Found Life

by Linor Goralik

  They said to follow them and they would show me the way out. I didn’t know if I should trust them or not, but they were both much smaller than me, and younger, and one of them was bleeding a lot from his nose because I had hit him. I thought I could take them if I had to. I didn’t feel as scared as before, though I was still pretty scared. I thought that when I came back to earth from hell, I’d tell Old Lady Trainwreck that hell can be OK, too. Sometimes she and I really understood each other.

  I followed these people past some pipes and faucets and boilers. It was horribly hot, but at every turn there would be a sudden cold draft from somewhere. And it was really dark. Fear made me want to start running, but I didn’t want to make them mad. We went up some ladder into a tiny dirty closet. They opened the door with a key, released me from hell and followed me out. I didn’t see where we were right away. It was the yard, not at my house, but at number twenty.

  They told me not to be so stupid as to start filling in the hole in the sand box and pouring sand down on them. Then all of a sudden I remembered that I had left the bowl in hell. I said that I needed the bowl, otherwise there’d be nothing to shake, and I had to keep looking for the cat. They cursed, but one of them went back to hell and brought me the bowl with the rest of the food in it. I said: “Thanks.” They looked me up and down and went back to hell.

  In the cold air my arm was hurting less, though it still hurt pretty bad. I tried not to move it. I started walking around the yard with the bowl, shaking it and calling the cat like he was a dog because I didn’t have any more energy. When the cat ran up and started to yowl and jump, trying to reach the bowl, I was so out of energy that I just sat down on the ground and put the bowl in front of him. He ate what was left of the food and ran home after me. I lifted my feet high so I wouldn’t trip in the dark, and he just jumped over everything in the way. And that’s how we got home.

  I opened the door with my own key, which hangs around my neck on a little orange plastic spring that I like to wrap around my finger and then let go. The cat slipped inside and didn’t even yowl, just jumped into his shoebox and fell asleep. I don’t understand clocks, but it was definitely really late already. I called out to Mom, but it looked like she was asleep. I went to my room and gave myself the green card I had earned. I started to shiver for some reason. It had in fact turned out to be unbearably scary in hell. I couldn’t even explain why. I thought that everything would be different there, a lot worse, but it turned out that everything was even worse there than I had thought. I went to Mom’s room. I come to her room to sleep on the rug if I feel bad or scared, or just if I’m thinking about something that makes it so I can’t fall asleep. Mom says to wake her up and tell her why I’m feeling bad or scared or what I’m thinking about and only then go to bed. But tonight I was so tired that I decided not to wake Mom up and lay down on the rug right away. I decided to tell her all about it in the morning.

  THE BEASTIE

  When Mom and I got to the ЕR, the nurse gave me a piece of candy right away. That made me stop and think and I missed the moment when they brought Alik into the ER. Alik is a horrible crybaby: if you take away his toy or food or hit him even really lightly, he starts to cry. That’s why I never hit Alik hard, he starts to cry right away, and then I hug him—I feel sorry for him right away. But this time I got really mad, and when I get mad, that thing happens—my eyes start to feel like they’re full of milk, and I start throwing punches, I could even kill someone. I probably would have killed Alik, I got so mad at him, but Grandpa Syoma and Grandpa Pasha wrestled me to the ground. On the weekends Grandpa Syoma and Grandpa Pasha always watch us when we’re out behind house number twenty, where Alik lives. I hit Grandpa Pasha in the stomach—not on purpose, I just wasn’t thinking straight. Then Grandpa Syoma sat on me and kept sitting on me until I calmed down. I got horribly upset that I had hit Grandpa Pasha, he’s old already, he’s much older than me. That’s why I started crying and asking for forgiveness, and Grandpa Syoma ran to get my mom, and she took me to the ER. I cried the whole way there and gave myself twenty red cards for bad behavior: fifteen for Alik and five for Grandpa Pasha.

