shop and bought a phone. I texted Eva late that evening (I didn’t want to make it look like I was too eager to hear from her again) and awaited her response. Beep, beep. A few minutes later my phone indicated that I had an unread text message. It was, of course, Eva. She was glad I now had a mobile and, once again, thanked me for a great time the previous night. I was amazed. So these little technological obsessions actually did come in handy.
From that moment on, I sent my sweet Eva at least one message every couple of days and she always wrote back immediately. Even on those three days a week when I taught her – the best three days of the week – I still managed to send the token textual ‘Hello, how are you?’ either after class or before bedtime and always anxiously awaited her response. We also managed to get into the routine of going out for coffee after class, just the two of us, at least once per week. After a couple of weeks, I couldn’t even recognize myself mentally. I was eager with anticipation every time I was about to see Eva and overanalyzed, word for word, any text she sent me or sentence she told me. And, worst of all, I got that feeling in my stomach again – the one I would get when I was thirteen and had a crush on a girl – every time I saw her. What the hell was happening to me? I couldn’t see it then but, now, with hindsight, I know that Eva once again had turned me into a pizza-faced, squeaky-voiced, too-eager-to-masturbate, pubescent mess. Or, rather, Eros had turned me into one.
I didn’t manage to go out with Eva again for a drink, aside from those after-school coffees, until three weekends after that fateful Thursday at Akropolis. We agreed to meet on Friday night at ten o’clock, on Staroměstské náměstí (Old Town Square).
I left the Dum that night at nine (Dan told me he had never smelled so much cologne in his life) and made my long journey to the city center. After a bus ride and subway transfer, I got off at Můstek station and made my way through the narrow, winding roads of Old Prague. It was a beautiful evening. A bit cold, but nothing like it had been a month or two earlier and, thankfully, no huge piles of snow to trudge through. I knew my way around the city pretty well by then so while my feet, protected by those trustworthy white athletic socks and tan summer shoes, added one more layer of wear onto the cobblestone streets, I concentrated on the captivating beauty of this Bohemian capital.
The roads, or should I say alleys, were narrow enough to allow for only pedestrian traffic. That, however, didn’t stop the occasional car from trying to get through, usually accompanied by a blaring car horn and profanities the likes of which I could never hope to decipher. On the comically Lilliputian sidewalks, also made of cobblestone but arranged in a beautiful pattern of gray, red, and white, stood stores, one next to the other, catering to everything the tourist might desire. From Bohemian crystal (100% authentic) to old Soviet Army issue cigarette lighters (100% authentic), if you wanted it, this is where you went. Above these hallmarks of a booming tourist industry stood the rest of a building, inhabited by old ladies who still paid fixed Communist rental prices and the nouveau-riche who could afford to pay the exorbitant free market prices. The buildings, most being a mere three to four stories tall, were brightly painted and, as was evident by the lack of chipped paint, had recently undergone major restoration. People who had come to Prague before 1990 said that the city, ten years on, was brighter and more beautiful than ever. And so I wandered through the medieval streets, sometimes under an archway and often with my head cocked slightly to the rear in order to take in the majesty of these centuries-old buildings.
As I approached Staroměstské náměstí, the sound of buskers became more distinct and the image of spired towers more prevalent. I rounded the last corner and there I was. On the square. No matter how many times I had crossed that square, or just sat on one of its benches doing nothing, it still managed to take my breath away. Keep in mind, by that point I had seen it so many times that it was now only an initial shock each time I laid eyes on it. Something infinitely temporary but present nonetheless. The kind of shock you get when a good friend first tells you he’s gay, but in fact, when you think about it, you’ve sort of suspected it all along. That’s how the beauty of Staroměstské náměstí amazed me that evening. I looked off to my right and noticed the two massive towers of Tyn Cathedral, each studded with a half-dozen spires and golden trim. Then the beautiful, elaborate buildings that lined the square, some with pedestrian archways, others with ornate balconies, and yet others with elaborately painted facades. My eyes followed the buildings to ground level. Cafes and restaurants, with outdoor heating lamps and wandering accordion players, spilling out over the cobblestone perimeter. Nothing, I thought, can stop a Mediterranean tourist from sipping his coffee or cocktail outdoors, not even the bitter Eastern European cold. God knows no Czechs actually frequented these places. Then, Kafka caught my eyes. Next to one of the cafes and in Tyn’s shadow stood "Kafka’s Bookstore" housed in the very building where Franz’s father apparently ran a small shop and where the author himself worked as a young man. Could this have once actually been the edge of the ghetto? A seat of gloom and despair? This... This emerging tourist trap? A true Metamorphosis, I thought. And in a mere hundred years time. In the center of it all stood a giant statue in memory of Jan Hus, the medieval scholar and theologian who had the honor of being the patron of these Bohemian lands...
