5: The Journey
—Munich and Prague, December 2016—
Matěj didn’t fly to Prague. He wanted more time. Peace and quiet. The awfully early bus ride took five hours. Then he had more than three hours in Munich to walk around, eat a burger, have a beer, get rained on, and then he boarded the train to Prague. Those six hours on the train were far too short. He’d need a whole day of staring at the passing landscape, the gray, darkening winter sky, wet fields, old snow patches, roofs, and woods. It wouldn’t have been enough.
He was trying to think things through. He was trying to be smart; all his actions were carefully premeditated. He hadn’t quit his job at the Freiburg University Hospital. He’d taken a four-month leave of absence. He’d researched his possibilities in Prague, including realty prices. He counted how long his funds would last if he had trouble finding a reasonably paid position. By leaving Germany and working in the Czech Republic, he’d lose more than sixty percent of his income—working the same job under worse conditions, with less vacation time, worse insurance, not to mention the wolf-sheep mentality of the staff at the clinics in Prague. He was leaving friends behind—he’d miss Alex. And Jens. He’d visit often. Alex and Christian could come to Prague for a weekend in the spring. Chris would love that.
Matěj took his decision seriously. He was trying to think logically, see his options, the pros and cons from a bird’s perspective, to measure and calculate, to prepare for how his life would turn out. Still, the image of his future in Prague was blurred, impossible to comprehend. Whenever he thought he’d reached a conclusion, some kind of insight, it slipped from his grasp, and his thoughts scattered like a ripped string of mismatched beads.
For the past month, during his long, treasured Skype conversations with Marta, neither of them had mentioned Simon. Not once. Now, forty minutes away from his destination, Simon was all Matěj could think about. His career choices, the job hunting, the income. Simon. His savings, the apartment, living with Marta? Simon. Could he ask Lukas for help? He had to have contacts all over the city. Simon. Matěj swiped over the screen of his phone and increased the volume of the old Radiohead song he’d been listening to. Simon. Simon. Simon.
At 22:39, the machine stopped at the Prague main train station. The stomach ache which had been slowly intensifying for the past four hours was peaking as Matěj stepped down the stairs and onto the platform. The crowd overwhelmed him immediately, and he stumbled, bracing himself against his luggage. He stepped aside, finding refuge by a bench, and let the throngs of passengers pass him. He was just about to dig out his phone from his messenger bag when a bright, cheery voice made him jump.
“Matěj!”
Marta had on a long, dark-gray wool coat on that flowed around her slim legs as she rushed toward him. Matěj spotted Mike a few meters behind her, his young, kind face stretched in a grin.
“Hi!” Matěj managed before she threw her whole body into a hug. He panicked for a second, the force of the undeserved affection making him flinch inside. He hugged her back, because there was nothing else he could do.
“Mike will give us a lift. I didn’t want to take the night bus in case the train arrived late.” She leaned back, inspecting his face. “Hi,” she said again, her eyes flitting between his.
Matěj took a deep breath, exhaled, and answered with a careful smile. Her gaze dropped, and she patted his chest absentmindedly.
“Come on, you must be tired.”
“I’m fine,” Matěj mumbled automatically and reached for his luggage before the awkwardness could grow.
“Welcome back!” Mike enthused, and Matěj felt his cheeks grow hot. Fuck, how was he supposed to behave?
Mike took his luggage from him and leaned closer to whisper, “It’s all good, man. Relax.”
Matěj couldn’t help the bewildered chuckle that escaped him.
The drive was short but choppy. There was still traffic even this late, and they seemed to hit a row of red lights. Marta sat in the front passenger seat, half-turned toward Matěj, her hand braced against the driver’s seat.
“I don’t have an extra bed but the couch is comfortable, I promise.”
“Please, Marta, you don’t have to—”
“I do want to! We can hit the Christmas market tomorrow and decorate. If you’d like… I don’t have much. Everything stayed at Simon’s—”
At Simon’s.
Simon.
Matěj saw Marta’s eye grow wide just as a flash of light from the traffic outside ran across her face.
“We’re here!” Mike chimed in. “There’s nowhere to park, you guys okay if I just drop you off?”
He double-parked in the narrow street, letting the hazard lights blink.
“Yeah, of course! Go home and sleep.” Marta bussed her friend’s cheek quickly, leaning across the center console, and exited the car, tugging at her coat so it wouldn’t get stuck in the door.
Where is Simon?
His sister kept apologizing when they climbed the four flights of stairs, struggling with the luggage.
“No elevator, but it’s mine.” Marta switched smoothly to Czech now that Mike was gone. She pushed the key into the lock. The door opened into a dark, short hallway with a simple shoe rack and a tall, shabby coat stand.
Marta flicked on the light, and Matěj squinted.
The apartment was tiny. One large room with a kitchen corner, a reasonably big bed in a bedroom area partially separated by a bookcase, and a living room area, where a new IKEA couch with fresh sheets and dark-blue pillows waited. There was even a shoe-box-sized balcony, but Matěj didn’t want to smoke. Not in front of Marta on his first evening back in Prague.
