Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Louis Armand

ing about what the caretaker had told me, being in that place for almost fifty years, from before the war. A par- rot like that, I guessed, could easily live as long, or lon- ger, than its owner. Impossible to know what it might’ve seen. It ruffled its feathers and drew in its neck, lidding its eye, once I’d crossed the threshold and stepped out- side. ‘I don’t remember the parrot.’ ‘Gawaine—he was Alžběta’s pet—she bought him at an exhibition at the Botanical Gardens. Funny, you wouldn’t think they’d sell birds like that, at the Botanical Gardens. It was he, Gawaine, who alerted us, by his screeching, when she… you know, had her accident. He’s very pro- tective, the poor dear. It’s said that parrots choose their mates for life. Ach so . Alžběta, you see, belonged to him , and he defended her, too, against all competitors. Even Tomáš, the unfortunate thing. Forced to keep him locked in her room. Gawaine, I mean. Otherwise… Well, you can just imagine.’ I thought I heard Severínová cack- le quietly to herself. ‘Come. Give me your arm. I’ll show you the apartment.’ The caretaker pulled herself up out of her chair and bal- anced herself against my right shoulder. I offered her my stick but she waved it away. Taking the keys from me, she led the way across the courtyard to the tower. The stairs weren’t steep, but she climbed them with difficulty (rheumatism, she explained), gripping the

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