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； and roamed the streets of Prague the whole day with Anna Karenina under her arm。 Not even after she rang the doorbell and he opened the door would she part with it。 It was like a ticket into Tomas's world。 She realized that she had nothing but that miserable ticket； and the thought brought her nearly to tears。 To keep from crying； she talked too much and too loudly； and she laughed。 And again he took her in his arms almost at once and they made love。 She had entered a mist in which nothing could be seen and only her scream could be heard。
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It was no sigh； no moan； it was a real scream。 She screamed so hard that Tomas had to turn his head away from her face； afraid that her voice so close to his ear would rupture his eardrum。 The scream was not an expression of sensuality。 Sensuality is the total mobilization of the senses： an individual observes his partner intently； straining to catch every sound。 But her scream aimed at crippling the senses； preventing all seeing and hearing。 What was screaming in fact was the naive idealism of her love trying to banish all contradictions； banish the duality of body and soul； banish perhaps even time。
Were her eyes closed？ No； but they were not looking anywhere。 She kept them fixed on the void of the ceiling。 At times she twisted her head violently from side to side。
When the scream died down； she fell asleep at his side； clutching his hand。 She held his hand all night。
Even at the age of eight she would fall asleep by pressing one hand into the other and making believe she was holding the hand of the man whom she loved； the man of her life。 So if
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in her sleep she pressed Tomas's hand with such tenacity； we can understand why： she had been training for it since childhood。
14
A young woman forced to keep drunks supplied with beer and siblings with clean underwear—instead of being allowed to pursue something higher —stores up great reserves of vitality； a vitality never dreamed of by university students yawning over their books。 Tereza had read a good deal more than they； and learned a good deal more about life； but she would never realize it。 The difference between the university graduate and the autodidact lies not so much in the extent of knowledge as in the extent of vitality and self…confidence。 The elan with which Tereza flung herself into her new Prague existence was both frenzied and precarious。 She seemed to be expecting someone to come up to her any day and say； What are you doing here？ Go back where you belong！ All her eagerness for life hung by a thread： Tomas's voice。 For it was Tomas's voice that had once coaxed forth her timorous soul from its hiding place in her bowels。
Tereza had a job in a darkroom； but it was not enough for her。 She wanted to take pictures； not develop them。 Tomas's friend Sabina lent her three or four monographs of famous photographers； then invited her to a cafe and explained over the open books what made each of the pictures interesting。 Tereza listened with silent concentration； the kind few professors ever glimpse on their students' faces。
Thanks to Sabina； she came to understand the ties between photography and painting； and she made Tomas take her to every exhibit that opened in Prague。 Before long； she was placing her own pictures in the illustrated weekly where she worked； and finally she left the darkroom for the staff of professional photographers。
On the evening of that day； she and Tomas went out to a bar with friends to celebrate her promotion。 Everyone danced。 Tomas began to mope。 Back at home； after some prodding from Tereza； he admitted that he had been jealous watching her dance with a colleague of his。
You mean you were really jealous？ she asked him ten times or more； incredulously； as though someone had just informed her she had been awarded a Nobel Prize。
Then she put her arm around his waist and began dancing across the room。 The step she used was not the one she had shown off in the bar。 It was more like a village polka； a wild romp that sent her legs flying in the air and her torso bouncing all over the room； with Tomas in tow。
Before long； unfortunately； she began to be jealous herself； and Tomas saw her jealousy not as a Nobel Prize； but as a burden； a burden he would be saddled with until not long before his death。
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While she marched around the pool naked with a large group of other naked women； Tomas stood over them in a basket hanging from the pool's arched roof； shouting at them； making them sing and do kneebends。 The moment one of them did a faulty kneebend； he would shoot her。
Let me return to this dream。 Its horror did not begin with Tomas's first pistol shot； it was horrifying from the outset。 Marching naked in formation with a group of naked women was for Tereza the quintessential image of horror。 When she lived at home； her mother forbade her to lock the bathroom door。 What she meant by her injunction was： Your body is just like all other bodies； you have no right to shame； you have no reason to hide something that exists in millions of identical copies。 In her mother's world all bodies were the same and marched behind one another in formation。 Since childhood； Tereza had seen nudity as a sign of concentration camp uniformity； a sign of humiliation。
There was yet another horror at the very beginning of the dream： all the women had to sing！ Not only were their bodies identical； identically worthless； not only were their bodies mere resounding soulless mechanisms—the women rejoiced over it！ Theirs was the joyful solidarity of the soulless。 The women were pleased at having thrown off the ballast of the soul—that laughable conceit； that illusion of uniqueness—to become one like the next。 Tereza sang with them； but did not rejoice。 She sang because she was afraid that if she did not sing the women would kill her。
But what was the meaning of the fact that Tomas shot at them； toppling one after another into the pool； dead？
The women； overjoyed by their sameness； their lack of diversity； were； in fact； celebrating their imminent demise； which would render their sameness absolute。 So Tomas's shots were merely the joyful climax to their morbid march。 After every report of his pistol； they burst into joyous laughter； and as each corpse sank beneath the surface； they sang even louder。
But why was Tomas the one doing the shooting？ And why was he out to shoot Tereza with the rest of them？
Because he was the one who sent Tereza to join them。 That was what the dream was meant to tell Tomas； what Tereza was unable to tell him herself。 She had come to him to escape her mother's world； a world where all bodies were equal。 She had come to him to make her body unique； irreplaceable。 But he； too； had drawn an equal sign between her and the rest of them： he kissed them all alike； stroked them alike； made no； absolutely no distinction between Tereza's body and the other bodies。 He had sent her back into the world she tried to escape； sent her to march naked with the other naked women。
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She would dream three series of dreams in succession： the first was of cats going berserk and referred to the sufferings she had gone through in her lifetime； the second was images of her execution and came in countless vari