Tomáš Zmeškal - A Love Letter in Cuneiform

The pastry chef stepped in front of his marzipan creation, took a bow, slowly pulled from his pocket a piece of paper folded several times, and proceeded to read in a shaky voice.

“Honored bride, honored groom, honorable doctor, honored and dear guests, honorable investigator, dear brothers and sisters: Rarely do I receive an order that I am as happy to fill as this order from the respected Dr. Lukavský, who I hope I may declare as my friend. Despite that I have never met you personally, sister bride and brother groom, or perhaps for that very reason, I have taken the liberty of expressing in my creation the symbolic and universal qualities of the state of matrimony.”

The pastry chef bowed again and turned so he had one side to his audience and one side to his creation.

“As you have surely noticed, the palace has three stories. The top one symbolizes heaven. This is why the saints, God, angels, and other special supernatural beings are located there, and as you see, it is rendered all in white, using marzipan with whipped-cream decoration. This is the so-called superterrestrial realm, which is beyond and above us. Perhaps someday all of us will reach it. Now if you please, notice that each layer opens so you can see inside.”

The pastry chef looked around at everyone and lifted the castle roof so they could see the tiny figures inside, who seemed to be engaged in conversation with one another.

“The next level, the earthling level, is ours. Here we have a stylized bride and groom and wedding party, and as you see, the color is gray, which was of course created using a coffee mixture. This is the earthling sphere, as I already stated, yes, and finally we have the last layer, or ground floor, which is hell. As you see, it is dark brown, made out of chocolate, and if you please, chocolate lovers should direct their attention here. Through the windows you can see devils, satans, and a dragon or two, symbolizing the underground, the underworld, or hell. I especially recommend this level. I just finished the chocolate crème this morning using my own recipe,” said Mr. Svoboda, looking up from the piece of paper his speech was written on.

“Looking at it from behind here, it reminds me of something else, too,” Dr. Lukavský spoke up. The pastry chef bowed again. “Yes, very observant of you, brother doctor, very observant. I would expect nothing less, after all. After all, I’d expect nothing less.”

“So am I right or aren’t I?” the doctor insisted. “It reminds me of something, but I don’t know what.”

“I would expect nothing less. The brother doctor is a very observant being,” the pastry chef replied. “Personally I think he’s already here on the top level. I really do think so, right at the top. His soul is so full of compassion, mmm … compassion. I know his weakness, though, and I believe he prefers chocolate to whipped cream, which is on the ground floor in the devil’s lair, so he’ll have to descend into the underworld, mmm … But to answer the brother doctor’s question, those of you who are more perceptive may have noticed that the frontal portion is, if I may say so, inspired by the Church of St. Ignatius, on Charles Square, and the decoration and inspiration for the saints continues in the same spirit. Of course, and this is unexpected, the main portion, the main portion, if you please, the one you were drawing attention to, brother doctor, is the unfinished cathedral in Prague, if you please, the one left unfinished by Václav, I’m not sure whether the Third or the Fourth, which has been standing now unfinished for several hundred years in the garden behind Jungmann Square. You know the one. This cathedral is standing there now, and I hope you will all find it delicious. Also I would like to point out that this entire combined cathedral, palace, and castle of cake is constructed sequentially, so as you see, it can be disassembled. Right here next to it I’ve placed a stack of takeout boxes, and each box holds exactly one piece of cake. So, if you please, no slicing! Really, no slicing, or the whole structure could collapse. No need to slice, just disassemble it. Dis-as-sem-ble! Sister bride, brother groom, I wish you all the best,” the pastry chef concluded his speech, giving a bow.

As everyone applauded, Alice stepped up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The pastry chef seemed surprised. “It’s up to you, sister bride, which level you’ll end up on. It’s all up to you.”

“Oh, come on,” Alice said. “It’s up to both of us, me and Max.”

“Why, of course, that’s what I meant, that’s what I meant,” the pastry chef said.

Then Alice threw her arms around the doctor’s neck and the guests proceeded to circle the cake, peering through the windows, examining the saints set in the recesses of the facade, and breathing in the delicious smell of cocoa, coffee, and coconut. Meanwhile the pastry chef and his assistant said their good-byes and Maximilian and Alice went with Dr. Lukavský to walk them back outside to the street. The pastry chef and his assistant climbed into the ambulance that was parked in front of the building and drove off.

After they left, Alice turned to Antonín. “Well, that was a surprise.”

“What?” the doctor said. “The pastry chef, or the cake?”

“Both,” Maximilian chimed in, holding Alice’s hand.

“Well, he’s with us, actually,” the doctor said. “A very interesting patient. I can tell you more about him sometime, if you’re really interested.” He looked at Alice and added: “I’ll tell you more about him once I know more myself.”

Meanwhile Alice’s father gathered the guests together and they walked over to the wedding hall. The marriage officiant came out to welcome them in a black suit with a gold-plated chain around his neck. He explained who should stand where, and said they would get under way in a few minutes. They had ordered the smaller of the two rooms, but still, more than half the seats were empty.

“Well, you’re a cozy little wedding, aren’t you?” the marriage officiant remarked.

“If all my relatives were here, sir,” Maximilian replied, “from the line that was elevated to the status of count in 1716 by Emperor Charles VI, after being confirmed as noble in 1578, we wouldn’t fit into the biggest room in Prague.”

“I see,” the officiant said drily. His smile had disappeared.

“Thank God our socialist republic has ensured equality for us all, sir. Thank God.”

“Uh-oh,” Alice whispered to her father. “This isn’t getting off to a good start.”

“What’s wrong?” her father asked.

“Max is giving that communist a lecture on aristocracy.”

“Ah, the class struggle in practice,” Antonín pitched in.

“Right, but we need his rubber stamp,” Alice said, frowning.

“I’ve got nothing against the republic,” she heard Max say. “It just bothers me that the state emblem violates all the most basic rules of heraldry.”

“Rules of what?” the officiant asked.

“Heraldry,” Maximilian repeated. “The system for creating coats of arms, state emblems, and family crests.”

“So how does our state emblem violate this heraldry or whatever it’s called?”

“It’s a commonly known fact that the Czech lion can’t have the Slovak emblem on its breast, since the center of a coat of arms is always reserved for the emblem of the ruling dynasty.”

“Ruling dynasty?”

“Yes, ruling dynasty.”

“Pardon me, sir, but we don’t have a ruling dynasty. We have a government of the people, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Of course, that’s the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“Since we don’t have a ruling dynasty, the state emblem should be divided in halves or quarters, so the Slovak and Czech parts can be equal.”