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and Tereza went to work as a waitress； handing over all her earnings。 She was willing to do anything to gain her mother's love。 She ran the household； took care of her siblings； and spent all day Sunday cleaning house and doing the family wash。 It was a pity； because she was the brightest in her class。 She yearned for something higher； but in the small town there was nothing higher for her。 Whenever she did the clothes； she kept a book next to the tub。 As she turned the pages； the wash water dripped all over them。
At home； there was no such thing as shame。 Her mother marched about the flat in her underwear； sometimes braless and sometimes； on summer days； stark naked。 Her stepfather did not walk about naked； but he did go into the bathroom every time Tereza was in the bath。 Once she locked herself in and her mother was furious。 Who do you think you are； anyway？ Do you think he's going to bite off a piece of your beauty？
（This confrontation shows clearly that hatred for her daughter outweighed suspicion of her husband。 Her daughter's guilt was infinite and included the husband's infidelities。 Tereza's desire to be emancipated and insist on her rights—like the right to lock herself in the bathroom—was more objectionable to Tereza's mother than the possibility of her husband's taking a prurient interest in Tereza。）
Once her mother decided to go naked in the winter when the lights were on。 Tereza quickly ran to pull the curtains so that no one could see her from across the street。 She heard her mother's laughter behind her。 The following day her mother had some friends over： a neighbor； a woman she worked with； a local schoolmistress； and two or three other women in the habit of getting together regularly。 Tereza and the sixteen…year…old son of one of them came in at one point to say hello； and her mother immediately took advantage of their presence to tell how Tereza had tried to protect her mother's modesty。 She laughed； and all the women laughed with her。 Tereza can't reconcile herself to the idea that the human body pisses and farts； she said。 Tereza turned bright red； but her mother would not stop。 What's so terrible about that？ and in answer to her own question she broke wind loudly。 All the women laughed again。
7
Tereza's mother blew her nose noisily； talked to people in public about her sex life； and enjoyed demonstrating her false teeth。 She was remarkably skillful at loosening them with her tongue； and in the midst of a broad smile would cause the uppers to drop down over the lowers in such a way as to give her face a sinister expression。
Her behavior was but a single grand gesture； a casting off of youth and beauty。 In the days when she had had nine suitors kneeling round her in a circle； she guarded her nakedness apprehensively； as though trying to express the value of her body in terms of the modesty she accorded it。 Now she had not only lost that modesty； she had radically broken with it； ceremoniously using her new immodesty to draw a dividing line through her life and proclaim that youth and beauty were overrated and worthless。
Tereza appears to me a continuation of the gesture by which her mother cast off her life as a young beauty； cast it far behind her。
（And if Tereza has a nervous way of moving； if her gestures lack a certain easy grace； we must not be surprised： her mother's grand； wild； and self…destructive gesture has left an indelible imprint on her。）
8
Tereza's mother demanded justice。 She wanted to see the culprit penalized。 That is why she insisted her daughter remain with her in the world of immodesty； where youth and beauty mean nothing； where the world is nothing but a vast concentration camp of bodies； one like the next； with souls invisible。
Now we can better understand the meaning of Tereza's secret vice； her long looks and frequent glances in the mirror。 It was a battle with her mother。 It was a longing to be a body unlike other bodies； to find that the surface of her face reflected the crew of the soul charging up from below。 It was not an easy task： her soul—her sad； timid； self…effacing soul—lay concealed in the depths of her bowels and was ashamed to show itself。
So it was the day she first met Tomas。 Weaving its way through the drunks in the hotel restaurant； her body sagged under the weight of the beers on the tray； and her soul lay somewhere at the level of the stomach or pancreas。 Then Tomas called to her。 That call meant a great deal； because it came from someone who knew neither her mother nor the drunks with their daily stereotypically scabrous remarks。 His outsider status raised him above the rest。
Something else raised him above the others as well： he had an open book on his table。 No one had ever opened a book in that restaurant before。 In Tereza's eyes； books were the emblems of a secret brotherhood。 For she had but a single weapon against the world of crudity surrounding her： the books she took out of the municipal library； and above all； the novels。 She had read any number of them； from Fielding to Thomas Mann。 They not only offered the possibility of an imaginary escape from a life she found unsatisfying； they also had a meaning for her as physical objects： she loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm。 It had the same significance for her as an elegant cane for the dandy a century ago。 It differentiated her from others。
（Comparing the book to the elegant cane of the dandy is not absolutely precise。 A dandy's cane did more than make him different； it made him modern and up to date。 The book made Tereza different； but old…fashioned。 Of course； she was too young to see how old…fashioned she looked to others。 The young men walking by with transistor radios pressed to their ears seemed silly to her。 It never occurred to her that they were modern。）
And so the man who called to her was simultaneously a stranger and a member of the secret brotherhood。 He called to her in a kind voice； and Tereza felt her soul rushing up to the surface through her blood vessels and pores to show itself to him。
9
After Tomas had returned to Prague from Zurich； he began to feel uneasy at the thought that his acquaintance with Tereza was the result of six improbable fortuities。
But is not an event in fact more significant and noteworthy the greater the number of fortuities necessary to bring it about？
Chance and chance alone has a message for us。 Everything that occurs out of necessity； everything expected； repeated day in and day out； is mute。 Only chance can speak to us。 We read its message much as gypsies read the images made by coffee grounds at the bottom of a cup。
Tomas appeared to Tereza in the hotel restaurant as chance in the absolute。 There he sat； poring over an open book； when suddenly he raised his eyes to her； smiled； and said； A cognac； please。
At that moment； the radio happened to be playing music。 On her way behind the counter to pour the cognac； Tereza turned the volume up。 She recognized Beethoven。 She had known his music from the time a string quartet from Prague had visited their town。 Tereza （who； as we know； yearned for something higher ） went to the concert。 The hall was nearly empty。 The only other people in the audience were the local pharm