The Twelve Little Cakes (9 page)

“I wish Barry was here,” I said. “If the wolf came along, Barry would bite him.”

“I wish Barry was here, too,” the mitt said. “He's much bigger than the wolf, isn't he?”

“He's much bigger,” I said. “The wolf would be afraid to come near us if Barry was here!”

“Well, we won't go very far then, will we?” the mitt said nervously. “We'll just go in a little way.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “We won't go very far.”

The oak leaves crunched beneath my feet and the trees sighed gently in the wind. I talked loudly to the mitt to stop myself from being afraid. After a while, we came to a crossroads in the path, and I knew from my walks with Oma that the little track that crossed our big one led back to Cernosice. The track was steep, but it leveled out into a dirt road that ran behind Mrs. Liskova's and Mrs. Noskova's back gardens.

“I think we should go up this path here,” I told the mitt.

“I think so, too,” the mitt agreed.

“I'm very sad that I made Oma upset,” I said. “Oma's not so bad, is she?”

“No, she's not so bad,” the mitt agreed. “Do you think that the wolf lives nearby?”

“I don't think so,” I said. “I think he lives a long way away, on the other side of the mountain.”

“I'm not afraid of the wolf,” the mitt whispered.

“I'm not afraid of the wolf, either!” I said loudly. “The wolf is just a big and nasty dog who lives in the forest, and if he comes along, I'm going to tell him to go away.”

I clutched the mitt and quickened my pace.

“Hurry up,” the mitt whispered. “I can see Mrs. Liskova's gate.”

The path curved through the trees to the back of Mrs. Liskova's house, and I dropped the pretense of bravery and ran for the safety of her garden. I shut the gate behind me and sighed with relief. The forest didn't look half as scary as it did from the other side of the fence. I walked around to the front of the house, where I found Mrs. Liskova tending her roses.

“Hello, Mrs. Liskova!” I called out to her. “I've come to listen to your stories.”

“Why, it's Dominika! How very nice to see you,” the old lady smiled. “Do your parents know you're here?”

“Yes,” I lied. “I've been in the forest all by myself!”

“Really?” Mrs. Liskova said, brushing the dirt from her knees. “That sounds rather dangerous.”

“I was a bit frightened,” I admitted. “But I'm very glad I'm here.”

“Are you now?” she laughed. “And what's that you have there? It looks like an oven mitt.”

“It is a mitt,” I said. “Sometimes he talks, but he's feeling a bit shy at the moment.”

“I see,” Mrs. Liskova smiled. “And what kind of stories would you like me to tell you?”

“You were going to tell me all about how nice things were when you were a little girl,” I said.

“Was I now?” Mrs. Liskova sat down on a bench and folded her wrinkled hands in her lap. I sat down on the grass in front of her, using my mitt as a cushion.

“Well, let's see. When I was your age, Cernosice was a popular holiday town that people from Prague used to come and visit on the weekends,” Mrs. Liskova said. “The river was clean and there were many excellent hotels and restaurants to go to, and the forest was full of mushrooms you could pick yourself and eat.”

“That sounds very nice,” I said.

“It was nice,” Mrs. Liskova sighed. “Back in those days, Prague was one of the most civilized and influential cities in Europe. Lots of great writers and musicians and artists lived here. Did you know that Mozart wrote
Don Giovanni
while he was living in Prague?”

“I know who Mozart is,” I said proudly. “My mother has his records.”

“He was a very great composer,” Mrs. Liskova agreed. “Many people think that if he had stayed in Prague instead of moving back to Vienna, he would have lived longer and written more music.”

“I like it here in your garden,” I told Mrs. Liskova. “It's very noisy at my house at the moment.”

“So I can hear,” she said. “And look, here comes Mrs. Noskova.” She pointed to the villa next door, and I saw her neighbor limping slowly through her garden.

“Hello, Mrs. Noskova!” I called out. “What are you doing?”

“I'm gathering strawberries,” she replied, leaning heavily on her crutches. “Mrs. Sokolova is baking a cake and I promised to bring her all the ripe strawberries I can find.”

