TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake

The Grand Piano Room

blocking it off brick by brick, then I could have done something about it; I could have fought for it. I could have called the police, appealed to the rights of the private property owner and chased the criminals away with a pistol in my hand. But it had not been that way; everything had happened differently. One fine morning you go down to your studio and find a blank wall instead of a door. A wall you’re told was built half a century before. What can you do? You have to accept it and try to comprehend the essence of absurdity: that’s how it should be. He who has the power to change reality without workmen, bricks or mortar knows what he is doing. Of course, that’s how it was. Or so I thought, shut away in my office in which now, apart from the desk, the bookshelves, the settee and the armchairs there was also an easel, my canvasses, paint, the rack, sheet music and, of course, the grand piano with the bust of Beethoven on it. Well, at the end of the day, it was possible to live like that. I kept repeating that to myself, attempting to rid myself of the feeling that I was being persecuted by fate. To be honest, what I really wanted was to drag whoever had done this out of the wall by the beard and finish him off on the spot for the dirty trick he had played on me. I wasn’t sure what to call him – fate, God or the devil? Still, I felt like finishing him off with twenty sharp swords; to stab each one right through his heart. I had never known I had such a boiling volcano in me. I

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