Kafka and Company by Chipka
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Description
Though more than two years ago, I remember that night as if it occurred yesterday. I can smell the acrid tinge of tobacco smoke in the air. I can hear a half-tuned piano against one wall in a room shaped like a barrel-vaulted bread oven. I remember that piano: an old and battered thing. I thought, when I first saw it, that it had survived bombings and invasions, and more than a few drunken car crashes. At one time in its past, it had been shiny and new. Now, its shimmering varnish was all but gone, one of its white keys was no longer white, two of its black keys no longer played. On a piano such as the one I saw, you are given the chance to hear beautiful music with gaps in it.
It was more than two years ago that I walked into U Sudu (with company from England, Germany, and Estonia) and ignored the possibility of going downstairs. We all knew the bar, but were content to stay upstairs. In the piano room.
We sat against a wall, under the truncated remains of a staircase leading into an upstairs apartment.
At an early point during our visit, two locals noticed me, my camera and Kafka, they asked if Kafka, I, and our international friends would like to join them for a toast. We all agreed. Kafka was silent, as usual. It is difficult, after all, to get a battered post card to talk. We shared wine, and by night's end, seven bottles stood empty between us. In the Czech Republic, bottles--like flowers--are fortuitous when their count equals an odd number. Even numbers are fit only for display at funerals. In the Czech Republic, when Kafka shows up at a social function, toasts ripen on the lips of his admirers, and at odd--though significant--intervals you may hear (in Czech or in English) any number of heartfelt dedications to the author, the man, or the poor self-tortured soul.
I shared surprising kinship with two guys I've not seen since that night. To my shame, I don't even remember their names. I am in Chicago now, but I remember them, and sometimes imagine that I might see one or another of them again. This is one of those small, magical things that defines the intrinsic nature of Prague. She is a small city, after all, and so a face--once seen--becomes a familiar countenance, often seen again, even after years of invisibility. Prague, like the human brain, stores faces for recall in dreams. You'll never dream a face you've never seen. In Prague, the faces in your life are never the faces of strangers.
On the night that I shared wine with fellow Kafka readers, I heard music with gaps in it, and learned from one of the night's first companions, how to say "pickles" in Estonian. It was fitting that the friends I'd started the evening with, were all a part of the toasts to Kafka that followed. And during these toasts, I'd learned (from the guy on the left in the image above) that Kafka rhymes with a particular sort of sparrow. Kavka: a small bird, is common in the countryside. He'd seen such birds once--he told me--during an early reading of Kafka's novel America. He'd read it in Czech, and then again, in German. The birds, he said, made him think more of the author than the story.
What I remember the most, however, is that one of two handsome Czech guys once read a novel called America and saw a sparrow that made him think, quite intensely, of that novel's author. It is only fitting, then, that the reader of that novel and that novel's writer should appear together, with another friend, and the wine used to toast the author. It is even more fitting that I found this photograph amid others I thought I'd lost, because it is an imprint of a moment, during a night, in the midst of a mood.
***
As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you're all having a great week.
Comments (21)
jmb007
kafka est un bon ecrivain et le chardonnay,un bon vin,bonne photo!
Charberry
I have spent some time with international friends in the Hofbrauhaus, and other pubs. It was a great reminder of those wonderful times so long ago. ;c) Excellent image, and story. Then Kafka reminds me of my English literature class in college.
Bothellite
I am like Charberry, long ago, so far away and you help me bring it back. There is nothing like experience and that, experience, is priceless. Wonderful read.
Alex_Antonov
Outstanding work!
beachzz
For some crazy, unexplainable reason, this reminds me of an evening in Mexico. I'd walked to the Malecon (boardwalk) to see whatever was going on (usually a lot!!) There was a group of Mexican men a few feet away and one of them was on his cell phone, telling his wife he was working late. I know enough Spanish to have understood it, and when one of the the guys said hello to me, I responded that their friend was going to be in serious trouble when he got home. From that moment, I was their best friend. They kidded their friend unmercilessly, all the while buying me as many drinks as I wanted. We all watched the various goings on, talked about all kinds of things, and shared some really fun moments. That's what travel is all about and when you can do it in another language, even if you don't understand every word, well, it transcends talk. It becomes experience, that's what came to mind when I saw this foto and read your story, even though Kafta wasn't there.
bmac62
Once again Chip, I can smell some cigarette smoke on my clothes, taste some Chardonnay from the almost empty glass on the table right before me and hear piano music with gaps caused not by poor playing but by missing and inoperative keys. Are you sure the young guy on the left of Kafka isn't some long lost relative of his? Look at the ears, shape of the face, hair. Well anyway, the picture is perfect and has obviously served as your muse for this fun-time, short story. Well done.