That’s right. Hus. That’s where I was supposed to meet Eva. I briefly surveyed the stone benches lining the massive statue for any sign of her and glanced up at the elaborate, spired clock tower before me (all that remained from a larger town hall that the Nazis had torched). The embroidered, golden tipped fingers indicated twenty to ten. I’d have to wait. For the first time in my life, at least that I could remember, I was actually early... and twenty minutes at that.
I made my way through the busy square and found an empty bench. Rolled a cigarette and waited. Incredible, I thought. I had visited this square dozens of times and, still, I was awe-struck when wandering on to it. Sure I didn’t stand there, jaw half opened, for those uncountable moments I had experienced all those months ago. Regardless, the magic was still there. The shock – the shock of beauty – still struck me each and every time. The definition of resplendence.
Eva approached from the far end of the square. She saw me instantly and smiled during her entire approach. I stood up, greeted her with a light kiss on the lips, and led her to a nearby bar I knew of. There weren’t any tables available, so we stood at the counter. I ordered our drinks and turned to find Eva taking off her coat and resting it on the lone stool between us.
She looked incredible. Her long blonde hair rested gently on her barely covered shoulders. She was wearing a tight dark-green shirt that showcased her voluptuousness. Every time she leaned over, a bit of cleavage was revealed to the world and, more importantly, my hungry eyes. I thought of Pavel’s Eva, the one he had slept with in Horní Planá. Two Evas. Both with incredible bodies and both loved to show off their slim yet full figures. Ah... Czech women. Fortunately, I had chosen to pursue one that didn’t have B.O. No, my Eva smelled like a scented rose. I hoped that that was the only thing my Eva and the one from Horní Planá didn’t have in common and that they were both just as easy to get into bed. Think like Pavel, I kept telling myself. Think like Pavel. Maybe some of that "Řepy magic" would rub off.
My eyes were stuck on Eva’s skin tight black pants, more specifically, the upper fourth, when she dragged me back into the moment and lured my gaze towards her eyes.
"So, we have long time to go out party again. But I like coffee with you after school. You have nice day today and Thursday?"
I looked into her emerald eyes and they danced for me. Her cream white skin was only interrupted by those slightly blushed cheeks of hers. And, what’s more, she wasn’t wearing any make-up. Again. Just then and there, I realized that I had never actually seen her wear any cosmetics. Who needed it when such natural beauty abounded? Like the city outside, Eva was near perfection.
I was taking too long to respond to her question. I must have looked like an idiot, just standing there, staring at her, with a dumb look on my face. Remember. "Asshole" strategy. Wear her down. Keep it cool. Řepy magic. "Every day without you, Eva, is not a nice day." Not exactly Romeo, but for a Slavic Juliet-ova, it would do.
Eva smiled and blushed, "Oh Paul, thank you. You are very nice. But, really, why you don’t teach Thursday and Friday?"
"Well, Eva," I brushed her bare arm, "I don’t think I could teach in the presence of such beauty five days a week. Three is already driving me mad."
Eva lost her smile and replied, "Sorry. I don’t understand. Presents? And what do you driving?"
"Ah... Nothing." I had to keep it simple. What was I thinking? Using this shit that barely works on girls back home on a girl that barely speaks English. I had to keep it simple. Thank God the drinks arrived and allowed me to recoup. "Nazdraví!" I lifted my glass. That always seemed to work.
I avoided any more romantic sly-talk that evening and just spoke to Eva as a normal human being. It was extremely difficult to do so at first, but eventually I caught on (and my libido managed to get into the backseat for a while).
Eva was a very interesting person, more than just the pretty face and incredible body I had imagined her to be. I found it incredible that, out of all those times we had gone out for coffee, talked at school, or just texted each other, I never really knew that much about her. She lived alone with her mother (her parents had divorced when she was ten) in an apartment complex that overlooked the Vltava River. Her mother had urged her to learn English after Communism crumbled, but she was never too eager to do so. She had only started learning in 1997 and, even then, only off and on. Not bad, I reassured her, for five years. She had only started studying more intensely lately because she wanted to go to university. The program she wanted to enroll in had a study-abroad requirement of one year after three years of study and she needed English to get accepted.
"That’s really cool, Eva. So, what do you want to study in college then?" I asked, actually interested.
"Co? College? I don’t understand."
"University," I clarified.
"Ah, yes. Well, maybe you will laugh," she blushed a bit.
"Come on. Of course I won’t. What? What is it?
"Well. I don’t know what is name exactly. Maybe... Hydrology?"
I gave her an empty stare.
"It is studying of water."
"Hydrology?" I spat back. "Water? What the hell do you want to study water for?"
"I don’t know!" she laughed. "But I like it!"
I thought about advising her against wasting a university opportunity on something so trivial as water, but then I thought it over. That kind of advice doesn’t sound too good coming from someone who just spent four years and thousands of dollars studying Ancient History and Philosophy. Oh well, I comforted myself, the world needs some good hydrologists.
