Caterpillar
Agnica was sitting in a pink room that smelled sweet. Mama had sent her to the neighbors to get a bouquet. She accepted a plate of cake from Miss Jovanka.
“What shall we pick? It’s a great honor to be in the Youth Relay parade, on Tito’s birthday, but it’s a greater honor to carry flowers wherever you go. Even if you go somewhere without them, you have to carry them in your thoughts, like butterflies.”
She stroked the girl’s hair and let her out into the backyard.
“There won’t be a single girl there who has prettier flowers, because mine have a special source of energy. There are all kinds of things breathing down in this dirt.”
She imagined Thumbelina and the mole eating plants, and corpses. Her grandfather said:
“Dead people just go down. They can’t stay here, and they can’t go up to the sky. They sleep beneath the earth. That’s their home.”
Maybe they eat these herbs? It seemed inappropriate to ask that question of the gardener, who was carefully looking over her shrubs and petals, the buds and foliage, the soft and stiff thorns of her favorites. It looked like she really knew how to handle those sharp garden shears. The girl kept thinking about the possible consequences of her own undeniable clumsiness while she tried to follow the red skirt and knobby knees in front of her.
“Let’s pick ones that are in the colors of the flag. Agreed?”
She didn’t wait for the girl’s answer. The shears became an executioner.
#
In the procession, she strayed and wound up with the gymnasts. The torrent of people and the thunderous applause bewildered the girl. She was tugging a friend along with her, and the two little girls in white dresses held hands, self-consciously, in the center of the red five-pointed star made up of trained bodies in the middle of the municipal stadium. The teacher thought they had ruined everything. Miss Jovanka took issue with that. She declared that the flowers had followed their own path, and so there was no harm done.
Her grandfather missed the big event. He was off at a spa. It was decided, unanimously, not to tell him what had happened. If some comrade from the Committee should mention the situation, they were going to tell him it was someone else’s grandchild that did it. Baba noted dubiously that it was not easy to fool those guys. Mama shrugged her shoulders and Dad laughed. She didn’t like lying to Grandpa. She knew that he didn’t like flowers. Once they walked past the churchyard full of schoolmates who were playing with boughs of willow. She wanted to go join them.
“You’re not like those kids,” he said with a frown.
He took her to the park. Caramel candies emerged from the pockets of his brown felt trousers.
#
They’d promised poppyseed strudel, but a bowl of green beans was cooling on the table.
“Sit there till you’ve finished,” Mama said and left the room.
#
The girl stuffed the beans into her pockets. She snuck outside. She went over to Snuki, the long-haired Borzoi in the neighbor’s yard. She offered him a handful of boiled vegetables. Which the dog refused to eat. Fussy thing. Like his owner. They lived in a gray house encircled by a tall metal fence. Someone screamed. The dog snarled.
#
Rain fell all night. She dreamed long, twisting, choppy dreams. She had many legs. She was running slowly from dark, tough beaks. She was awakened by the heavy, strong smell of trees. In front of Snuki’s house the assembled neighbors were standing around a parked police car and a white pickup from the rescue squad.
“Why are you letting that child walk around here?” she heard someone yell, and then she dashed eagerly across the road.
Miss Jovanka was standing there, leaning against the gate with her favorite weapon in her hands.
“They surround themselves with metal and mow their lawn to keep everything ship-shape. They pick out artificial greenery for their terraces and then they die. They do themselves in, and they do not turn into butterflies. They become food for insects and plants. That’s a pretty good destination, little one.”
She laughed. But she felt a vague dread. She lightly touched her brooch in the shape of a hedgehog.
“I love hedgehogs too… Although at night the hungry ones screech like the devil himself.” She bent down and whispered: “Snuki’s human hanged himself… It’s no business of mine, but I understand it.”
#
Grandpa returned the following day… She was happy to see him. The big box had a bunch of tiny holes in it. It shook and had an unpleasant smell. Something living was wiggling around inside of it, and it now belonged to Agnica. He patted her on the shoulder, kissed the top of her head, and said:
“This is your mission, sweetie. A present for you. You decide what becomes of it.”
She proudly slipped a finger through a hole, and the pigeon inside gave it a hard peck. She let out a yelp and the bird calmed down. You could hear muffled rustling. She decided to go catch some worms in Baba’s rose garden. She saturated the ground with water and pulled out ten of them. She used the trowel to cut them in half. They squirmed. She put the living halves in a pail. Grandfather and Baba were drinking coffee in the dining room, talking about the thermal baths and massive lunches in the resort. Now her new little friend was going to get a big lunch and, after he got acclimated, Grandpa was going to help her make a heated pool. This was going to be the richest bird in the world. With her fingers, she gingerly picked up a half of a worm and, sad that she couldn’t serve it on a lilac leaf, she pushed it into a little hole. She waited two or three seconds. Then she loosened her grip. The meal fell into the dark bowels of the bird’s prison.
