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Translated by Andrew Oakland

My father agreed to meet us in the station restaurant. We found him over a game of chess. There were still a few pieces on the board and Dad asked us to be patient. We sat down at the next table and waited. After a while he got up to go to the toilet; when he came back he started screaming that some bastard had moved his pieces and swizzed him out of a certain checkmate. We knew then that they were playing for money and that all those sitting gaping around the table had placed bets as well. The atmosphere thickened as no one seemed prepared to part with his stake; as the bands drew closer to one another it was clear that the one which included my father was lamentably smaller. At first it looked as though the men would be happy to do no more than strike a few menacing poses, but then they went for each other. The opposition got Dad's group against the wall. I got to my feet. Bláha gave me a smile of regret, as if to say, "What else can we do, as it's your dad?" He shoved me aside and threw himself into the fray, catching hold of the elbow of a man who had Dad by the throat, screaming that he should let him go or else. The ruffian cast him a look of derision, at which Bláha raged: "OK, maybe you will give me a good hiding, but before you do I'll give you a good slapping myself!" Within seconds I was flooded with a sense of beauty. Bláha was right. Evil can do as it will, let it be as strong as it wishes, but always, before it gives us that hiding, we can give it at least one good slap! The feeling lasted several seconds longer, until the ruffian's expression hardened and Bláha was knocked to the floor before he could get that good slapping in.
[...]
At that time I often laid my head against my wife's breasts, lying there for ages with my eyes closed, just listening. The regularity of her breaths and heartbeat always succeeded in convincing me that the basics were in good order, that everything was in its rightful place. Even then, having gone through that most difficult of times, I never gave up believing that happiness contains a great power; even then I was able to run before my eyes a film comprising moments of happiness and nothing else. All the rest stayed somewhere on the cutting room floor, all that hadn't worked out and hadn't been used; you just have to accept it.