Читать книгу Baba Yaga Laid an Egg - Dubravka Ugrešić - Страница 19

Walking towards the hotel, I saw Aba standing by the fountain, feeding seagulls. The water spraying in spurts behind her looked a little more lively than it had that morning. Lit by sunshine that was breaking through the clouds, the jets of water glistened in all the colours of the rainbow. And the seagulls, it was as if the gulls had gone mad: they swooped in great loops in the air, flapped their wings and then slowly, like parachutes, they descended to Aba’s interlocked open hands and they pecked at the crumbs of bread.

Passers-by stopped and watched the scene: there was something marvellously acrobatic and, at the same time, natural in Aba’s performance. Aba inscribed herself perfectly into the space. This time there was no ‘wrong tone’. If Aba was sending a message, that message was not directed at those of us who were watching her on the square, I was sure of that.

I did not go over to her. I loathe feathered creatures. I watched the scene from the side. She caught sight of me, tossed the rest of the bread into the air, clapped her hands together to wipe off the crumbs and came over to me.

We brought out the bags that had been left at the main desk that morning. While we waited for the taxi in front of the hotel, I asked her how she had spent her time.

‘Nothing much, I wandered around town a bit.’

And then she looked at me carefully, and said,

‘Ah, yes, I went over to your grandmother’s – Dospat Street, n’est-ce pas?’

She had deliberately stabbed me in the flesh with her sharp little claw, there could be no doubt. Fury bubbled up in me in an instant. I quietly sucked the blood from the invisible wound and said,

‘Why? There is nothing there!’

At that moment the taxi arrived.