A/N: Based on the 1996 Czech film "Kolja".

Fatherhood Becomes Him

"If you didn't take a drink of your tea now and then, I'd think you'd have fallen asleep." Klára Carda stood behind the man sitting in the chair and staring out the window. She checked his cup. "Your tea is cold."

"Russian tea is always cold - even when it's served hot," František 'Franta' Louka observed without looking down at it. He felt the hands on his shoulders and his posture softened slightly. "There was a time I couldn't abide it, but I got used to drinking it."

"What are you looking at?" she asked the older man, poking her head over his shoulder to share his view out the window. She could feel the hair of the older man's grey beard brushing against her ear.

"With my eyes - nothing. I was thinking."

"Worried about your birthday? Think they'll kick you out of the Czech Philharmonic just because you've turned sixty-four?"

"Kick me out? There are others older than I am. At least when we play the Slavic Dances, no one teases me about having gone to school with Dvořák. No, it isn't that exactly. There comes a time when a person must take stock of who he is, and part of that is family. Maminka is gone now, Vic might as well be, and all I have left here in Prague is you and Karel." Franta's mother Anastazie had died over a year ago; still, she had lived long enough to enjoy her grandson, crying "My Babička!" every time she greated Karel.

She gently took his chin and turned his face toward hers. "Is that not enough?"

He smiled and patted her cheek. "It is more than I ever thought I would have, and as much as any man could deserve. They could take you away from me, and I would still have you here," he said as he took her hand and placed it over his heart.

Growing up in Czechoslovakia, Franta had known that things could be taken away. His father had died while fighting in World War II. The Germans had occupied the country (which sounded much more polite than 'taken over') at that time. Any optimism at the end of the war was quickly dissolved under the reality of the Communist rule that took over after that. More recently, the Russians had moved in and - although not officially - had influence much in the way business and life was run.

His brother had emigrated to Canada and started a new life, complete with wife, fancy house and skiing holidays. The occasional letter Vic would send to their matka always was sure to include pictures of the fine life he had, as well as excuses for not seeing them.

"Then why is your heart heavy?" she asked.

"I know I'm in trouble when I am asked so many questions, but I would rather that it be you than the Immigration officials. No, I think that it is Karel's next birthday that has made me reflective. He is now the same age that Kolya was when he was left with me."

"I remember." Franta had entered into a marriage of benefit with Nadezda Bilyukov, a Russian - she got Czech citizenship and he got out of debt. Almost immediately she left for West Germany, leaving behind her five year old son Kolya. Up to that point Franta had been a confirmed bachelor and enjoyed having the company of various women; however, the idea of settling down with an unmarried one and having a family was appealing. On the subject, his mother had been quite specific: "It should be music or a family." Of course, at the time she thought he was still traveling around the world with the Philharmonic instead of playing funerals and repainting tombstones for a living.

But Kolya changed that. He first tried to foist the child off on anyone that would take care of him, but out of necessity he ended up caring for the boy himself - even growing to like the experience, as the two bonded and overcame the language barrier. In nearly a year's time, he came to think of the boy as part of his life and wasn't shocked when he was called "Dad". When the authorities were closing in on his sham marriage, he fled with the boy to another city to hide. At the same time, the unrest that had been fomenting in the country boiled over into the Velvet Revolution and the changes spoke well for the people - but when Nadezda came to reclaim her son, he found it created a void in his life he never knew could exist. Klára had seen the change in him, and liked it; it bode well for her that the man she was interested in was growing up, even at the age of fifty-five.

Now, seven years later, they shared a home and a son. Karel was playing at a friend's house, so the two had a chance to speak candidly without possibly hurting the boy's feelings. "How is he doing? I know you've talked to him."

Franta leaned back and looked at her. "How would you know such a thing?"

"I can tell. On some of the trips with the orchestra, you've come back very happy. I think you've seen him."

"Maybe I'm having an affair, or was just overwhelmed with the reception the audience is giving us."

Klára laughed. "I've watched you - you barely even look at other women now. And you can have no better reception than Karel and I."

The man looked down. So much of life in his country had been deception. For most of his life he had lied to cover his whereabouts, what he did, and who he was with; oppressive governments will cause you to do that just to savor moments of freedom. But he found he couldn't do it now; not to Klára. "And if I said I was having an affair?" he asked, just to see the response.

"Then I'd call you a liar."

Franta laughed. "I've lost my touch, then. Yes, I have seen Kolya a couple of times. If you would have asked, I would have told you."

"I'm not angry. He was a sweet boy."

"Still is. He's almost fourteen now. He plays a violin."

"Does he still call you Dad?"

A broad smile broke across Franta's face. "Yes."

"That is good. You both are growing up at the same time," she teased as she moved away. "Where does he live now?"

"In Germany, with his mother and her husband."

"Then it is time to plan your birthday. I am going to pack a large picnic lunch, and we are going to take the boys fishing together."

"Fishing? Together?"

"And why not? The boys have the same father, in a manner of speaking. They should get to know each other - they are family. They need to be connected so they can take care of us when we are old and feeble."

"I will be so, long before you."

"Then I will have two strong boys to help me drag you around to the doctors," she teased again. Her dimples showed in her smile.

"But I haven't fished since I was much younger. The waters are too polluted now. Thanks to the acid rain, fishing is only in my head as memories past."

"Then we shall find a place where they are not, and pack extra food so we do not rely on your fishing skills for our meals."

"And how do we get there?"

"The same way you get everywhere else - the Trabant. It is just like you; old, slow and it complains a lot. But it is trustworthy and will do the job. So call him, write him, or however you normally arrange to meet him. Happy soon-to-be birthday, my husband." She kissed him and left to go back into the kitchen area.

He had TWO boys. And a wonderful wife.

Four was a nice number.

The End

A/N: I came across this Czech film while looking for something new to watch. I don't speak either Czech or Russian, but still found the movie enjoyable. Don't expect flashy Hollywood action, but it was rewarding in its own way.

I suppose one advantage of a Trabant is how few features it has to break down.