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h pull—taxi drivers。
Although what the editor said was interesting enough； Tomas was unable to concentrate on it。 He was thinking about his son。 He remembered passing him in the street during the past two months。 Apparently these encounters had not been fortuitous。 He had certainly never expected to find him in the company of a persecuted editor。 Tomas's first wife was an orthodox Communist； and Tomas automatically assumed that his son was under her influence。 He knew nothing about him。 Of course he could have come out and asked him what kind of relationship he had with his mother； but he felt that it would have been tactless in the presence of a third party。
At last the editor came to the point。 He said that more and more people were going to prison for no offense other than upholding their own opinions； and concluded with the words And so we've decided to do something。
What is it you want to do？ asked Tomas。
Here his son took over。 It was the first time he had ever heard him speak。 He was surprised to note that he stuttered。
According to our sources； he said； political prisoners are being subjected to very rough treatment。 Several are in a bad way。 And so we've decided to draft a petition and have it signed by the most important Czech intellectuals； the ones who still mean something。
No； it wasn't actually a stutter； it was more of a stammer； slowing down the flow of speech； stressing or highlighting every word he uttered whether he wanted to or not。 He obviously felt himself doing it； and his cheeks； which had barely regained their natural pallor； turned scarlet again。
And you've called me in for advice on likely candidates in my field？ Tomas asked。
No； the editor said； laughing。 We don't want your advice。 We want your signature！
And again he felt flattered！ Again he enjoyed the feeling that he had not been forgotten as a surgeon！ He protested； but only out of modesty； Wait a minute。 Just because they kicked me out doesn't mean I'm a famous doctor！
We haven't forgotten what you wrote for our paper； said the editor； smiling at Tomas。
Yes； sighed Tomas's son with an alacrity Tomas may have missed。
I don't see how my name on a petition can help your political prisoners。 Wouldn't it be better to have it signed by people who haven't fallen afoul of the regime； people who have at least some influence on the powers that be？
The editor smiled。 Of course it would。
Tomas's son smiled； too； he smiled the smile of one who understands many things。 The only trouble is； they'd never sign！
Which doesn't mean we don't go after them； the editor continued； or that we're too nice to spare them the embarrassment。 He laughed。 You should hear the excuses they give。 They're fantastic！
Tomas's son laughed in agreement。
Of course they all begin by claiming they agree with us right down the line； the editor went on。 We just need a different approach； they say。 Something more prudent； more reasonable； more discreet。 They're scared to sign and worried that if they don't they'll sink in our estimation。
Again Tomas's son and the editor laughed together。
Then the editor gave Tomas a sheet of paper with a short text calling upon the president of the republic； in a relatively respectful manner； to grant amnesty to all political prisoners。
Tomas ran the idea quickly through his mind。 Amnesty to political prisoners？ Would amnesty be granted because people jettisoned by the regime （and therefore themselves potential political prisoners） request it of the president？ The only thing such a petition would accomplish was to keep political prisoners from being amnestied if there happened to be a plan afoot to do so！
His son interrupted his thoughts。 The main thing is to make the point that there still are a handful of people in this country who are not afraid。 And to show who stands where。 Separate the wheat from the chaff。
True； true； thought Tomas； but what had that to do with political prisoners？ Either you called for an amnesty or you separated the wheat from the chaff。 The two were not identical。
On the fence？ the editor asked。
Yes。 He was on the fence。 But he was afraid to say so。 There was a picture on the wall； a picture of a soldier pointing a threatening finger at him and saying； Are you hesitating about joining the Red Army？ or Haven't you signed the Two Thousand Words yet？ or Have you too signed the Two Thousand Words？ or You mean you don't want to sign the amnesty petition？！ But no matter what the soldier said； it was a threat。
The editor had barely finished saying what he thought about people who agree that the political prisoners should be granted amnesty but come up with thousands of reasons against signing the petition。 In his opinion； their reasons were just so many excuses and their excuses a smoke screen for cowardice。 What could Tomas say？
At last he broke the silence with a laugh； and pointing to the poster on the wall； he said； With that soldier threatening me； asking whether I'm going to sign or not； I can't possibly think straight。
Then all three laughed for a while。
All right； said Tomas after the laughter had died down。 I'll think it over。 Can we get together again in the next few days？
Any time at all； said the editor； but unfortunately the petition can't wait。 We plan to get it off to the president tomorrow。
Tomorrow？ And suddenly Tomas recalled the portly policeman handing him the denunciation of none other than this tall editor with the big chin。 Everyone was trying to make him sign statements he had not written himself。
There's nothing to think over anyway； said his son。 Although his words were aggressive； his intonation bordered on the supplicatory。 Now that they were looking each other in the eye； Tomas noticed that when concentrating the boy slightly raised the left side of his upper lip。 It was an expression he saw on his own face whenever he peered into the mirror to determine whether it was clean…shaven。 Discovering it on the face of another made him uneasy。
When parents live with their children through childhood； they grow accustomed to that kind of similarity； it seems trivial to them or； if they stop and think about it； amusing。 But Tomas was talking to his son for the first time in his life！ He was not used to sitting face to face with his own asymmetrical mouth！
Imagine having an arm amputated and implanted on someone else。 Imagine that person sitting opposite you and gesticulating with it in your face。 You would stare at that arm as at a ghost。 Even though it was your own personal； beloved arm； you would be horrified at the possibility of its touching you！
Aren't you on the side of the persecuted？ his son added； and Tomas suddenly saw that what was really at stake in this scene they were playing was not the amnesty of political prisoners； it was his relationship with his son。 If he signed； their fates would be united and Tomas would be more or less obliged to befriend him； if he failed to sign； their relations would remain null as before； though now not so much by his own will as by the will of his son； who would renounce his father for his cowardice。
He was in the situation of a chess player who cannot avoid checkmate and is forced to resign。 Whether he signed the petition or no