Once I got Eva rolling on the breakthrough scientific world of water research, she wouldn’t stop. We continued talking for what would have seemed like an eternity – if she hadn’t been so damn sexy – about water and its magical properties. Evaporation. Condensation. Erosion. Polar caps. Underwater childbirth. Water in your ear. I couldn’t believe that a conversation revolving solely around three lousy atoms could last so long, but it did. All I knew was that I wasn’t about to end it any time soon. We were both laughing, joking, and having a great time. I would have never thought it possible had it not been experienced. I guess that it really is true – a pretty face can always liven up a conversation.
A half dozen or so drinks into the night, Eva cam back from one of her bathroom visits and told me, sadly, that she would have to leave soon. I protested but she said her mother would be extremely upset if she went home too late again. So, we finished our drinks, paid, and headed outdoors.
The quickest way for Eva to get home at that time of night was from the other side of the Vltava. A fifteen minute walk at the most. I, as always, agreed to accompany her. We headed back towards Staroměstské náměstí and once again stepped into its majestic beauty. The square was now a lot emptier than when we had met there earlier, but it was still busier than other parts of the Old Town. An icy breeze swept across the cobblestones and made me shiver. I turned to Eva. It had had the same effect on her. I smiled at her, took my hand out of my coat-pocket, gently grabbed her arm, placed her cold hand in mine, and returned them both into my warm pocket. She looked into my eyes and smiled in return. We walked off the square, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, and into a maze of narrow streets leading to the Charles Bridge.
All the tourist shops were closed at that time of night. Only some of the beggars, drinking boxed wine purchased from the day’s spoils, and a few shady characters peddling marijuana and other soft drugs gave away how much foot-traffic the bridge actually had during the day. Eva and I had Karlův Most practically to ourselves as we left Prague’s right bank and crossed under the elaborate gothic arch that marked the bridge’s beginning.
"This city is so beautiful, it still amazes me each time I walk through it," I said as we slowly strolled over the centuries-old stone structure.
"Yes. Maybe you are correct. But for me, Praha is MY city. Is normal for me. Maybe is beautiful, but not for buildings," she paused, looked up to her right, towards the illuminated walls and towers of Hradčany, Prague’s castle, and sighed, "but because is my home."
"I suppose you’re right."
"No, no. It is. My home," Eva emphasized once again and turned to look at me directly. A cloud of warm breath escaped from her delicate mouth into the cool air, "I don’t know if I could to leave my home. Ever. Or for permanent. Like my boyfriend. Or you. Is crazy. How can you? Praha is beautiful because is my home. My friends, my family. All here. Is Philadelphia, is America, not same for you?"
I didn’t answer right away. I just gazed forward, over the bridge and towards the gothic gate that led to the left bank, Malá Strana, the Little Quarter. The many statues lining the bridge seemed to turn into one solid structure by the time they reached that gate. Amazing what perspective can do.
I stopped walking, led Eva to the edge of the bridge, and hugged her from behind as we both looked up at the castle. "I know. I know. It’s very difficult to leave home. All your friends. All your family. The people you love," I leaned forward and sniffed her slightly exposed neck. "But sometimes you have to. Well, you don’t exactly have to. You want to... You need to. Besides, look at all of this," I lifted my head once again and looked up at Hradčany. "I would have never seen anything like this. Anything so wonderful – so beautiful – if I never thought to leave my home." Eva was silent. "Don’t you see it now? A little bit from my perspective at least. Don’t you see how beautiful it is?"
"Yes, maybe... The Vltava is moving so quickly today. Look how large and powerful it is! How beautiful like you said!" She wasn’t even looking at the castle, floating in the dark it seemed on a cloud of illumenecent divinity. Her piercing eyes were focused on the river below us.
"Well, yeah. Okay, Eva. The river too. There’s beauty in everything, depending on how you look at it." I hugged her tighter as she leaned back into my chest. We were lost in each other, in the moment. Enjoying it for what it was.
"You know, Paul," she interrupted the tranquility. "Is very interesting. The water pressure from Vltava, when you measure it from cubic meters volume, is equal to..."
"OK, Eva," I cut her off. Not too forcefully, but enough to get my message across. I had heard enough about water and its damned properties for the past few hours. I hardly needed another seminar.
"Sorry. I talk for water too much. Everyone says too." She fell silent again and lost herself in my arms.
We stood there for a few minutes, saying nothing, not needing to, and just enjoying each other’s warmth and presence. Finally, I loosened my arms and spun Eva around. There we stood, face to face, our lips only inches apart, and on one the most beautiful bridges in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
"You know, Eva," I leaned in and rubbed my nose against hers. Her eyes wouldn’t stray from mine. They pierced my very being and fed the hungry Eros within. "The most beautiful thing I’ve seen in this city, in this country, is not any building or tower or statue..." I moved my head back a bit so that my eyes could focus on that pretty face without any distortion, "...but you. You are incredibly beautiful. A picture of perfection." I pulled her closer with my hands resting on her hips. "When I think of beauty, I think of you," and with that I leaned in to kiss her. The moment was right. We longed for each other and had finally reached that point we both knew would come. The point of intimacy. The point of truth.
