Тараканы / Cockroaches

Cockroaches 

We used to have cockroaches living in our kitchen. During the day they used to hide, but at night they would crawl out. When two cockroaches met, they would have a little sniff round one another and move their little moustaches before crawling on about their cockroach business. Daddy really didn’t like them. Whenever he saw them, his face became as unhappy as if someone had just dropped aloe down his nose. I was sorry for dad, but even sorrier for the little cockroaches. Because how didn't they kill them! It was Mammy who used to poison them. Daddy was too scared to even brush them from the table. For all that mammy burnt them, beat them with her slippers, poured boiling water on them and sprinkled them with a nasty powder. Afterwards dead cockroaches used to lie with their little feet in the air all over the apartment. Mammy would go around with a dustpan and broom, sweeping them up. But a few days later they would always reappear. Then daddy would say that fighting against them was useless because we lived in a concrete prefab building and they would always crawl back in from the other apartments. 

I was always very glad when the cockroaches returned. Because they were fun! Just as interesting as butterflies or grasshoppers, for example. One time, when mammy had again started up her war on the cockroaches, I gathered them up in a glass jar to save them from the nasty powder.(3) The cockroaches lived there for a couple of days and I would throw them crumbs and watch them eat and scramble up the walls of the jar. But then mammy found my jar and threw it out. I got very upset and started to cry. I cried a little, and then saw that mammy was also crying. I thought that she had also started to feel sorry for the cockroaches. I came up to her and began to tell her not to cry, that the cockroaches would soon be back again. But she only cried even more, and then daddy came out from the other room. Mammy told him that her life was very difficult, that she was tired of doing all the housework herself, that daddy didn’t understand her, that he had his own interests and that even her own son was against her. That wasn’t true, and I wanted to tell her so, but daddy took me out of the kitchen by the hand, and told me to take a walk. 

So I went to see Slavka. Slavka’s my best friend. We are friends for a whole half-year already. We go to the river together and catch fish there. But we were never lucky with the fish. It’s because we don’t have any proper rods. I’ve been asking my parents for ages to buy me a rod in the shop, but mammy says that I don’t have a winter coat. But I’m not planning on catching fish in a winter coat! From the river we go to Slavka’s house and dry our socks and boots on the radiator. At Slavka’s house everything is really cool. He has a German railroad, table-top hockey and this other thingamajig, which no one else in the city has. It’s like something you stick into the television, and inside there are different games. You plug it into the television and a little ball starts to fly around, and you have to knock it away. At first, I always lost to Slavka because he had practised and I hadn’t. But now we play like equals. Sometimes Slavka’s daddy plays with us. I like Slavka’s daddy a lot. He’s tall and has a big, fair beard. Actually, I like all guys with beards, because they’re kind. I tell my daddy to grow himself a beard sometimes, but he doesn’t listen to me and starts to give out. When I grow up I’ll start having a beard straight away. Slavka’s daddy is an artist. He draws pictures for children’s books and gives them to me. I like the pictures more than the books. That’s because you can look at them, and think of something really cool, which isn’t in the book at all. I love thinking up something like that and sometimes I tell it to Slavka. But he likes it better just to read. He’s learning English too. At least Slavka’s daddy loves to listen to what I make up. I tell him my stories and he shows me his pictures. Sometimes I make them up and he draws them straight away. It works a charm. Slavka’s daddy says that I help him. And then Slavka’s mammy calls us to supper. They always have something tasty, like frankfurters or salami. Slavka’s mammy is very nice, but I’m a little embarrassed with her. She is sorry for me for some reason. I heard her saying to Slavka’s daddy once “It’s terrible how badly off some people are around here. Just think, if it wasn’t for the food packages we wouldn’t have anything to eat either.” All the grown-ups complain for some reason that there’s nothing to buy in the shops. But that’s not true. There are lots of canned stuff , which I love, in the shops. Especially in tomato sauce. I can eat a whole jar. Only mammy makes me have them with bread. But they’re not so tasty with bread. 

