They left the theater and scattered at the street corner, but the guitarist accompanied Klima to his door. He was the only one to disapprove of the proposed plan. This plan seemed to him unworthy of the bandleader he revered: "When you go to see a woman, arm yourself with a whip!" said he, quoting the one sentence he knew of Nietzsche's collected works.

"My boy," Klima lamented, "she's the one with the whip."

The guitarist offered to go with Klima to the spa, lure the young woman out onto the road, and run her over: "Nobody could prove she didn't throw herself under my wheels."

The guitarist, the youngest musician in the group, greatly loved Klima, who was touched by his words: "That's very kind of you," he said to him.

The guitarist set out his plan in detail and with burning cheeks.

"That's very kind, but it's not possible," said Klima.

"Why are you hesitating? She's a slut!"

"You're really very kind, but it's not possible," said Klima, taking leave of the guitarist.

When he found himself alone, he thought about the young man's proposal and the reasons that had led him to reject it. It was not that he was more virtuous than the guitarist, but that he was more fearful. The fear of being accused as an accessory to murder was not less than the fear of being declared a father. He saw Ruzena run over by the car, he saw Ruzena stretched out on the road in a pool of blood, and he

had a momentary feeling of relief that filled him with joy. But he knew it was useless to indulge in illusions. And he had a serious concern now. He thought of his wife. My God, tomorrow is her birthday!