  The day I beat up Alik and Grandpa Pasha, I had twenty-one green cards taped up on the wall at home. I had earned them in just under two months, because in general I try to be good and help Mom. When I have that many green cards, I can do whatever: eat ice cream and candy, go to the movies and the skating rink, and sometimes I even get to shout and clap while watching TV. Those were two very good months. But when we got to the ER it was like I only had one green card left. One card equals one piece of candy (other than that, I’m barely allowed any sweets at all). But if I bumped myself or got sick, Mom would give me a piece of candy before bed. That’s why when the nurse in the ER gave me a piece of candy, I had to think hard about it. It was good candy, marmalade with chocolate coating. But I couldn’t remember what kind of candy we had at home and couldn’t figure out if it was better or worse. I really wanted to eat this candy, especially since my head hurt horribly where I had hit it on the pavement. But I had the thought that I shouldn’t eat it now, and instead take it home and compare it to Mom’s candy. That was when I stopped to think and missed seeing them bring Alik in.

  Even though you can get from our house to the ER pretty quick, they brought Alik in a car, because he was crying and screaming, and they gave him the same shot they gave me the second time my cat ran away and got hit by a car. After that shot I slept for a really long time, and now Alik was asleep too. I saw them wheeling him inside, his whole face was swollen. I asked Mom: “Did I do that?” She told me not to worry, but I asked again: “Did I do that?” She said it wasn’t important, what was important was for them to sew up my head and check for a concussion, but I asked again: “Did I do that?” When I need to find something out I can concentrate really well, even though usually I get distracted easily.

  I kept asking Mom: “Did I do that?” when the doctor arrived, and when they were shining a really pretty sharp little flashlight in my eyes, and when they were giving me a shot, and when we were walking home, and when we got home, and when Mom was rubbing my forehead clean with alcohol, and when my forehead started hurting again, and when Mom gave me a pill, and when she came to give me a kiss before bed. I just kept asking her: “Did I do that?” “Did I do that?” “Did I do that?”

  Finally Mom jumped up and shouted at me to leave her alone, and I got scared. Mom almost never shouts at me. I said I was very sorry, I didn’t want to make her mad and I’m taking three red cards. That made Mom cry, she hates my cards, but there was nothing I could do to help her. She said she wasn’t mad at all, she was just really worried for me. She also said that I had broken Alik’s nose but that it would heal quickly. Then I started crying, too, and Mom brought me a piece of candy, but I couldn’t eat it because it turned out I had two red cards but not a single green one, because the red ones cancel out the green ones. I was just glad that I had left the piece of candy the nurse had given me on the table in the room where they had stitched up my forehead. I was glad that the nurse almost certainly ate it. She was a good nurse.

  I lay in the dark and kept thinking. I’m not scared of the dark, I’m not scared of practically anything at all, I’m really strong. Alik, on the other hand, is scared of everything, he’s really weak even though he’s even bigger than me and his hair is all black, with no grays at all. Alik and I are best friends, I protect him. We’re allowed to visit each other and take walks together in the yard if Grandpa Pasha and Grandpa Syoma are there to watch us. It’s very bad to hit the person you protect. I felt really ashamed. But then I thought that I had beat up Alik in a good way, not in a bad way. I hadn’t beat up Alik the way other people do sometimes, the ones I protect him from: for fun or to take away his jacket—I beat him up just because I had missed him. At first that’s how I had tried to explain it to Alik, with words: I had missed him like I did during those three and a half weeks when they took him to the seaside. I tried to expl
ain to Alik that even though he’s here and they hadn’t taken him to the seaside, it’s like he hasn’t been here for the last few days. In general Alik isn’t a good listener, but I know how to talk to him: you just have to not let him look away, you have to constantly make him look you in the eye. Marina, who does physical therapy with both of us at our clinic, compliments me for being able to make Alik listen. Marina says I’m a good boy. But this time I couldn’t make it happen: I held Alik’s head, but he still kept looking away—crossed his eyes, rolled them back practically up into his forehead. It didn’t matter how much I shook him, I couldn’t make him look me in the eye. And that’s why he couldn’t listen to anything, couldn’t listen to how much I miss him.

  That’s what had been going on these last few days: it was almost like Alik wasn’t there at all. At first I was just worried for him because he looked really tired and kept falling asleep right in the middle of a game or conversation. One time he fell asleep and almost fell off the bench. Also I saw that Alik kept holding his stomach. Alik doesn’t know how to say that he’s sick, he doesn’t even understand that he’s sick. But I protect Alik and that’s why I always watch to see if he is limping or holding on to some part of himself, if he has a cold or a fever.

