======M O M O========

FAIRYTALE ABOUT A LONG WEEK

Little Momo knew that that week was going to be long.
She settled on the edge of armchair and was thinking if it is possible to turn around time, just like that reversible hill, where one can be walking down the hill forever. She was speculating how to speed up time.
She recalled the greenhouse in their garden, the chickens under the lightbulbs and a man who fertilizes with feathers.
She was trying to remember what they learned in the natural science classes.
She decided to try out everything she knew.
She enclosed all the clocks, watches, chronometres and displays with a fence and surrounded them with heating and lots of bulbs.
She made a hole into a glass cake cover and was wearing it as a coat-igloo.
She found a bit of wrinkles that she had, particularly on elbows and fingers. She sticked on them a fat layer of feathers (and secretly tried if it can help her flying..).
But Momo didn’t have a clue about the general cussedness of things.
The time decided to stop on her finger. Right on the third finger from left side of her hand. It just stopped and stayed like that. And Momo was feeling like many years had passed between her index and middle finger.
For a while she was cluelessly watching the time. Then she slid it down the finger and wore as a ring. But oops! the week started to wear on to a month and month to a year. That’s a trap! thought Momo. I have to show that I am not scared of it! And so, she started running anti-clockwise. And she was runnning on spill peripheries, running through round-abouts, sprinting around the crop circles.
On the way she was spontaneously picking up rubbish, framing it into precious frames and then exchanging with pigeons for their feathers.
But the time was doing whatever it wanted. There was no way how to hush it.
Momo was desperate. Angry. Furious! She took time to her hands and flinged it into the kitchen sink.
And so it happened, that Momo started to cook.
Dinners. Afternoon teas. Morning scrambled eggs. Christmass cookies.
She was frying clock hands, which were running around in the frying oil and swelling. She was baking Latin figures in puff pastry and in the blender she was passionately grinding essence from digital displays. She covered the vanilla rolls with the sand from sandglass and made lasagne from the chronometer sprockets.
Guests enjoyed it.
And so, that week, Momo was cooking every Sunday.


Mala Momo vedela, ze tenhle tyden bude dlouhy.
Sedla si na kraj kresla a premyslela, jestli se da cas otacet jako ten preklapeci kopec, kde se muze donekonecna chodit z kopce. Premyslela jak urychlit cas.
Vzpomnela si na sklenik, na kuratka pod zarovkami, na pana, ktery hnoji perim.
Vzpominala, co se ucili v prirodopise...
Rozhodla se, ze zkusi vsechno, co zna.
Pozavirala vsechny hodiny, hodinky, casomery a displeje do ohradky a obklopila je topenim a spoustou zarovek.
Do skleneneho poklopu na dort udelala diru a nosila ho na sobe jako kabat-iglu.
Nasla tech nekolik malo vrasek, ktere mela, zejmena na loktech a na prsticich. Prilepila na ne naplasti tlustou vrstvu peri ( a potaji zkousela, jestli ji to mimochodem nepomuze k letani).
Momo vsak netusila nic o zakonech schvalnosti.
Cas se ji zastavil presne na tretim prstu zprava, na leve ruce. Zustal proste jen tak stat a Momo citila, ze mezi jejim prostrednickem a prstenickem jako by uplynuly roky. Chvili na cas bezradne koukala a pak ho posunula niz na prst, jako prstynek. Ale ouha, tyden se zacal protahovat na mesic a mesic na rok. To je past! pomyslela si Momo. Musim mu ukazat, ze se ho nezaleknu! Rozbehla se v protismeru hodinovych rucicek.
A behala po obvodu louzi, probihala kruhovymi objezdy, sprintovala kruhy v obili. Cestou bezdecne sbirala odpadky, ramovala je do drahych ramu a prodavala holubum za pirka.
Ale cas si delal co chtel. Nebyl k ukonejseni.
Momo byla bezradna. Rozcilena. Vztekla! Vzala ho do dlani a mrskla s nim do drezu.
A tak zacala Momo varit.
Vecere. Odpoledni caje. Ranni vejce do skla.
Smazila rucicky, ktere v prskajicim oleji stale pobihaly dokola a bobtnaly. Zapekala rimske cislice v listovem teste a v mixeru vasnive drtila trest z digitalnich displeju. Vanilkove rohlicky obalovala v pisku z presypacich hodin a lasagne delala z ozubenych kolecek casostroju.
Hostum chutnalo.
A tak, ten tyden, Momo varila kazdou nedeli.