“No.”
“And your father?”
“I don’t know. He tried to contact me last year, apparently, through my agent, but I didn’t call back.”
“So…you’re still angry about it? After all these years?”
“Hell, yes,” hissed Milan, so vehemently that Lydia flinched. “I’m still angry. Even though I’m no better than them. I was four years old, Lydia, and the son of an enemy of the state. That was my life. My mother and I lost the beautiful house and had to live in one room, here in Žižkov. It was quite a fall from grace. She tried to make a living giving music lessons, but not many people around here want to play the harp, and those in the better suburbs aren’t prepared to come here to learn.”
“But you learned the violin?”
“My grandfather taught me, before he died. I was good at it, so the state helped me. My mother hated my playing, though. She wouldn’t let me play at home. I had to practice at school or at my grandfather’s flat.”
“She wouldn’t let you play at home? That’s awful.”
“She hated all violin music after my father left. I suppose she thought it had taken everything away from her. She tried to get me to play the harp, but…” He shrugged. “I’m not a harp man. I’m a violinist, through and through. It’s what I am. I can’t be anything else.”
“That must have been a tense situation.”
“It was. She didn’t understand. She thought I was doing it to hurt her. I was doing it because it was the only happiness I had in my life.”
“What was it like, growing up here?”
“Interesting. You grew up fast and you learned a lot about survival. You got used to seeing apartments raided and people taken away. People you knew disappeared sometimes. You always needed money.”
“So you left when you were seventeen?”
“I had just been offered a place at the Prague Conservatoire. I played a piece at a concert in the cathedral and, afterwards, a man in the audience asked me if I was interested in studying in Paris instead.”
“Oh!”
“I took him up on the offer. It was the year after the Velvet Revolution, so cross-border travel was not a problem any more. My mother didn’t understand. I asked her to come with me, but she wouldn’t. Just said I was abandoning her, like everyone else.”
“I suppose it must have been hard on her.”
“I know.” He stared into his beer. “I was young and I wanted to see a bit of the world. I felt as if I’d been suffocating all my life. I thought she’d forgive me in time, but she never did.”
“Is she still alive?”
“I send her money. It gets sent back.”
“She rejects it? Like you rejecting your father.”
“We are all the best of enemies. What a family! Is yours like that?” He essayed grim humour, but there was deep sadness in his eyes.
“My family never had to deal with what yours did. I must admit, I can see why you’re angry with your father. What he did—leaving you and your mother like that—was quite shocking.”
“But I can completely see why he did it. I know it was for Jan’s sake. I can understand it. I just can’t forgive it. Can’t get past the poverty and the misery, somehow…”
“It’s natural. I think I’d feel the same.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a watery smile. “So now you know a little about the fuck-up that is Milan Kaspar. Aren’t you glad you asked?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. It’s given me a lot to think about.”
“You think about me?”
“I hardly think about anything else.”