"I can’t, Paul," she shifted her head as she leaned back and to the side. "I have a boyfriend."
"But, but, but..." The moment was right! The point of truth! The point of intimacy! What are you doing?! We long for each other. Come on Eva, damn it! Don’t you remember? Don’t you know? We long. WE LONG! ...And yet, none of those words came out. There was only "But, but, but..." and a look of confusion that could only be described as whatthefuck.
"Paul, I’m sorry," she looked away from me and at the cobblestone pattern below. "But I have a boyfriend. Almost four years. I cannot."
"But, but, but..." The tried and true asshole method? For Christ’s sake, Řepy magic? They were working perfectly. What went wrong? I wasn’t supposed to get whatthefuck, I was supposed to get a nice, long, wet kiss and numerous, interesting feels of certain female Czech curves. This, it was clear, was to be followed by an eventual visit to my private love quarters at the Dum. Not another night, week, month, or God knows how long of rote asexualism. No, no, no. This would not stand. The boyfriend thing was a huge mistake. I hadn’t heard her properly. Some wind must have blown and gotten stuck in my ear causing temporary deafness. I leaned in to kiss her again.
"No, Paul," she leaned back once again. "I have a boyfriend."
I let go of Eva gently and was now clearly left with nothing but whatthefuck on my face. Perhaps, I thought, some wind had gotten lodged in my ear a second time as well. I’m sure that that kind of thing is know to happen – but I wasn’t going to push my luck. "But, but... Eva. I know you have a boyfriend. But he’s halfway across the world! In Australia!"
"Yes, yes... I know," she stared down at my pants, sadder than ever. "But I can not. He is my boyfriend for four years."
"Eva? I know four years is a long time, but that’s the past. And now? You probably won’t see him for two years. Two years! You don’t think he’s going to go with some other girls during that time?"
Eva didn’t say a word. She just stood there. Staring. Motionless.
"Okay. Look. Just answer this for me. Do you like me?"
She looked up and gazed into my eyes. "Yes, of course," she smiled, quickly undoing it.
"Not like a friend or a teacher, Eva. Listen to what I’m saying. I mean, do you LIKE me? I feel a connection. I mean, there’s something here. Some attraction. Do you feel it too? Do you LIKE me?"
"Yes," she smiled again, but this time let it linger on her lips.
"Then WHAT THE FUCK is the problem?!"
"Paul!" I guess she didn’t like my tone of voice. "I’m sorry. There is nothing for me to do."
I just stood there, forced to accept her words, forced to nullify Kim’s "cheap beer, cheap women" theory, forced to scrap Pavel’s "Czech girls is fucking you very easy" advice, forced to abandon everything I had been told and learned about these seductive Bohemian creatures. All because of this one temptress before me.
"OK, okay, Eva. Let’s just go home." I’d have to rework my strategy. I needed time to think. I couldn’t push her too much. Tonight was done. As we finished crossing Karlův Most, I could help but look up at the castle one last time. What an eager and excited Paul had been staring at it not too long ago – on top of the world and eager with anticipation. What a difference in dejection ten minutes can make.
I held out my hand to Eva once we had crossed the bridge, "Would you still like to hold my hand while I walk you?" She hesitated a bit, but eventually gave it to me. We didn’t say another word to each other until we had reached her bus stop. We sat down, shivering side by side, and waited in the silent cold.
"Do you want to sit on my lap? It’ll be warmer." I patted my thighs.
She just shook her head.
"Okay." A few minutes later, "Do you want me to hug you? It’ll be warmer."
Again, she just shook her head "No."
Eva’s bus pulled up to the stop five minutes early and waited there. It was the first stop of the route, so the driver didn’t have to leave until scheduled. He stepped out of the driver’s door on the other side and lit a cigarette. We continued to sit there, in silence, until Eva interrupted it.
"Paul, I have a wonderful night with you. Thank you very much. I am sorry for..."
"No, no," I cut her short. "You don’t have to apologize for anything. Don’t worry about it. Honestly. It was all my fault. I’m sorry for yelling at you."
She showed me that smile that made my knees weak. "Look, next week Saturday I have birthday party. You will come, okay?"
"Really? Your birthday? How old are you turning?"
"Twenty-one. So, you will come?"
"Yeah, sure. But when and where will it be?"
"Good! I tell you all the information on school Monday. But now, I must go on my bus. Good night," she leaned forward to kiss me goodbye. I directed my lips towards hers and awaited a nice, wet Czech goodbye amongst friends. What I got instead was a brief peck on the cheek.
"Eva, are you sure you don’t want me to kiss you? I would love to. You’re so beautiful."
"No, no Paul. Please. Sorry. I have boyfriend," and with that she turned and made her way to the opened bus doors. I didn’t now it then, but my lips would never touch Eva’s again during those friendly Czech hellos and goodbyes. There would only be what I received that night, a brief peck on the cheek. And each and every time I didn’t receive that light kiss on the lips, despite the fact that I kept expecting it, I just stood there – like I did that night – waving goodbye with nothing but whatthefuck on my face.
