Via Prague

I got downstairs, down the winding steps into the stone room that feels like an old wine cellar. Her face lit up with recognition when I arrived.
'Cau!'
'Cau!'
'Nice to see you again,' I said. 'It was really early last time I saw you.'
'Yes, it was a nice night. Beer?'
'Yes.'
Unfortunately, there was no great event to buoy the evening. The bar was almost empty, great handfuls of reliables at home for Christmas. The TV could boast no more than a college football game, Southern Miss versus Somebody. I tried watching it for awhile but it was impossibly dull. I left Alena alone while she tended to the handful of customers, mostly British. After a while she brought a second beer.
'What are you doing for Christmas?' I asked.
'Christmas?'
'Yes, Christmas.'
'I don't know yet. I will probably be alone.'
'Yes, me too.'
'But I like to be alone.'
'Yes?'
'Yes, it is a good time, you can really focus on everything. Right now things are very complicated for me, I like to be alone.'
'I think you're right,' I said. 'For me, it is the same.'
I tell her about Paris. 'Well, if it were me, I would look forward to that.'
She came back a little later, bringing a fresh pint when I finished.
I texted Liam, but nothing doing. 'I'm off the booze again. Merry Christmas,' he replied.
Gordon's brother was in town. Earlier I'd met them at Namesti Miru, or Peace Square, by the big church. A Christmas tree was lit, and the wooden booths were frothing with people in line for the sausages and bread and hot wine. Gordon finally introduced me to his girlfriend, Kristina, along with his brother's companion whose name I didn't catch.
'Come along with us if you want,' Gordon said. But I'd declined, not wanting to be a fifth wheel.
'Well, maybe see you later.'
'Yeah, we'll call you if we're going somewhere, but it'll probably be in the center.'
I watched Alena for awhile, but she was busy, so I went back to the TV. There had been more to the conversation, but it's hard to piece together.
'Do you believe in God?' she'd asked.
'Yes.'
'So, you do. Me too.'
'But I'm not a religious person,' I said. 'I don't like these Christians, Muslims, Buddhists --'
'Me, too,' she said.
I muttered something about a 'cosmic intelligence.'
'Yes,' Alena said. 'Something higher.'
On the second TV a college basketball game was playing, UCLA versus Michigan. Both teams looked lousy. At the end of the first half the score was something like 24-21. Both sides were shooting enough bricks to rebuild the World Trade Center two times over. God, what's happened to basketball? I guess Jordan spoiled it for everyone. Watch the Michigan player as he spins, turns and fades, fires from like 25 feet, misses not only the basket, but doesn't even come within remote reach of the backboard. Jordan could do it and get away with it, fire a shot like that. Now they all try and they just make bad plays, and go back and forth up the court shooting ambitious, but crazy blanks.
I checked my mobile a few times to see if Gordon had texted. Nothing.
The second half of the basketball game started, but it wasn't any better than the first. How many was it? Five beers. Remember Paris.
The phone rings. It's Hana from the flat. I go to the toilet to get away from the noise.
'My mother is at the flat,' Hana says.
'OK?'
'I'm just calling because if you get to the flat and see her --'
'Right. OK.'
'Jiste pivo?' Alena asks, making the rounds.
I order a pizza to go along with the beer, and watch the game. I try not to bother Alena, who between refills sits on her stool behind the bar and relaxes, occasionally disappearing upstairs. What am I doing here? Think back to the Sport Bar in Arcata, New Year's Eve 1995. You felt alone then too, and what was the girl -- Alex? -- she felt sorry for you and kissed you when the banners were waved at midnight. Looking back, that had been a turning point. These places are not for you ...
'I think maybe I shouldn't be here,' I found myself saying aloud, when Alena came by again.
'What?' She leaned closer. 'I'm sorry. I don't understand. My English --'
'No, it's alright,' I said. 'I was just thinking, maybe I shouldn't be here.'
Alena stood back.
'I don't understand. You are here. There is nothing wrong with that. I don't like these terms -- right and wrong -- but if you want to be here, you can be here.'
'What do you do in your free time?'
'I don't really have. I work two jobs and the rest of the time I am alone.'
'What's your other job?'
'It is like this one.'
'But why are you doing it?'
'What?'
'Why are you doing it, there must be some reason.'
'Oh, there is. I just don't want to say.'
'You're the reason I came here tonight,' I found myself saying. 'I came here only to see you.'
Alena smiled.
'I don't know what to say to that.'
Later she said, 'I really hate alcohol. It's because I see what it can do to people.'
'Yes. It's because in your job you only see people who are drunk.'
'Yes. And people, when they talk to me, they are only thinking of themselves. I don't mean that you are ... I'm sorry I am not good at these conversations. It is better to talk of general things.'
'Yes.'
'But I like to be alone.'
'I understand,' I said. 'I am a teacher. All day I am talking to people. It's nice to be alone.'
After the beer, I ordered a tea, which surprised her.
'Tea?'
'Yes.'
'Black?'
'Green. I have to walk home, I need energy.'
The tea was good and hot, and as it went down, I felt revitalized. The night before at Pavel's, when I left Pavel had insisted on us having a shot together, and he'd given me cucurietka, the Slovak brandy made from blueberries. That and everything else, I was still feeling it, so the tea was good.
I finished the tea, and got my jacket and scarf and went to pay. Alena had already rung up the bill. I gave her my bank card, and she disappeared upstairs. I waited, then decided to just go up, save her the trip back down.
