Matylda: And I Thought Everyone Drives a Limo in Amerika

By Filip Zachoval

At turns humorous, dramatic, and pensive, this is a fictionalized memoir based on the very real experiences of a young man from the Czech Republic traveling to the U.S. for the first time. The story starts with Filip’s job as a dishwasher in a Pennsylvania summer camp and ends with a coast-to coast road trip in an unreliable limousine named Matylda. In the process, he gives his reader fascinating stories of his own country’s history, and a tale of self-discovery as he seeks to understand both America and himself. Not just a means of making it from point A to point B, Matylda is a central character in this tale. She seems to guide the group of road-tripping pan-Slavic characters more than any map. This engrossing tale will broaden your perspective on a number of perennially relevant topics and forever change the filter through which you observe the world. Filip, whose wit and charm will engage you from the very first sentence, narrates their journey and will elicit smiles, chuckles and a few tears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Filip Zachoval
• Release date: Dec 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9780998433516

Filip Zachoval

To a casual observer, I may appear to be a fully functioning member of society with an advanced degree, a fulfilling career, loving friends and family, and an obvious midlife crisis that I’m overcoming by trying something new – writing. Previously I hardly ever enjoyed writing, often times even disliked it, and occasionally even, yes, the H-word-ed it. A few years ago my attitude toward this creative art started changing. I guess, having mastered writing shopping lists, Facebook posts, and whatever-nots they required in school, left its mark. And now I scribble, cross out, replace, re-write, curse, rearrange, and jump out of the bed in the middle of the night to note down a thought on daily basis. I admit – the craft of writing makes me whole. I am originally from the Czech Republic, and have lived in the USA since 2003. I studied Russian language and literature and at University of Texas at Austin and at Charles University in Prague; and have been teaching world languages for about twenty years. My writings have been predominantly academic, and the memoire Matylda: And I Thought Everyone Drives a Limo in Amerika is my literary debut. I currently live in Seattle, WA.

Book preview

Matylda: And I Thought Everyone Drives a Limo in Amerika

First part of the Searching trilogy

by Filip Zachoval

Published by Filip Zachoval

Distributed by Smashwords

Cover design by Silvie Vavřinová

Copyright © 2016 Filip Zachoval

First Edition

ISBN-13: 978-0-9984335-1-6

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, reproduced, scanned, photographed, or distributed in either print or electronic form without the author’s express permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. I appreciate your support.

This is a work of fiction.

Contents

Unnumbered Part

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

About the Author

Summer has taken over spring and pride month has arrived: rainbows of all shapes and sizes have sprung up around the entire city. Our hood smells of water evaporating from gardens, and of barbecue dinners. Lovers in parks are getting high on pot and each other's lips. Litters of newborn humans and puppies are wearily gazing at long sun-rays dancing with shadows while their parents cool their thirst frosty brews. And everyone’s showing their skin proudly again. I pick up cherries, as red as blood, at the market on my way back from an evening walk, so that we can eat them watching the sunset while I reminisce about how I came to call this country my home. #fromseattlewithlove

UNNUMBERED PART

Anyone who takes himself too seriously always runs the risk of looking ridiculous; anyone who can consistently laugh at himself does not.

– Václav Havel, Disturbing the Peace

Who is Matylda? America with a ‘k’? Driving a limo? Aren’t limousines usually driven by chauffeurs and people rent them for that very reason, so that they can enjoy the luxury of being driven around? You are right. The title is a bit blurred – and maybe not just the title. It could be me slash or the whole book that are off. Or maybe nothing’s weird and there is a simple explanation that will build up to a huge revelation. Tada! In the end, you will leave with the feeling that everything makes sense again. Perhaps.

Let’s not get distracted by insignificant details though and let’s stay on track of introducing the story. There was a time when I thought that every American drove a limousine – the most expensive form of automobile ground transportation – beautiful, luxurious sedan car, a symbol of wealth and power. To many, me included, an icon of the United States of America. And what does all of this have to do with Matylda? That’s simple, the first limo I ever sat in was named Matylda and she was my very first car.

Voilà!

If you are intrigued, if you want to figure out what this is going to be about, whether I’m nuts, from Mars, trying to sell you some novel way of how to live your life, or perhaps pulling out some writer’s tricks on you, just read the next sentence. The answers are: me, maybe, not to my knowledge, nah, I wish. Now, allow me to elaborate a bit on my answers; one by one.

