Dr. Josef’s Little Beauty

They all feared the summer, but no one spoke of it.

And now it was setting in. Gradually. Unhurriedly. Relentlessly. First there was a short, cool shower, but the grass soon shook off the dew. Then the sun flared more and more fiercely. Streams of bright light proliferated, conquering each shady area of the garden in turn.

The rodents moved out into the fields. The pungent smell of mouse urine wasn’t so easily expelled from the dining room. The whitewashed tables were put outside. That was where they ate their meals now, lay down to rest, and waited for family visits. The terrace was paved with flagstones. Chipped. Weather-beaten. The odd blade of grass protruded from under them.

Helena took her first step. She moved cautiously, as if entirely shattered inside. Her head bounced dangerously, it didn’t fit her body, but looked as if forcibly planted onto her limp neck. As she walked, she watched the other residents. Sitting on the terrace. Staring into space. Basking in the sunshine like lizards, static among stones. Presenting themselves to be bathed in warmth. Skulls thinly coated in sparse, dry hair. Faces like several pieces of skin sewn together. Cheeks marked with bruises, wounds and suppurating scratches. Tissue-paper eyelids. Bellies swollen by disease. Furrowed hands. Gnarled fingers. Ruffled thighs. Hanging loose. Wobbling with every motion of the body. Feet liberated from bootees and slippers. Large, misshapen toes. Growths. Lumps. Watery tumors.

It looked as if they were waiting for something. They stared at the entrance gate for hours on end. By noon...