  If Alik is holding his stomach it means he hasn’t eaten in a long time. That means his grandma fell asleep and didn’t make him eat, and then Alik might forget and go out for a walk, that’s why his stomach starts to hurt. And these last few days Alik kept holding his stomach, I even said so to his grandma on Saturday. I said: “Please don’t fall asleep and don’t forget to feed Alik, you’re responsible for him, after all, you should be ashamed.” Alik’s grandma said that I’m a good person and took Alik home. I really am a good person. I can tell by the cards. Alik can’t give himself cards—he doesn’t understand when he’s behaving well or badly. I’m responsible for that too.

  That’s how it happened that I accidentally beat up Alik on Sunday. I just wanted him to explain what’s going on with him, because I can’t protect him if I don’t know what I’m supposed to protect him from. I started naming all the reasons I could think of, one after another. There are a lot of them, because Alik can’t protect himself. I asked, maybe they gave you beer again? One time some men by the kiosk gave Alik beer and he got really sick—he cried and nearly jumped off the balcony. I asked about beer, but Alik wouldn’t look at me, even though I was holding his head. Then I asked: “Is this because of Vera the Dummy?”

  Vera the Dummy is in our physical therapy group. She also lives right nearby, across the park. At the drop of a hat, Vera the Dummy takes off her pants, tights, and underpants and shows everyone what she has down there. Me, I know perfectly well what she has down there, me and Vera are friends, though not as good as me and Alik. But Alik is scared of Vera the Dummy, and I scold her if she shows it in front of him. I asked Alik about Vera the Dummy and he tried to get away while I was holding his head and squeezed his stomach with his hand, but I understood that it wasn’t about Vera. I started to ask about everything I could think of because otherwise I wouldn’t know what I have to protect him from.

  I asked about the construction site, the rabbits, the stick, the blue whale, the chewing gum, but Alik kept crossing his eyes and trying to get away. I couldn’t think of anything else to ask about. Then I tried to explain to Alik that I miss him. Then Alik started to roll back his eyes to avoid looking me in the eye. I told Alik that I love him. Then he looked me in the eye really normally somehow, and I thought he was about to explain everything. “Well?” I said. “Well?” And grabbed Alik by the cheeks so he couldn’t turn away. But Alik started to roll back his eyes again, shake his head, and bellow. That’s when that thing happened to me. That’s how Alik and I ended up at the ER.

  In the morning my forehead almost didn’t hurt anymore. Mom and I went to physical therapy and to the clinic. When we were crossing the yard of house number twenty, I saw Alik on a walk with his grandma. His nose was taped with something or other. I ran toward Alik even though Mom shouted after me, and tried to talk to him, but Alik turned away, and his grandma kept pushing me away and saying: “Later, later.” Then I pulled it together and politely asked how Alik was feeling. Alik’s grandma said he was feeling a little better. Then my mom walked up and also asked how Alik was feeling.

  Alik’s grandma said that I should go for a stroll and I started to circle around Alik, hoping he would look me in the eye, but Alik kept turning away. So I backed off and overheard Alik’s grandma saying that last night Alik locked himself in his room and was screaming something, but it was impossible to tell what. And that tonight Alik ran away out the window, and his grandma and dad searched all the yards and nearly went insane, but then Alik came home on his own—all in tears, though.

  That’s when they noticed me and I didn’t get a chance to hear where Alik had been. I asked, but Alik’s grandma said they didn’t know. Then I asked if Alik was coming to physical therapy or the clinic today, and Alik’s grandma said no, because right now Alik can’t move around a lot or bend over. Then I gave her the piece of candy I got from Mom the night before, that I couldn’t eat because of the red cards. I explained to Alik’s grandma that if it weren’t for the cards, I would eat the candy myself, but I asked Mom for it even though I couldn’t eat it so I could give it to Alik at physical therapy. So she should give it to Alik. Alik can eat as many sweets as he wants, he doesn’t need any cards for that. Alik’s grandma told me again that I’m a good person. I really am a good person.