This book is my story. It’s a true story, but the characters depicted are [insert the legal blahblahblah here]. It is a recollection of my first visit to the United States, my first encounters with its people and culture. It is based on what is stored in my memory from a life-changing round trip, interwoven with all sorts of digressions, thoughts, and observations that might have more to do with the person I have become rather than with what I experienced one summer at the end of the last century. Which part is the true story then? Which ones are fictional, and what is the author’s agenda, you might ask. The teacher in me wants to say that these are all excellent questions. The less grown-up part of me is laughing at your attempts to figure that out. I’m easily entertained.

Am I nuts? Thank you for the compliment. Hmmm. I have never been diagnosed with a mental illness or even seen a shrink. To a casual observer, I may appear to be a fully functioning member of society with an advanced degree, a fulfilling career, loving friends and family, and an obvious midlife crisis that I’m overcoming by trying something new – writing this book. Writing is not really my forté, and the predicament of someone about to turn forty would explain things. I hardly ever enjoyed writing, often times even disliked it, and occasionally even, yes, the H-word-ed it. On the other hand, there are those times when the above-mentioned normality shows cracks and might require further attention. Maybe I’ll make an appointment one of these days.

I am an alien. Not from Mars or any other planet, for that matter. I was born in Czechoslovakia, in what is known today as the Czech Republic, one of the countries in the European Union. I’ve been living in the U.S. for the past thirteen plus years and call it my home. However, at the same time I am considered an alien in this country. At least on paper. There are other words used on various official documents and they vary depending on the particular form or office you’re dealing with. But alien comes up pretty frequently. My status recently changed from ‘temporary permanent resident alien’ to ‘permanent resident alien’. In the eyes of the law, I suppose, it makes me less alien, but still an alien nevertheless. By the way, if you look up synonyms for alien, the word immigrant does not turn up. Martian does. I guess I still could be from Mars and just not know it.

This book isn’t selling anything and after you’re done reading it, it’s extremely unlikely that your life will change in any significant way. It just isn’t one of these books that tries to teach you how to live your life. Not that there is anything wrong with them, they have their place in bookstores and peoples’ lives, too. The thing is just that this book is about how I lived a part of my life. It’s as simple as that. Frankly, I’m just glad that I’m (sort of) managing and have no desire to preach to anybody else.

Moving to the next one, playing language tricks is not anything I’ve ever occupied myself with. Moreover, it isn’t really an option for me. As already stated, I ain’t no native speaker of English here, so I would have lost any word game with you at the first attempt made. For realses.

This book, the title included, is a very candid account in which the words are not meant to mislead you, but to take you on a journey. Well, on a trip to be more precise, but this will be explained shortly.

That’s what this book is about, nothing more, and nothing less. Well, obviously there will be more pages with words on them. There is Part One, which sets things up for the main body of the book, and is rather short. Then there are Part Two and Part Three, each describing a certain time period. They are, of course, related, but are different, so that’s why they are split. And there is the ending, too. Wow, this paragraph is so profound. Job well done, sir! It might be better to stop writing what the book is going to be about, and start writing the book itself. No hurry, but at some point, it would be appreciated.

PART ONE

How do you find America?

Turn left at Greenland.

– Ringo Starr

The year was one thousand nine hundred and ninety-seven and I was a sophomore at Charles University in Prague – the first and the oldest university in Central Europe, as the faculty and staff constantly reminded their students - us. Talking about the past was a big deal. Not only at the college but pretty much everywhere in the Czechlands when I was growing up. Examples taken from the bygones were frequently utilized to answer many questions that started with how, what, where, who, when, or why. Stories from the distant and not so distant past also provided a constant reminder of who the good guys and the bad ones were. In the 90s good and evil switched places and a new grand narrative was drilled into people’s heads, so they could learn what’s right and what’s wrong. Same as before, referencing the past continued to be incorporated into many conversations, even if the topic had nothing to do with history. You could ask someone for directions to the nearest bank and the events of 1620, which led to the Czechs losing their independence for 300 years, and almost perishing from the surface of this earth, somehow popped up in their answer. The past was often depicted as splendid. The future was glamorous, too. The present, not so much. It often felt that it was easier to re-write what happened and to foresee what was going to happen, rather than to face what was right in front of the nation, us, at that very moment. In this vein, my people were just continuing a tradition of their ancestors of hundreds of years, by glorifying the past and painting the future in the brightest colors possible, while turning a blind eye to the present.

