Miljenko Jergovic - Mama Leone

Why don’t you climb up there and beg her not to jump , I suggested to him like it was perfectly normal and pretty weird he hadn’t already thought of it. Dad didn’t reply, he just stared up in the air at Mom every now and then waving her arms, her smile so broad you’d think she was going burst out laughing like she did watching Charlie Chaplin films, and that she’d fall off the board. Get up there and tell her not to jump, she’ll get soaked, and maybe she’ll smash to pieces if she jumps , I tugged at his sleeve. He bit his bottom lip and yelled Mom’s name. She made like she didn’t hear him, or maybe she really didn’t hear him, and then he headed toward the diving board, his legs shaking and knees knocking like kids’ knees when they try and jump from the fourth step. He climbed up the board itself, slowly he climbed, my terrified, non-swimming dad, the dad who was scared of heights, scared of his ex-wife at heights, she who had become so strong she was taking her revenge on him and probably didn’t know why. He’s climbing up there because I told him to and because he hadn’t managed to come up with a reason to wriggle out of it. He’d lost his mind, which until that point had got him out of ever going in the sea without me thinking it weird, always having an excuse for every attempt to get him in the water, the kind of answer only big, serious fathers were capable of.

Hey, wait, what are you doing, I’m coming down now , yelled Mom when she saw him halfway up the metal stairs. She turned around on the board as if she did it every day, like there wasn’t a great height below her. A moment later the three of us were standing next to the pool and everything began to fall back into its old familiar rhythm, one in which every fear lay sleeping at the bottom of our hearts, at the bottom of a big black cave, not coming out unless a devilish someone prodded one out.

We went back to our waiter. Are you drinking and driving? Mom was confused. The waiter brought a double grappa for Dad and cloudy juices for Mom and me. That went: cloudy, cloudy, double grappa . Dad said I don’t usually drink, but today I need one , and Mom didn’t ask why do you need one today . She just said there probably won’t be any cops .

After that we went to the spring and drank our fill of the special men’s water. Are you going to become a man now? Mom laughed, it’s a bit late for me. . But for me it’s not , I said and drank another glass. Dad didn’t say anything, he drank in big grown-up gulps, gulps that could have swallowed the ocean if it wasn’t so salty. I remembered the sea and Drvenik, and that I’d never live there again. This life, this Sarajevo-and- nowhere-else life was very serious, and I already didn’t like it because in this life lived fears no one understood. Everyone had their own fears and loaded with these fears they collided with others for whom they meant nothing, were just a plaything. I had the feeling I knew what it meant to be a grown-up.

We went back to the car, the shirt was already dry. Dad put it on, you’re not going to puke, are you? he laughed, and I looked at the ground and didn’t say anything because I knew I was sure to puke, that’s how it had to be, and they’d be happy because of it. I couldn’t escape, there’s never anywhere to escape anyway, you can only lie a little, and just never in hell open your mouth when they ask you if you need to puke, or if you’re scared, or if you’re sad. Yes, and you don’t need to explain to anyone why a poor little Fićo is a poor little Fićo and why fathers aren’t allowed to beg their children.

On the last day of fall we’re going to Pioneer Valley. That’s what we agreed, doesn’t matter if it’s raining cats and dogs and the heavens themselves open, a deal’s a deal, that’s what Dad says. The three of us are going to Pioneer Valley, and we’re going to look at the lions, monkeys, and other animals. They’ll be brought indoors on the first day of winter and put in secret sleeping cages, where they’ll stay until the first day of spring. Until then only the zookeepers will see them because animals don’t like being watched while they’re sleeping. Their wanting to sleep alone needs to be respected. We’ll see them at the very end, on Sunday afternoon, and when we go, the zookeepers are going to lead them into the secret sleeping cages, Pioneer Valley will be locked up and the keys given to the mayor, who’ll look after them until spring comes. Then we’ll come back, the animals and us, and see the changes the winter has brought. I’ll never see the lions as a five-year-old again, because in the spring I’ll be six.

It’s so foggy you can’t see your finger in front of your nose , said Grandma coming back from the market. I made it there and back from memory because I couldn’t see where I was and would’ve thought I was nowhere if I hadn’t remembered the way. Now let them say I’m senile . She put her shopping bag on the floor, a head of lettuce and a leek that looked like a palm poked out, but there was nothing in there for me, and if she’d bought spinach too it was going to be a really yucky Sunday. Luckily we’re off to Pioneer Valley, and besides, it doesn’t pay to prematurely get anxious about lunch.

C’mon, wakey wakey! Grandma searched the bed for Mom. Mom always pulled the covers up over her head, hiding under the duvet so you really needed to search the bed for her if you wanted to wake her. Mom murmured something, and Grandma beat the white linen with her hand, like a blind person looking for their wallet in the snow. C’mon, wakey wakey, why am I always the youngest here , yelled Grandma, get up, it’s foggy outside, I made it back by memory, so try putting that one about my sclerosis on me now . Mom poked her nose out, as tousled as Mowgli when he was growing up among the animals, who’s been telling you you’re sclerotic?. . I don’t remember right now, I’ve forgotten . Then they started joshing, no harm intended and not really wanting a proper fight, just a little Sunday-morning bicker, because we’re all at home on Sunday mornings and that’s when everyone gets to play their games.

Grandma’s game is called I’m not senile and what happens is that she walks around the house talking about all the things she remembers and has caught Mom forgetting because then she can say and they say I’m senile . Grandma’s other game is called I’m not deaf and is often played at the same time as I’m not senile . Mom invented both games because she’s freaking out that Grandma might stop remembering stuff and go kooky like old people often do, waking up one morning and asking things like who are you and what am I doing here . So Mom checks her sclerosis every day and gets blue and a bit pissed when she notices Grandma has forgotten something. Grandma’s the only one who’s not allowed to forget anything, because then Mom will think her sick and old, and then Mom will walk tall like a national hero, beat her fists on her chest like King Kong, and swear to her colleagues, Uncle, Dad, Grandpa, and other relatives that she’s ready to care for her mother to the death, to bathe and clean her if need be, and that she couldn’t care less if her own mother, having gone totally senile, doesn’t remember her. These stories get on Grandma’s nerves, mainly because she’s the one who looks after Mom and me, makes us lunch, cleans, and irons, while Mom just prepares herself for a heroic age Grandma thinks will come, God willing, the day little green creatures land on earth. Grandma wins the I’m not senile game because she really doesn’t forget anything, or at least she doesn’t forget more than Mom and I forget, but she always loses the I’m not deaf game. It goes like this: Mom says something, and Grandma doesn’t reply; then Mom says the same thing over, and Grandma says sorry? — at which point Mom screeches at the top of her lungs, a screech so loud hikers up on Mount Trebević could hear it, to which Grandma replies quit your bawling, I’m not deaf! Then Mom says why can’t you bloody hear me then? At which point Grandma mutters something and it’s clear to all she’s lost the game. Of course, to make the game work Mom has to screech at the top of her lungs, because if she just raises her voice a little she won’t be able to tell Grandma she’s deaf and can’t hear a thing.