From that moment on, I sent my sweet Eva at least one message every couple of days and she always wrote back immediately. Even on those three days a week when I taught her – the best three days of the week – I still managed to send the token textual ‘Hello, how are you?’ either after class or before bedtime and always anxiously awaited her response. We also managed to get into the routine of going out for coffee after class, just the two of us, at least once per week. After a couple of weeks, I couldn’t even recognize myself mentally. I was eager with anticipation every time I was about to see Eva and overanalyzed, word for word, any text she sent me or sentence she told me. And, worst of all, I got that feeling in my stomach again – the one I would get when I was thirteen and had a crush on a girl – every time I saw her. What the hell was happening to me? I couldn’t see it then but, now, with hindsight, I know that Eva once again had turned me into a pizza-faced, squeaky-voiced, too-eager-to-masturbate, pubescent mess. Or, rather, Eros had turned me into one.
I didn’t manage to go out with Eva again for a drink, aside from those after-school coffees, until three weekends after that fateful Thursday at Akropolis. We agreed to meet on Friday night at ten o’clock, on Staroměstské náměstí (Old Town Square).
I left the Dum that night at nine (Dan told me he had never smelled so much cologne in his life) and made my long journey to the city center. After a bus ride and subway transfer, I got off at Můstek station and made my way through the narrow, winding roads of Old Prague. It was a beautiful evening. A bit cold, but nothing like it had been a month or two earlier and, thankfully, no huge piles of snow to trudge through. I knew my way around the city pretty well by then so while my feet, protected by those trustworthy white athletic socks and tan summer shoes, added one more layer of wear onto the cobblestone streets, I concentrated on the captivating beauty of this Bohemian capital.
The roads, or should I say alleys, were narrow enough to allow for only pedestrian traffic. That, however, didn’t stop the occasional car from trying to get through, usually accompanied by a blaring car horn and profanities the likes of which I could never hope to decipher. On the comically Lilliputian sidewalks, also made of cobblestone but arranged in a beautiful pattern of gray, red, and white, stood stores, one next to the other, catering to everything the tourist might desire. From Bohemian crystal (100% authentic) to old Soviet Army issue cigarette lighters (100% authentic), if you wanted it, this is where you went. Above these hallmarks of a booming tourist industry stood the rest of a building, inhabited by old ladies who still paid fixed Communist rental prices and the nouveau-riche who could afford to pay the exorbitant free market prices. The buildings, most being a mere three to four stories tall, were brightly painted and, as was evident by the lack of chipped paint, had recently undergone major restoration. People who had come to Prague before 1990 said that the city, ten years on, was brighter and more beautiful than ever. And so I wandered through the medieval streets, sometimes under an archway and often with my head cocked slightly to the rear in order to take in the majesty of these centuries-old buildings.
As I approached Staroměstské náměstí, the sound of buskers became more distinct and the image of spired towers more prevalent. I rounded the last corner and there I was. On the square. No matter how many times I had crossed that square, or just sat on one of its benches doing nothing, it still managed to take my breath away. Keep in mind, by that point I had seen it so many times that it was now only an initial shock each time I laid eyes on it. Something infinitely temporary but present nonetheless. The kind of shock you get when a good friend first tells you he’s gay, but in fact, when you think about it, you’ve sort of suspected it all along. That’s how the beauty of Staroměstské náměstí amazed me that evening. I looked off to my right and noticed the two massive towers of Tyn Cathedral, each studded with a half-dozen spires and golden trim. Then the beautiful, elaborate buildings that lined the square, some with pedestrian archways, others with ornate balconies, and yet others with elaborately painted facades. My eyes followed the buildings to ground level. Cafes and restaurants, with outdoor heating lamps and wandering accordion players, spilling out over the cobblestone perimeter. Nothing, I thought, can stop a Mediterranean tourist from sipping his coffee or cocktail outdoors, not even the bitter Eastern European cold. God knows no Czechs actually frequented these places. Then, Kafka caught my eyes. Next to one of the cafes and in Tyn’s shadow stood "Kafka’s Bookstore" housed in the very building where Franz’s father apparently ran a small shop and where the author himself worked as a young man. Could this have once actually been the edge of the ghetto? A seat of gloom and despair? This... This emerging tourist trap? A true Metamorphosis, I thought. And in a mere hundred years time. In the center of it all stood a giant statue in memory of Jan Hus, the medieval scholar and theologian who had the honor of being the patron of these Bohemian lands...
That’s right. Hus. That’s where I was supposed to meet Eva. I briefly surveyed the stone benches lining the massive statue for any sign of her and glanced up at the elaborate, spired clock tower before me (all that remained from a larger town hall that the Nazis had torched). The embroidered, golden tipped fingers indicated twenty to ten. I’d have to wait. For the first time in my life, at least that I could remember, I was actually early... and twenty minutes at that.
