எட்கர் கெரட்டின் Shoes சிறுகதை பற்றி முன்னால் எழுதி இருந்தேன். இப்போது அவரது இன்னொரு சிறுகதை. இதுவும் மிக அருமையாக எழுதப்பட்டிருக்கிறது. எளிமையான சிறுகதைதான், ஆனால் பச்சாதாப உணர்ச்சியையும் பயங்கர உணர்ச்சியையும் ஒருசேர மனதில் எழுப்புகிறது. படியுங்கள் என்று பரிந்துரைக்கிறேன்.
Hope they die
Etgar Keret
My parents promised to come, the lying sons-of-bitches.
For Hanukkah vacation my parents sent me to a sleep-away camp for the whole week. From the minute I got there I hated it, and all I wanted to do was cry. The other kids were happy all the time. I couldn’t figure out why, and it only made me want to cry even more. All day long I went from one activity to another, and to the swimming pool with my lips pursed, not saying a word, so the kids wouldn’t hear the tears in my voice and start picking on me.
That night, after lights out, I waited a few minutes and then headed straight for the phone booth next to the dining room. It was raining outside, and I ran through the puddles barefoot, with just my pyjamas on. The chill in the air caused my mouth to open, and out came these squeals that weren’t even in my own voice. It scared the hell out of me. I dialled our home number, and Dad answered. All the way to the phone, I’d been hoping it would be Mum, but now, with the cold air and the rain and those squeals coming out of my throat, I didn’t care any more. I told him to come and get me. And then the real crying started. He was a little mad, and asked maybe twice what was wrong, and then he let me talk to Mum. I just kept crying, couldn’t get out a single word.
“We’re coming to get you right away” Mum said. I heard Dad mumble something and Mum snap at him in Polish. “Did you hear me, Dandush?” she said again. “We’re coming to get you right away. Wait for us in your room. It’s cold outside and you’ve got a cough. Wait for us in your room. Don’t worry, we’ll find it.”
I hung up and ran to the gate. I sat down on the curb and waited for them to come. I knew it would take them more than an hour. I didn’t have a watch, so I kept trying different ways of counting in my head. I was cold and hot all at the same time, and they didn’t come. By my calculation, I’d been waiting for more than two hundred years. The sun was starting to show and they didn’t come. They said they’d come, the lying sons of bitches. I hope they die. I went on crying even though I didn’t have it in me any more. Finally, one of the counsellors found me and took me to the infirmary. They gave me a pill and I wouldn’t talk to anyone.
At noon, this woman with glasses came in and whispered something to the nurse. The nurse nodded and whispered back, loud enough for me to overhear: “Poor little thing. He must have sensed it.” The one with the glasses said something else to the nurse, and the nurse answered her out loud: “For your information, Mrs Bella, I’m an educated woman, not some illiterate from the boonies, but there are things that even science can’t explain.”
Then my older brother Eli came. He stood in the doorway looking kind of stooped and miserable, and kept trying to smile. After exchanging a few words with the nurse, he took me by the hand and we started walking towards the parking lot. He didn’t even ask me to go get my stuff from my room.
“Mum and Dad promised to come and get me,” I said, half crying.
“I know,” he said, without looking at me. “I know.”
“But they didn’t!” I started to cry. “All night long I waited for them in the rain. Lying sons of bitches. I hope they die.”
And then he swerved all of a sudden and slapped me. Not one of those slaps you give a kid to make him shut up. He slapped me as hard as he could. I could feel my feet leaving the ground, and me going up in the air and then falling. I was in shock. Eli was one of those brothers that teach you how to throw a pass, not the kind that hit you. I got up off the asphalt. My whole body ached, and my mouth had the salty taste of blood. I didn’t cry, even though my jaw hurt like hell. But suddenly Eli started.
“Damn it,” he said. “Damn it, I don’t know what the hell to do.” He sat down on the asphalt, crying. Then he calmed down a little and we drove back to Tel Aviv. The whole way he didn’t say a thing. We got to the rented apartment where he was living. He’d just gotten out of the army and was sharing the place with someone.
“Your Mum,” he said. “I mean, our Mum.” We were quiet for a minute. “Mum and Dad, you know,” he tried again, and stopped. Finally we’d both had enough. I was getting really hungry because I hadn’t had a thing to eat since yesterday, so we went into the kitchen and he made me a scrambled egg.
தொகுக்கப்பட்ட பக்கம்: உலக இலக்கியம், எழுத்துக்கள்
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