Dubravka Ugrešić - Baba Yaga Laid an Egg

‘Sure, put it in.’

‘I think Pupa would really like it if the boot was cleaned.’

‘We can have it dry-cleaned,’ said Beba, waddling over to the telephone to ring room service. ‘They’ll send someone right up,’ she said and made her way to the door. Beba had had enough for the day. She had no strength for any more words.

When she handed the hotel employee the bag containing a large fur boot, he opened his eyes wide and raised his eyebrows, but the question mark that formed for a moment on his forehead vanished at once, proving him a true hotel professional for whom nothing human is strange. Kukla withdrew to her part of the suite, leaving the door carefully ajar, as though Pupa was still in her room. She went out onto the balcony. The night was warm and soft as plush, and the sky was lit up by an enormous full moon. A barely visible mist rose from the trees, at least that is how it seemed to Kukla. The warmth that had accumulated during the day was evaporating from the leaves. Kukla breathed in the warm, fragrant air. Her nostrils caught the sweet smell of elder flowers. And then the door of the next-door balcony burst suddenly and noisily open and a metallic, tart woman’s voice rent the silence of the night.

‘Why the hell did you close the door? We’ll suffocate in here!’

‘I didn’t close it! Besides, we’ve got air-conditioning!’ replied a male voice calmly.

‘Everyone knows who keeps shutting the doors at home!’ grumbled the woman.

‘So open them!’ said the man’s voice.

‘I have done! Things soon get smelly round you, at home and on holiday!’

Kukla stood with her arms leaning on the balcony railing. The voices scratched roughly over the soft plush of the night. And then she screwed up her eyes, like the first time when she was still unaware of what she was doing, like many times before now – and directed all her thoughts in one direction. The door of the next-door balcony closed with a bang.

A little while later the metallic woman’s voice was heard again.

‘Why did you open the door?’

‘Which door?’ asked the man’s voice.

‘The room door!’

‘Why would I open the door into the corridor?

‘Because the balcony door banged! Didn’t you hear?’

‘Heavens, woman, you’re crazy…’

‘The balcony door banged shut, and there’s not a breath of wind outside!’

‘So?’

‘So you must have opened the door onto the corridor on purpose to make a draught, so the balcony door would close by itself!’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake, give me a break! What’s got into you?’

‘What’s got into you!’ sawed the metallic voice.

Kukla stood on the balcony, gazing at the moon. A smile passed over her face. In the park opposite, the trees were lit up by moonlight and the light of lanterns at the base of their trunks. It seemed that the canopies had no weight and that they could at any moment lift off the trees and float away across the sky like luxurious green zeppelins. Large rooks rustled in the treetops. Kukla could not see them, but she knew they were there.

What about us? Unfortunately, we must keep going. While life may lead us on a merry dance, the tale hastens on without a backward glance.

When she got back to her suite, Beba was overcome by indescribable fatigue. She collapsed, fully dressed, onto her bed, managed to catch a glimpse of the full moon in the sky through the balcony door, which was still open, and then sank into a deep sleep.

Beba dreamed that she was entering a sumptuous royal palace. She appeared to be the queen, although she seemed to be dressed in a nightgown and housecoat. She had bare feet, and had not had time to pull on her ‘minimiser’, which she was immediately aware of, because the weight of her breasts hurt her. That is why she was supporting them with her hands. She held her left breast in her left palm and her right breast in her right palm. She stepped into the hall like a Sumo-wrestler, which must have aroused respect in those present. Her gaze fell on a red carpet stretching away from her and two rows of figures, between which she was evidently supposed to walk. At the end, somewhere in the depths of the hall, stood a podium and a red and gold royal throne. But, amazingly, the rows were not composed of people, courtiers and ladies, but – eggs!

Having seen plenty of films with such ‘regal’ scenes, Beba decided to treat the eggs as though they were courtiers, to bestow her queenly attention on them and stop for a moment in front of each of them. And, fancy, as Beba stopped, each egg bowed as a mark of profound respect, pronounced its name – Cuckoo Egg, Renaissance Egg, Lily Egg, Tsarevich Egg – and gracefully opened its interior. Beba examined the inside of each egg in amazement, while the egg listed the precious materials of which it was made: gold, platinum, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, pearls, diamonds… Heavens, how many splendid eggs there were in each row! And all the eggs had bowed to her, Beba, with the greatest respect, and then charmingly opened up their insides! Some of the eggs stood on little golden legs, others had pedestals made of the finest material, yet others were rocking on little golden saucers, others again stood firmly wedged in silver or gold holders, while others sat on lavish miniature thrones, but when Beba stopped in front of them, they slipped off them and curtsied. Beba was beside herself with pleasure. It seemed to her that her sight had sharpened, because she noticed, amazingly, even the tiniest detail, as though she had strong magnifying lenses built into her eyes.

And then, perhaps on account of those lenses, she was overcome with fatigue. It was tiring to support her heavy breasts in her hands, and the distance between her and the throne did not seem to be getting any less. Nor were the eggs in front of her beautiful now. One of them opened its interior, in which there was a miniature loudspeaker, and said in a metallic voice: A little house with no windows or doors, when the owner wants to get out he breaks down the walls! Beba wanted to walk past the ugly egg, but when she tried to take a step, an invisible force prevented her. The sentence the egg had pronounced was, obviously, a riddle, and the invisible force prevented Beba moving until she had solved it. Beba thought for a long time, her breasts had grown so heavy that her elbows and hands were aching as well, and then she finally worked it out and said: ‘An Egg!’ And, fancy, the invisible force let her move on.

But at the next moment Beba was suddenly attacked by a fresh yellow yolk that splashed in her face. Beba didn’t have time to feel offended. She understood that she had to be quick and smart because the eggs had obviously become hostile.

‘I have egg on my face,’ she said, under the fierce attack of the yolk ‘kamikaze’.

‘On ne saurait faire une omelette sans casser des oeufs,’ said Beba quickly, but afraid that eggs didn’t speak French, repeated: ‘You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.’ And the eggs backed off.

Yes, the eggs were different now, sort of ‘verbal’ eggs. Beba found herself in front of a grey one, which bowed down in front of her, said its name, Grandmother’s Egg, and opened up its inside. Inside, where there should have been a gleaming white and a golden yolk, there was nothing, as though it had all been sucked out. Beba realised at once that the egg represented that saying about teaching your grandmother to suck eggs. Beba had never used that expression. Maybe because she did not like the idea of sucking eggs.

The entire ceremony had become wearisome and pointless, and Beba wondered what would happen if she was to smash all these arrogant high-protein bastards. She was the Queen, wasn’t she, and after all this was her dream, wasn’t it? ‘I am going to make scrambled eggs out of all of you!’ grumbled Beba in her thoughts. And, as though they had guessed what Beba was thinking, the eggs suddenly started to run away in all directions and hide. All except one. At the end of the red carpet, a golden egg was waiting for her. When she reached it, the egg made a charming curtsey, like all the previous eggs, and opened up. Beba felt a sharp stab and for a moment the pain took her breath away. In a miniature golden coffin a beautiful, naked youth was lying in the foetal position. She bent down, took the egg in her hands, looked at the little golden body without breathing, and then a painful sob broke from her chest. The egg slipped out of Beba’s hands and fell onto the floor and – hop, hop, hop – jumped into Pupa’s boot! It was only then that Beba noticed that Pupa’s fur boot was standing beside the throne.