The Twelve Little Cakes (18 page)

“I'd love to!” I cried. “Could I bring Mrs. Liskova and Mrs. Sokolova from my street?”

“You can bring anyone you like,” Mrs. Sprislova smiled.

I triumphantly told the ladies about my solo, and my father agreed to drive everyone to North Prague on the night of the performance. My mother and I practiced the “Waltz of the Marionette” in the living room until I had all the steps memorized, and then I would go to school and beg Miluska to play the music at the end of class, so that Mrs. Sprislova could see how I was coming along.

“I'm getting very good at this,” I would tell her. “See? It's like there are strings attached to my arms and legs!”

“Well, that's the idea,” she would say. “Okay everyone, we'll see you next week, and for those of you whose parents are making costumes, please bring them with you.
Ahoj!
”

On those evenings after class, as my mother and I caught the tram back into Prague, I would always look for the blue light in the hospital windows and imagine inviting my grandfather along to see me dance. How could he say no, if he loved ballet as much as I did? As the weeks passed and the night of the performance drew closer, I became more and more convinced that if he did come and see me, he might change his mind and want to be part of our family once again.

One afternoon, on the way to school, I led my mother down Parizska Street, the nicest street in the Jewish Quarter. We walked past the Jewish cemetery and around the back of the Staronova Synagogue, and a couple of narrow streets later, we came out at the corner of the Frantisek Hospital. We had walked this way a few times before, and I knew how nervous the hospital made my mother feel. As we passed the massive wooden doors of the main entrance, I pulled at her sleeve.

“Mum, can we go inside and visit Granddad?” I asked.

“No!” my mother said reflexively. She seemed frightened by the suggestion, but I could also see that she was yearning to speak to her father. “I don't think so, little one. He's probably too busy, and even if he isn't, he might not want to speak to us.”

“Yes he will,” I insisted. “When I tell him that I'm going to be a dancer.”

“I don't think so,” my mother replied. “The court case made my parents very angry, and it's possible that my dad will still be upset.”

“Please, Mum. I just want to say hello to Granddad.” I looked up at her with a big, hopeful smile. “Please,” I begged. “I'm sure he'll be happy to see us.”

“All right,” my mother said reluctantly. She took a deep breath and led me through the doorway.

The Frantisek Hospital had once been a monastery, and it was a very grim and imposing building. We crossed the cathedral-like lobby and climbed a crumbling stone staircase to the second floor. My mother led me down a long corridor, and the sound of her heels striking the tiles echoed through the whole building. When we stopped in front of her father's door, our hearts were beating loudly in our chests.

My mother gently rapped on the door.

“Vstupte!”
an authoritative voice called from inside. “The key's in the latch. Come right in.”

I clutched my mother's hand as we entered the office. A thin, stern-looking man with a shock of white hair was sitting at a desk, hunched over a pile of paperwork.

“Yes?” he said, without looking up.

My mother opened her mouth but no words came out. There was an uncomfortable pause, and as my grandfather continued to rustle through his papers, I thought he might have forgotten we were there.

“Hello, Granddad,” I said finally. “We've come to see you!”

The old man dropped his pen and looked across the room. When he saw my mother, all the blood appeared to drain from his face. If it was possible, he looked even more frightened than she did.

“I'm your granddaughter, Dominika,” I told him. “And I got Mum to bring me here so I could tell you that I'm going to become a ballet dancer when I grow up.”

A wave of conflicting emotions appeared on Dr. Cermak's face. His hands started to shake and he dropped them in his lap.

“I have no granddaughter,” he finally managed to say.

“Dad, please,” my mother spoke now. “Dominika begged me to come and visit you. It's terrible that she doesn't know her grandparents. She's really proud of you. She talks about you all the time.”

Dr. Cermak shook his head slowly and gathered his resolve. The corners of his mouth turned down, and when he spoke again, it was quietly and firmly.

“I only have two grandsons,” he said.

