The room I have taken is large and beautiful. It reminds me of the room we shared here last time, only it is ten times more expensive. It is in a stone building up the hill from the National Museum. It was in front of the museum that the student, Jan Palach, set fire to himself to express his opposition to the '68 invasion, to show his seriousness. Remember all the wreaths we had to skirt around when we climbed the steps?

The wooden street door to the apartment block is thick and heavy. I push it open and enter the cool dimness. I unlock the apartment door with the key I have been given. My room looks out onto an internal square, quiet and green and cool. Sometimes elderly men and women sit there together, hands resting on walking sticks, and I yearn to know what it is they say as they lean towards each other. I close the shutters against the light, and rest.