Hannah – Bolero Magnets

Magnates, for instance, enjoy simple relationships.  A magnet is either attracted or repelled by the company of another.  In accordance with these feelings, they will either pull forcefully together or push in opposite directions as quickly as possible.  Magnates follow laws of electrical currents and elementary particles; no further interpretation is needed.

Superficially, this behavior resembles Bolero ballroom dance (in its most Spanish form).   Which explains why Ira and Lakshit were drawn together, but only initially.  The resemblance, as I said, is superficial.  In most ways people and magnates are dissimilar, as Ira and Lakshit demonstrated.

Lakshit studied physics at the University of Madras, where he learned (for he paid attention) that magnetism will only weaken when a combination of stray electromagnetic fields and heat destabilizes its alignment.  This is a slow process.  For example, a samarium-cobalt will withstand roughly 700 years of this strain before decreasing to half strength.  Lakshit remained faithful to Ira for seven months; during that time Lakshit and Ira were Bolero partners.  When Ira called from their sofa, “Lakshit! Who will you dance with tonight?” she ended her question with a sneeze.

“I’m not going tonight,” he replied.  “You are sick, so I am going to study.”

“You are sure? I don’t mind if you go.”

“That is something you and I do together.”

This was not the first lie that Ira told Lakshit; she did in fact mind if he went to dance without her.  She enjoyed those hours on the worn wood of the studio floor, when she faced the mirror over Lakshit’s shoulder and saw her hand rest on his waist just so and her heels snapped when she moved.  She felt she possessed him most powerfully, most femininely in those moments.

This was the first lie that Lakshit told Ira; he was in fact going to dance with another student in his physics department.  After they danced, Lakshit would follow her to an apartment and they would make love and talk about music and traveling to Spain someday to see the bulls.  When he left, Lakshit felt a pang of betrayal: Was it really so bad that Ira held so tightly to him when they were together, so that he must drag rather than glide with her on the worn wood of the studio floor?  And he felt a longing to revert: revert from his own reversion.  He turned at the door and announced to his new lover that this could never happen again.

But people do not follow laws of electrical currents and elementary particles, and if we betray X, for whom we betrayed Y, it does not necessarily follow that we have placated X.  The first inversion is irreparable.  It calls forth a chain reaction of further reversions, each of which takes us farther and farther away from the point of our original betrayal.

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Milan Kundera – The Unbearable Lightness of Being

While people are fairly young and the musical composition of their lives is still in its opening bars, they can go about writing it together and exchange motifs, but if they meet when they are older, like Franze and Sabina, their musical compositions are more or less complete, and every motif, every object, every word means something different to each of them.  If I were to make a record of all Sabina and Franz’s conversations, I could compile a long lexicon of their misunderstandings.  Let us be content, instead, with a short dictionary.

WOMAN

Being a woman is a fate Sabina did not choose. What we have not chosen we cannot consider either our merit or our failure.  Sabina believed that she had to assume the correct attitude to her unchosen fate.  To rebel against being born a woman seemed as foolish to her as to take pride in it.

During one of their first times together, Franz announced to her, in an oddly emphatic way, “Sabina, you are a woman.” She could not understand why he accentuated the obvious with the solemnity of Columbus who had just sighted land. Not until later did she understand that the word “woman,” on which he had placed such uncommon emphasis, did not, in his eyes, signify one of the two human sexes; it represented a value. Not every woman was worthy of being called a woman.

But if Sabina was, in Franz’s eyes, a woman, then what was his wife, Marie-Claude? More than twenty years earlier, several months after Franz met Marie-Claude, she had threatened to take her life if he abandoned her. Franz was bewitched by the threat. He was not particularly fond of Marie-Claude, but he was very much taken with her love. He felt himself unworthy of so great a love, and felt he owed her a low bow.

He bowed so low that he married her. And even though Marie-Claude never recaptured the emotional intensity that accompanied her suicide threat, in his heart he kept its memory alive with the thought that he must never hurt her and always respect the woman in her. It is an interesting formulation. Not “respect Marie-Claude,” but “respect the woman in Marie-Claude.” But if Marie-Claude is herself a woman, then who is that other woman hiding in her, the one he must always respect? The Platonic ideal of a woman, perhaps?

When he was twelve, his mother had found herself alone, abandoned by Franz’s father. The boy suspected something serious had happened, but his mother muted the drama with mild, insipid words so as not to upset him. The day his father left, Franz and his mother went into town together, and as they left home Franz noticed that she was wearing a different shoe on each foot. He was in a quandary: he wanted to point out her mistake, but was afraid he would hurt her. So during the two hours they spent walking through the city together he kept his eyes fixed on her feet. It was then he had his first inkling of what it means to suffer.