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Not that he thought to bring a pot with him, of course.This could bring out the naughty little devil in anyone: how embarrassing! He has to carry that meat and rice home, squishing and squashing, in his trouser pocket and in his cheeks! Good grief! Why shouldn't he, if that's what he wants! Bon appetit, have fun! This is a hungry-kitchen.
I hardly have to tell you by now that Larion found no one in bed with Laura, not even a suspicious sign, like love bites on her neck or curled-up toes behind the curtains. No, he saw nothing of the sort, but really nothing, nothing at all.
They were born on the same day, which is also rather neat.
In her spare time Laura dabbled in astronomy, Larion with geological history: what a happy coincidence! The One and the Many. The Whole, the Perfect, the Absolute.
They had their fill (meat and rice), put on a record (Nick Cave: Good Son), made love (sparrow-hunting position), and watched the sun go down (defies description).
"Larion", incidentally, means "jovial" or "high-spirited", while "Laura" means "laurel wreath". This is a pretty cool combination, too. All right, they don't fit perfectly, but they are still somehow suited in a Greek kind of way.
Now and then they would eagerly call the Speaking Clock, but no matter what it said, they did not go out and cudgel the graves of their great-great-grandfathers.
The way they communicated with each other - whether by speech or body language - proved to be extremely intense, effective and enjoyable.
Larion, who just happened to be au fait with the later works of Wittgenstein, explained to Laura that alternative splinter languages, ritual languages and language mutations, far from damaging language as a whole, enrich it and bring it closer to perfection. Originality does not isolate, but rejuvenates and regenerates. If you don't love me anymore, replied Laura, just say so and don't beat around the bush. But Larion told her he loved her.
Laura's hair was blonde, her underarm hair brunette, her pubic hair black, while for Larion it was the other way round - even in this they mirrored each other.
They went down to "Trespassers W" (a pub), and everything was just fine. They got on well with the barmen, the bouncers, the dealers, and the giggling junkies, and presently they found themselves making love behind Mikszáth's statue. In a weak moment someone desecrated the great story-teller with red paint; this made them feel a little awkward, but the outside world soon disappeared, and Laura conceived a child. If this isn't the perfect little happy ending! There can be no doubt as to whom the child will resemble: the two of them, to begin with, but also everybody else, as well as the trees, the bushes and the weather, and indeed the gentle dawn, and Kálmán Mikszáth himself (though the last two would seem to clash a bit). Not to mention the stars, the earth, and a particularly rare knitting pattern... This tiny tot, all three pulsating kilograms of it, hasn't even been born yet, but having caught sight of its guardian angel, it's already smiling in there.
Translated by David EVANS
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