I made my way through the busy square and found an empty bench. Rolled a cigarette and waited. Incredible, I thought. I had visited this square dozens of times and, still, I was awe-struck when wandering on to it. Sure I didn’t stand there, jaw half opened, for those uncountable moments I had experienced all those months ago. Regardless, the magic was still there. The shock – the shock of beauty – still struck me each and every time. The definition of resplendence.
Eva approached from the far end of the square. She saw me instantly and smiled during her entire approach. I stood up, greeted her with a light kiss on the lips, and led her to a nearby bar I knew of. There weren’t any tables available, so we stood at the counter. I ordered our drinks and turned to find Eva taking off her coat and resting it on the lone stool between us.
She looked incredible. Her long blonde hair rested gently on her barely covered shoulders. She was wearing a tight dark-green shirt that showcased her voluptuousness. Every time she leaned over, a bit of cleavage was revealed to the world and, more importantly, my hungry eyes. I thought of Pavel’s Eva, the one he had slept with in Horní Planá. Two Evas. Both with incredible bodies and both loved to show off their slim yet full figures. Ah... Czech women. Fortunately, I had chosen to pursue one that didn’t have B.O. No, my Eva smelled like a scented rose. I hoped that that was the only thing my Eva and the one from Horní Planá didn’t have in common and that they were both just as easy to get into bed. Think like Pavel, I kept telling myself. Think like Pavel. Maybe some of that "Řepy magic" would rub off.
My eyes were stuck on Eva’s skin tight black pants, more specifically, the upper fourth, when she dragged me back into the moment and lured my gaze towards her eyes.
"So, we have long time to go out party again. But I like coffee with you after school. You have nice day today and Thursday?"
I looked into her emerald eyes and they danced for me. Her cream white skin was only interrupted by those slightly blushed cheeks of hers. And, what’s more, she wasn’t wearing any make-up. Again. Just then and there, I realized that I had never actually seen her wear any cosmetics. Who needed it when such natural beauty abounded? Like the city outside, Eva was near perfection.
I was taking too long to respond to her question. I must have looked like an idiot, just standing there, staring at her, with a dumb look on my face. Remember. "Asshole" strategy. Wear her down. Keep it cool. Řepy magic. "Every day without you, Eva, is not a nice day." Not exactly Romeo, but for a Slavic Juliet-ova, it would do.
Eva smiled and blushed, "Oh Paul, thank you. You are very nice. But, really, why you don’t teach Thursday and Friday?"
"Well, Eva," I brushed her bare arm, "I don’t think I could teach in the presence of such beauty five days a week. Three is already driving me mad."
Eva lost her smile and replied, "Sorry. I don’t understand. Presents? And what do you driving?"
"Ah... Nothing." I had to keep it simple. What was I thinking? Using this shit that barely works on girls back home on a girl that barely speaks English. I had to keep it simple. Thank God the drinks arrived and allowed me to recoup. "Nazdraví!" I lifted my glass. That always seemed to work.
I avoided any more romantic sly-talk that evening and just spoke to Eva as a normal human being. It was extremely difficult to do so at first, but eventually I caught on (and my libido managed to get into the backseat for a while).
Eva was a very interesting person, more than just the pretty face and incredible body I had imagined her to be. I found it incredible that, out of all those times we had gone out for coffee, talked at school, or just texted each other, I never really knew that much about her. She lived alone with her mother (her parents had divorced when she was ten) in an apartment complex that overlooked the Vltava River. Her mother had urged her to learn English after Communism crumbled, but she was never too eager to do so. She had only started learning in 1997 and, even then, only off and on. Not bad, I reassured her, for five years. She had only started studying more intensely lately because she wanted to go to university. The program she wanted to enroll in had a study-abroad requirement of one year after three years of study and she needed English to get accepted.
"That’s really cool, Eva. So, what do you want to study in college then?" I asked, actually interested.
"Co? College? I don’t understand."
"University," I clarified.
"Ah, yes. Well, maybe you will laugh," she blushed a bit.
"Come on. Of course I won’t. What? What is it?
"Well. I don’t know what is name exactly. Maybe... Hydrology?"
I gave her an empty stare.
"It is studying of water."
"Hydrology?" I spat back. "Water? What the hell do you want to study water for?"
"I don’t know!" she laughed. "But I like it!"
I thought about advising her against wasting a university opportunity on something so trivial as water, but then I thought it over. That kind of advice doesn’t sound too good coming from someone who just spent four years and thousands of dollars studying Ancient History and Philosophy. Oh well, I comforted myself, the world needs some good hydrologists.
Once I got Eva rolling on the breakthrough scientific world of water research, she wouldn’t stop. We continued talking for what would have seemed like an eternity – if she hadn’t been so damn sexy – about water and its magical properties. Evaporation. Condensation. Erosion. Polar caps. Underwater childbirth. Water in your ear. I couldn’t believe that a conversation revolving solely around three lousy atoms could last so long, but it did. All I knew was that I wasn’t about to end it any time soon. We were both laughing, joking, and having a great time. I would have never thought it possible had it not been experienced. I guess that it really is true – a pretty face can always liven up a conversation.
