Prague, April 23rd

Yesterday and today were two significant days – one more beautiful than the other even though I was cold and was not, in fact, in a good mood except that I suddenly felt that unbelievable magical happiness flowing through me like liquid metal, radiant, shining, warming. Yesterday we were shooting Franz Kafka’s “Alley”. Petr Bok looked fantastic. The Alley was beautiful – early spring, melancholy. Dora Diamantova, a sixteen-year-old girl, the embodiment of beauty, smoothness, surprised expression, she looked like one of Nadar’s models, not a girl from our times. I have made a heavenly costume for her. I know how I’m going to do it now, in the new epoch of my life. I don’t want anything but a huge stock of all possible clothing – to be able to put pieces together so that they sparkle and slap each other: I dressed her in long white dress that almost didn’t “fit” her. I tied a white scarf around or rather below her waist. And over the dress, like a coat, I threw a Japanese kimono – tailor-made from my old dressing gown. It is the color of chicory in fog or hazy skies. Across her shoulders I put a long wide wool shawl with white, light brown, black, and dark brown stripes. And then I placed a black hat completely straight on her head and around it I arranged a scarf from Tokyo, an unbelievable color, blue-grey. Around her neck I tied my old cotton nightie as a scarf whose ends were hanging somewhat incomprehensibly on her back. I demonstrated to her in the alley how to run. She had on black stockings and charming black shoes laced up through hooks. As she was running she had to hold her hat to stop it falling off her head, it was too small for her, and that was the trick as the scarf and the kimono were flying and tangling so that it look not like a costume but like a painter’s work. And Petr Bok – Franz – ran towards her in a tightly fitting suit. A great scene, happiness, silvery grey Gothic-like beech trees forming a colonnade, because next to the alley the same trees grew, descending.The alleyway ended in a kind of obelisk. We covered the distinctive legs of the obelisk pedestal and it then looked like a path in the alley going upwards. I was cold even in my quilted coat but when after Šofr’s command “camera” I called “action!”, it felt like my soul was accepting something it had yearned for for over twenty years. It was in the Žatec District at the chateau that went by the name of BEAUTIFUL COURT and fittingly, it was a Beautiful Court, so hats off. I was thinking about Petr, how he wrote to me that he always read a script only once and I had to laugh thinking how many times he would read it before we finish the film. In the chateau courtyard after the shooting I picked up a sweet little black cat and she wiped her bottom against my sleeve leaving a mark of the crap she had just taken – that cheered me up.Then we went home, tired as puppies, and Šofr was courting Dora but doing so in such a moving and deferential manner that I had to laugh again at his longing to look at that beautiful young face. “What would you like to do with your life”, he asked her, I was nodding off so I don’t know what she wanted to do.

Well and this morning I wrote to Petr this and that, then I filled in the postal orders and quietly despaired about all the tasks lined up before me, but in the end I didn’t bother and decided to have a nap in the afternoon. Later on I went out and bought a silver blouse and another one. But I knew the silver one was called Ester. I stopped at Tereza’s place, tried on the other blouse, and hurried to the Praha Cinema to meet Jan Němec. They were showing The Necklace of Melancholy that I wrote with him but that bastard didn’t put me in the credits – but I can’t give a damn, then there was something with Karel Gott, I thought it was pretty good, and then the Proudy band with Marta Kubišová. In the end we stood in front of the audience talking and it was fine as nobody bullied us, we were laughing, explaining briefly the background of this or that – And Jan introduced the two of us as his ex-wives (laughter in the audience, the loudest came from Viktor Dalajláma from FAMU who loves Jan and me). I also said I was grateful to the bolsheviks for saving me from boredom, laughter again, it was all fair, decent without too many words. Petr Kopřiva, whom I discovered for Martyrs, brought flowers for me and Marta so that we ended up adorned with flowers, drank a little wine, and I went to the post office to mail the letter for Petr and hand in the money orders so that I wouldn’t have to do it the next morning. Suddenly a very handsome young gypsy in a fancy sweater, all very sweet, a little greasy, with a low forehead and black eyes and white teeth, addressed me “Where are you going, lady?” “To the post office”, I answered with a kind smile. He offered to see me there, I said no, I was in a hurry, and he said, only to the doors, trying to gain time to wheedle me, which occurred in a concise fashion. He said: –Madam, I’m young but I like ladies. And I like you so much. I would invite you for a drink of whiskey and pay for your taxi back home.” I answered: –You are an exceptionally courteous young man, the likes of which I haven’t seen for a long time, but I don’t drink whiskey and I must go home.” He looked at me with his burning eyes and repeated: –But I like ladies. And you are such a kind and beautiful lady, it would be a pity, come for at least a minute. I really like fancy ladies. – And he gave me this conspiratorial look and lowered his voice: –Do you like guys?” –Well, – I said kindly. His face brightened up and he said: –I don’t like ladies who make excuses but I really like you and my heart will hurt if you leave me. – –I’m sorry, – I said compassionately and continued firmly towards the post office thinking about the young man’s direct path towards his goal. –My heart will hurt – he repeated again, this time not so emotionally but as a common phrase. In front of the post office I told him not to follow me inside and that tomorrow night around nine I’d be walking in this direction again. I said: –You are kind and polite, not many boys are like that. And your teeth are so beautifully white. – His face turned into a childish happy smile and he started kissing me. I quickly turned away so as not to catch aids and said: –Yes, a kiss, but only on the cheek. – He whispered sullenly: –A little kiss, just one little kiss...” And he kissed me once, twice more on my cheek, but that didn’t satisfy him and I thought the boy obviously didn’t like delays. Leaving the post office I stopped a taxi and glanced at the opposite side of the street to see him in his fancy striped sweater gaping at me. I was worried he’d assault the taxi driver and pull me into the nearest passageway to continue with his kisses. But he did leave an impression. When I was feeding the cats at home, I was singing to myself a Slovak song about a girl confessing that she likes a gypsy because of his white teeth. And I went on singing these lines and realized that I really do like the gypsy very much. (I am always moved by a memory of a very fat gypsy taxi driver driving me home from Mirek Macháček, who wouldn’t stop talking, he was great, kept talking politics, waving his hands, taking them off the steering wheel from time to time and he had this huge tummy – full of temperament and some personal honor. In front of my house we continued talking in the car and I gave him my phone number a said my name was Éstiké and he was close to tears and when I wanted to pay the fare he waved his fat hand and said in the voice of a prince: –Madam, I drove you for free. – I never heard from him, what a pity, such an intelligent person, I would have loved to talk and talk with him.)Here I would use Gogol but in a different way: –You don’t want to be bored? So don’t be. – And after a little while Petr suddenly called, I clasped my hands, I’m still thinking about him all the time, and he said today he sent a thousand bucks by telex, he apparently fell to his knees at the bank and he asked for a fax to be sent to him tomorrow saying that I wanted the dollars for a script. I said yes and told him about Dora and he answered: –I literally feel sick with all that longing. –So I had to write it down, and even in bed I’ll be singing I do like the gypsy very much… and Šárka will wake me up in the morning and I’m as happy as lava, only I don’t know whether lava is happy flowing down the volcano, but I am now flowing back into life and the camera, and spring is coming soon. So it’s once again the substance I use to make my world and I don’t give a damn about the greyness and the eternity of all that’s getting on my nerves.Except there are ants again. I kill them, yet I feel sorry doing so. I must say, they’re not very pleasant coming back to your bed, but I’ve had experiences with worse beasts.