#
The next morning the cardboard cage was quiet. It smelled sourish and damp because of the water she had poured through the openings. Several times she struck the top with the flat of her palm. Silence. She ripped the tape from the seams and saw the dead pigeon. Her grandpa frowned.
“Every love has consequences. And now we have to put him in the garbage can.”
She erupted into tears.
#
“That man is a sadist. He’s not someone who grows things, because someone who grows things rarely has ideas like those.”
Her eyes shone. Now and again she would stroke the bird, while she searched through the drawers to find something that could serve as a covering. Finally, she found a little blue bed sheet on which were embroidered the letters I-F-A-N-D-W-H-E-N.
“That will work. Let’s go to the garden.”
She walked behind her with her head bowed.
#
The morning was cool and the dew-covered grass gleamed. The lady crouched down next to a cluster of rose bushes.
“Start digging here,” she instructed quietly and then stood there, staring at some aphids and thorns.
The soil crumbled easily. It was full of ants and beetles. When she finished, the neighbor stretched out the blue cloth on the bottom.
“And now put your friend in the grave.”
She choked up. The pigeon lay there stiff, goggle-eyed. The feathers felt warm.
“It’s all right. I’ll do it. You can go.”
Agnica ran off, towards the children playing with a ball at the other end of the street and she never thought about death again.
Gusenica
Agnica je sedela u ružičastoj sobi koja je slatko mirisala. Mama ju je poslala kod komšinice po buket. Prihvatila je tanjirić s kolačem od gospođe Jovanke.
„Šta ćemo da izaberemo? Velika je čast biti u povorci na Dan mladosti, ali je veća čast nositi cveće gde god da kreneš. Čak i ako pođeš bez njega, treba da ga nosiš u mislima, poput leptira.”
Pomilovala ju je po kosi i izvela u zadnje dvorište.
„Nijedna devojčica neće imati lepše cveće, jer moje ima poseban izvor energije. Svašta diše pod ovom zemljom.”
Zamislila je Palčicu i krticu kako hrane rastinje. Mrtvace. Deda je rekao:
„Mrtvi ljudi idu samo dole, ne zadržavaju se ovde, ne idu na nebo, spavaju pod zemljom, tamo im je dom.”
Možda hrane ovo bilje? Činilo se neumesno da postavi pitanje baštovanki koja je pažljivo posmatrala bokore i latice, krunice i lišće, meko i tvrdo trnje svojih ljubimaca. Delovalo je da ume da barata oštrim baštenskim makazama. Neprestano je razmišljala o mogućim posledicima svoje neminovne nezgrapnosti dok je pratila crvenu suknju i kvrgava kolena.
„Ubraćemo ih u boji zastave. Da li se slažeš?”
Nije sačekala odgovor. Makaze su postale dželat.
#
U povorci je zalutala i dospela među gimnastičare. Poplava ljudi i gromoglasni aplauzi su je izbezumili. Povukla je drugaricu sa sobom. Dve devojčice u belim haljinama zbunjeno su se držale za ruke u sred crvene petokrake sačinjene od uvežbanih tela na centru Gradskog stadiona. Vaspitačica je smatrala da su sve pokvarile. Jovanka se suprotstavila. Izjavila je da je cveće našlo svoj put, tako da nema nikakve štete.
Deda je propustio manifestaciju. Bio je u banji. Jednoglasno je odlučeno da mu ne kažu šta se desilo. Ako neki drug iz Komiteta spomene situaciju, reći će da je to uradilo tuđe unuče. Baba je sumnjičavo napomenula da ih nije lako prevariti. Mama je slegla ramenima. Tata se nasmejao. Nije volela da laže Dešu. Znala je da ne voli cveće. Jednom su prolazili pored crkvene porte pune njenih vršnjaka koji su se igrali vrbinim granjem. Htela je da im se pridruži.
„Nisi ti od te dece”, rekao je namršteno.
Odveo ju je u park. Karamele su isplivale iz džepova smeđih somotskih pantalona.
#
Obećali su štrudlu s makom, ali se na stolu hladila boranija.
„Sedećeš tu dok ne pojedeš”, rekla je mama i izašla.
Strpala je boraniju u džepove. Išunjala se napolje. Otišla je do Snukija, dugodlakog hrta iz susednog dvorišta. Pružila mu punu šaku kuvanog zeleniša. I on je odbijao da jede. Namćor. Kao i njegov gazda. Živeli su u sivoj kući ograđenoj visokom metalnom ogradom. Začuo se vrisak. Pas je zarežao.
#
Cele noći je padala kiša. Sanjala je duge, vijugave, isprekidane snove. Imala je mnogo nogu. Sporo je bežala od tamnih i tvrdih kljunova. Probudio ju je težak i jak miris drveća. Ispred Snukijeve kuće okupljene komšije okružile su parkirana policijska kola i beli pikap Hitne pomoći.
