Don’t know, don’t know . . .
Tadeá? relented, and it came to her that the very least she could do was dig the lump up herself and put the new wooden chest to use. That night Al?běta took Klaudie to visit old school friends of hers and Dorni?ka did her digging and held the lump up to her face, looking for nibble marks or other indicators of consumption. A dead earthworm had filled the hole she’d poked into the lump, but apart from that the meat was still fresh and whole. In fact it was pinker than before. Klaudie had described the smell as that of yeast and honey, like some sort of bun, so Dorni?ka did her best to think of it as a bun, locked it up in the chest and put the locked chest on the top shelf of the wardrobe beside the hat box that contained her wedding hat. In the days that followed she would often find Klaudie in her bedroom “borrowing” spritzes of perfume and the like. A couple of times she even caught Klaudie trying on her red cape; each time brought Dorni?ka closer to a heart attack than she’d ever been before. But the key never left her person, so all she needed was a chance to build a little bonfire and put the lump out of reach for good.
—
THAT YEAR it was Klaudie who chose the St. Martin’s Day goose. The three women went to market and Klaudie asked Pankrác the goose farmer which of his flock was the greediest—“We want one that’ll eat from morning ’til night . . .” All Pankrác’s customers wanted the same characteristics in their St. Martin’s Day goose, but Pankrác had his reasons for wishing to be in Dorni?ka’s good graces, so when her goddaughter’s daughter asked which goose was the greediest he was honest and handed over the goose in question. The goose allowed Klaudie to hand-feed her some scraps of lettuce and a few pieces of apple, but seemed baffled by this turn of events. She honked a few times, and Al?běta interpreted: “Me? Me . . . ? Surely there must be some mistake . . .”
“Thanks, Pankrác . . . I’ll save you the neck . . .” Dorni?ka spread newspaper all along the backseat of her car and placed the caged goose on top of the newspaper. The goose honked all the way home; they’d got a noisy one, but Dorni?ka didn’t mind. When Klaudie said she felt sorry for the goose and wished they’d just gone to a supermarket and picked a packaged one, Dorni?ka rolled her eyes. “This city child of yours,” she said to Al?běta, and to Klaudie: “You won’t be saying that once you’ve tasted its liver.”
The goose quieted down a bit once she’d been installed in Dorni?ka’s back garden. She would only eat from Klaudie’s hand, so it became Klaudie’s job to feed her. It’s well-known that geese don’t like people, so the companionship that arose between Klaudie and the goose was something of an oddity. Klaudie spoke to the goose as she pecked at her feed, and stroked the goose’s feathers so that they were sleek. Dorni?ka harbored a mistrust of the goose, since she pecked hard at the ground in a particular patch of the garden—the patch where Dorni?ka’s infernal lump had been buried. No wonder Klaudie and the goose got along; maybe they had long chats about all the things they could smell. The goose was extraordinarily greedy too, Dorni?ka’s greediest yet: “Eating us out of house and home,” Dorni?ka grumbled when Klaudie knocked on the kitchen door to ask if there were any more scraps.
Al?běta was more concerned about Klaudie’s fondness for the goose. “She might not let us kill it,” she said. “And you know I like my goose meat, Dorni?ka!”
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Dorni?ka said. “Trust me, that goose’s days are numbered.”
She caught Klaudie in her bedroom again and almost fought with her.
“For the last time, Klaudie, what are you doing in here?”
Klaudie fluttered her eyelashes and murmured something about scraps. Any scraps for the goose, Dorni?ka . . . ?
That gave Dorni?ka an idea.
Again, let’s not dress anything up in finery, let’s speak of things as they are: While Klaudie and Al?běta were sleeping, Dorni?ka fed her lump to the goose. The flesh was gobbled up without hesitation and then the goose began to run around the garden in circles, around and around. This was dizzying to watch, so Dorni?ka didn’t watch. She dropped the key inside the empty chest and poured herself a celebratory shot of slivovice. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
—
THE NEXT DAY Klaudie was bold enough to bring the empty chest to Dorni?ka and ask what had been in it.
“Kids don’t need to know. Please feed the goose again, Klaudie.”
But Klaudie didn’t want to. She said the goose had changed. “She doesn’t honk at all anymore, and she seems aware,” she said.
“Aware?”
Dorni?ka went to see for herself; she took a bucket of waterfowl feed out to the back garden.
The goose appeared to have almost doubled in size overnight.
Her eyes were bigger too.
She looked at Dorni?ka as if she was about to call her by name.
Dorni?ka threw the bucket on the ground and walked back into the house very quickly.
“See what I mean?” Klaudie said.