“Thank you, mother for your loving hands,” followed by a long list of well-wishers – a caring son, a loving daughter, grateful friends, leading to a climax, before which the announcer as usual took a deep breath, “who all sincerely wish that she should find her real ha ...” – the announcer stuttered – “hair colour, well, yes – her real hair colour.” She threw a totally befuddled glance at the co-anchor seated beside her. Matilde nearly wet her pantyhose from laughter and in her thoughts thanked her army of poor wretches for the superb birthday wish.

This early spring morning her hair has a unique bleachinggone-wrong green hue. She is ready for a bright new day.

Beneventura shakes away the last drops, buttons up his pants and goes to wash his hands. He is a hygienic man. He then heads to his office. First he places a compact disc that he has carefully hidden in his desk drawer into the laptop, puts on earphones, and then connects to the internet. He begins to scan his e-mails. We are pleased to invite you to the International Conference “The gap between the catholic way of life and contemporary society.” “Gap”? What is this “gap”? Beneventura contemplates, while tapping his foot in rhythm with the music through the earphones. “My sweet, dear Ben, I still remember that night in Rome, your honey glazed body ...” No, Beneventura will not answer him; he is tired of the “honey-bunny.” “Gūdojamais prīster, byusim pagūdynuoti jius redzēt Gaveiku Kopu svātkos šuo goda juļa padeigā svātdiņē ...” (“Honourable Priest, we would be delighted if you would grace us with your presence at the Gaveiki Graveyard Festivities on the last Sunday of this blessed July.”) I’ve never been to Gaveiki, Beneventura thinks. “Beneventura, do you want to grow a bigger penis?” When will he ever be able to block all this junk mail ... He deletes all the unnecessary mail and joyfully listens to his mother tongue, which sounds directly from the CD into his ear:

Dāds rāc, buoba kliedz

The old geezer roars, his biddy screams

Dāds ir buobys dugu līc

The geezer dips his wick in his old biddy

Izlīc dugu, brauc iz tiergu

Wick dipped, the geezer goes to market

Nūpierkt buabai jaunu šķirbu.

To buy a new slit for his biddy.

When her workday comes to an end, Matilde looks to see what is on her “poor wretch” list that night. A glass of wine somewhere in the Olde Towne with an ex-colleague, who suffers from an endless, heavy-duty phobia and mild paranoia. A classic case. This time Matilde sighs because she would much rather go directly to the market to buy some tuna for her cat, chicken backs (with the parson’s nose still on) for herself, and just maybe, go through the tunnel at the railway station where she might come across a Bitow or Tolstoy book at some booth. That would be a good evening for her.