Baba Yaga Laid an Egg

‘Why don’t you turn her onto her side?’ asked Beba.

‘The foetal position, you mean?’ said Linear professionally, measuring Pupa roughly with her hands. ‘Hmm, she won’t fit,’ she shook her head.

‘Little body, big problems! I’ve really never seen anything like it!’ Willowy crossed herself.

‘Well, it’s possible it could be done if you would let her be squashed a little,’ added Linear.

‘Is there such a thing as an undertaker in this town?’ asked Kukla.

‘Yes. The undertaker is the carpenter Martin. But he won’t make you a coffin overnight. I had to wait a fortnight for my mother,’ said Linear.

‘Where did you keep her?’

‘Here, in the fridge.’

‘We’re Wellness Centre staff, we have priority,’ explained Willowy.

‘What about a crematorium?’ asked Beba.

‘In Prague. But even there the dead usually go into the oven in coffins. No one’s going to burn them in just a sheet.’

‘Only Indians are burned in just a sheet,’ said Willowy.

‘Do you mean no one ever dies here, for God’s sake?’ asked Beba.

‘We’re a Wellness Centre!’

‘I give up! Lukas, Martin, Indians, I don’t understand a thing!’ said Beba angrily.

‘We don’t understand you either. What were you thinking of dragging an old woman about with you, and never thinking that she could snuff it? And in a foreign country as well!’

Willowy probably wanted to say ‘shame on you’ or something like that, but restrained herself at the last moment, and instead said:

‘I’d never drag my mother about, not on my life!’

‘You’re not very kind, the two of you, you know,’ said Beba.

‘If I was kind I’d have popped my clogs long ago!’ Willowy snapped.

‘The conditions we live in, certainly,’ said Linear vaguely.

‘This is absolutely intolerable! You girls really know how to help a person!’ snorted Beba.

‘Let’s go, we’ll think of something,’ said Kukla, dragging Beba by the sleeve.

‘Think of something, only quickly! Our fridge isn’t large. It’s Thursday now. We can keep her till Monday morning maximum. Other people die as well, you know,’ said Linear, biting her tongue. ‘I mean it does happen once in a while, like now for instance,’ she added.

‘We’re a Wellness Centre!’ Willowy leapt in, pronouncing wellness centre with particular reverence, as though it were a matter of divine law.

‘Fuck you and your Wellness Centre!’ Beba shrieked, exasperated. She only ever swore in English, and the only English swear words she knew were ‘fuck you’.

We should add that we have had to translate this conversation into a language everyone could understand, because in reality it took place in a mixture of Czech and Croatian: that is Linear and Willowy spoke Czech, and Kukla and Beba Croatian. In fact Kukla did try to set her completely forgotten knowledge of Russian in motion, but all that emerged from her mouth was Russified Croatian. Linear and Willowy snorted at it. The Russians, it seems, had got up their noses.

What about us? We’ll keep going. Life drags as heavy as lead, while the tale just keeps racing ahead.

4.

A glance at the audience sitting in the lecture hall filled Dr Topolanek with a wave of anger, and, immediately afterwards, a wave of self-pity. He, who endeavoured to give this whole health business its rightful aura of scholarship, could not believe his eyes. The audience consisted not of guests from the hotel, but three local old ladies whom he knew well.

Dr Topolanek, who always carried a little whistle with him, placed the whistle in his mouth and blew it. The old ladies woke up and clapped. Topolanek gave them a little test: he read out loud the shopping list that his wife had thrust into his hand that morning. The old ladies began to snooze at the very beginning of the list, somewhere between ‘a loaf of bread’ and ‘a pint of milk’. Topolanek put the whistle back in his mouth. The old ladies gave a start.

‘Mrs Blaha, what are you doing here?’

‘Can I be honest, doctor?’ the old lady asked.

‘Go on,’ said Topolanek ironically.

‘The children have worn me out with cooking and cleaning, so I’ve come to have a little rest. Besides, you’ve got that air-refreshing thing here…’

‘Air-conditioning!’ said Topolanek. ‘What about you, Mrs Vesecka, why are you here?’

‘I came with her,’ said Mrs Vesecka, pointing to Mrs Blaha.

‘What about you, Mrs. Čunka?’

Mrs. Čunka snored.

‘Mrs. Čunka!’

Mrs. Čunka gave a start.

‘I’m asking you what you are doing here.’

‘Doctor, that list you read us a moment ago… When you come to buying the tomatoes… Pan Šošovicky has better and cheaper tomatoes today than the ones in the supermarket.’