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out　and　showed　it　to　him　while　still　in　the　doorway。　She　wanted　him　to　come　and　fetch　it。　But　he　just　lay　there　motionless。
Tomas　saw　how　unhappy　Tereza　was。　He　put　the　roll　in　his　mouth　and　dropped　down　on　all　fours　opposite　Karenin。　Then　he　slowly　crawled　up　to　him。
Karenin　followed　him　with　his　eyes；　which　seemed　to　show　a　glimmer　of　interest；　but　he　did　not　pick　himself　up。　Tomas　brought　his　face　right　up　to　his　muzzle。　Without　moving　his　body；　the　dog　took　the　end　of　the　roll　sticking　out　of　Tomas's　mouth　into　his　own。　Then　Tomas　let　go　of　his　end　so　that　Karenin　could　eat　it　all。
Still　on　all　fours；　Tomas　retreated　a　little；　arched　his　back；　and　started　yelping；　making　believe　he　wanted　to　fight　over　the　roll。　After　a　short　while；　the　dog　responded　with　some　yelps　of　his　own。　At　last！　What　they　were　hoping　for！　Karenin　feels　like　playing！　Karenin　hasn't　lost　the　will　to　live！
Those　yelps　were　Karenin's　smile；　and　they　wanted　it　to　last　as　long　as　possible。　So　Tomas　crawled　back　to　him　and　tore　off　the　end　of　the　roll　sticking　out　of　Karenin's　mouth。　Their　faces　were　so　close　that　Tomas　could　smell　the　dog's　breath；　feel　the　long　hairs　on　Karenin's　muzzle　tickling　him。　The　dog　gave　out　another　yelp　and　his　mouth　twitched；　now　they　each　had　half　a　roll　between　their　teeth。　Then　Karenin　made　an　old　tactical　error：　he　dropped　his　half　in　the　hope　of　seizing　the　half　in　his　master's　mouth；　forgetting；　as　always；　that　Tomas　was　not　a　dog　and　had　hands。　Without　letting　his　half　of　the　roll　out　of　his　mouth；　Tomas　picked　up　the　other　half　from　the　floor。
Tomas！　Tereza　cried。　You're　not　going　to　take　his　roll　away　from　him；　are　you？　
Tomas　laid　both　halves　on　the　floor　in　front　of　Karenin；　who　quickly　gulped　down　the　first　and　held　the　second　in　his　mouth　for　an　ostentatiously　long　time；　flaunting　his　victory　over　the　two　of　them。
Standing　there　watching　him；　they　thought　once　more　that　he　was　smiling　and　that　as　long　as　he　kept　smiling　he　had　a　motive　to　keep　living　despite　his　death　sentence。
The　next　day　his　condition　actually　appeared　to　have　improved。　They　had　lunch。　It　was　the　time　of　day　when　they　normally　took　him　out　for　a　walk。　His　habit　was　to　start　running　back　and　forth　between　them　restlessly。　On　that　day；　however；　Tereza　picked　up　the　leash　and　collar　only　to　be　stared　at　dully。　They　tried　to　look　cheerful　（for　and　about　him）　and　pep　him　up　a　bit；　and　after　a　long　wait　he　took　pity　on　them；　tottered　over　on　his　three　legs；　and　let　her　put　on　the　collar。
I　know　you　hate　the　camera；　Tereza；　said　Tomas；　but　take　it　along　today；　will　you？　
Tereza　went　and　opened　the　cupboard　to　rummage　for　the　long…abandoned；　long…forgotten　camera。　One　day　we'll　be　glad　to　have　the　pictures；　Tomas　went　on。　Karenin　has　been　an　important　part　of　our　life。　
What　do　you　mean；　'has　been'？　said　Tereza　as　if　she　had　been　bitten　by　a　snake。　The　camera　lay　directly　in　front　of　her　on　the　cupboard　floor；　but　she　would　not　bend　to　pick　it　up。　I　won't　take　it　along。　I　refuse　to　think　about　losing　Karenin。　And　you　refer　to　him　in　the　past　tense！　I'm　sorry；　said　Tomas。
