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She had taken many pictures of those young women against a backdrop of tanks。 How she had admired them！ And now these same women were bumping into her； meanly and spitefully。 Instead of flags； they held umbrellas； but they held them with the same pride。 They were ready to fight as obstinately against a foreign army as against an umbrella that refused to move out of their way。
4
She came out into Old Town Square—the stern spires of Tyn Church； the irregular rectangle of Gothic and baroque houses。 Old Town Hall； which dated from the fourteenth century and had once stretched over a whole side of the square； was in ruins and had been so for twenty…seven years。 Warsaw； Dresden； Berlin； Cologne； Budapest—all were horribly scarred in the last war。 But their inhabitants had built them up again and painstakingly restored the old historical sections。 The people of Prague had an inferiority complex with respect to these other cities。 Old Town Hall was the only monument of note destroyed in the war； and they decided to leave it in ruins so that no Pole or German could accuse them of having suffered less than their share。 In front of the glorious ruins； a reminder for now and eternity of the evils perpetrated by war； stood a steel…bar reviewing stand for some demonstration or other that the Communist Party had herded the people of Prague to the day before or would be herding them to the day after。
Gazing at the remains of Old Town Hall； Tereza was suddenly reminded of her mother： that perverse need one has to expose one's ruins； one's ugliness； to parade one's misery； to uncover the stump of one's amputated arm and force the whole world to look at it。 Everything had begun reminding her of her mother lately。 Her mother's world； which she had fled ten years before； seemed to be coming back to her； surrounding her on all sides。 That was why she told Tomas that morning about how her mother had read her secret diary at the dinner table to an accompaniment of guffaws。 When a private talk over a bottle of wine is broadcast on the radio； what can it mean but that the world is turning into a concentration camp？
Almost from childhood； Tereza had used the term to express how she felt about life with her family。 A concentration camp is a world in which people live crammed together constantly； night and day。 Brutality and violence are merely secondary （and not in the least indispensable） characteristics。 A concentration camp is the complete obliteration of privacy。 Prochazka； who was not allowed to chat with a friend over a bottle of wine in the shelter of privacy； lived （unknown to him—a fatal error on his part！） in a concentration camp。 Tereza lived in the concentration camp when she lived with her mother。 Almost from childhood； she knew that a concentration camp was nothing exceptional or startling but something very basic； a given into which we are born and from which we can escape only with the greatest of efforts。
The women sitting on the three terraced benches were packed in so tightly that they could not help touching。 Sweating away next to Tereza was a woman of about thirty with a very pretty face。 She had two unbelievably large； pendulous breasts hanging from her shoulders； bouncing at the slightest movement。 When the woman got up； Tereza saw that her behind was also like two enormous sacks and that it had nothing in common with her fine face。
Perhaps the woman stood frequently in front of the mirror observing her body； trying to peer through it into her soul； as Tereza had done since childhood。 Surely she； too； had harbored the blissful hope of using her body as a poster for her soul。 But what a monstrous soul it would have to be if it reflected that body； that rack for four pouches。
Tereza got up and rinsed herself off under the shower。 Then she went out into the open。 It was still drizzling。 Standing just above the Vltava on a slatted deck； and sheltered from the eyes of the city by a few square feet of tall wooden panel； she looked down to see the head of the woman she had just been thinking about。 It was bobbing on the surface of the rushing river。
The woman smiled up at her。 She had a delicate nose； large brown eyes； and a childish glance。
As she climbed the ladder； her tender features gave way to two sets of quivering pouches spraying tiny drops of cold water right and left。
6
Tereza went in to get dressed and stood in front of the large mirror。
No； there was nothing monstrous about her body。 She had no pouches hanging from her shoulders； in fact； her breasts were quite small。 Her mother used to ridicule her for having such small breasts； and she had had a complex about them until Tomas came along。 But reconciled to their size as she was； she was still mortified by the very large； very dark circles around her nipples。 Had she been able to design her own body； she would have chosen inconspicuous nipples； the kind that scarcely protrude from the arch of the breast and all but blend in color with the rest of the skin。 She thought of her areolae as big crimson targets painted by a primitivist of pornography for the poor。
Looking at herself； she wondered what she would be like if her nose grew a millimeter a day。 How long would it take before her face began to look like someone else's？
And if various parts of her body began to grow and shrink and Tereza no longer looked like herself； would she still be herself； would she still be Tereza？
Of course。 Even if Tereza were completely unlike Tereza； her soul inside her would be the same and look on in amazement at what was happening to her body。
Then what was the relationship between Tereza and her body？ Had her body the right to call itself Tereza？ And if not； then what did the name refer to？ Merely something incorporeal； intangible？
（These are questions that had been going through Tereza's head since she was a child。 Indeed； the only truly serious questions are ones that even a child can formulate。 Only the most naive of questions are truly serious。 They are the questions with no answers。 A question with no answer is a barrier that cannot be breached。 In other words； it is questions with no answers that set the limits of human possibilities； describe the boundaries of huma