My mother let out a deep sigh and tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked terribly hurt, but so did my grandfather.

“That's not true,” I told him. “I'm your granddaughter and so is my sister, Klara. And we're very sad that you never come to see us. Mum has told us so many good things about you. How you save lives and play the violin. She really loves you, Granddad. We all do!”

I walked over to his desk and took one of his hands in mine. It was a big, delicate hand, and the skin was smooth. Dr. Cermak looked down at me in astonishment.

“I always wanted to have a granddad,” I told him. “And I would really like you to come and see me dance. I have my own solo in Mrs. Sprislova's Christmas show, and Mr. Slavicky has said that he will wait for me to dance Odette in
Swan Lake
with him when I am older!”

“Jaroslav Slavicky?” My grandfather looked up at my mother.

“Yes! He really said he would dance with me, didn't he, Mum? Didn't he say he would?”

“He really did,” my mother sniffed.

Dr. Cermak took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. I could tell that he was very moved, even though he tried not to show it. I climbed up onto his lap, and when I pressed my head against his chest, I could feel his heart slowly warming. He sat helplessly in his chair while I put my arms around his neck, and chattered away until the wall of his resolve crumbled.

“Can I offer you a cup of coffee or tea?” he asked finally.

“A cup of tea!” I replied. “Do you have any biscuits?”

My grandfather rummaged through his desk drawers, pulling out a packet of biscuits, some tea bags, and a jar of instant coffee, and then he went to fill his kettle. There was a hot plate on the windowsill along with a number of porcelain cups and saucers, and as the water began to boil, Dr. Cermak put tea bags in two of the cups and started to spoon some coffee into the large cup he kept on his desk. His hands shook as he handled the cups, and when the kettle gave out a sharp whistle behind him, he accidentally knocked his special cup off the desk. It fell on the floor and broke in half.

“I've got it, Dad!” My mother sprang from the couch.

She crouched at her father's feet to gather the broken pieces of his cup, and my granddad crouched down, too, and grabbed her hands. Then he put his arms around my mother and both of them burst into tears.

“I missed you, Honza,” my grandfather whispered.

“I missed you, too, Dad,” my mother sobbed.

They embraced for a short but intense moment as the kettle continued to whistle above them.

“The kettle!” my mother finally managed to say.

Dr. Cermak stood up, switched off the hot plate, and poured water into our teacups while my mother collected the broken pieces of his cup. Then she swept up the spilled coffee and helped her father carry the tea to the couch. They sat down beside each other and I quickly climbed back up in my grandfather's lap.

“It's been a long time since I've seen you,” he said to my mother as she poured milk in his coffee. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she smiled. “You're looking good, too.”

“I'm going to be seventy next week,” he told her.

“I know,” my mother sighed.

“Are you going to have a party?” I asked. “We could come and bring you a present!”

“I'm going to have a small celebration at home,” he replied. “But perhaps you could come to the hospital next Wednesday afternoon and we could have a small party right here.”

“We'll come, won't we, Mum?”

“Of course,” my mother said. “How are things at home?”

“All right,” Dr. Cermak shrugged. “You know how it is.”

For the next half an hour, he, my mother, and I had a wonderful time together. I asked him questions about his work as a surgeon, and he told me about some of the patients whose lives he had saved. He also told me about his love of classical music and the symphonies of his favorite composers, and promised to bring his violin and play for me the next time we met, and we shook hands on it. I invited him to my Christmas show and promised to bring him a present the following Wednesday, and then a nurse knocked on the door.

“Excuse me, comrade surgeon,” she said. “But we have an urgent case in Theater Four.”

“Tell Comrade Vacek I'll be right there,” Dr. Cermak replied. He turned to my mother and took her hands in his.

“I'm sorry, but I have to go now,” he said. “I'm so happy you came. I had a lovely time with you and your daughter, and I'm really looking forward to seeing you next week.”

“Thanks, Dad,” my mother smiled tearfully. “Say hello to Mum and Auntie Mary from me.”

