Agota Kristof: The Book of Lies

We meet other children in the Little Town. As the school is closed, they are out all day long. There are big ones and little ones. Some have their homes and mothers here, others are from elsewhere, like us. Especially from the Big Town.

A lot of these children are living with people they didn't know before. They have to work in the fields and vineyards; the people who look after them are not always nice to them.

The big children often attack the smallest ones. They take all they have in their pockets, and sometimes even their clothes. They beat them up too, especially those who come from elsewhere. The young ones from here are protected by their mothers and never go out alone.

We are not protected by anybody, so we learn to defend ourselves against the big ones.

We make weapons: we sharpen stones, we fill socks with sand and gravel. We also have a razor, which we found in the chest in the attic, next to the Bible. We have only to take out our razor and the big boys run away.

One very hot day, we are sitting beside the fountain where people who have no well of their own come to get water. Nearby, some boys who are bigger than us are lying in the grass. It is cool here under the trees near the water, which runs without stopping.

Harelip arrives with a bucket that she places under the spout, which is discharging a thin trickle of water. She waits for her bucket to fill.

When the bucket is full, one of the boys gets up and goes over and spits in it. Harelip empties the bucket, rinses it, and puts it back under the spout.

When the bucket is full again, another boy gets up and spits in it. Harelip puts the rinsed bucket back under the spout. She doesn't wait for the bucket to fill, she fills it only halfway and quickly tries to escape.

One of the boys runs after her, catches her by the arm, and spits in the bucket.

Harelip says:

"Stop it, will you? I have to take clean drinking water back."

The boy says:

"But the water is clean. I just spat in it. Are you saying my spit is dirty? My spit is cleaner than anything in your house!"

Harelip empties her bucket and cries.

The boy opens his fly and says:

"Suck it! If you suck me off, we'll let you fill your bucket."

Harelip kneels down. The boy steps back:

"Do you think I'm going to put my cock into your disgusting mouth? Filthy slut!"

He kicks Harelip in the chest and does up his fly.

We go over. We pick Harelip up, take her bucket, rinse it well, and put it under the fountain spout.

One of the boys says to the other two:

"Come on, we have better things to do."

Another says:

"Are you crazy? This is when the fun starts."

The first one says:

"Drop it! I know them. They're dangerous."

"Dangerous? Those little cunts? I'll take care of them, you'll see."

He comes up to us and tries to spit in the bucket, but one of us trips him up, the other hits him on the head with a bag of sand. The boy falls down. He lies on the ground, stunned. The other two look at us. One of them takes a step toward us. The other says:

"Watch out! Those little bastards are capable of anything. Once they split my head open with a stone. They've got a razor too, and they don't hesitate to use it. They'd slit your throat as soon as look at you. They're completely crazy."

The boys leave.

We hand the filled bucket to Harelip. She asks us:

"Why didn't you help me right away?"

"We wanted to see how you defended yourself."

"What would I have been able to do against three big boys?"

"Throw your bucket at their heads, scratch their faces, kick them in the balls, shout and yell. Or run away and come back later."

It's getting colder and colder. We rummage in our suitcases and put on almost everything we find: several pullovers, several pairs of trousers. But we can't put a second pair of shoes on over the holes in our worn-out town shoes. Anyway, we don't have any others. We don't have gloves or hats either. Our hands and feet are covered with chilblains.

The sky is dark gray, the streets of the town are empty, the stream is frozen, the forest is covered with snow. We can't go there anymore. So we'll soon be out of wood.

We say to Grandmother:

"We need two pairs of rubber boots."

She answers:

"And what else do you need? Where do you expect me to find the money?"

"Grandmother, there's hardly any wood left."

"Then we'll have to go easy on it."

We don't go out anymore. We do all kinds of exercises, we carve various objects out of wood, like spoons and breadboards, and we study late into the night. Grandmother stays in bed almost all the time. She seldom goes into the kitchen. We are left in peace.

We eat badly, there are no more vegetables and fruit, the hens aren't laying anymore. Every day Grandmother brings some dried beans and a few potatoes up from the cellar- which is full of smoked meats and jars of jam.

The postman comes sometimes. He rings his bicycle bell until Grandmother comes out of the house. He then moistens his pencil, writes something on a bit of paper, and hands the pencil and paper to Grandmother, who puts a cross at the bottom. The postman gives her some money, a package, or a letter and goes off toward town whistling.

Grandmother locks herself in her room with the package or the money. If there's a letter, she throws it into the fire.

We ask:

"Grandmother, why do you throw the letter away without reading it?"

She answers:

"I can't read. I never went to school, I've never done anything but work. I wasn't spoiled like you."

"We could read you the letters you get."

"Nobody must read the letters I get."

We ask:

"Who sends the money? Who sends the packages? Who sends the letters?"

She doesn't answer.

Next day, while she is in the cellar, we scour her room. Under the bed we find an open package. In it there are pullovers, scarves, hats, and gloves. We say nothing to Grandmother, because if we did she would realize that we have a key to her room.

After the evening meal, we wait. Grandmother drinks her brandy, then staggers over to open her bedroom door with the key that hangs from her belt. We follow her and push her from behind. She falls on her bed. We pretend to search and find the package.

We say:

"That's not very nice, Grandmother. We're cold, we have no warm clothes, we can't go out anymore, and you want to sell everything Mother has knitted and sent for us."

Grandmother says nothing, she cries.

We say again:

"It's Mother who sends the money, Mother who writes you letters."

Grandmother says:

"It isn't me she writes. She knows very well I can't read. She never used to write me. Now that you're here, she writes. But I don't need her letters! I don't need anything that comes from her!"

From now on we wait for the postman in front of the garden gate. He's an old man with a cap. He has a bicycle with two leather pouches attached to the carrier.

When he arrives, we don't give him time to ring: very quickly we unscrew his bell.

He says:

"Where's your grandmother?"

We say:

"Don't worry about her. Give us what you've brought."

He says:

"There's nothing."

He tries to get away, but we give him a push. He falls in the snow. His bicycle falls on top of him. He swears.

We search his pouches and find a letter and a money order. We take the letter and say:

"Give us the money!"

He says:

"No. It's addressed to your grandmother."

We say:

"But it's intended for us. It's been sent to us by our Mother. If you don't hand it over, we'll keep you from getting up until you freeze to death."