 

 

One day I asked Slavka for some butter for mammy. They have whole packets just lying around anyway. I brought the butter home and began to wait for mammy to open the fridge. She would definitely ask “Where did this butter appear from?” At first, she’ll probably think that daddy bought it. But then she’ll realise that I brought it, and understand that I’m not against her at all. She’ll be very happy. But when mammy found out where the butter came from, she was very upset. Even more than she was because of the cockroaches. She didn’t even cry, but started to make sandwiches with the butter and to shout at daddy that it wasn’t her fault that there was no butter in the city and that she can’t feed the child properly! Then she calmed down all of a sudden and began to ask me what they eat in Slavka’s house and what I wanted for. I thought that all I really wanted for was a fishing rod, which were lying in piles in the shops anyway. But aloud I said that I wanted for nothing and that I like margarine more than butter and that I brought the butter for her. But daddy took the butter off mammy and told me to take it back to where I got it. He was very annoyed. I took the butter, but instead of taking it to Slavka I headed to the shop. I decided to ask Zina who works there to keep it until tomorrow when mammy comes to the shop and sell it to her then. But Zina wasn’t working that day, and the other girl, who’s very mean, said that she couldn’t do something like that. Then I told her to keep the butter for herself, and went away. 

When I came home, daddy called me into his office and said that we need to have a talk. Daddy’s office was a part of our big room that was fenced off by a curtain. Daddy works, reads and writes articles there. When he is working he tugs the curtain shut and mammy tells me not to make any noise. That’s because daddy can only work when there is absolute silence at home. Mammy is very afraid of daddy when he works, and sits nice and quiet in the kitchen or goes to visit the neighbours. Daddy never plays with me, but sometimes occupies himself with my upbringing and takes an interest in how I am developing. Daddy wants me to be a developed and well-read boy. He talks to me about my lessons, gives out to me when I do poorly and discusses the books I have read. Daddy asks me to tell him about my impressions and preoccupations. But I don’t have any impressions or preoccupations. Daddy is very unhappy with my development. Sometimes he gives a deep sigh and lets me leave, and sometimes he begins to explain something-or-other. When I don’t understand he gives out to me and calls me a blockhead. Mammy used to argue with him, but then daddy only gave out even more, and shouted at mammy about her interfering when he was occupied with bringing up his son and that I would grow up ignoramus.

This time daddy began to explain to me that people don’t just live so that they can eat, and that the most important thing in life is spiritual activity, like reading books, science and the arts. And that’s why the modern intellectual could, and should, get by without butter and salami. Daddy explained to me last time what an intellectual was. I only understood that an intellectual was a person like him, and that it was very difficult, and that it wasn’t for the likes of me to become one. Daddy always gives himself as an example when he is bringing me up. If he can live perfectly well without fishing rods that means I should too. Because I should try to be like daddy in everything. But is it really my fault that I like fishing, eating canned stuff in tomato sauce  and thinking up all sorts of stories? This time daddy began to explain to me what a philistine is.  A philistine is the sort of person for whom the most important thing is shopping. And if they can’t buy anything, they go crazy. And nothing else interests them. I thought that he was talking about mammy, and got offended. 

 

Daddy often goes to Moscow. He is always arguing with mammy about that. Mammy says that he should bring groceries and clothes from Moscow. But daddy says that he doesn’t want to be like those people who go to Moscow just to shop for clothes and sausages. For him, the most important thing is to go to exhibitions and museums. And money, according to daddy, is only worth spending on books and art albums. When daddy comes back from Moscow he gets the blues. He says that living in our city is impossible, that we are a complete provincial backwater and that there’s no society, only alcoholics. Daddy is very clever, he works in the lecture hall and gives lectures. But recently no one comes to his lectures, and daddy doesn’t like his work anymore. He says that our city doesn’t have the type of work he needs.  

 

 

Now daddy often asks me about Slavka’s parents and especially about Slavka’s father. I think he really wants to make friends with him. I said so to him one day: 

“Let’s go to Slavka’s together tomorrow.” 

Daddy was very embarrassed and asked: 

“You mean, Slavka’s parents asked you to invite me?” 

“Nu-uh, I just decided” 

One day he decided to come with me anyway. Daddy said that he should have some idea about the kind of people who influence his child’s inner world. 

I was very interested to find out what they would talk about, daddy and Slavka’s father. Actually, it was mostly my father who was talking. He always talks very beautifully. Because he talks in public a lot, and has a finely tuned voice. I listened to daddy, and was very proud of him. Daddy talked about the meaning of the intelligentsia, about Dostoyevsky and  some kafka, whatever that is. But I don’t think Slavka’s father listened to him very carefully. 