A half dozen or so drinks into the night, Eva cam back from one of her bathroom visits and told me, sadly, that she would have to leave soon. I protested but she said her mother would be extremely upset if she went home too late again. So, we finished our drinks, paid, and headed outdoors.
The quickest way for Eva to get home at that time of night was from the other side of the Vltava. A fifteen minute walk at the most. I, as always, agreed to accompany her. We headed back towards Staroměstské náměstí and once again stepped into its majestic beauty. The square was now a lot emptier than when we had met there earlier, but it was still busier than other parts of the Old Town. An icy breeze swept across the cobblestones and made me shiver. I turned to Eva. It had had the same effect on her. I smiled at her, took my hand out of my coat-pocket, gently grabbed her arm, placed her cold hand in mine, and returned them both into my warm pocket. She looked into my eyes and smiled in return. We walked off the square, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, and into a maze of narrow streets leading to the Charles Bridge.
All the tourist shops were closed at that time of night. Only some of the beggars, drinking boxed wine purchased from the day’s spoils, and a few shady characters peddling marijuana and other soft drugs gave away how much foot-traffic the bridge actually had during the day. Eva and I had Karlův Most practically to ourselves as we left Prague’s right bank and crossed under the elaborate gothic arch that marked the bridge’s beginning.
"This city is so beautiful, it still amazes me each time I walk through it," I said as we slowly strolled over the centuries-old stone structure.
"Yes. Maybe you are correct. But for me, Praha is MY city. Is normal for me. Maybe is beautiful, but not for buildings," she paused, looked up to her right, towards the illuminated walls and towers of Hradčany, Prague’s castle, and sighed, "but because is my home."
"I suppose you’re right."
"No, no. It is. My home," Eva emphasized once again and turned to look at me directly. A cloud of warm breath escaped from her delicate mouth into the cool air, "I don’t know if I could to leave my home. Ever. Or for permanent. Like my boyfriend. Or you. Is crazy. How can you? Praha is beautiful because is my home. My friends, my family. All here. Is Philadelphia, is America, not same for you?"
I didn’t answer right away. I just gazed forward, over the bridge and towards the gothic gate that led to the left bank, Malá Strana, the Little Quarter. The many statues lining the bridge seemed to turn into one solid structure by the time they reached that gate. Amazing what perspective can do.
I stopped walking, led Eva to the edge of the bridge, and hugged her from behind as we both looked up at the castle. "I know. I know. It’s very difficult to leave home. All your friends. All your family. The people you love," I leaned forward and sniffed her slightly exposed neck. "But sometimes you have to. Well, you don’t exactly have to. You want to... You need to. Besides, look at all of this," I lifted my head once again and looked up at Hradčany. "I would have never seen anything like this. Anything so wonderful – so beautiful – if I never thought to leave my home." Eva was silent. "Don’t you see it now? A little bit from my perspective at least. Don’t you see how beautiful it is?"
"Yes, maybe... The Vltava is moving so quickly today. Look how large and powerful it is! How beautiful like you said!" She wasn’t even looking at the castle, floating in the dark it seemed on a cloud of illumenecent divinity. Her piercing eyes were focused on the river below us.
"Well, yeah. Okay, Eva. The river too. There’s beauty in everything, depending on how you look at it." I hugged her tighter as she leaned back into my chest. We were lost in each other, in the moment. Enjoying it for what it was.
"You know, Paul," she interrupted the tranquility. "Is very interesting. The water pressure from Vltava, when you measure it from cubic meters volume, is equal to..."
"OK, Eva," I cut her off. Not too forcefully, but enough to get my message across. I had heard enough about water and its damned properties for the past few hours. I hardly needed another seminar.
"Sorry. I talk for water too much. Everyone says too." She fell silent again and lost herself in my arms.
We stood there for a few minutes, saying nothing, not needing to, and just enjoying each other’s warmth and presence. Finally, I loosened my arms and spun Eva around. There we stood, face to face, our lips only inches apart, and on one the most beautiful bridges in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
"You know, Eva," I leaned in and rubbed my nose against hers. Her eyes wouldn’t stray from mine. They pierced my very being and fed the hungry Eros within. "The most beautiful thing I’ve seen in this city, in this country, is not any building or tower or statue..." I moved my head back a bit so that my eyes could focus on that pretty face without any distortion, "...but you. You are incredibly beautiful. A picture of perfection." I pulled her closer with my hands resting on her hips. "When I think of beauty, I think of you," and with that I leaned in to kiss her. The moment was right. We longed for each other and had finally reached that point we both knew would come. The point of intimacy. The point of truth.
"I can’t, Paul," she shifted her head as she leaned back and to the side. "I have a boyfriend."
