It was an awful conversation. As soon as he heard Ruzena's voice on the phone he was terrified.

Women had always frightened him, even if none of them had ever believed him when he announced this, considering it a flirtatious joke.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Not very well," she replied.

"What's the matter?"

"I have to talk to you," she said pathetically.

It was exactly the pathetic tone he had been anticipating with terror for years.

"What?" he said in a choked voice.

She repeated: "I absolutely have to talk to you."

"What's the matter?"

"Something that affects both of us."

He was unable to speak. After a moment he repeated: "What's the matter?"

"I'm six weeks late."

Trying hard to control himself, he said: "It's probably nothing. That sometimes happens, and it doesn't mean anything."

"No, this time it's definite."

"It's not possible. It's absolutely impossible. Anyway, it can't be my fault."

She was upset. "What do you take me for, if you please!"

He was afraid of offending her because he was suddenly afraid of everything: "No, I'm not trying to insult you, that's stupid, why would I want to insult you, I'm only saying that it couldn't have happened with me, that you've got nothing to worry about, that it's absolutely impossible, physiologically impossible."

"In that case it's no use talking," she said, increasingly upset. "Pardon me for disturbing you."

He worried she might hang up on him. "No, no, not at all. You were quite right to phone me! I'll be glad to help you, that's certain. Everything can certainly be arranged."

"What do you mean, 'arranged'?"

He was flustered. He didn't dare call the thing by its real name: "Well… you know… arranged."

"I know what you're trying to say, but don't count on it! Forget that idea. I'd never do it, even if I have to ruin my life.''