“Would you like some help?” Mrs. Liskova asked. “Maybe Dominika could give you a hand.”

“I love strawberries,” I said excitedly. “I'll help you!”

There was a low hedge separating the two gardens, and I noticed that Mrs. Noskova's garden was slightly nicer than Mrs. Liskova's. There was a row of cherry trees and a little strawberry patch, not to mention the bright green coal shuttle that looked like a miniature train. Mrs. Noskova waited for us by her strawberry patch, leaning on one crutch and using the other to turn the leaves and see if there were any ripe strawberries beneath them.

“I can help because I'm small,” I told the two ladies. “I can find all the strawberries that are hiding.”

I knelt down and started to look through the patch. There were lots of strawberries, but only a few of them were red and juicy. I crawled on my hands and knees and carefully inspected each of the clumps, and whenever I found a ripe strawberry, I put it in Mrs. Noskova's basket. Many of the nicer-looking strawberries were already half eaten.

“I keep telling my son to put a scarecrow in the garden,” Mrs. Noskova said. “The starlings are really bad this year. They always get to the strawberries before I can pick them.”

“The hawks and falcons have left the forest,” Mrs. Liskova pointed out. “A lot of the big birds have moved on. Remember when the owls were so noisy it was impossible to sleep?”

“That was a long time ago,” Mrs. Noskova said wistfully. “I actually love the chirping of the starlings and swallows. I just wish they wouldn't eat all my strawberries.”

“Don't worry,” I said. “I'm doing a good job down here.”

I filled the basket with as many strawberries as I could find, and then we went over to Mrs. Sokolova's apartment. All three ladies lived on the ground floors of the villas their families owned, but Mrs. Sokolova's apartment wasn't damp and claustrophobic like Oma's. It was warm and cozy, and smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. The door was open, and in the living room there was a little round table with a hand-embroidered tablecloth. Mrs. Liskova and Mrs. Noskova leaned their walking sticks and crutches against the wall and eased themselves into the chairs. Mrs. Sokolova was brewing a pot of tea, and I helped her carry the milk and sugar to the table.

“Would you like to help me wash the strawberries?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I found all the ones the starlings didn't eat.”

“Well, aren't you a good girl,” Mrs. Sokolova smiled. “We'll wash the strawberries and then maybe you can help me put them on the cake.”

“Okay!” I said happily.

We washed the strawberries, and then Mrs. Sokolova put on her own oven mitt and removed a baking tray from the oven. I put my mitt on, too, and watched as she transferred the cake from the tray to a plate. We covered the cake with strawberries and topped it off with a big squirt of whipped cream. Then she gave me the plate and I carried it carefully to the table while Mrs. Liskova and Mrs. Noskova smiled encouragingly.

“It's a good thing I brought my mitt!” I said. “Normally he sleeps under my pillow. My mother doesn't let me use him in the kitchen.”

“She probably doesn't want him to get burned,” Mrs. Noskova said.

“But that's what he's for,” I pointed out.

“Do you have other dolls or toys to play with?” Mrs. Liskova asked.

“I have my sister's teddy bear, but mostly I play with Barry in the garden,” I told her.

“Barry must be getting old now,” Mrs. Noskova remarked. “Your parents got him around the same time I got Corina.”

“He's on television every Christmas!” I said proudly. “And when it snows, he pulls my sled.”

“Who would like a piece of cake?” Mrs. Sokolova asked. “I'll slice it, and maybe Dominika can put it on the plates.”

She cut the cake into pieces and directed me to put a large slice on my plate and very small slices on everyone else's. Mrs. Liskova and Mrs. Noskova ate like birds, pecking away at their portions with their forks. I finished my slice very quickly and Mrs. Sokolova gave me a second piece, which was something my mother would never have done.

“It's good to see someone with a healthy appetite,” she smiled.

The afternoon drifted lazily by and the shadows grew longer outside the kitchen windows. The three ladies may have moved and talked slowly, but it was obvious that they had known each other for a long time, and it was fun watching them laugh and tell childhood tales as though they were still young women. Their stories were wonderfully enchanting, and I felt hypnotized by the slow rhythm of their speech. We finished the cake and were on to our third cup of tea, when Mrs. Sokolova's middle-aged daughter appeared at the door.