"But, but, but..." The moment was right! The point of truth! The point of intimacy! What are you doing?! We long for each other. Come on Eva, damn it! Don’t you remember? Don’t you know? We long. WE LONG! ...And yet, none of those words came out. There was only "But, but, but..." and a look of confusion that could only be described as whatthefuck.
"Paul, I’m sorry," she looked away from me and at the cobblestone pattern below. "But I have a boyfriend. Almost four years. I cannot."
"But, but, but..." The tried and true asshole method? For Christ’s sake, Řepy magic? They were working perfectly. What went wrong? I wasn’t supposed to get whatthefuck, I was supposed to get a nice, long, wet kiss and numerous, interesting feels of certain female Czech curves. This, it was clear, was to be followed by an eventual visit to my private love quarters at the Dum. Not another night, week, month, or God knows how long of rote asexualism. No, no, no. This would not stand. The boyfriend thing was a huge mistake. I hadn’t heard her properly. Some wind must have blown and gotten stuck in my ear causing temporary deafness. I leaned in to kiss her again.
"No, Paul," she leaned back once again. "I have a boyfriend."
I let go of Eva gently and was now clearly left with nothing but whatthefuck on my face. Perhaps, I thought, some wind had gotten lodged in my ear a second time as well. I’m sure that that kind of thing is know to happen – but I wasn’t going to push my luck. "But, but... Eva. I know you have a boyfriend. But he’s halfway across the world! In Australia!"
"Yes, yes... I know," she stared down at my pants, sadder than ever. "But I can not. He is my boyfriend for four years."
"Eva? I know four years is a long time, but that’s the past. And now? You probably won’t see him for two years. Two years! You don’t think he’s going to go with some other girls during that time?"
Eva didn’t say a word. She just stood there. Staring. Motionless.
"Okay. Look. Just answer this for me. Do you like me?"
She looked up and gazed into my eyes. "Yes, of course," she smiled, quickly undoing it.
"Not like a friend or a teacher, Eva. Listen to what I’m saying. I mean, do you LIKE me? I feel a connection. I mean, there’s something here. Some attraction. Do you feel it too? Do you LIKE me?"
"Yes," she smiled again, but this time let it linger on her lips.
"Then WHAT THE FUCK is the problem?!"
"Paul!" I guess she didn’t like my tone of voice. "I’m sorry. There is nothing for me to do."
I just stood there, forced to accept her words, forced to nullify Kim’s "cheap beer, cheap women" theory, forced to scrap Pavel’s "Czech girls is fucking you very easy" advice, forced to abandon everything I had been told and learned about these seductive Bohemian creatures. All because of this one temptress before me.
"OK, okay, Eva. Let’s just go home." I’d have to rework my strategy. I needed time to think. I couldn’t push her too much. Tonight was done. As we finished crossing Karlův Most, I could help but look up at the castle one last time. What an eager and excited Paul had been staring at it not too long ago – on top of the world and eager with anticipation. What a difference in dejection ten minutes can make.
I held out my hand to Eva once we had crossed the bridge, "Would you still like to hold my hand while I walk you?" She hesitated a bit, but eventually gave it to me. We didn’t say another word to each other until we had reached her bus stop. We sat down, shivering side by side, and waited in the silent cold.
"Do you want to sit on my lap? It’ll be warmer." I patted my thighs.
She just shook her head.
"Okay." A few minutes later, "Do you want me to hug you? It’ll be warmer."
Again, she just shook her head "No."
Eva’s bus pulled up to the stop five minutes early and waited there. It was the first stop of the route, so the driver didn’t have to leave until scheduled. He stepped out of the driver’s door on the other side and lit a cigarette. We continued to sit there, in silence, until Eva interrupted it.
"Paul, I have a wonderful night with you. Thank you very much. I am sorry for..."
"No, no," I cut her short. "You don’t have to apologize for anything. Don’t worry about it. Honestly. It was all my fault. I’m sorry for yelling at you."
She showed me that smile that made my knees weak. "Look, next week Saturday I have birthday party. You will come, okay?"
"Really? Your birthday? How old are you turning?"
"Twenty-one. So, you will come?"
"Yeah, sure. But when and where will it be?"
"Good! I tell you all the information on school Monday. But now, I must go on my bus. Good night," she leaned forward to kiss me goodbye. I directed my lips towards hers and awaited a nice, wet Czech goodbye amongst friends. What I got instead was a brief peck on the cheek.
"Eva, are you sure you don’t want me to kiss you? I would love to. You’re so beautiful."
"No, no Paul. Please. Sorry. I have boyfriend," and with that she turned and made her way to the opened bus doors. I didn’t now it then, but my lips would never touch Eva’s again during those friendly Czech hellos and goodbyes. There would only be what I received that night, a brief peck on the cheek. And each and every time I didn’t receive that light kiss on the lips, despite the fact that I kept expecting it, I just stood there – like I did that night – waving goodbye with nothing but whatthefuck on my face.
posted by G.C. PHILO at 4:37 AM
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