„Zašto puštate dete da ovuda šeta?!”, čula je da neko viče i spremno potrčala preko puta.
Gospođa Jovanka je stajala naslonjena na kapiju s omiljenim oružjem u rukama.
„Okruže se metalom i ravnaju svoje travnjake da budu pod konac, biraju veštačko zelenilo za svoje terase i onda umru. Sami na sebe dignu ruku, i ne postanu leptir. Postanu hrana insektima i biljkama. To je prilično dobra svrha, devojčice.”
Nasmejala se. Osetila je nejasan strah. Lagano je dodirnula broš u obliku ježa.
„I ja volim ježeve… Iako se noću gladni deru kao sam đavo”, sagnula se i šapnula: „Snukijev gazda se obesio… To nema veze sa mnom, ali mogu da razumem.”
#
Deša se vratio sledećeg dana. Radovala se što ga vidi. Velika kutija je imala na sebi gomilu sitnih rupa. Tresla se i neprijatno mirisala. Nešto živo je mrdalo u njenoj unutrašnjosti i bilo je Agničino. Potapšao ju je po ramenu, poljubio u teme i rekao:
„Ovo je zadatak za tebe, pile. Tvoj poklon. Šta će se sa njim desiti, ti odluči.”
Ponosno je proturila prst kroz rupu i golub ju je jako kljucnuo. Viknula je pa se umirio. Čulo se prigušeno šuškanje. Odlučila je da ulovi gliste iz babinog ružičnjaka. Natopila je zemlju vodom i izvukla ih deset. Lopaticom ih je presekla napola. Mrdale su se. Stavila je živahne polovine u kanticu. Deda i baba su pili kafu u trpezariji, pričali o toplim bazenima i obilnim ručkovima u banji. Sada će njen novi prijatelj dobiti obilan ručak a, nakon što se privikne, Deša će pomoći da napravi topli bazen, biće to najbogatija ptica na svetu. Prstima je pažljivo uzela polovinu gliste i tužna što ne može da je posluži na listu jorgovana gurnula je kroz rupicu. Sačekala je dve-tri sekunde. Popustila stisak. Obrok je upao u mračnu utrobu ptičijeg zatvora.
#
Sledećeg jutra, kartonski kavez je bio tih. Mirisao je kiselkasto i vlažno zbog vode koju je sipala kroz otvore. Nekoliko puta je lupila dlanom odozgo. Tišina. Pokidala je lepljivu traku s ivica i ugledala mrtvog goluba. Deda se namrštio.
„Svaka ljubav ima svoju posledicu. A sada moramo da ga bacimo u đubre.”
Briznula je u plač.
#
„Taj čovek je jedan sadista. To nije osoba koja sadi, jer ko sadi retko kada može da ima ovakve ideje!”
Oči su joj sevale. S vremena na vreme bi pomilovala pticu, dok je po fiokama tražila nešto što bi moglo da posluži za pokrov. Konačno je našla malu prostirku plave boje na kojoj su bila izvezena slova A K O I KA DA.
„Ovo odgovara. Hajmo u baštu.”
Pošla je za njom pognute glave.
#
Jutro je bilo sveže i trava se caklila prekrivena rosom. Gospođa je čučnula pored bokora ruža:
„Počni da kopaš ovde”, naredila je tiho i ostala da stoji zagledana u biljne vaši i trnje.
Zemlja se meko rasipala, puna mrava i buba. Kad je završila, komšinica je na dno prostrla plavu krparu.
„A sada svog druga položi u grob.”
Zanemela je. Golub je ležao krut, iskolačenih očiju. Perje je delovalo toplo.
„U redu je, ja ću. Možeš da ideš.”
Agnica je potrčala prema deci koja su se igrala loptom na drugom kraju ulice i više nikad nije mislila o smrti.
DRAGANA MOKAN lives and works in Belgrade, Serbia. She is the author of the poetry collection How My Time Has Gone By (2003), the short story collection Play Them Some Soft Music (2019), and an experimental novel 33 Dreams (2021). Her poetry and short stories have been translated into English, French, Italian, Czech, and Hungarian.
JOHN K. COX is a professor of 20th-century East European history at North Dakota State University in Fargo (USA). He translates novels and short stories from Serbian (BCMS), Hungarian, German, and Slovene. He won the Serbian PEN Centre’s Translator of the Year award for 2021.
CLAUDEA discovered art through music in her teenage years, which led her to study Design at the National University of Arts in Bucharest, Romania. After graduating, she went on exploring and lived in Italy experimenting with art and jewelry making, before moving to the United Kingdom. She currently lives in London, where she works full-time and spends her free time painting.
