JERZY PILCH
75
upon the shelves lit up in that polar glare; but there are, incontrovert–
ibly, no beef meatballs.
When it transpired that the meatballs were also not in other places
accessible to mortals, everyone clearly realized what they had in any
case already suspected. The meatballs must have shared the fate of the
wieners, frankfurters, meatloaves, cutlets, smoked chickens, roasts,
tripe, sausages, and many, many other dishes that Oma had diligently
and, by and large, irretrievably hidden.
The previous day's search once again fills Kohoutek's head as it rests
upon the window. Though it happened the day before, now it seems to
Kohoutek that it took place years ago. The search had taken up the
whole of the previous evening and the whole of that afternoon. Yet as
time passed, the search party, losing patience because of its lack of suc–
cess, began to suffer from a loss of morale. Spectral emblems of apathy,
ill-will, and even rebellion began to manifest themselves above the heads
of the weary sleuths.
If
the truth be told, the pastor's wife took no part whatsoever in the
search. Immediately after dinner, which comprised mushroom soup
with pasta, minced veal cutlets, red cabbage salad, potatoes, and cherry
compote, as soon as she had taken her last mouthful, after she had dis–
creetly spat out the last cherrystone onto her saucer, the pastor's wife,
annoyed and irritated by the upheavals caused by the ebb and flow of
the hunt, changed and went over to the church hall to a meeting of her
ladies' circle. The pastor announced that he would check to see if the jar
had not been concealed behind the books in his study. With a somewhat
exaggerated assiduity he closed the white-lacquered door firmly behind
him and a dead silence immediately ensued, clearly proving that once
again inspiration had come to him and that he was, in an uncommon
haste, hurriedly scribbling down the letters and the words of one of his
fiery sermons. Oma, having secreted the meatballs, had herself disap–
peared no one knew where, or rather everyone knew, since it was prob–
ably the same place as always. Kohoutek's wife was studying foreign
languages. Kohoutek's child was watching satellite television. His
grandfather was sleeping the avid sleep of a shortsighted man who only
in his dreams can see things far away. Miss Wandzia was playing the
violin; while Miss Wandzia's mother was spying on her through the key–
hole, because sometimes, instead of practicing, Miss Wandzia would
play simple pieces from memory and at the same time would read a
romantic novel propped open on the music stand. In a word, everything
was as it always was.
