David Grossman - The Book of Intimate Grammar

Edna hurried to get a candle and lit it, shading the tiny flame with her hands. Papa struck another blow, his face hard as rock. Under cover of darkness Aron slinked off to the toilet, where he sat down, and shut his eyes in pain. He had to get away. Papa was out there smashing the wall, and the whole house trembled, boom, crash, boom, crash, like a relentless engine with hammers and pistons and boilers and compressors and crankshafts going up and down, banging and bashing, although maybe something was missing, he sensed vaguely through the surging waves of pain, hallucinating rods and pulleys, and iron arms to stoke the fire because there’s not enough steam from the boiler room, and he writhes in agony, wringing himself, bearing down with his hands, pressing in from the waist, help, the pain would surely split him in two, squeezing his eyeballs with his fists till the sparks flew; his little angels of light, he turned them into shining stars, chose three that exploded with a flash, he could always find the flashing stars on the pages of the newspaper announcing: One thousand prizes! Send in six wrappers, win a cruise! There was soup mix and the Ampisal knitting machine deluxe, and for a smoother shave, use Diplomat; he managed to enter that one too somehow, but didn’t win the gold watch or a ride in the glass-bottom boat in Eilat with Be Lovely as a Rose in Sabrina Hose, or even the consolation prize; three pounds he stole out of her purse each week, and again he was overcome with the pain, God knows what he had in there, what was that story in Ripley’s Believe It or Not, “Three Hundred Amazing Cases,” about the boy with the terrible stomachache, maybe he was about to give birth to something, maybe that’s what happens with this disease, at the age of fourteen you give birth to a creature just like you, but maybe he ought to talk to someone about it, like Yochi for instance, because it’s turning into a serious problem, two weeks to the day, and again he clasped his wrist to strangleit, to stop the circulation, then shook it disgustedly, no more of that, we quit for good, and he leaned back, perspiring, utterly spent.

Lightning slashed the somber sky. Thunder roared, and Papa retaliated with more pounding and smashing; Aron was out, asleep, unconscious, while deep inside him stalked the heavy giant, the lonely giant who ran after the children crying, Children, come back, come back to my garden, stumbling in his heavy boots, pounding his head in despair, and suddenly: What’s this under the leafless tree, a little bundle. Why, it’s a boy, the boy who didn’t get away, lying in a faint, at the giant’s mercy, and the giant bends down and gently lifts him in his arms; but suddenly Aron came to, sat up. Did you hear that, that hammering, it sounds different now. What do you mean different? It’s hard to say, but Aron had learned to distinguish, and this was something new, maybe because of the storm outside, it was the first stormy day all winter, or maybe because of the roast chicken she served for his dinner, did you see the way he stuffed it into his mouth with both hands and gobbled it like a tiger; listen carefully, the rhythm is different, the tempo, the dynamics, and he leaned out the better to listen, and suddenly — what was that? — like someone tapping him on the shoulder as he slept, shaking him and whispering, Get up, it’s starting, and now he was wide-awake; he pulled his pants on and ran quickly out to Edna, who sank deeper in her armchair, sucking her thumb, her eyes round with wonder, like a child listening to a bedtime story, he thought on the way to his seat by the window, fighting the heaviness that weighed on his lids — I am not falling asleep — he curled up under the blanket trying to get warm. Oh, why did I come, I decided to keep out of Papa’s way, and how long can you sit here watching him tear down a wall, but will you listen to that; he listens: the hammering, the grunting, the hammering, the groaning, uh-huh, uh-huh, the hammering, the grunting, the hammering, the groaning, and Aron’s head drooped down as though an invisible hypnotist had snapped his fingers, not sleeping, just dozing, mustering the strength to return, to return. Edna noticed him: What’s happened to the child, he falls into a stupor, it’s strange, a little worrisome, the way he has to struggle to stay awake, as soon as he gets here and curls up on the carpet, with all the noise, he falls asleep. The hammering grows louder, compelling, demanding. Me, me, it calls her, listen to me, but the sight of Aron troubles her, sleeping feverishly, whatever could have exhausted him so, and why here of all places, inher apartment, as though he only came for this, a kind of hypnotherapy, an operation performed under a general anesthetic … But the hammering. Listen, Edna, the grunting, the hammering, the groaning, the hammering, pay attention, there’s something different there; it’s driven, exasperated, running for shelter. She sat up in her armchair, nodding her head like an anxious bird, and Papa’s hammer cried to her, cleaved to her: sometimes it struck despairingly, as though caught in a storm, calling SOS like a telegraph key; sometimes it was more like a prisoner tapping to find out if there was anyone in the neighboring cell. Oh yes, she nodded vigorously, oh yes, oh yes, there is, and then a mild shudder trickled through her, like a drop of aphrodisiac, even Aron heaved a sigh in his sleep, and she cocked an ear: Oh no, it can’t be, but it was, it was addressed to her, intended for her, the hidden signs, the invisible writing, the secret letter smuggled in, and she stretched and listened, closing her eyes, throbbing and shivering like a delicate salamander from her head to her toes.

Once, at Komi, at the end of the day’s work in the quarry, a stranger turned to Papa and asked to speak to him later that night, outside the barracks. Papa had qualms about him, but the man looked so puny, he figured he could beat him if it came to that.

The man’s name was Molochinko, and he was one of the Urkas, the criminal element, who were brutal as animals, the only prisoners ever to attempt an escape across the frozen steppes. When a group of them broke out, they would take along a couple of lucky “politicals,” this being — Papa traced a bitter smile across the wall — a political’s only hope of leaving the camp alive. Molochinko informed Papa that a couple of Urkas were planning to break out the following night, and he had been chosen to go with them, since he looked strong enough to carry the provisions they would need on such an arduous trek. Papa was terror-stricken, but he agreed to join them. He had managed to survive two winters in Komi; a third, he knew, would kill him, and he would die again each day till then regretting the lost opportunity. That’s how I was. Papa hacked at the wall, arching the muscles of his back like steel!

Crowds of big black clouds peeked into Edna’s window, their cheeks swelling furiously over childish mouths. And one moonlit night the Urkas made their getaway. They had lavishly bribed the guards, who in any case did not believe they would survive in the taiga. After a few hours’ march by the light of the icy moon, Molochinko sprained hisankle and had to stop. The Urkas huddled together and quietly conferred while the three politicals stood apart, in vague trepidation. At last the Urka chief, a murderer from Lithuania, announced that they would abandon Molochinko there. No one protested, and they set off again, but a little farther on Papa dropped out and sneaked back to the casualty: What could I do, I felt sorry for the mutt.

Molochinko was staggered to see him and wept in gratitude, clutching Papa’s hands with his iron claws. The taiga wolves had caught his scent and were prowling nearby in the darkness. Papa lifted Molochinko onto his shoulders and carried him for days. After almost a week without any food, Papa cut himself with a knife and let Molochinko lick his blood. Molochinko sucked his arm, gazing up like an overgrown calf. When he finished he blurted out that the Urkas took politicals along to use for meat on the journey, and fell to his knees, begging Papa’s forgiveness for having tricked him into joining the escape, with the excuse that he hadn’t really known him at the time.