Gaps Quotes

“.. my husband can't pass by a beautiful birch tree or a beautiful spruce without just standing there, thunderstruck, watching... I'll have to be careful he doesn't merge with those trees body and soul, careful not to lose him altogether.”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“My husband admired people with conviction, people who could firmly differentiate between yes and no . . my husband was incapable of saying no, he always agreed to everything, whenever anybody came over and invited
him to the pub he was a pushover, even if he didn't want to go, he promised to write something with respect to their conversation, promised to make an appearance somewhere he'd rather not be, but my husband had no conviction, all he had was a feeling of guilt, and the fact he agreed to everything was his way of asking to be forgiven for even existing at all ...”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“... but why was he the way he was? Why, when in fact he was a shy and timid person, was he compelled to be number one and champion of the world in eating and drinking, why was he always fleeing from us, and when unable to flee, why the awful theatrics, the showing off?”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“My husband was skittish and fearful from all the way back in grammar school and junior high, the only reason he went into the city was for school, the rest of the time he spent at the brewery, beyond the city limits ... he wasn't used to people, or to being inside, he was always off in a tree somewhere, or on a rooftop, always out on those endless wanderings of his, as his mother called them, racking up dozens of kilometers there beyond the brewery, alongside the river and through the meadows, as far as the Kersko forests .. but the minute he walked into a restaurant, into a classroom, into a train car, anywhere people were pressed together, eye to eye, my husband blocked right up, just like he blocks up nowadays, when I take him to the
theater, or to the movies, he always feels ashamed, like he's done something wrong, and he's as shy and bashful as a young girl, just like Mother described ...”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“And so I didn't go, not even to see my sister . . that father of mine in the Austrian uniform did well not to come see me, now I finally understand myself, why I always carry that feeling of guilt... I assumed it from my mother and Francin and without actually being guilty of anything I bore that guilt, always and endlessly fleeing before that sense of wrongdoing, which was in me even before I was born .. and like I already told you, like Mr. Barthes says . . Although I forge ahead, I point to this mask of mine, which I wear like an actor who has decided to play the clown, the fool... so said my man, kneeling before me, washing my feet, and I knew that he was my husband and I was his wife ..”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“„.. my husband can't pass by a beautiful birch tree or a beautiful spruce without just standing there, thunderstruck, watching... I'll have to be careful he doesn't merge with those trees body and soul, careful not to lose him altogether.”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“The thing is, he liked to go into a deep reverie, liked to daydream ... not the sort of daydream like he was remembering a woman from his past or something, but say we were in that pine forest of ours, he'd suddenly get this
dreamy look and drop into a squat and rest his chin in his hand and his elbow on his knee, and he could squat there like a Bedouin for a whole hour, eyes closed, smiling, intently focused on what he was seeing there in his mind s eye... And I absolutely hated this, I thought my husband was a nitwit. And out of the blue I shouted and startled him and he went pale and couldn't utter a word, as if woken from a trance .. And I said, If you'd rather do something useful, then the doorsill needs fixing, there's a draft, and mice will get into
the cottage... And leaning against a tree, or down in his squat position, my husband looked at me and I saw that the arrow had hit its mark, that he despised me... I have nowhere else left to run, he said sadly, voice breaking..”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“His disappearance left an awful void, it was thanks to Ethan my husband and I often held hands, or embraced, or nuzzled up cheek
to cheek, for Ethan was our go-between, he connected us, brought us together at a time we thought we didn't love each other anymore, would not and could not ever love each other again ... when Ethan paused over his bowl of milk and gave us that look, he forced my husband and me to give each other that little head butt, there on bended knee to give each other a little kiss ...”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“Often we looked at each other, my husband and I, when we both thought of Ethan, and touched foreheads and gave each other a little kiss ... and those moments when we kissed gradually took on a greater significance than when we first kicked off this strange marriage of ours, wherein both of us knew that although we didn't much like each other, we did somehow belong together ..”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“From the moment the Russians arrived in Prague, my husband, laureate of the Klement Gottwald state prize, always expected a car to turn in off the road, to come down the lane for him, and his fear of this possibility kept him
on edge .. That's why he so enjoyed roaming the forests and villages, and sometimes he took the bus into Prague, my husband loved riding the bus, forget the car! The car was torture for him, where to park, and you couldn't have a beer, and he loathed being stuck in traffic and waiting for red lights
and green lights, he fumed, and his eyesight wasn't the best anymore, he much rather rode the bus and daydreamed the trip through,”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“... and when he lay down, Ethan was first to hop onto the bed, and then came the other two kittens, and after midnight my husband got up to let whichever one of those kittens wanted outside, he staggered around and let those kittens in and out, never uttered a word of complaint, never swore, because he said those kittens were like our children, and children when they're little are sacred .. even if they are good for nothing, said my husband the state prize laureate...”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“... and he was off to his forest trails, his side roads, because when he was on his bicycle he could breathe like nowhere else, and the rhythmic breathing and the solitude brought him back to himself, allowed him to get a
grip, no more obsessively weighing himself, no more feeling for his pulse, and one evening he came home scented with anise, he'd had a few shots of Prostějov rye in some pub, and that evening he slept like a baby..”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“From the day I brought the kitten home there was a change in my husband, he didn't go out to the bars nearly as much, he tried to be home every night by dark, and he stoked the fires in both stoves and fussed all over that kitten, somehow he became that kitten's surrogate mother, and not only did my husband meticulously brush his teeth every night, he quit drinking beer at night altogether so as not to reek of it. And whenever I woke up to have a look, there was that kitten suckling at my husband's knuckle, and that's how they slept together, that's how they slept together even when that kitten grew into a full-grown tabby cat, that tabby cat couldn't fall asleep unless he was snuggled up to my husband and suckling at his knuckle. Little Ethan, that's what we named our tabby, was so in love with my husband that he just couldn't wait for evening to come, and when I made the beds Ethan liked to slip under the covers and romp around in the dark, even I fell in love
with that tabby, even I fell in love with him as if he were our own little child, even I couldn't wait to see our tabby cat, who was fond of sunning himself up on the roof, up there where my husband typed on his typewriter, in fact,
these days my husband even wrote while I was at home, because that tabby cat sat right next to him, gazing wisely at the typewriter keys, gazing lovestruck at my husband, and into my lap he would come, and then back to my
husband at the typewriter, some sort of muse to my husband is what that little creature was.”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps

“My husband had these stubby fingers, bruised and battered and stiff from his spade work in Kladno, but when it came to picking flowers, he got this dopey look on his face, he only picked those wildflowers that grew off on their own somewhere, he didn't like store-bought flowers, in fact never bought them... because picking those first snowdrops, still there under the snow, was a celebration for my husband, like going to confirmation, and I wasn't allowed to talk to him, wasn't allowed to look at him, he couldn't stand me looking at him when he was engaged in something beautiful, he always wanted to be at it alone, which was a good thing, because I was never into picking flowers myself, I had no relationship to flowers, all the flowers I ever had at home refused to bloom, as if on purpose . .”
― Bohumil Hrabal, Gaps