It's a nice, big, spacious porch, and if we marry the bodor doll to the pléhhuszár, we'll certainly have her wedding here. Anyway, it's airy, sunny and very cosy: that's why the swallows like to chill here after lunch.
And the reason I like to look on the porch is because the swallows come here. They're my little postmen, they bring me all sorts of news from the big world; I certainly appreciate them.
Is the linden blossom already open? Does the mosquito know a new song? Are the raspberry leaves curling? What did the owl dream last night? What are the bees doing? Is the magpie still angry with the cabbage patch? What have they seen and heard in their flight, in their flight, in their wanderings? All my little messengers tell me what they tell me, and I will write down what they tell me: this is how the tale.
Somewhere, now, this smoky one must have some news of some significance, I can see by the gleam in his eye, he can't wait to tell me. But I'm listening to this!
I take the chair, sit in the corner and say to the swallow:
- Get on with it, chirpy, say it, listen!
The pious one would start, if an angry Pannika hadn't jumped in front of me. Would that the goddess had a word from wrathful Pannika, from the chattering words of wrathful Pannika:
- Oh, Daddy, Daddy, you're doing everything you shouldn't! What have you done now, Daddy? Oh, oh, oh, daddy, don't you ever look where you're sitting?
His tongue was clicking, his feet were clicking, his keys were jingling - but half of it was no joke. I jumped up so frightened I pulled the chair with me.
- Oh, daddy, daddy, how much harm you're doing to your little girl! You're sitting in the middle of the honey shop, scaring the customers away with that mustache of yours. You flip the chair over, break the honey jars. I won't be able to pick up the broken glass till tonight.
- "My delicate frilled menthol, don't be angry, look at me," I say to Pannika, pleadingly, "I didn't know there was a honey shop here.
I took the chair and brought it to the other corner, and Pannika slapped her two little hands together so hard that my little messenger swallow flew away in fright.
- Can't you leave the bread shop alone now, Dad? I really don't know what you're doing there. Don't you see all those loaves of bread, fresh pretzels, crispy buns?
I didn't see a crumb for a sparrow there, but I dutifully moved to the third corner. But there I could not even put down my chair, when Pannika was running at me like an angry turkey.
- Just knock those expensive jars off the shelf. There, there, just kick that strawberry basket up.
I felt very ashamed that I had damaged the delicatessen. I so meekly stalked off to the last corner that our tabby cat jumped off the ledge onto my shoulder; she must have thought I was a mouse. No pity for this stony-hearted Pannika. She put her hands on her hips, pursed her lips and looked at me like a pitchfork.
- No even that's a mistake, to settle down in a cake shop as a title. She'll give it to you, Mum, just get that chocolate cake all over your clothes. Look at a dad like that, always stomping his feet where he shouldn't!
- "I'll eat your little mouth, don't hurt your daddy," I begged Pannika nicely, "because there's probably a palm-sized space for me on this big porch.
Pannika snapped angrily.
- There is no porch here. It's a shop for the endless, here only the buyer makes money.
- That's a good speech. Why didn't you say so before?
I throw away ink, pen, paper - I'm not writing a story now. Where is my purse? I put it in my pocket. Where's the big handkerchief? I put it on my shoulder. Where is the little basket? I put it on my arm. Come on, umbrella, let's go to the market, endlessly to the shop.
- Good day to you, Miss Honey Shop!
- God grant, God grant, what good is my soul here?
- Do you have delicious honey?
- Like gold, look!
Pannika had never had honey from a jar in a basket that no one had ever seen, and I could hardly carry it to the bread shop.
- Have a nice day, pretty girl!
- To whoever wishes!
- Is your bread made with pastry?
- Red hair, white gut.
No one baked loaf slipped into the no one saw honey. I walked on to the deli.
- Do you have fresh strawberries?
- Red as a rose.
- Weigh a calf or two in the basket, saint!
- You never ate so good in your life, my soul!
The pastry shop was just a run down the street:
- Do you have iced chocolate?
- Better than a coffee with foam!
- Give me a bucket if you measure it cheaply.
- One petas is the price, but it is well worth it.
I rushed down from the end-to-end shop, because my mother had lured us with fresh shredded calabash:
- Have lunch, father, daughter!
Pannika also left the shop, which was full to the brim, and came down like a whirlwind. But I took her by the arm and led her to my table.
- Now only daddy will give you a snack. Here is golden honey; like gold, look! Here's the bread with cockerels, red hair and white intestines! Here's a fresh strawberry, red as a rose. And this coffee with foam: better than chocolate. Here, eat, there'll be no more.
Pannika turned pale and fell into my lap, bitter.
- My daddy, it was a toy store.
Like, all game? That's why I sat on the porch, in the middle of the pastry shop, and wrote this story.
So it was, so far it was, a shop full of shops.
