Unfortunately, my head was in such a whirl that I spent half the night tossing and turning on my bed (my creaky bed) unable to sleep; when I finally did drop off, I kept waking up, and it wasn't until early morning that I fell into a deep sleep. As a result, I didn't get up until nine, when the morning buses and trains had already gone and there was no way to leave for Prague till two in the afternoon. When I realized that, I was almost in despair. I felt like a man who has been shipwrecked, and suddenly I was nostalgic for Prague, for my work, for the desk in my flat, for my books. But there was nothing I could do; I had to grit my teeth and go down to the dining room for breakfast. I entered with caution, as I was afraid of meeting Helena. But she wasn't there (evidently she was already scurrying around the neighboring village with a tape recorder over her shoulder, bothering the pass-ersby with a microphone and silly questions); the room was, however, packed with noisy people sitting and smoking over their beers, black coffees, ryes, and cognacs.
