The Twelve Little Cakes by Dominika Dery

and her untouchable status in Prague high society was revoked. Dinner invitations were refused, theater tickets stopped coming, and the Red Countess never forgave my mother for this. All contact was severed, and she and my grandfather whiled away their remaining years in their luxurious apartment in Old Town Prague. All the letters my mother wrote were returned unopened, and on the rare occasions when they would meet in town, my grandparents would walk away in silence.
    A few weeks after we had won the case, I was playing with Barry in the garden when I heard the sound of a truck in our street. Our street was very narrow, so the truck had been forced to turn around at the bottom of the hill and reverse all the way up the street to our house. Barry and I ran to the front gate and watched as two men in overalls jumped out of the cab and unlatched the flatbed door. One of them tooted the horn while the other lit a cigarette, and after a while Mr. and Mrs. Nedbal came outside. They were carrying big canvas bags filled with clothing, which they hauled over to the truck while the two men in overalls stood around and watched.
    â€œHello, Mr. Nedbal. Hello, Mrs. Nedbal,” I said. “What are you doing?”
    The Nedbals didn’t smile. They didn’t say anything. They threw their bags into the back of the truck and glared at me as they returned to the house. I cautiously followed them in. I could hear my mother in the kitchen, but I went upstairs and pretended to go to the bathroom to see what the Nedbals were doing. Both of their doors were open and I could see inside their apartment for the very first time. Their living room was very messy, and I was startled by Otik, the Nedbals’ son, who was helping them move out. I was very frightened of Otik. He was in his mid-twenties and had a glass eye that always seemed to glare at me, no matter where I stood. He picked up a chair and headed toward me, so I dashed into the bathroom and waited for him to go away.
    â€œAre you really leaving?” I asked Mrs. Nedbal, once Otik had disappeared downstairs.
    â€œThat’s right,” she replied bitterly. “We’re out on the street. Who knows or cares what will happen to us? Certainly not your father. He won his case. That’s all that matters to him.”
    She picked up a cardboard box and carried it briskly from the room.
    I hovered around the bathroom and watched until Otik eventually announced that they were ready to leave, and when I poked my head around the bathroom door, the apartment was empty. I slipped into the Nedbals’ bedroom and stood on my toes to look out of their window. They had a much better view of the valley than we did. Their two rooms were slightly smaller than ours, but I thought they were actually much nicer, even though they were very dirty. There were cockroaches in the kitchen cupboards, and the walls were brown with grease. I picked my way through the trash on the floor and found a brand-new oven mitt in the corner of the kitchen. I examined the mitt and slipped it on my arm. It was bright green and came all the way up to my elbow. Suddenly, I heard the sound of the truck again in the street, and I ran to the window and watched the Nedbals drive away. They were sitting on their couch in the back of the flatbed and they didn’t look very happy. I waved good-bye with the mitt, but they didn’t wave back.
    I decided to take the mitt downstairs and ask my mother if I could keep it. It was like a big green puppet, and if I moved my thumb and fingers, I could make the mitt talk.
    â€œHello!” I said to the mitt.
    â€œAhoj!” the mitt said in a funny, high-pitched voice.
    I ran out of the Nedbals’ apartment and was trotting down the stairs, when I stopped in amazement on the first floor. The big door opposite my parents’ bedroom was open, and I could hear the sound of someone moving around inside. It was as though our house was slowly coming to life.