Necessary Errors: A Novel (89 page)

Though a little melancholy, he felt perfectly healthy, perhaps because he had brewed Milena’s wild-herb tea the night before. Milo had advised him to stew the twigs in one pot and the daisies in another, but Jacob had impatiently tumbled all the debris into a single soup bowl, over which he had poured steaming water. The flotsam had swirled up; with a spoon he had tamped it back down; and after a few minutes the fluid had turned a shade of sepia. It had tasted bitter. —Maybe you were supposed to peel the twigs, Milo had belatedly suggested. Jacob had forced himself to drink it despite its acerbity.

The tea seemed to have worked—or if the tea hadn’t, a night’s sleep had—and this morning Jacob’s head and mind were clear. He felt so lucid that he seemed to perceive not only the world but also the biases of his mind in perceiving it. He saw quite clearly, for example, that he didn’t want to leave Prague the next day, as he had planned to. He would have to take himself in hand. For a long time, he had only been able to enjoy himself by bearing in mind that he was leaving—that his irresponsibility was temporary—but today he was so close to his departure that he could feel it, the way one can feel the touch of a shadow on a hot enough day, and he saw that he had to alter the structure of his mental compensations. He saw that now he would only be able to enjoy the time that remained if he pretended to himself that he was going to stay after all. He had to tell himself that it was another person who was going to ride the bus along this highway tomorrow—an optative self, riding a lane or two parallel to the tram that was now carrying him. He was fond of the scuffed, painted metal of this tram’s interior, its gray bucket seats, the sleepy fullness of the air, and the warm-cool side of Milo’s right arm against his own left one. A sense of anticipation also held him in the moment. If he were to leave tomorrow, nothing would come of these attaching feelings. So it must be the case, he told himself with conscious illogic and mendacity, that he wasn’t going to leave.

—How will your friends look on me? Milo asked, interrupting Jacob’s thoughts.

—When you’re naked?

—That, no. Nakedness lies on your heads, with you Americans. How will they look at me as a person?

—I don’t know, said Jacob.

—With their eyes, I guess, Milo joked.

—They’ll look at you as a friend of mine, Jacob proposed.

—They’re not buggers.

—They’re not, Jacob confirmed. —So maybe they won’t look at you at all.

—They’re not even Czechs.

—It’ll be normal, Jacob tried to assure him.

In a while the tram came to its last stop, halfway around a little rotary that it circled in order to reverse direction. The conductor shot open the doors, and before Jacob and Milo could gather their bags, he stomped heavily out of the car himself to have a cigarette and stretch his legs. To the north was parkland, thick with greenery. Milo nodded good day to the conductor, who was pacing as he smoked, and the two of them walked into the artificial wilderness.

The trees and lawns made the day’s heat more temperate. After about ten minutes they came to a reservoir, long and narrow. Grass ran down to its banks. The opposite shore, where maples stooped over the water, unmirroring because shadowed, was only a stone’s throw away, but to the north the clear, dark water continued until it bent rightward out of sight. Looking that way, the eye could mistake the body of water for a slow-moving river.

Annie and Elinor waved. They were sitting on an oatmeal-colored blanket, which Annie must have smuggled out of the
. They were wearing white blouses over their swimsuits. Annie parked her oversize, amber-tinted sunglasses in her hair, as they approached, and squinted up at them.

“
,” she said to Milo, extending her hand. “That’s right, isn’t it, Jacob?”

“I think so.”

“Ale mluviš tak
,” said Milo. You speak such pretty Czech.

“
Ale ne
, unfortunately,” Annie replied. “I can hardly speak it at all, as you’ll discover. But it is good to meet you at last. Jacob has kept you so to himself.”

Milo smiled noncommittally, perhaps uncomprehendingly.

“I mean it’s a pity we haven’t met before,” Annie continued. “But that’s Jacob’s fault, you know.
Vina je jeho
. It’s his mistake.”

“Muže za všecko, ovšem,” Milo answered.

“What does he say, Jacob?”

“He says I’m to blame for everything.”

“He is, isn’t he,” Annie agreed. “And most of all for leaving us. Bloody selfish of him.”

“
,” said Elinor, from beside Annie on the blanket.

“Oh, this is Elinor, sorry,” said Annie. “Kamarádka moje.”

“
,” replied Milo, with a half bow.