Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

The Combinations

24 Hard blue porcelain, the sky—halfmoon above the roof- tops. At that time of day, late morning, Jánský Vršek was as quiet as any dead‐end street can be. The old white house was exactly as I remembered it. I found the caretaker sitting in the courtyard, a heavily embroi- dered shawl draped across her shoulders, knitting. She was a small, spinsterish old lady, with pearlgrey hair drawn back tightly into a bun. A large rhinestone broach was pinned at her throat above a white lace collar. Her hands were restless, fineboned, tapering to heavily var- nished fingernails. On a small table beside her stood a china tea set and a tall glass of dark rum. There were tea leaves spread out on a saucer, as though waiting to be read. Behind her, through the doorway to her caretak- er’s flat, an old green parrot perched on a stand, cran- ing its head. The caretaker’s name was on the doorbell by the front entrance: ‘Mrs Severínová?’ The old lady gazed at me quizzically, over a pair of round wireframe glasses. The parrot craned its neck further. I felt its black eye fixing on me, as it waited and watched. The old lady put down her knitting but said nothing. ‘I knew Professor Hájek. I used to visit him, before he died.’ Her lips twisted into something that might have been a

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