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push the country into civil war； and； above all； it denounced the editors of the writers' weekly （with special emphasis on the tall； stooped editor； Tomas had never met him； though he knew his name and had seen pictures of him）； who had consciously distorted his article and used it for their own devices； turning it into a call for counterrevolution： too cowardly to write such an article themselves； they had hid behind a naive doctor。
The man from the Ministry saw the panic in Tomas's eyes。 He leaned over and gave his knee a friendly pat under the table。 Remember now； Doctor； it's only a sample！ Think it over； and if there's something you want to change； I'm sure we can come to an agreement。 After all； it's your statement！
Tomas held the paper out to the secret policeman as if he were afraid to keep it in his hands another second； as if he were worried someone would find his fingerprints on it。
But instead of taking the paper； the man from the Ministry spread his arms in feigned amazement （the same gesture the Pope uses to bless the crowds from his balcony）。 Now why do a thing like that； Doctor？ Keep it。 Think it over calmly at home。
Tomas shook his head and patiently held the paper in his outstretched hand。 In the end； the man from the Ministry was forced to abandon his papal gesture and take the paper back。
Tomas was on the point of telling him emphatically that he would neither write nor sign any text whatever； but at the last moment he changed his tone and said mildly； I'm no illiterate； am I？ Why should I sign something I didn't write myself？
Very well； then； Doctor。 Let's do it your way。 You write it up yourself； and we'll go over it together。 You can use what you've just read as a model。
Why didn't Tomas give the secret policeman an immediate and unconditional no？
This is what probably went through his head： Besides using a statement like that to demoralize the nation in general （which is clearly the Russian strategy）； the police could have a concrete goal in his case： they might be gathering evidence for a trial against the editors of the weekly that had published Tomas's article。 If that was so； they would need his statement for the hearing and for the smear campaign the press would conduct against them。 Were he to refuse flatly； on principle； there was always the danger that the police would print the prepared statement over his signature； whether he gave his consent or not。 No newspaper would dare publish his denial。 No one in the world would believe that he hadn't written or signed it。 People derived too much pleasure from seeing their fellow man morally humiliated to spoil that pleasure by hearing out an explanation。
By giving the police the hope that he would write a text of his own； he gained a bit of time。 The very next day he resigned from the clinic； assuming （correctly） that after he had descended voluntarily to the lowest rung of the social ladder （a descent being made by thousands of intellectuals in other fields at the time）； the police would have no more hold over him and he would cease to interest them。 Once he had reached the lowest rung on the ladder； they would no longer be able to publish a statement in his name； for the simple reason that no one would accept it as genuine。 Humiliating public statements are associated exclusively with the signatories' rise； not fall。
But in Tomas's country； doctors are state employees； and the state may or may not release them from its service。 The official with whom Tomas negotiated his resignation knew him by name and reputation and tried to talk him into staying on。 Tomas suddenly realized that he was not at all sure he had made the proper choice； but he felt bound to it by then by an unspoken vow of fidelity； so he stood fast。 And that is how he became a window washer。
7
Leaving Zurich for Prague a few years earlier； Tomas had quietly said to himself； Es muss sein！ He was thinking of his love for Tereza。 No sooner had he crossed the border； however； than he began to doubt whether it actually did have to be。 Later； lying next to Tereza； he recalled that he had been led to her by a chain of laughable coincidences that took place seven years earlier （when the chief surgeon's sciatica was in its early stages） and were about to return him to a cage from which he would be unable to escape。
Does that mean his life lacked any Es muss sein！； any overriding necessity？ In my opinion； it did have one。 But it was not love； it was his profession。 He had come to medicine not by coincidence or calculation but by a deep inner desire。
Insofar as it is possible to divide people into categories； the surest criterion is the deep…seated desires that orient them to one or another lifelong activity。 Every Frenchman is different。 But all actors the world over are similar—in Paris； Prague； or the back of beyond。 An actor is someone who in early childhood consents to exhibit himself for the rest of his life to an anonymous public。 Without that basic consent； which has nothing to do with talent； which goes deeper than talent； no one can become an actor。 Similarly； a doctor is someone who consents to spend his life involved with human bodies and all that they entail。 That basic consent （and not talent or skill） enables him to enter the dissecting room during the first year of medical school and persevere for the requisite number of years。
Surgery takes the basic imperative of the medical profession to its outermost border； where the human makes contact with the divine。 When a person is clubbed violently on the head； he collapses and stops breathing。 Some day； he will stop breathing anyway。 Murder simply hastens a bit what God will eventually see to on His own。 God； it may be assumed； took murder into account； He did not take surgery into account。 He never suspected that someone would dare to stick his hand into the mechanism He had invented； wrapped carefully in skin； and sealed away from human eyes。 When Tomas first positioned his scalpel on the skin of a man asleep under an anesthetic； then breached the skin with a decisive incision； and finally cut it open with a precise and even stroke （as if it were a piece of fabric—a coat； a skirt； a curtain）； he experienced a b