kgb224
Wonderful capture and story my friend.
durleybeachbum
Like Bill I am there with you as I read. This is incidently a great double/triple portrait even without the narrative..what a pretty young man on the left!
helanker
Such an excellent capture and i like the sweet story too :-)
lucindawind
its wonderful to read your writings! nice shot of memories :)
romanceworks
A fascinating photo and dialogue, of a night well spent with Kafka and friends. The lad on the left has Kafka eyes. CC
sandra46
terrific shot, it captures well the spirit of the place and thar of those people. Don't worry about their names, I don't even remember mine sometimes...
flavia49
magnificent capture!! of the guys, of the place, of the mood!!
KatesFriend
I never knew that about the flowers. I suppose it is good after all that I only present one rose to my spouse for special occasions - birthdays, anniversaries, etc. But more about that some other day. I really, truly am captivated by the colours in this scene. This room seems to be on fire (in a spiritual sense anyways). And the alcoholic spirits do add an apt golden glow to the foreground. Curious how this all contrasts so sharply with Franz, the spirit that is the wellspring of the evenings festivities. Perhaps Kafka listened to the very same piano once upon a time. Your story, as always, brings the scene to life in a manner which is (as my boss might say) orthogonal to the visual.
Meisiekind
I enjoyed this night with you through your writing and when I looked at the image after I have read the narrative, the guys were familiar to me... old friends... Excellent image of the handsome lads and the lovely Chardonnay you all shared!
myrrhluz
I read and enjoyed this last night, when I was much to fuzzy headed (just tired, no wine involved this time) to comment intelligently. Then as I sat in the allergist office, little bumps on my arm where they were trying out the new magical brew, I read a line which brought this back to me. It was from the book "Assassination Vacation" by Sarah Vowell. "She meets the most important people in her life, all the while eating and talking and walking around, drunk on ideas, friendship, and lust--and wine" Here she is talking about Emma Goldman. She also talks about her own experiences in New York. "I've been lucky enough to go on swell walks with talkative people all over the world, and there really is something speedier and hopped up and deep about the magnificently blabbermouth nature of friendship in New York" It is that kind of intensity that I felt as I read your narrative and remembered as I read Ms. Vowell's descriptions. There is an richness that sometimes comes into a gathering of people when it is a meeting of the moment that is likely not to be repeated. There is the instant recognition of common interests and an excitement in new faces, ideas and rhythm of words. If it develops into a deeper friendship, so much the better. But if it doesn't, it remains a powerful memory of a moment of rich sensory perceptions. You have a remarkable ability to share these moments. The invitation to you, your friends and Kafka, the benefits of an odd number of bottles, and the fine music with gaps in it, are added to an photo of warm lighting, handsome young men and cold Chardonnay to make a wonderful experience. Beautifully done! I enjoyed this immensely.
auntietk
I looked at the photograph, thought of Prague, of your time there. That was where you were when I met you. Timmy was there then too, and it seemed so surreal to know two gay Americans who were both in Prague. I read your narrative, the story of that night, of those moments. Heard the music, smoked a cigarette, drank some wine. Finished reading, I felt I was in Prague. Looked at the photograph again ... and suddenly I was in Chicago on a warm late summer's evening in a hotel lobby, doing Kafka setups with you on a low glass table with plants and someone else's spent drink glasses. Art imitates life, I know ... but whose??
MrsRatbag
That Kafka, he gets around! What an enjoyable read!
jocko500
at times we run into people that we never forget even if we just know them for a few hours or even 30 mintures. Things stick to our minds and it there forever
CoreyBlack
Ah, the well traveled Mr. Kafka. Funny how his somber expression never changes! LOL. I like this picture a lot. The intimacy of the shot coupled with your always evocative narrative really sucks you in and makes the scene almost tangible. I'm there, and once again wish I'd actually been there with you. so, as I sit here in a cozy coffee house with the rain pouring down and Tricky's wonderfully trippy "Poems" playing on my headphones, I'm thinking back to a certian Polish theatre we once worked at.And all the wonderfull half drunken craziness the staff would get up to as we were closing the place down after a big show. That's what this photo REALLY reminds me of. Cute boys and booze. always a good combo. Great shot.
mermaid
Fascinating shot and writing, Chip, and I guess we all know about this well remeberd moments, where we meet strangers and find a good company in them for just one moment but a memory to stay with us for our whole life...