“Yes, yes, I will,” he said distractedly. He got up, and as he ushered us out of his office, he bent down to kiss me on the cheek.“You're a very special girl, Dominika,” he told me. “I'm very glad you asked your mother to bring you here to see me.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I knew you'd be our friend again. I just knew it!”

After we left the hospital, my mother called Mrs. Sprislova to explain why I had missed my ballet lesson, and then she took me up to the famous Hanavsky Pavilion at the top of the Letna Gardens, and bought me a caramel ice cream as a special treat.

“Thank you, Trumpet,” she said. “I've wanted to talk to my dad for such a long time. You did a really great thing for me today.”

“He's nice,” I told her. “And look, we can see his hospital window from the gardens. And we really know that he's in there saving someone's life right now! Isn't that good?”

“Yes, it's very good,” my mother smiled.

When we got home, I worked hard on the “Waltz of the Marionette,” so that my grandfather would be impressed. My mother made me a costume for the show, which was a black leotard with a little lace tutu and lots of pretty blue rhinestones sewn into the material. On the Monday before my grandfather's birthday, I nagged her until she agreed to leave the Economic Institute early so that we could go shopping in Wenceslaus Square. I wanted to buy Dr. Cermak a present.

“We'll get him another big cup for his desk,” I declared. “He looked very sad when he had to drink his coffee out of a teacup, didn't he?”

“He did,” my mother agreed. “Your grandfather has always had a big cup for his coffee. Surgeons drink lots of coffee because it helps them stay awake when they work long hours.”

We walked up Wenceslaus Square to a store called the Diamond. Czechoslovakia has always been famous for its porcelain and crystal, and the Diamond was one of the best places to buy kitchenware. We took the escalator to the second floor and found the part of the shop that sold cups and saucers.

“How about this one?” my mother suggested.

“It's not big enough,” I told her.

“You're right,” she laughed. “So which one do you think we should get?”

“This one!” I said. “It's big, but it's also the same color as his teacups. This way, they all match.”

I selected a cup covered in tiny pink roses, and we carried it to the cash register at the front of the shop.

“Hello,” I said to the lady behind the counter. “This is a present for my granddad, Dr. Wenceslaus Cermak. He's going to be seventy years old the day after tomorrow!”

“Is he now?” the lady said. “Would you like me to wrap it up in special paper?”

“Yes, please!” I told her. “He's a famous surgeon and he broke his special cup, so we're buying him a new one.”

The saleswoman smiled at my mother and pulled a box out from beneath her counter. The box contained the same cup as the one I had selected, and she wrapped it up in a sheet of crepe paper.

“I'm sure he'll appreciate such a lovely present,” she said as she tied the package with a ribbon.

“I hope so!” I said. “I only met him for the first time last week, but he's going to come and see me dance in the Christmas ballet.”

“He'll be very proud of you, I'm sure,” the lady told me.

 

 

FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS, I was dizzy with excitement. All I could think about was how happy my grandfather would be when he opened his present. I pictured him with his violin in his hands, playing me snatches of Mozart and Handel. My mother and I would visit him regularly. And I imagined how once the Cermaks were friends with my parents again, the whole family would come and see me dance Odette at the Smetana Theater when I was older. My grandmother Kveta, Auntie Mary, and my granddad would sit next to my parents and Klara in the nicest box in the theater and watch me through their opera glasses.

On Wednesday morning, I put Dr. Cermak's present in my backpack and carried it carefully to the Economic Institute. The day passed very slowly, but when it was over, I took my mother's hand and excitedly led her down through Mala Strana to the little bakery near the bridge, where we had ordered a cake for my grandfather's party. We picked up the cake and crossed the Charles Bridge, walking up the quay until we came to the Frantisek Hospital. This time, we weren't afraid to go inside. We climbed the steps and walked along the corridor to my grandfather's office. It was five o'clock, the time we had arranged to meet, and my mother knocked briskly on the door.