He shows me how to set the game up, how to count out the seven piles of cards. He tells me to count out loud. My grandma tells me to count out loud in Czech.
Jeden, dva, tři, čtyři, pĕt, šest, sedm.
Jeden, dva, tři, čtyři, pĕt, šest.
Jeden, dva, tři, čtyři, pĕt.
Jeden, dva, tři, čtyři.
Jeden, dva, tři.
Jeden, dva.
Jeden.
My grandpa lived on for longer than my grandma. He missed her. He missed everything.
I didn’t visit him often enough, in his tiny council flat – Prague still with him in the small living room. We played cards sometimes. He still enjoyed smoking his pipe.
The last time I saw him he was in hospital, and he looked small. He grabbed my hand.
‘Malá Liška,’ he said. ‘It’s you.’
‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘Little Fox.’
In the end, my grandpa just spoke Czech. He was no longer Bill – but Vilém once more.
A Smiths gold watch.
A wooden cribbage board.
A ruby ring.
A little brown suitcase.
A pack of playing cards.
All I have left of them.
When I hold the cards in my hand, when I bring them to my face, they smell exactly like that third storey flat, even after all these years – pipe tobacco, and the smell of butter and salt and something frying golden in the pan. I’m back in the place that was my whole world, with the two people I loved the most.
I play patience to be with them again, my grandma and grandpa.
I play patience and I’m sitting in the lounge room and everything is still. The coffee table, the TV with the lace doily on top, the sofa underneath the double windows, the gas heater, the mantlepiece, the framed tapestry of a city far away – with bridges and a river and a castle and a dark sky.
My grandpa is sleeping, his arm stretched out on the armrest of his chair. I lean my head down to his wrist. His watch is ticking, ticking, ticking so fast, the simple machines inside turning, turning.
Time running on. And I wish that I could slow it down. I wish that I could stop time.
The radio is on, classical music, and sometimes a sad song comes on – a violin weeping – and sometimes a triumphant marching tune blasts through to lift up the room.
My grandma calls out from the kitchen – lunch is ready, and my grandpa stands up, stretches his back. He takes my hand. We walk together to the kitchen for our lunch – a Kaiser roll with a slice of cheese and a slice of Pariser, a whole dill gherkin on the side. One gherkin for me, one for my grandma and one for my grandpa.
Author’s note
This novel is a work of fiction, but my grandparents were very real. They taught me about kindness and gave me all the time and love I needed. They are never far from my thoughts.
My amazing cousin, Martin Schönweitz, spent hours answering my many questions about everything from soft drinks to communism in the 1980s. The Prague scenes would be nothing without his help. Martin, I am so grateful for all of your stories and time – I could not have written this book without you! I owe you 1000 beers.
Jiří Srnec is a very real person (born in 1931). He created the unique Black Light Theatre. I have called him The Magician in this novel for my own secret reasons.
Two small sections of this novel were published as short fiction – ‘The Gherkin Jar’ in the Griffith Review, Issue 61, and ‘Melbourne 1980’ in Island magazine, Issue 157. I would like to thank these journals for their ongoing support. How lucky we are to have such amazing journals in Australia.
The legend of the statue of Atlas is a traditional folk tale of Prague.
Acknowledgements
I would like that thank the following people from the bottom of my heart:
My brilliant friend and publisher Vanessa Radnidge – how lucky I am to have you! Thank you for always being there.
Louise Sherwin-Stark – your support means so much to me. Thank you for getting behind this book.
Rebecca Allen – thank you for putting up with my old-school editing style and colour code. You did an incredible job.
To the whole amazing team at Hachette Australia, you are the best! Fiona Hazard, Chris Sims, Daniel Pilkington, Sean Cotcher, Anna Egelstaff, Lillian Kovats, Katrina Collett, Robert Watkins, Brigid Mullane, Stacey Clair, Deonie Fiford, Isabel Staas, Jenny Topham, Ella Chapman, Emma Rusher, Tom Saras and everyone who helped with this book.
Julia Styles – once again you have proved invaluable. You are a star.
My husband, David – you have endured another book with patience and love. You truly are the best person I know.
Martin Schönweitz – I can’t wait to see you.
Karena Reid for the information and photos.
Jindra Cabelka – last keeper of the history.
Robert Farkas for my fox.
Christa Moffitt for my cover.
Marjorie Dalvean for the Black Light Theatre catalogues and photographs.
My writing group – Janey, Helen, Lis and Cath.
Lastly, my brilliant friends and family: Linda Graham, Amanda Graham, James Parrett, Chiyoko Parrett, Charlie Kneale, Haruki Parrett, Ikumi Parrett, Lyn Armanasco, Steve Cue, Jacinda Pfeffer, Janine Foote, Mary Viane, Paul Karanja, August Shan, Charles Njoroge, Gerald Gichana, Sarah Winman, Maxine Beneba Clarke, Jikara Liddy, Ivana Pugliese, Adam Bourke, Megan O’Brien and Melisinka Winterson.
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Copyright
Published in Australia and New Zealand in 2019
by Hachette Australia
(an imprint of Hachette Australia Pty Limited)
Level 17, 207 Kent Street, Sydney NSW 2000
www.hachette.com.au
Copyright © Favel Parrett 2019
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be stored or reproduced by any process without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
978 0 7336 3009 5 (ebook edition)
Cover design by Christabella Designs
Cover illustration by Robert Farkas: [email protected]
Cover photograph courtesy of Mark Owen/Trevillion
Author photograph by Fern Millen
Table of Contents
Title Page
Contents
Praise for Favel Parrett’s Work
Also by Favel Parrett
Dedication
The Suitcase
Melbourne: 1980 Luděk: May 1980
Prague: 1980 Alena: March 1968
Melbourne: 1980 Vilém: September 1942
Prague: 1980 Eva: 21 August 1968
Melbourne: 1980 Máňa: 28 September 1938
Prague: 1980 The Magician: 1978
Tábor: 1981
Melbourne: 1981 The Twins: 1921
A Pack of Cards
Author’s note
Acknowledgements
Copyright
There Was Still Love Page 12