That's　all　right；　said　Tereza　mildly。　I　catch　myself　thinking　about　him　in　the　past　tense　all　the　time。　I　keep　having　to　push　it　out　of　my　mind。　That's　why　I　won't　take　the　camera。　
They　walked　along　in　silence。　Silence　was　the　only　way　of　not　thinking　about　Karenin　in　the　past　tense。　They　did　not　let　him　out　of　their　sight；　they　were　with　him　constantly；　waiting　for　him　to　smile。　But　he　did　not　smile；　he　merely　walked　with　them；　limping　along　on　his　three　legs。
He's　just　doing　it　for　us；　said　Tereza。　He　didn't　want　to　go　for　a　walk。　He's　just　doing　it　to　make　us　happy。　
It　was　sad；　what　she　said；　yet　without　realizing　it　they　were　happy。　They　were　happy　not　in　spite　of　their　sadness　but　thanks　to　it。　They　were　holding　hands　and　both　had　the　same　image　in　their　eyes：　a　limping　dog　who　represented　ten　years　of　their　lives。
They　walked　a　bit　farther。　Then；　to　their　great　disappointment；　Karenin　stopped　and　turned。　They　had　to　go　back。
Perhaps　that　day　or　perhaps　the　next　Tereza　walked　in　on　Tomas　reading　a　letter。　Hearing　the　door　open；　he　slipped　it　in　among　some　other　papers；　but　she　saw　him　do　it。　On　her　way　out　of　the　room　she　also　noticed　him　stuffing　the　letter　into　his　pocket。　But　he　forgot　about　the　envelope。　As　soon　as　she　was　alone　in　the　house；　she　studied　it　carefully。　The　address　was　written　in　an　unfamiliar　hand；　but　it　was　very　neat　and　she　guessed　it　to　be　a　woman's。
When　he　came　back　later；　she　asked　him　nonchalantly　whether　the　mail　had　come。
No；　said　Tomas；　and　filled　Tereza　with　despair；　a　despair　all　the　worse　for　her　having　grown　unaccustomed　to　it。　No；　she　did　not　believe　he　had　a　secret　mistress　in　the　village。　That　was　all　but　impossible。　She　knew　what　he　did　with　every　spare　minute。　He　must　have　kept　up　with　a　woman　in　Prague　who　meant　so　much　to　him　that　he　thought　of　her　even　if　she　could　no　longer　leave　the　smell　of　her　groin　in　his　hair。　Tereza　did　not　believe　that　Tomas　meant　to　leave　her　for　the　woman；　but　the　happiness　of　their　two　years　in　the　country　now　seemed　besmirched　by　lies。
An　old　thought　came　back　to　her：　Her　home　was　Karenin；　not　Tomas。　Who　would　wind　the　clock　of　their　days　when　he　was　gone？
Transported　mentally　into　the　future；　a　future　without　Karenin；　Tereza　felt　abandoned。
Karenin　was　lying　in　a　corner　whimpering。　Tereza　went　out　into　the　garden。　She　looked　down　at　a　patch　of　grass　between　two　apple　trees　and　imagined　burying　Karenin　there。　She　dug　her　heel　into　the　earth　and　traced　a　rectangle　in　the　grass。　That　was　where　his　grave　would　be。
What　are　you　doing？　Tomas　asked；　surprising　her　just　as　she　had　surprised　him　reading　the　letter　a　few　hours　earlier。
She　gave　no　answer。　He　noticed　her　hands　trembling　for　the　first　time　in　many　months。　He　grabbed　hold　of　them。　She　pulled　away　from　him。
Is　that　a　grave　for　Karenin？　
She　did　not　answer。
Her　silence　grated　on　him。　He　exploded。　First　you　blame　me　for　thinking　of　him　in　the　past　tense；　and　then　what　do　you　do？　You　go　and　make　the　funeral　arrangements！　She　turned　her　back　on　him。
Tomas　retreated　into　his　room；　slamming　the　door　behind　him。
