TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake

Jaroslavas Melnikas

silence and emptiness of the room! I remembered its layout, the shelves for sheet music, the little decorated table for my father’s violin. I knew with certainty that Beethoven’s bust had stood upon the piano. I had no doubt; the piano room was a reality. But if there was no sign left on the wall where the door had been, if my wife had never heard about it, perhaps it was some other reality. The strangest thing was that I remembered my wife coming into the room occasionally. Perhaps that too had been a different reality. And my wife, Lucy, perhaps she was somebody else then? At least I wasn’t silly enough to start blundering in on such a sensitive issue. Having recovered somewhat, I suddenly noticed my grand piano in the corner of the studio where I had used to keep a pile of canvases; it was the same brand, with the same scratch on its leg. There could be no doubt it was the same piano, the one from the grand piano room. And on it, in the very same place, stood the Beethoven bust. Looking around, I grew slightly annoyed (which was not typical of me); some of my canvases were piled on the table along with the paint. Some others were stood next to the rack, and the rest had slid under the piano as they probably didn’t fit in the gap between the piano and the table. Possibly for the first time in my life I knelt down under the piano in search of the sketches for my paintings. My new, neatly-ironed

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