‘You know, old fellow, I don’t care much for females! They get on my nerves. When they sit for me, they prattle on terribly, and when they are silent there is nothing to them.’
‘But you don’t paint them at all?’
‘Well, yes, about once a year. And then only Lucretia, my favourite woman.’
Papa sighed with relief. There was still hope. One per year. His business sense told him to be subtle, as patient as a gardener tending a flower bed. Selling the professor on doing Mrs Irma‘s portrait would be hard, harder than selling ten refrigerators. He thought that he should get a look at Lucretia in order to compare her to Mrs Irma…
‘Come again, Popper,’ the professor said, for he liked Papa……To Papa’s great surprise and delight, the good lady Lucretia sped up her own demise by thrusting a dagger in her heart. When Papa heard the news and realised that she could no longer compete with Mrs Irma, he was so satisfied that he spoke to General Director Koralek.’It will be possible,’ he said, ‘but it will take time.’
Translated from Czech by Jindriska Badal & Robert McDowell