My daddy didn’t like him. I heard how he said to mammy that evening: 

“We must limit our son’s contact with that lot. Typical artistic wheeler-dealers, not an ounce of intellect. And they call that an artist! All he’s good for is raking in money. I’m not surprised that their home is full of all sorts of junk. Naturally, when for every excuse of a book that he daubs with his third-rate pictures they pay him not less than a thousand! No, Natasha, I can live like this no longer. What a city, what morals! I am wasted here, I can’t breathe, I’ll end up taking to drink! Understand, I’m made for a different life, I need intelligent, worthy interlocutors, I need a good library, an office of my own, not this doghouse. Why must I live like this? And you want another child! Where will we go? We simply wouldn’t fit here. And those cockroaches! I can’t stand them! I can live like this no longer, my darling, no longer. 

 

 

The next day the girl next door told me that mammy had arranged with all the neighbours to poison the cockroaches. Once and for all. I got a fright, because I thought that’s it, now things will really go badly for the cockroaches, unless I save them. I went home, got a jar and started to gather cockroaches in it. To do it quicker I called Slavka. Two of us gathered nearly a whole jar. I had a plan ready. If it had been summer, or even spring, then I could have just let the cockroaches out onto the street. But the street was covered in snow, and we had to wait until it melted. That’s what I told Slavka. He thought for a long time, sniffled, screwed up his face, and then I just told him straight.  

“It would be great if I could leave them with you for a while.” 

Slavka thought, and thought, and then agreed. I felt much better, and we ran to his house. When we were already in the apartment I told him: 

“Listen, Slavka, the only thing is we can’t keep them in the jar. They’ll suffocate in there. Get some sort of a box. 

Slavka brought a huge box for women’s boots. We stuffed it full of newspapers, sprinkled in some breadcrumbs, poured in condensed milk and then let the cockroaches out into the box. 

“They won’t escape, will they?” asked Slavka, nervously. 

“No way, they won’t escape,” I said confidently. “Why would they escape? They have everything they need here. I will come over and we can feed them. But you’d better not tell your parents. As soon as the snow melts, we’ll let them out onto the street. 

We shoved the box under the stove and went to play. Then Slavka’s mammy came and called us to supper for frankfurters and sandwiches. And then I saw, crawling across the floor, a cockroach. I began to twitch my leg, to hide it from Slavka’s mother. But then I saw another cockroach. So, I twitched my leg again. 

“What are you fidgeting for,” asked Slavka’s mammy. “Do you want to go to the toilet?” 

I sat still, and hoped against hope: please let the rest stay put in their box. But at that moment the silliest cockroach of all crawled right across the wall, on the nice wallpaper with little pictures that Slavka’s daddy had put up specially. 

“Eugh, a cockroach, where on earth did it come from?” 

And then she saw another one. A trail of condensed milk stretched out in each cockroaches’ wake. And that trail lead right back under the stove, where we had stuffed the box. The cockroaches had probably got bored in there, and crawled out to investigate the whole kitchen. Whole herds of cockroaches roamed across the floor, walls and table. Slavka’s mother began to scream in horror, and Slavka began to cry at the top of his voice. The sandwich jammed in my throat. At last I forced it down and said, without taking my eyes off the cockroaches: 

“Aunty Lucy, It’s all my fault. I didn’t think they would do this. I thought they wouldn’t go anywhere.” 

But Slavka’s mammy was screaming and screaming, and so in ran Slavka’s daddy. He saw the cockroaches, found out where they had come from, and burst into laughter. Slavka’s mother, who had jumped onto a stool in fright, with her hair tousled, suddenly went quiet. Red spots covered her face, she shook, and said spitefully to Slavka’s daddy: 

“There’s no getting rid of them now, understand? That’s what you get, keeping all sorts of riff-raff around!” 

I felt so hot that my stomach hurt, and I ran away home. 

I stopped going to Slavka’s since then. And daddy went away from us. He told mammy and me that as soon as he got settled in Moscow he would come and take us with him. But I don’t believe him. And I think mammy doesn’t believe him either, and doesn’t talk about him. And I don’t ask any questions. Mammy is sorry for me, and bought me a bamboo fishing rod with three parts in the shop. But why feel sorry for me? If you ask me its better this way. Because no one gets in our way, and I don’t have to be quiet or be afraid of anything. And when I grow up, I’ll build a big house, where there’ll be lots of butter, fishing rods, books with pictures and not a single cockroach. Let it be, if grown-ups don’t like them so much. And I was also thinking that now we have lots of space and that means that mammy can have another child, and then everything will be just perfect.