Miljenko Jergovic - Mama Leone

Grandma put me to bed again. She said c’mon, time for schlafen, let’s go , and I yelled no schlafen , and she said you haven’t changed at all, I thought you’d be big boy when I came back from Russia . She wanted to sound mad, my grandma, but she was actually just sad. I’ll never be as big as she wants me to be and I’ll never tell her what was going on back then, and I won’t tell her everything I remember either, that I haven’t forgotten a thing and that she should have taken me to Russia with her, I’ll never get to any of that because Grandma will die and go in the grave, and when she goes we’ll clean up the apartment, and the attic too.

I had terrifying dreams again that night, and I wanted to yell but couldn’t, because as always the little creature of darkness popped up from somewhere and took my dreams away before I woke up, but this time he left something behind. It was a dream of a scary black man who in the distance, from the top of our street, was coming toward me with a big black dog. In my dream I thought look, it’s the boogeyman, he’s going to hurt me or make me disappear, but look, a big black dog’s coming and he’s going to gobble up the big black man, but then an even bigger black man’s going to show up with another big black dog and the dog’s going to gobble up the bigger black man after he has hurt me or made me disappear . I woke up smiling.

That day we went to Drvenik, where Grandpa was waiting for us. He gave Grandma a kiss. He didn’t usually do that. He kissed her because she’d just got back from Russia. I learned that people kiss each other when they come back from a big trip or if they haven’t seen each other in ages. While I was in Sarajevo and Grandma in Russia, Grandpa had made a new friend. He told us about him on the way home. The story went that Grandpa was walking to Zaostrog and wanted to sit down on a bench because he was tired, but his friend-to-be was already sitting on the bench. Grandpa asked politely if he could sit down, but his friend-to-be didn’t understand. So Grandpa asked him the same thing in German, and his friend-to-be answered and that’s how they met. His name is Ralph, an American who has a big German shepherd. Grandpa thinks Ralph is a spy, but Grandpa doesn’t care. We all have to work, all that matters is that we do our work well . Ralph’s in Makarska at the moment, but he’s coming to visit this afternoon.

Around four o’clock a big black man arrives, leading a big black dog. He offers me his hand, shaking my hand seriously as if I were an adult and as if he knew I like it when people shake my hand like I’m an adult. Then I make for the dog, but Grandpa says wait! so I stop. Ralph goes up to the dog, whispers something in the dog’s ear, and waves me over. The dog’s name is Donna. I sit down in front of Donna, put my hand on her forehead, and say Donna, you’re an American boy. . Donna’s a girl . Grandpa corrects me. . Donna, you’re the first American girl I’ve ever met and I love you . Everybody laughs. Grandma translates what I said into German for Ralph. Ralph laughs like a giant out of a fairy tale ahahahaha. . ahahahaha. . ahahahaha . Donna looks at me, her snout resting on the kitchen tiles, her eyes blinking, and I know she knows and understands why I love her. She remembers my dream because I remember it too. She was in my dream, but she hadn’t been sleeping, so the little creature of darkness couldn’t steal me from her memory. Donna gobbles up scary black men, that I know. But why would she gobble up Ralph, he’s Grandpa’s friend. He’s black, but he’s not scary. Then I was sure that Grandpa was right. Ralph isn’t a scary black man. Ralph is a spy.

The next day we went with Ralph and Donna to Dubrovnik. We drove in his Cadillac, which if you saw it from a distance looked like it was made out of silver, but it wasn’t, it was metal like all the other cars. The Cadillac glides like a ship , Grandma told Auntie Lola when we got to Dubrovnik. I was sitting under the dining table and Donna was lying in front of me. We kept quiet. She because dogs don’t talk, and me because at that moment I was the prince from the beginning of the story, the master of an endless kingdom and there wasn’t anything that wasn’t mine. I sat and waited for Donna to do something, to creep into my dreams and make me their master. For a long time I thought Donna had cheated me that day, because she didn’t do anything.

Ralph and Donna came the next year too, and then Ralph started sending postcards from all over the world, from distant cities and islands none of us had ever heard of. He sent his greetings to Grandpa and Grandma and never forgot to mention that Miljenko’s American girlfriend says hi too.

When we hadn’t received a postcard for more than six months Grandma asked what’s Ralph up to? He hasn’t been in touch for ages . Grandpa just shrugged and sighed. Another six months went by and again Grandma asked the same question. After four stretches of six months went by Grandpa said who knows, maybe Ralph died. He was all alone in the world, he probably died in some hotel somewhere . Then I wondered what had happened to Donna and for a long time I hoped she’d show up again somewhere, my American girlfriend, at least in my dreams. I think I’ll always think that. When one day I see people losing their heads in the middle of the street, then I’ll know that only Donna had saved me from these kinds of dreams.

It’s June already, my birthday was seven days ago, and yesterday I discovered the world of split shadows. It was like this. We arrived in Drvenik, Grandma and me, and as soon as we got there she said go on, go and play , and I knew why she so was quick to get rid of me. She wanted to pick up the phone, ring Dad in Sarajevo or my uncle, Mom’s brother, or someone else she could have a serious talk with, someone as worried as we were, because the day after my birthday Mom had gone to Ljubljana for an operation. Dad said it’s nothing serious , but two sharp lines creased Mom’s face, two crevices between her eyes. She said you never know, it could get bigger . Dad said and that’s why you’re going to Ljubljana, to be on the safe side and so that it doesn’t get bigger . Grandma asked well, what is it exactly , and Dad said nothing, just a tiny bump on the cervix . I sat under the table pretending I was building a Lego castle for Queen Forgetful, but I actually wasn’t building anything, I was eavesdropping and trying to understand what was going on. But I didn’t understand anything. Instead, a vast freezing emptiness swelled in my chest, right there under the bones where we breathe, where the heart beats. I didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t a space holding old fears or guilt at something I’d done, but something strange and new, something I couldn’t figure out because there just wasn’t anything there. But I felt it swell, pressing against my bones, this vast freezing emptiness, dissolving into dead air, into a shadow hovering over my heart and the grown-up hearts of Grandma, Mom, and Dad, my heart that now shares terrifying and serious things with others. Bump is a nice little word, like tummy and mommy, but it means something terrible. Words like this didn’t exist before. Before this bump everything little was harmless and sweet, tiny to the eye and pretty to look at, but this had all changed. It changed the day after my birthday when I was eavesdropping on Grandma, Mom, and Dad. The time of little things and their goodness had come to an end. From now on the world would no longer hide in diminutives, no longer reside in their little lost paradises, in Lego cottages or on tiny ottomans upon which the dreams of secret princesses lay scattered.