Read The Twelve Little Cakes for Free Online Page A

two-thirty now, so keep her out until five.”
    â€œFive?” My sister sighed. “Okay. Can you give me some money to buy bread for the swans?”
    â€œWe won’t miss the Baby Jesus, will we? He won’t come while we’re away?”
    â€œNo.” My mother opened her handbag. “He never comes before six, and he has to visit all the other houses in the street first.”
    â€œDo you promise?” I asked.
    â€œI promise.” She patted me on my head.
    She zipped me into my red skiing outfit and helped me into my boots. Then she sent me outside, where Klara was struggling to get Barry on a leash. Barry never listened to Klara. My sister wasn’t very good with dogs, but I could get Barry to do anything. He never failed to come when I called, and I could even make him sit and shake hands.
    â€œCome on, Barry!” I cried as we waded through the snow. There was at least a foot of snow at the top of our garden, and I had to lift my legs very high to step through it. My skiing outfit had a pointy hood that was lined with lamb’s fur, but my cheeks stung in the cold. It was one of those bright, freezing days where the sky was blue and clear, and the neighbors were outside their front gates, shoveling the snow off their driveways.
    â€œHello!” I called out. “We’re off to feed the swans!”
    â€œ Ahoj, Dominika and Klara!” they chorused. “And here comes Bohousek, looking fatter than usual.”
    â€œHis name is Barry!” I said proudly. “He was on television!”
    â€œWe know. We’ve seen him,” the neighbors smiled.
    â€œDoesn’t she look like a little garden gnome?” Mrs. Simkova from across the road chuckled. “Maybe we could plant her at the foot of our garden.”
    â€œNo!” I told her. “I have to be home in time to see the Baby Jesus!”
    The neighbors laughed and I followed Barry and my sister to the end of the street. Just before the bend, we turned into the little pedestrian laneway that zigzagged down the hill. From here we could see the entire Cernosice valley. The windows of the houses were dusted with frost, and icicles hung from every gutter. We walked all the way down to the little row of shops, which were still open, as December 24 wasn’t a public holiday. We went to the grocery store and tied Barry to the bicycle racks outside the front door. The windows were decorated with flickering Christmas lights and tinsel, and there was a long line of people waiting to get in.
    â€œThey’ve probably sold all the rolls by now,” my sister muttered.
    â€œSit, Barry! Sedni! ” I said as we joined the line.
    We always stood in line when we went to the shops, but it wasn’t because there was a shortage of food. There was plenty of food in Czechoslovakia; what we didn’t have was variety. The shelves were full of packages of rice and flour and butter and sugar, but they were plain-wrapped and there was only one brand. The practice of arriving early and standing in line was caused by the slowness of the shopkeepers, who made a point of talking to everyone. Favored customers would be told what kind of under-the-counter goods were available and when they were expected to arrive, and shopping could be infuriatingly social. Maintaining a good relationship with the local shopkeepers was very important, so no one complained. But it was very frustrating. Bread and milk sold out quickly, and we often waited in line for half an hour, only to find crumbs in the bread box and sour puddles where the bags of milk had once been. Still, I loved going to the shops, because there were lots of little cakes in the bakery, and many different kinds of sausages in the delicatessen. If there were three things every shop in our country could be counted upon to have in abundance, they were beer, sausages, and little cakes.
    Czech beer is world-famous, of course, but we also have a big