Citesc Kundera zilele astea, „The unbearable lightness of being”. Un fragment despre întâmplare și importanța ei:
But is not an event in fact more significant and noteworthy the greater the greater the number of fortuities necessary to bring it about?
Chance and chance alone has a message for us. Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out, is mute. Only chance can speak to us. We read its message much as gypsies read the images made by coffee grounds at the bottom of a cup.
Tomas appeared to Tereza in the hotel restaurant as chance in the absolute. There he sat, poring over an open book, when suddenly he raised his eyes to her, smiled, and said, ‘A cognac, please’.
At that moment, the radio happened to be playing music. On her way back behind the counter to pour the cognac, Tereza turned the volume up. She recognized Beethoven. She had known his music from the time a string quartet in Prague had visited their town.
From then on, Beethoven became the image of the world on the other side, the world she yearned for. Rounding the counter with Tomas’s cognac, she tried to read chance’s message: how was it possible that at the very same moment she was taking an order of cognac to a stranger she found attractive, at that very moment she heard Beethoven?
Necessity knows no magic formulae – they are all left to chance. If love is to be unforgettable, fortuities must immediately start fluttering down to it like birds to Francis of Assisi’s shoulders.