In her commencement speech at the same institution, my friend Káťa made the case that dwelling on vanished times is so 1400s. She reasoned that the university would be better off focusing its energy on the present. She made a much more elaborate and eloquent argument, but that is my take from the speech she gave in breathtaking borderline intimidating Karolinum’s aula magna, right under the tapestry with the motif of Charles IV kneeling in front of St. Wenceslaus. Charles IV was the founder of that very institution of higher education and the first king of Bohemia to also become Holy Roman Emperor, and St. Wenceslaus a beloved duke of Bohemia, the patron saint of the Czech state. The trinity of three great minds — Charles, Wenceslaus, and Kat’a — is the picture that commemorates that very special step into my adulthood, Kat’a being a brightest one who challenged the status quo like the other two had centuries before her. For years, Káťa was the person I used to call when the crazies of this world got to me and I needed a fresh voice of reason, simplicity, and logic.

There I was, a Moravian boy from a one-horse town, getting his education at a university that was founded 650 years prior. To be honest, I was not really sure what I was doing there. Even though my Russian major led to a successful career, at that time in my life, college wasn’t all I dreamed and hoped for. Don’t get me wrong, education was, and still is, a huge part of my life. I attended a university and was thoroughly enjoying the newly gained freedoms of adulthood, but I still wanted more.

I was twenty and a half, had just finished my third semester of college, and was at my parents’ for the winter break relishing a few weeks off. My folks patiently listened to the recently gained wisdom of a sophisticated college urbanite who was still relying on his mom to do his laundry. I had mixed feelings about the visit. It was great to see my friend and family, but at the same time it felt awkward coming back to the little town where I spent so much time dreaming about how I would leave as soon as possible and never come back. I’ve always felt that I did not belong there.

There was a lot of negativity in that village. It often felt like hatred of anyone who was different was a favorite pastime. There was a strong push to preserve at whatever cost the way people live, too. And I wanted change things. There was also a lot of uniformity. One pretty much needed to look, think and behave like the locals. If you didn’t, they made sure to let you know that you weren’t one of them, and that you were not welcome there. I wanted to live among more diverse people. It just makes me happy.

Anyway, during one of numerous family Christmas get-togethers, after being quizzed about school, living in Prague, and whatnot, some nosey relative popped the question. Not that question, but the one he would frequently annoy me with: Sooo, what are you gonna do this summer? I didn’t have an answer ready and almost choked on carp, a traditional x-mas delicacy of my people. The interrogation had to be halted before it got into further details of my college life and it just slipped out of my mouth – I’m going to America this summer.

Somehow I managed to muddle through the follow-up inquiries. Once the words came out of my mouth, the simplest thought came to mind: Why not? Why couldn’t I go? Looking back, there were at least a few serious reasons for not going, but when you’re still counting your age in half years, decisions are not made by writing a pros and cons list. As soon as the thought materialized, I was overwhelmed with anxiety and excitement for the rest of the evening and conversations faded away. What remained were these those two sharp and distinct feelings: the excitement of an unknown adventure, subconsciously knowing your life will never be the same, and the anxiety produced by the very same thing. This wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time, my slow mouth to brain connection put me in a precarious situation. Now I have numerous strategies for dealing with this. But back then I was still a novice at answering questions without actually answering them. I feel so grown-up now.

The five months between my decision and the time I landed at Newark airport on May 18, 1998 went by really fast. I started looking into ways of making my hasty plan a reality right away. As I found out, there were not that many opportunities. After a few weeks of researching my options the old-fashioned way, at libraries and in the newspapers, the odds of being able to pull off my trip to America seemed rather bleak. I shared my frustrations with a few classmates and one of them mentioned a summer program she had participated in recently. It was called Exchange Visitor Program, which was established in order to bring young people from overseas to the United States for a four-month program in summer camps. The rationale behind this program was to promote the general interest for international exchange, and allow international students to gain educational and cultural experiences in America. It sounded like an intriguing program and without much trouble I found a couple of agencies that sponsored these exchange stays.

Shorty after, I attended an informational meeting at the agency that shall remain nameless. Their world headquarters is in California and they have offices in many countries around the world. The meeting took place on campus at the University of Chemistry and Technology, which was just a few tram stops down the hill from my dorm in the Petřín neighborhood. There were several hundred students gathered in a huge auditorium, all eager to learn about the program. The meeting was held by a young couple in their early thirties, an American and his Czech wife, who were the owners of the agency sponsoring the program. There were a few other people helping them. Most