Tereza　went　in　and　opened　it。　Instead　of　thinking　about　yourself　all　the　time；　you　might　at　least　have　some　consideration　for　him；　she　said。　He　was　asleep　until　you　woke　him。　Now　he'll　start　whimpering　again。　
She　knew　she　was　being　unfair　（the　dog　was　not　asleep）；　she　knew　she　was　acting　like　the　most　vulgar　of　women；　the　kind　that　is　out　to　cause　pain　and　knows　how。
Tomas　tiptoed　into　the　room　where　Karenin　was　lying；　but　she　would　not　leave　him　alone　with　the　dog。　They　both　leaned　over　him；　each　from　his　own　side。　Not　that　there　was　a　hint　of　reconciliation　in　the　move。　Quite　the　contrary。　Each　of　them　was　alone。　Tereza　with　her　dog；　Tomas　with　his。
It　is　thus　divided；　each　alone；　that；　sad　to　say；　they　remained　with　him　until　his　last　hour。
4
Why　was　the　word　idyll　so　important　for　Tereza？
Raised　as　we　are　on　the　mythology　of　the　Old　Testament；　we　might　say　that　an　idyll　is　an　image　that　has　remained　with　us　like　a　memory　of　Paradise：　life　in　Paradise　was　not　like　following　a　straight　line　to　the　unknown；　it　was　not　an　adventure。　It　moved　in　a　circle　among　known　objects。　Its　monotony　bred　happiness；　not　boredom。
As　long　as　people　lived　in　the　country；　in　nature；　surrounded　by　domestic　animals；　in　the　bosom　of　regularly　recurring　seasons；　they　retained　at　least　a　glimmer　of　that　paradisiac　idyll。　That　is　why　Tereza；　when　she　met　the　chairman　of　the　collective　farm　at　the　spa；　conjured　up　an　image　of　the　countryside　（a　countryside　she　had　never　lived　in　or　known）　that　she　found　enchanting。　It　was　her　way　of　looking　back；　back　to　Paradise。
Adam；　leaning　over　a　well；　did　not　yet　realize　that　what　he　saw　was　himself。　He　would　not　have　understood　Tereza　when　she　stood　before　the　mirror　as　a　young　girl　and　tried　to　see　her　soul　through　her　body。　Adam　was　like　Karenin。　Tereza　made　a　game　of　getting　him　to　look　at　himself　in　the　mirror；　but　he　never　recognized　his　image；　gazed　at　it　vacantly；　with　incredible　indifference。
Comparing　Adam　and　Karenin　leads　me　to　the　thought　that　in　Paradise　man　was　not　yet　man。　Or　to　be　more　precise；　man　had　not　yet　been　cast　out　on　man's　path。　Now　we　are　longtime　outcasts；　Hying　through　the　emptiness　of　time　in　a　straight　line。　Yet　somewhere　deep　down　a　thin　thread　still　ties　us　to　that　far…off　misty　Paradise；　where　Adam　leans　over　a　well　and；　unlike　Narcissus；　never　even　suspects　that　the　pale　yellow　blotch　appearing　in　it　is　he　himself。　The　longing　for　Paradise　is　man's　longing　not　to　be　man。
Whenever；　as　a　child；　she　came　across　her　mother's　sanitary　napkins　soiled　with　menstrual　blood；　she　felt　disgusted；　and　hated　her　mother　for　lacking　the　shame　to　hide　them。　But　Karenin；　who　was　after　all　a　female；　had　his　periods；　too。　They　came　once　every　six　months　and　lasted　a　fortnight。　To　keep　him　from　soiling　their　flat；　Tereza　would　put　a　wad　of　absorbent　cotton　between　his　legs　and　pull　a　pair　of　old　panties　over　it；　skillfully　tying　them　to　his　body　with　a　long　ribbon。　She　would　go　on　laughing　at　the　outfit　for　the　entire　two　weeks　of　each　period。
Why　is　it　that　a　dog's　menstruation　made　her　light