“Mum, Klara Furmanova's here looking for her sister,” she said. “Dominika ran away from home this morning and her family has been searching for her all day.”

“Good heavens!” the old ladies exclaimed. “Is it true? Did you really run away from home?”

“I didn't mean to,” I said softly. “I just didn't want to go to Oma's apartment.”

My sister joined Mrs. Sokolova's daughter in the doorway.

“We've been looking for you everywhere,” she said in a stern voice. “Dad had to get his workers to search the forest. We were afraid you might have gone to the ravine.”

“I went to visit Mrs. Liskova,” I whispered. “I've been here all afternoon.”

“We're awfully sorry, Klara,” Mrs. Liskova apologized. “We thought your parents knew she was spending the day with us.”

“They didn't,” Klara said grimly. “Mrs. Habova is in tears, and Dad had to pay his workers to search the forest instead of working on the roof. The day has been a complete disaster.”

“Well that's unfortunate, but the main thing is that Dominika is safe,” Mrs. Sokolova said firmly. “She's been keeping us company and we've enjoyed having her, haven't we?”

Mrs. Liskova and Mrs. Noskova agreed heartily, and Mrs. Sokolova shot me a sympathetic smile.

“You're welcome to visit us any time, Dominika, but you must ask your parents first,” she said. “Next time I see your mother, I'll have a word with her, but in the meantime you must tell them that you're very sorry for running away. Will you do that?”

“Yes,” I said sadly. “I am very sorry.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Sokolova nodded. “You had better hurry along now so that everyone will know that you're safe.”

Klara took me by the hand and led me out of Mrs. Sokolova's apartment, and as we walked up the street to our house, I could see a crowd of people outside our front gate. My mother was comforting Oma, and my dad was talking to the roofers and Mr. Hasek from next door. Everyone seemed anxious until one of the roofers spotted Klara leading me home. My father was particularly relieved, but the brief glow of happiness that crossed his face was quickly replaced by anger. The sun had started to sink through the forest, and the shadow of the crowd stretched a long way down the road. I walked slowly through the shadow until I reached my father's feet. When I looked up into his eyes, they were yellow and bright with concern.

“We were sick with worry,” he growled. “Do you understand what you have done?”

“I'm very sorry, Dad,” I whispered.

“I'm going to have to spank you,” he said. “You must never, ever run away again. Do you hear me?”

Big and strong as he was, my father had always taken the greatest care to be gentle with his daughters. I had never been spanked before, and I could tell that he was very reluctant to do it, but the neighborhood had become involved in my disappearance and it was important for him to discipline me while everyone was watching. As the roofers stood around and nodded approvingly, he bent me over his knee.

I clutched the mitt and looked up at my father.

“Okay, Daddy,” I said tearfully. “But
malinko a pomalinku.
”

The Czech language is full of diminutives. What I had meant to say was, “Not too hard and not too fast,” but by diminishing the sentence, what I ended up saying was, “Only a little bit and very slowly.”

My father's hand wavered above my bum, and then his knee started to shake as he spanked me.

“What can you do with a kid like this?” He laughed.

The punishment was over before I knew it, and my dad set me back on the ground. The roofers and Mr. Hasek were roaring with laughter and even my mother and Oma were smiling. My father, of course, had given me the lightest spanking he could manage, and the whole ordeal was more theatrical than harsh, but I learned my lesson and never tried to run away from home again.

The next morning, Mrs. Sokolova had a chat with my mother and told her that I was welcome to visit her and the other ladies whenever I wanted. My dad somehow managed to put together enough money to hire the roofers for one more day, and, once the difficult work was over, Mrs. Habova retired as my surrogate grandmother. From that time on, whenever I wanted someone to read to me or feed me biscuits, I would get my mother to phone Mrs. Liskova, and then I would carry my big book of fairy tales down the street to her front gate, where my three fairy godmothers would be waiting.