Old people appear in Kundera's writings from time to time:
In one story, there is a pear so large it dwarfs a Russian tank---his aged mother's view....
In another, an elderly lady waves with the grace of a young girl . . . as if she had forgotten her age, as if she had forgotten that she were no longer beautiful.
These gestures and thoughts are disconnected from what we think of as "real"...
but, exactly not for that reason lesser ... on the contrary, these thoughts and movements should frighten us with the possibility that our customary vistas are more limited than we would care to imagine....
I prefer to think of them as messages from a far away land, written in a language we have not mastered, carrying a message whose importance justifies the lengthy journey the messenger has made to bring them to us. The messenger knows very well that we only partially comprehend; yet he or she tries to tell us, they must try--a hopeful ceremony of parting.
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