I awoke one morning from uneasy dreams. I found myself transformed in my bed into a gigantic Frank Kafka.
I think that was the opening line of the novel Metamorphosis by Gregor Samsa.
I knew Prague well and it seemed liked today would be a good day.
I climbed up the lesser Charles Bridge tower and looked over at the bridge.
The quiet side. Look at all those people. I was alone in my tower.
I took a walk up to the cathedral then round the castle and down to Golden Lane.
Number 22 Golden Lane is where I would have lived if I was Frank Kafka.
I remember looking out the back windows of the house. Thinking of falling. There was no back door, outside the back of the house was a sheer drop. The whole street was built on the edge of a cliff.
Great for getting rid of rubbish. Or thinking about suicide.
I went down the hill past the house and back outside the castle walls.
Over to the left and down the hill was the Daliborka Tower, an oubliette. Prisoners were locked in a cage and lowered into the cell below. Roomy but impossible to escape.
It was badly lit, quiet and spooky. I left quite quickly.
I was 2nd last to leave.
I bounded up the steps, towards the big wooden door, almost too heavy to move.
I turned back to see a woman walking up behind me.
I started to close the door and saw her face in shock, as the light left the stairwell.
That was the last time I saw my wife.
Don’t worry – I did it to a complete stranger. Not my wife.
It’s not like I’m a serial killer.
I left a sliver of light, then started opening the door again.
I am not completely heartless.
Somewhere out there is a woman with a slightly different memory of the day than me.
Do you think you can find her for me?
At no point during the day did I turn into a giant insect,unlike Gregor Samsa.
A little disappointing.
Everyone needs a holiday anecdote.