The Red Currants next door in the tiny village of Hutĕ are in their 70s. He's a wizened little chappie, just scraping in at 5ft (or 1.52m), but is very fit—goes cycling annually around the Czech Republic with his four siblings, the youngest of whom is a sister at 65.
On that particular day, Mr Red Currant* had gone up to Prague for the day and was not due back until 10pm at the earliest. I nipped over to his house to give his wife her second massage, but in spite of knocking on the door and calling out "Ahoj!" (pronounced "ahoy"—Czech for "hello") several times, each time waiting in between for a response, nobody came to the door.
I was turning away after the 4th or 5th time when the door was opened by Mrs Red Currant who gestured me into the living room, which is at the back of the house through the kitchen, where, to my surprise, I found Mr Red Currant. But he wasn't due back until 10pm and it was only 6:30pm! And he was in the middle of doing up his trousers. Had I interrupted something??!!
Just as I was wondering if I should go, Mr Red Currant piped up, "My wife is very satisfied." Oh dear. I didn't know him well enough for this sort of confession. I don't even talk to my sisters or female friends about such delicate matters. He went on, "My wife's very satisfied with your first massage. Her back is so much better now."
Looking back, I think now that he'd just got in from Prague and was changing out of his outdoor clothes into his at-home clothes.
(Czech Republic, August 2010)
*I call him Mr Red Currant because I'd once helped him pick redcurrants for his wife's cake, his Czech surname being less manageable for me.
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