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Beethoven's Ninth； Bartok's Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion； or the Beatles' White Album？ Franz made no distinction between classical music and pop。 He found the distinction old…fashioned and hypocritical。 He loved rock as much as Mozart。
He considered music a liberating force： it liberated him from loneliness； introversion； the dust of the library； it opened the door of his body and allowed his soul to step out into the world to make friends。 He loved to dance and regretted that Sabina did not share his passion。
They were sitting together at a restaurant； and loud music with a heavy beat poured out of a nearby speaker as they ate。
It's a vicious circle； Sabina said。 People are going deaf because music is played louder and louder。 But because they're going deaf； it has to be played louder still。
Don't you like music？ Franz asked。
No； said Sabina； and then added； though in a different era。。。 She was thinking of the days of Johann Sebastian Bach； when music was like a rose blooming on a boundless snow…covered plain of silence。
Noise masked as music had pursued her since early childhood。 During her years at the Academy of Fine Arts； students had been required to spend whole summer vacations at a youth camp。 They lived in common quarters and worked together on a steelworks construction site。 Music roared out of loudspeakers on the site from five in the morning to nine at night。 She felt like crying； but the music was cheerful； and there was nowhere to hide； not in the latrine or under the bedclothes： everything was in range of the speakers。 The music was like a pack of hounds that had been sicked on her。
At the time； she had thought that only in the Communist world could such musical barbarism reign supreme。 Abroad； she discovered that the transformation of music into noise was a planetary process by which mankind was entering the historical phase of total ugliness。 The total ugliness to come had made itself felt first as omnipresent acoustical ugliness： cars； motorcycles； electric guitars； drills； loudspeakers； sirens。 The omnipresence of visual ugliness would soon follow。
After dinner； they went upstairs to their room and made love； and as Franz fell asleep his thoughts began to lose coherence。 He recalled the noisy music at dinner and said to himself； Noise has one advantage。 It drowns out words。 And suddenly he realized that all his life he had done nothing but talk； write； lecture； concoct sentences； search for formulations and amend them； so in the end no words were precise； their meanings were obliterated； their content lost； they turned into trash； chaff； dust； sand； prowling through his brain； tearing at his head； they were his insomnia； his illness。 And what he yearned for at that moment； vaguely but with all his might； was unbounded music； absolute sound； a pleasant and happy all…encompassing； overpowering； window…rattling din to engulf； once and for all； the pain； the futility； the vanity of words。 Music was the negation of sentences； music was the anti…word！ He yearned for one long embrace with Sabina； yearned never to say another sentence； another word； to let his orgasm fuse with the orgiastic thunder of music。 And lulled by that blissful imaginary uproar； he fell asleep。
LIGHT AND DARKNESS
Living for Sabina meant seeing。 Seeing is limited by two borders： strong light； which blinds； and total darkness。 Perhaps that was what motivated Sabina's distaste for all extremism。 Extremes mean borders beyond which life ends； and a passion for extremism； in art and in politics； is a veiled longing for death。
In Franz the word light did not evoke the picture of a landscape basking in the soft glow of day； it evoked the source of light itself： the sun； a light bulb； a spotlight。 Franz's associations were familiar metaphors： the sun of righteousness； the lambent flame of the intellect； and so on。
Darkness attracted him as much as light。 He knew that these days turning out the light before making love was considered laughable； and so he always left a small lamp burning over the bed。 At the moment he penetrated Sabina； however； he closed his eyes。 The pleasure suffusing his body called for darkness。 That darkness was pure； perfect； thoughtless； visionless； that darkness was without end； without borders； that darkness was the infinite we each carry within us。 （Yes； if you're looking for infinity； just close your eyes！）
And at the moment he felt pleasure suffusing his body； Franz himself disintegrated and dissolved into the infinity of his darkness； himself becoming infinite。 But the larger a man grows in his own inner darkness； the more his outer form diminishes。 A man with closed eyes is a wreck of a man。 Then； Sabina found the sight of Franz distasteful； and to avoid looking at him she too closed her eyes。 But for her； darkness did not mean infinity； for her； it meant a disagreement with what she saw； the negation of what was seen； the refusal to see。
4
Sabina once allowed herself to be taken along to a gathering of fellow emigres。 As usual； they were hashing over whether they should or should not have taken up arms against the Russians。 In the safety of emigration； they all naturally came out in favor of fighting。 Sabina said： Then why don't you go back and fight？
That was not the thing to say。 A man with artificially waved gray hair pointed a long index finger at her。 That's no way to talk。 You're all responsible for what happened。 You； too。 How did you oppose the Communist regime？ All you did was paint pictures。 。。。
Assessing the populace； checking up on it； is a principal and never…ending social activity in Communist countries。 If a painter is to have an exhibition； an ordinary citizen to receive a visa to a country with a sea coast； a soccer player to join the national team； then a vast array of recommendations and reports must be garnered （from the concierge； colleagues； the police； the local Party organization； the pertinent trade union） and added up； weighed； and summarized by special officials。 These reports have nothing to do with artistic talent； kicking ability； or maladies that respond well to salt sea air； they deal with one thing only： the citizen's political profile （in other words； what the citizen says； what he thinks； how he behaves； how he acquits himself at meetings or May Day parades）。 Because everything （day…to…day existence； promotion at work； vacations） depends on the outcome of the assessment process； everyone （whether he wants to play soccer for the national team； have an exhibition； or spend his holidays at the seaside） must behave in such a way as to deserve a favorable assessment。
That was what ran through Sabina's mind as she listened to the gray…haired man speak。 He didn't care whether his fellow…countrymen were good kickers or painters （none of the Czechs at the emigre gathering ever showed any interest in what Sabina painted）； he cared whether they had opposed Communism actively or just passively； really and truly or just for appearances' sake； from the very beginning or just since emigration。
Because she was a painter； she had an eye for detail and a memory for the physical characteristics of the people in Prague who had a passion for assessing others。 All of them had inde