Milan kundera

Es muss sein! —
an imperative enslaving him. 
He longed for a holiday. But for an absolute holiday, a rest from a// imperatives, from all 
Es muss sein! 
If he could take a rest (a permanent rest) from the hospital operating 
table, then why not from the 
world
operating table, the one where his imaginary scalpel 
opened the strongbox women use to hide their illusory one-millionth part dissimilarity? 
Your stomach is acting up again! Tereza exclaimed, only then realizing that something 
was wrong. He nodded. 
Have you had your injection?
He shook his head. I forgot to lay in a supply of medication.
Though annoyed at his carelessness, she stroked his forehead, which was beaded with 
sweat from the pain. 
I feel a little better now.
Lie down, she said, and covered him with a blanket. She went off to the bathroom and 
in a minute was back and lying next to him. 
Without lifting his head from the pillow, he turned to her and nearly gasped: the grief 
burning in her eyes was unbearable. 
Tell me, Tereza, what's wrong? Something's been going on inside you lately. I can feel 
it. I know it.
No. She shook her head. There's nothing wrong.
There's no point in denying it.
It's still the same things, she said. 
The same things meant her jealousy and his infidelities. 
But Tomas would not let up. No, Tereza. This time it's something different. It's never 
been this bad before.
Well then, I'll tell you, she said. Go and wash your hair.
He did not understand. 
The tone of her explanation was sad, unantagonistic, almost gentle. For months now 
your hair has had a strong odor to it. It smells of female genitals. I didn't want to tell 
you, but night after night I've had to breathe in the groin of some mistress of yours.

---

"The Unbearable Lightness Of Being" By Milan Kundera
 
125
The moment she finished, his stomach began hurting again. He was desperate. The 
scrubbings he'd put himself through! Body, hands, face, to make sure not the slightest 
trace of their odors remained behind. He'd even avoided their fragrant soaps, carrying 
his own harsh variety with him at all times. But he'd forgotten about his hair! It had 
never occurred to him! 
Then he remembered the woman who had straddled his face and wanted him to make 
love to her with it and with the crown of his head. He hated her now. What stupid ideas! 
He saw there was no use denying it. All he could do was laugh a silly laugh and head 
for the bathroom to wash his hair. 
But she stroked his forehead again and said, Stay here in bed. Don't bother washing it 
out. I'm used to it by now.
His stomach was killing him, and he longed for peace and quiet. I'll write to that patient 
of mine, the one we met at the spa. Do you know the district where his village is? No.
Tomas was having great trouble talking. All he could say was, Woods . . . rolling hills . . 
.
That's right. That's what we'll do. We'll go away from here. But no talking now . . . And 
she kept stroking his forehead. They lay there side by side, neither saying a word. 
Slowly the pain began to recede. Soon they were both asleep. 
In the middle of the night, he woke up and realized to his surprise that he had been 
having one erotic dream after the other. The only one he could recall with any clarity 
was the last: an enormous naked woman, at least five times his size, floating on her 
back in a pool, her belly from crotch to navel covered with thick hair. Looking at her 
from the side of the pool, he was greatly excited. 
How could he have been excited when his body was debilitated by a gastric disorder? 
And how could he be excited by the sight of a woman who would have repelled him had 
he seen her while conscious? 
He thought: In the clockwork of the head, two cogwheels turn opposite each other. On 
the one, images; on the other, the body's reactions. The cog carrying the image of a 
naked woman meshes with the corresponding erection-command cog. But when, for 
one reason or another, the wheels go out of phase and the excitement cog meshes with 
a cog bearing the image of a swallow in flight, the penis rises at the sight of a swallow. 
Moreover, a study by one of Tomas's colleagues, a specialist in human sleep, claimed 
that during 
any
kind of dream men have erections, which means that the link between 
erections and naked women is only one of a thousand ways the Creator can set the 
clockwork moving in a man's head. 
And what has love in common with all this? Nothing. If a cogwheel in Tomas's head 
goes out of phase and he is excited by seeing a swallow, it has absolutely no effect on 
his love for Tereza. 

---

"The Unbearable Lightness Of Being" By Milan Kundera
 
126
If excitement is a mechanism our Creator uses for His own amusement, love is 
something that belongs to us alone and enables us to flee the Creator. Love is our 
freedom. Love lies beyond