EDA KRISEOV
A
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yellow light of family and wait until my husband comes back from
work, and have dinner cooked, a blank face, and a warm body smelling
of cake.
"Because you're the type who knows how to make a mess out of life.
An intellectuaL I don't read them, you know? When I take on some
designer at our firm, it's simple. What can happen to her? But if I looked
at your cards, my head would burst. Often after a case like yours I still have
a headache the next day."
I became even more afraid. For card-readings I have Ruzenka in the
asylum. She's tough, but I'm not afraid of her. If she sees two coffins by
Christmas in your future, she'll tell you, even if she loves you more than
anyone in the world. But Ruzenka doesn't only forecast doom, she also
advises on what a person should do in order to get the best out of misfor–
tune-what misfortune can do for her, because each of us is filled with
misfortune, like a woman pregnant with child. She doesn't believe in bar–
ren misfortune. But enough is enough. Gibina had in the meantime
returned from the kitchen, to which the whistling kettle had called her.
She carried a saucer in each hand with cups wobbling on them. Black
foam spilled over the edges and ran down the sides of the white cups. She
set down the coffee in front of me and herself
"I'll have another," she said, "Even if it gives me a heart attack. I have
to know how it will turn out with me and Fanda. But first Jana will read
my cards. Meanwhile my coffee-grounds will cool down and dry out. And
then you can have a look at them."
"I would rather not know anything about you," I said. "I read best
when I don't know anything about a person."
"OK, fine," Gibina agreed. "So Jana will read Hilda and tell her how
it's going with Pepa. Even though she is going to meet the love of her life
soon, for now she's got Pepa, and we're here to tell her to kick him out,
because there's no point in it. He isn't going to leave his old witch, and
she's ruining her life. She's stil l young and deserves something better. He's
just whetting his appetite with Hilda. He comes once a week and it's
enough for him-doesn't he tell you it's enough that you're just there?"
she asked Hilda sharply.
Hilda blushed in her white V-neck and assented.
"If he doesn't come for good, it won't amount to anything," Gibina
said. ") would put a knife to his throat. The way I did to Fanda. Enough
fun, 1 said to him, and I gave him an ultimatum. His month is running out.
He came once and brought me flowers, but I threw him out. 'Have you
decided yet?' I asked him, but all he keeps saying is that he loves me, he
can't live without me, but he can't do anything for me."
"But I love him," Hilda said quietly, bursting into tears.