We met on the stairs.
'OK, so here, you can sign.' Alena put the receipt on the stone railing.
'But I wanted to tip you.'
'It's too late.'
I signed, and reached in my pocket, found twenty crowns. 'Here.'
'Thank you.'
'I'd like to go out with you.'
'What? With me?'
'Yes, with you.'
'But I am working so much, 17 hours a day, and then I am alone.'
I felt sure, the way it was after the Mayweather-Hatton fight, when Alena's face was all lit up. I'd asked her if she liked the fight, and she said she didn't know, but it was there in her face. She had liked it. Her hand was there, so I took it, and then we both leaned forward. Alena offered her cheek, first one, then the other. I wanted to really kiss her, but she moved away.
'Life is short,' I said.
'Yes, I know.'
'You don't remember my name, do you?'
'Yes, of course. James.'
'See you then on Wednesday maybe.'
'Yes,' she smiled. She was already going away back downstairs.
Outside it's cold and quiet. I felt good, awake. I walked a few blocks to the tram station at IP Pavlova. It was nice evening -- don't worry about it. It's nice to have contact with a human being. You're not just here to teach grammar. You're here to live and love and be loved. Don't worry about it. Maybe you will go back on Wednesday, maybe not. We'll see.
Even the tram was quiet when it came. Only a few people were on it, a far cry from the height of the tourist season in summer. A couple, wrapped up and warm, sat in seats opposite each other and made jokes. A young man with white-blonde hair and high cheekbones gazed out into the black night. Maybe he's an artist. He looks like one. I wonder how much he knows ... I want to share it with someone, but I can't. It's a low, lonely story and quite common and old, but I wasn't thinking that at the moment. The evening had lifted up and shone a different face, a warmer and brighter face, and the thought of going home -- to the flat, I mean -- was less remote and terminal. To sleep, to be warm, to dream and maybe be loved, if it was possible. No we're not that busy, are we? But you never said, 'Hesky Vanoce.' Merry Christmas. That would have been the obvious thing, the expected, the decent thing. Maybe you're not decent. OK. Stop. Remember Paris. Remember the lunch yesterday with the girls, and how Marketa when you hugged her said, 'I'm sorry you don't have better students,' and how Jirina said Rudla would try to meet with us in the New Year, and Jitka teased you and said, 'Next time -- something different,' because everytime you order the burrito. There's plenty of reason for that burn of conceit, literary or otherwise, or 'cosmic consciousness,' or half-remembered, fully offered kisses with semi-strangers, or beer, or whatever it is that keeps you going. The promise of another year -- this one we won't lose, this one we'll make use of, a year that will begin on the high note of a lifelong dream, or at least the crowning of a persistent illusion. Remember you asked yourself, 'What is you expect when you go there?' What have you got left to give? Are there any secrets or surprises left? Of course! Remember this year was the year, the one you'd turn it around. Maybe you're starting to finally. Hemingway would say you're cheating -- because you didn't really think that, or are going back and making it all sound more neat and handsome, not remembering what really happened, how you really felt, and what really happened to produce the emotion, the change. But there's nothing to be done about that now. The change is there if you want it. And even if you don't the change is still there. There's nothing you can do about it. So maybe you'll go back on Wednesday, or maybe not. Just see how you feel and see what happens. Remember Paris. But also remember what Van Gogh said. Don't sacrifice the tender smile, the look in her eyes, just to prove some abstract idea. Beware of becoming a sectarian. There is something after Paris also, maybe.
And after all, it is still Christmas. Think about others, not just yourself. Think about Tonnie, and her friends stranded in China. You said you'd try to help them when they arrive in Prague. 'I know it's Christmas,' Tonnie's email said yesterday. 'So we'll call you on the 26th.' That would be Wednesday. So you may be busy.

When I got back to the flat, Hana's mother was there. We exchanged a few pleasantries in Czech, and then she disappeared into Hana's bedroom. A little while later Hana came home. On impulse, I remembered the bag of cosmetics and toiletries the girls had given me as a present. I went and found a bottle of perfume, still in its box. 'Merry Christmas,' I said, handing the box to Hana. She was surprised, but then she took out the perfume, tested it on her wrist. 'It's nice. Thank you.'
'Oh, thank the girls at Oriflame.'
'Of course. Want to share a bottle of wine. It's a cabernet.'
It was a good cabernet. All cabernet is good. We ended up staying up and talking til well past midnight. Like many flatmates in the city, Hana and I were flatmates of convenience. We seldom see each other, busy schedules. So it was nice to talk. We finished the bottle of wine.
'Are you going home for Christmas?' I asked.
'Yes, in the morning. My mother is here and we will go together tomorrow.' She looked at her watch. 'And we must be up at 630.'
'That's early.'
'And you? You have somewhere to go for Christmas?'
'We'll see.'
'You should have somewhere.'
'I know. We'll see.'
I told Hana about Tonnie and her friends in China. We went to the online hospitality club and viewed her profile.
'She looks sympathetic,' Hana said.
'Yes,' I said. 'So you think it will be OK? I told her a couple days. She and her friends can just crash on the floor in my room.'
'Sure, no problem. As long as you tell me, and it's only a few days.'
'Of course.'
Eventually we both stretched and got up.
'So, good night.'
'Good night,' Hana said. 'This was nice. Our own little Christmas party.'
'Yes. Good night.'
'Good night.'