TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake

The Grand Piano Room

What could I say to her? Where is my piano? I couldn’t even run my fingers over the keys to remember it; it seemed (so my wife asserted) that I had sold it. When our children grew older, we had needed a bunkbed for them. So I was even capable of that? Even if through force of circumstance? 7 Life went on. And this, I realised, was my reality. There wouldn’t be another. And I wasted it left, right and centre, every day. I didn’t paint (where would I?), I didn’t play (on what would I play?), I didn’t write (my desk went to my children, they used it in turns). And what I felt and experienced wasn’t even worth talking about. My daily life was spent dealing with domestic issues. I struggled to extend the top bunk for Lora’s legs (for the past year, she hadn’t been able to stretch her legs), I mended the iron which broke once a week. ‘We should get a new one.’ ‘On what money, Jura?’ We had no money, it seemed. Somehow, it had neverstruck me before. The only thing that saved me was the feeling that somebody was in some way experimenting on me. I was in awe of myself; how come I didn’t explode? Didn’t break everything in reach? All that marasmus I mean,

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