Page 154 - What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours

man was convinced that he was pursued by a burrowing entity that lived beneath

any house he lived in and raised his floors by a foot every year, the entity’s long-
term goal being to raise his quarry so high that he could never again descend into
the world of his fellow human beings. Our mother made no comment on this
man’s convictions but provided him with a certificate stating that there never had
been and never could be room for any form of other dwelling beneath the Hotel
Glissando. The only thing a hotel guest may not ask for is, for some reason, an
iguana-skin wallet. The woman who requested one was told to “Get out of here

and never come back.” And as the doorman threw the ex-guest’s luggage out
onto the street he said: “An iguana-skin wallet? Where do you think you are?”
As far as we know, that’s the only time a Glissando guest’s request hasn’t
been fulfilled. For years Odette and I have felt that our parents’ dedication to
taking care of Hotel Glissando’s guests borders on the unnatural. Odette has told

me that in some way the hotel and its guests are like the broken clockfaces,
except that Mum and Dad are compensated for their work instead of being
punished.
Even so: “They’ve given the best years of their lives to that place, and that’s
their own business—but now they want to throw my life in too?” That was how I
put it to Odette. Odette said she felt I was overlooking something: For as long as
we’ve known our parents, my mum’s professional value has been dependent on

my dad’s. She’s been treated as a facilitator for his talents for so long that she’s
come to believe that’s what she’s here for. Mum brought Barrandov Senior to
Hotel Glissando, so by hook or by crook she’ll bring Barrandov Junior there too.
“I don’t know . . . if I give in to this won’t I be setting that image in stone? Is
that really good for Mum?”
Odette’s eyes twinkled. She said she thought I’d actually ruin the image,

since there was no way I could match up to Dad.
“Thanks, sis . . . many thanks . . .”
“I, however, can match up to Dad, and maybe even outdo him.”
Was Odette’s confidence well-founded? I thought so. She’d always wanted to
learn all that Dad had wanted to teach us. And when we asked Dad which of us
he’d prefer to work with he said: “Odette, obviously.” My sister was making a
killing as a self-employed plumber, but she gave all that up to be there for my

parents. She had no regrets either: said she loved the work and could see why
our parents were so committed to the Glissando. I asked her to elaborate and she
became so emotional that it made me feel lonely.