Marta dragged his luggage into the room and pushed it against the wall close to the couch. Matěj took of his shoes, hung his jacket, and stood staring awkwardly.
“It’s almost midnight,” Marta said, her voice low, as if she were afraid to spook him. “Are you hungry? Or do you want tea?”
“No. No, thank you. I ate on the train.” He cleared his throat, shuffled from foot to foot, and looked around. “Do you happen to have a beer?”
Marta laughed. A deep, loud sound, that made Matěj sag with relief.
“Of course! Master? Pilsner?”
“You’ve got a Master?”
“Yes,” she said, grinning.
“Awesome.”
She turned to the fridge, and Matěj continued scanning the room. He’d never been here before yet it felt familiar. The color scheme, the knickknacks, Marta’s books, a Doctor Who poster with a giant Dalek in the center…and on top of the bookcase a photo of them together. Without making a conscious decision, Matěj stepped closer and picked the picture frame up. He was maybe twenty in the photograph, possibly twenty-one, hugging a grinning teenage Marta from behind. His eyes burning, he put it back.
A touch to his shoulder blade startled him.
He turned and took the open beer bottle in an automatic motion.
“I’m so sorry,” he blurted.
But his sister only stroked his cheek.
“I’m just happy you’re back. Beer and then sleep, okay?” she said. Matěj stared. She was so collected, serious yet kind. An adult. She had grown strong, and it was with no contribution from him.
Next to her, he felt anemic—a fragile, anxious insomniac who couldn’t even formulate a decent apology.
They sat at the breakfast table, the room illuminated only by the lamplight in the window. He watched her—how she held her bottle in a strong grip, her nails short and blunt, free from polish. Her hair was long, her natural color, tied in a practical, messy bun at her nape, a few strands curled around her ears. She was pale but not unhealthily so. It was December, after all, and if she’d had a summer tan, it must have disappeared already. Her smile was faint, but constant, her features sharper, the contours of her mouth bore a hint of sarcasm. The girly roundness of her cheeks was gone, her light-blue eyes were clear and wise. In three years, she had become an independent adult. He wanted to be proud, but the guilt lay like a gray film over all his impressions.
“I only moved here three months ago. It’s been great, but sometimes lonely.”
Simon.
“Mike seems like a good friend,” Matěj ventured.
“Yes, he’s great. He and Lukas registered in September. They’re good together.”
And Simon?
“You’ve worked with him long?”
“A little more than a year. He’s a good teacher. A bit political sometimes,” she chuckled. “You’d think that at his age, he’d have trouble gaining respect. But he’s like our most popular English teacher.”
“I can see that.” Matěj nodded. Mike had charisma and youth. Being likeable seemed to be his dominant quality.
Marta drank more from her bottle, leaving only a third left. Matěj had almost finished his.
“You want to go to the Christmas market tomorrow?”
The Christmas decorations are at Simon’s.
“Sure. Mead and Linzer cookies.” He attempted a smile again, forcing his lips to stretch against the strain and fatigue he could feel permeating his face muscles.
“Good.”
Marta stood and put her empty bottle into the sink. She reached for his just as Matěj broke the silence.
“And Simon?”
Marta froze, her hand midair, but she recovered quickly. She took his beer bottle and rinsed it, before turning back to him.
“He’s my best friend.” She watched his reaction as she said it, not with curiosity. Her expression was pure concern, an almost motherly worry.
Matěj hid his face in his palms, rubbing and kneading his cheeks and eyes. He exhaled through his trembling fingers. She stepped closer and rested her hand on his shoulder.
“I shared the loft with Simon from the day Dad died until this summer. He got me through school.”
Even though he’d suspected something like that from their Skype conversations and what Mike had said, the realization was painful. Simon had taken care of Marta when Matěj had abandoned her.
“But when you came to Freiburg, you came with Mike, not Simon.”
He felt Marta’s hand in his hair, stroking and combing gently.
“Things happened… Things that didn’t have anything to do with you. I didn’t want to stress him further.” Marta’s voice grew lower and lower.
“Oh, God. He must despise me.”
At that, Marta hugged him. She didn’t say anything. Wrapping his arms around his sister’s waist, Matěj sighed into her stomach. He’d been such an idiot. Selfish, weak, stupid. So stupid. He’d never deserved someone like Simon in the first place. Now, he was even less.
If only he had woken up from his stupor a few months earlier. He should have come back by himself. He’d owed it to his sister. Yet here he was, using her kindness to save himself.
Marta’s hand in his hair did nothing to soothe his self-loathing.
“I’m not going to lie. He’s…difficult. But I want you both in my life,” she whispered. “We have time.”
Time. That’s what Alex had said. There was time. Everything wouldn’t fix itself during a few days. He had to be patient.
“Come on. Shower, bed, sleep,” Marta said, tugging at his hair playfully. He squeezed her once and stood.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Anytime.”