Via Prague: At Pavels/Good Fences

That evening the sun disappeared and great black clouds descended on the city. The heat sucked away and evaporated, and the rains came, loud and insistent, followed by thunder. People went hurrying indoors, their shorts and t-shirts soaked through. I couldn't help think -- at least the summer storm held off until we were through with the Foreign Police. Can you imagine sitting outside all night under that downpour?
I went to Pavels. Islam was already there and mopping the floor. Pavel was behind the bar. There was no gas for the keg, so we settled for střík, half white wine and half sparkling water, a cool, light summer drink especially popular with Czech women because it saves the waistline some mileage. Tomas, a Czech who's also an English teacher and studying teaching methodologies at university, invited me over for a smoke.
'So how was it?' he asked.
'We were there from midnight,' I said.
'Midnight? Jesus! So did you get the visa?'
'30 days. I have to go back.'
'Oh no!' he laughed sympathetically.
'I don't understand it,' I whined. 'A city with a million and a half people, probably at least 50,000 immigrants, and they have just one office to process the paperwork.'
'It's terrible,' Tomas said.
'But I'm sure it's the same everywhere.' I told Tomas about Lucka, a Czech girl who spent a year in the US, and how she waited all night at the embassy in Washington to get her visa. We also talked about Mexican immigrants in California, and the difficulties they have getting legal.
'But they do the jobs nobody else wants,' I went on. 'And immigrants help drive growth. They're the ambitious ones, the ones who want something better.'
This is in reference to a conversation Tomas and I have frequently had.
'Here in Czech Republic,' he often says. 'Everyone who grew up under Communism is used to the state taking care of them, and everyone being the same. They cannot imagine taking care of themselves, or imagining something better.'
'Look at what Kennedy said,' I went on, 'Democracy isn't perfect and freedom presents many challenges, but at least in America we don't have to build a wall to keep our people in. Of course it's ironic now, the Bush Administration wants to build a wall between the US and Mexico. They want to build a wall to keep people out!'
'Yes, but don't you think, James,' Tomas said, nodding. 'That for some people such freedom is too difficult to handle. They cannot survive. So in this respect, it's good to have some some controls.'
'But what about when you went to England?' I asked. 'What if the English had said, 'Sorry, Tomas, you cannot come.'
We conceded points, and I realize that it's not the same, comparing discomfort over getting a visa to the Berlin Wall.
Outside it was still storming, the rain falling in sheets. Pavel had on some French soft-core porn for some reason -- and from the Eighties on top of that -- and everyone was getting a laugh out of it. People came in flushed and streaming with rain, and exchanged 'Ahojs' and either had the wine or waited for the beer. Warmed by the střík, and the cozy feeling of being inside sheltered from the storm, we continued the discussion.
'Basically there are two philosophies,' I mused, feeling the wine. 'One is like Robert Frost said,' Good fences make good neighbors,' and the other ... I guess, that for those who strive for something better the path should be open.' This was perhaps a winefully stupid observation. Frost was talking about privacy, I suspect, and of course what kind of life would it be without obstacles?
Fortunately, Tomas was more the mood to smoke and reflect. After all, the conversation just made the wine taste better (stealing a line from Hrabal).
Islam came over and shook hands and leaned over to Tomas.
'You know some good anti-virus program?' he asked.
'You have a virus?' Tomas asked.
Tomas wrote a site address on a napkin and handed to Islam.
'It's free,' Tomas said. 'The site -- it's free.'
Later his student Stazka came, along with a tall guy named Lukas and another guy whose name I forget at the moment. Under the storm, in the warm cafe, we had another of our endlessly circular conversations in varying shades of English and Czech. There were even songs. The beer finally arrived in frothy pints, but since I was already on the střík didn't want to change boats in mid-stream. After a while I forgot about the visa issue and just enjoyed the evening. There were so many evenings like this.

Via Prague

Literary and other offerings from former Times-Standard reporter James Tressler, who is living, teaching and writing in Prague.

At Pavels/Good Fences

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