  I was really upset that Alik didn’t want to be friends with me anymore and wouldn’t even listen to my apologies. I was really afraid he would never make up with me. I got a little distracted at therapy because I let everyone touch my scar, but then our coach, Marina, came and said that touching the scar isn’t allowed. I don’t give myself red cards for things I didn’t know aren’t allowed, otherwise I’d be in real trouble. But when Vera the Dummy and I went to smoke after the session, she asked to touch my scar. I already knew it wasn’t allowed and said: “No.” Then Vera started to grab me by the pants between my legs. I shoved her away, but not seriously, just as a joke. Then Vera the Dummy laughed and said she loved me. Vera the Dummy always says she loves me. She says she’ll love me her whole life. That’s why, when Vera the Dummy smokes, she always gives me a cigarette, even though I don’t smoke. I keep the cigarettes at home even though I really don’t need them, because it’s rude to throw away gifts. There’s an entire shoebox (the one that Mom’s boots came in) full of Vera’s cigarettes on top of my wardrobe.

  That night I called Alik’s house and politely asked his grandma if he could come over. His grandma went and asked Alik, came back and said that he wanted to rest. I politely asked what his mood was like, and his grandma said: “It’s good.” That made me happy, but I was still really hurt because I thought Alik was scared of me now. But I was still really happy that his mood had improved. It’s been a long time since he was in a good mood. That’s what I told Mom when she came to put me to bed, and Mom said that everything would be fine and that Alik and I would make up. But that night I dreamed Alik was crying. Not even crying, but kind of moaning piteously in pain. I got horribly scared and woke up. I listened closely and actually did hear Alik moaning in pain.

  I ran to the window and started looking at house number twenty, even though Alik’s windows face the other way—they face the yard. That’s when I realized that Alik wasn’t moaning in his house, but somewhere right behind me. I turned around quickly, but didn’t see Alik there. I felt really afraid and wanted to call Mom, but couldn’t move from fear. That’s how I figured out that the soft moans weren’t coming from the house across the way, but from under my bed. I decided that Alik had run away from home again, climbed through my open window, and gotten under my bed. I lay down on the floor and looked under the bed, but the nightlight didn’t reach there so I couldn’t see anything. Then I felt around under the bed with my hand and dragged out the beastie.
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br />   It was really dirty and somehow sticky, and it was lying on an unfamiliar old blue sweater, which was also dirty. There wasn’t enough light from the nightlight for me to see the beastie clearly, but I could still tell it was covered in dust bunnies from under the bed and all kinds of other dirt. I shook the beastie a little, but either it was deeply asleep or in really bad shape. It moaned really pathetically without opening its eyes. The beastie didn’t seem so scary. I stood over it and thought about what to do. I thought that if I showed it to Mom she would get really scared and make me take the beastie outside. But you could tell right away from looking at it that the beastie would die out there. I shook it a little more and it moaned again but didn’t wake up. Then very quietly, so that Mom wouldn’t hear, I took it to the bathroom.

  I washed the beastie in the sink. With its fur wet it became sort of small. It was still asleep and breathing heavily. On one of its sides, the beastie had lots of little round wounds, they were bleeding and the fur around them was matted. Afterward I carried the beastie back to my room, also really quietly. I crammed the dirty sweater it had been lying on into the closet under the suitcases and put down an old t-shirt for it. There was iodine and Q-tips for my forehead on the bedside table. I put iodine on all the beastie’s little wounds. It whimpered, but I whispered to it: “Hold on, hold on,” and it held on all the way through.

  While I was putting iodine on its little wounds, I saw that it was starved—all its ribs were sticking out. I didn’t know what it liked to eat, so I brought it some bread, a piece of salami, and a tomato from the kitchen. I held the bread to the beastie’s nose, it sniffed the air and began to eat right away. I thought that would make it wake up, but it didn’t, though its breathing became more even. It ate the salami and the tomato, too. I felt like the beastie was doing a little better. It could clearly have eaten a lot more, but I was afraid to walk past Mom’s room to the kitchen again. The beastie’s entire face was now covered in breadcrumbs and chunks of tomato. I wiped its face with the sleeve of the old t-shirt. I realized I couldn’t take it outside because it would die. The smartest thing would be to hide the beastie under the bed again. That’s what I did—I lay down on the floor and shoved the beastie under the bed again, covering it with the t-shirt a little. The beastie still didn’t wake up, but I thought maybe that was a good thing, because when you’re sick, sleep is the best medicine.