Then I went and woke up the cat. That is, I tried to wake up the cat, but he wouldn’t wake up, he never wakes up unless it’s strictly necessary because he’s a rascal with all kinds of bad qualities. His training has honestly been really tough on me, and sometimes he just about drives me over the edge. It was because of the cat that I did the horrible thing on Wednesday, he had just about driven me over the edge that morning with his bad qualities, but I know it’s my responsibility anyway and I shouldn’t blame the cat, because the cat is also my responsibility.
Laziness and indifference are two of my cat’s really bad qualities. When he sleeps, first of all, he is too lazy to wake up, and secondly, he is indifferent to the person waking him up, that is, to me. I was too agitated to wake the cat up properly, that is, to force him to wake up and then explain to him that when he expresses indifference to me, he is behaving badly. I know that it’s pointless to scream at whomever you’re training, you have to explain to him what he did wrong. I’m really impatient, that’s my really bad quality.
Plus this time I was crazy scared. That’s why I just took the sleeping cat to the window and lay him on the windowsill, so that water would pour on him from the open window and he would wake up faster. The cat woke up and right away became deranged. He’s deranged in general, but here I had to hold him down with both hands while he kept trying to sink his claws into my stomach, even though I had asked him politely and ahead of time not to be upset with me. I had nothing to tie up the cat with so I tied one pant leg of my spare pajama pants around his middle and held the other one firmly in my fist. I decided I would lower the cat out of the window and if the whole earth was covered in water, he’d swim, and if it wasn’t, he’d run.
I was afraid the cat would be carried off by the current, so I held the second pant leg really tightly. I figured the pants with the cat tied to them would reach all the way down to the ground from our first floor. I knew the mess I had made of things on Wednesday, so I was sure that the cat would start swimming right away. The cat didn’t start to swim, though; instead, he fell on something soft and started to yowl. Down there a man’s voice was also bellowing furiously. All of a sudden I realized that the last two thunderclaps weren’t thunderclaps at all but the sound of a man moaning. I pulled the cat back, but he had caught on something. I started to scream at him and jerk hard on the pant leg, but the cat yowled and the man’s voice kept moaning. I decided that someone down there was holding my cat and not letting go. I didn’t know why that was necessary, but I wasn’t scared anymore because the cat didn’t float. So I tied the pant leg to the radiator and ran outside.
I ran down and saw a policeman lying under the window. He wasn’t holding the cat, the cat was holding on to him on his own. This policeman had drawn his legs up to his stomach, closed his eyes and was rocking back and forth slightly as he lay there. He was shivering hard and was covered in water, even his ear was full of water. I yelled at the cat for knocking down the policeman and not letting him up. I really respect policemen.
Mom and my friend Dina used to say that besides the two of them, only the doctor and policemen have the right to tell me what to do and I have to obey them right away. Everyone else, I’m allowed to ask “What for?” or “Why?” and I don’t have to do what they say if it doesn’t seem right to me.
When Dina went away without even saying goodbye, and Mom died, I started respecting doctors and policemen even more, because now only they could tell me what to do. So I politely told the policeman that I really respect him and that he shouldn’t arrest the cat because it’s my own fault that he is poorly trained. I told the policeman that he has the right to arrest me so that I could be punished for the cat’s poor training. But the policeman just shivered and moaned. He was not a very large policeman at all. I tried to stand him up, but he moaned even louder and clutched his stomach even harder and folded his knees. Then I picked him up and carried him home with the cat.
I didn’t know where to put the wet policeman, and besides, he was really dirty, because that day the good Tajik was the one cleaning up around our building. Sometimes it’s the good Tajik who cleans, and sometimes it’s the bad one. The good Tajik is always talking tenderly on the phone to someone and at the same time drawing figures in the dirt with the broom, like he’s dancing. After he’s gone the dirt is patterned with lovely circles and rainbows. The bad Tajik just sweeps the dirt into a dustpan and leaves.
Anyway, the policeman was really dirty. Also he was moaning and felt very hot to the touch. He said his stomach hurt really bad and he threw up yellow and red on me. I lay him down in the living room on the rug in front of the TV. Then I undressed him and dumped his stuff into the tub, including his policeman’s hat, nightstick, and gun. The gun and nightstick were also dirty and I thought that Lena, my cousin Zero’s wife, who comes to my house to clean, would probably get really mad that she has to wash the dirty tub, plus the nightstick and gun. I gave the policeman my blanket, but he kept shivering. I told him that I would call Zero. When I get sick or the cat does, I’m supposed to call Zero. In general, if something bad happens, I’m supposed to call Zero, and the wet sick policeman was definitely a bad thing. But then the policeman started grabbing me by the legs and saying that I shouldn’t call Zero. He said that I couldn’t tell anyone that he’s here. I’m supposed to listen to policemen and not ask “Why,” so I didn’t call Zero.
The policeman was probably in a really bad way because he kept clutching his stomach and howling quietly. Suddenly I felt tired of this and sat down on the rug next to him. I started to flip through the channels again to see if there was any information about the Flood, and all of a sudden I saw my policeman. He was black-and-white and a little blurry, and plus it was like I was looking at him and the other people in the store from on top of a cabinet or right under the ceiling, but I recognized my policeman right away anyway.
I told the policeman that he was on TV. One time my mom was on TV, she was answering a question in the street: “What salt do you normally buy?” I don’t remember what Mom answered, but she had probably answered correctly because that night she was on TV, and it made her feel really good, and then Mom and I ate jam before bed, and the cat ate cheese before bed, even though it’s bad for you to eat before bed. I thought the policeman would also be glad, but he suddenly started to cry. Probably his stomach was hurting really badly.
The TV said that my policeman got really drunk and started shooting the store’s customers. I saw the black-and-white cashier fall somewhere off to the side, and all the people screamed and ducked, and one girl didn’t duck, just stood there looking at my policeman, and he shot at her too, she sat down somehow and you couldn’t see her anymore because she was behind a shelf. Then my policeman suddenly bent in half, grabbed his stomach and ran to the door. No one chased him and the TV said that no one could catch him and that he had gone off in an unknown direction. Of course, I knew exactly what direction that was.
I didn’t know what to do. Then I started thinking logically, like Dina had taught me to. I said to myself that if I see someone doing something bad or dangerous, I should call a policeman and then do whatever he says. So if I saw a policeman doing something bad and dangerous, I should have called a policeman and then done whatever he said. But if that policeman is lying right here in front of me by the TV, holding his stomach and howling quietly in his sleep, then I don’t need to call him, I should just do what he says. And my policeman told me not to say anything about him to anyone—so I shouldn’t say anything to anyone. That meant only one thing: I would have to deal with the policeman myself. The thought almost made me cry, as if it wasn’t enough with the Flood and the deranged cat.
I went to the kitchen and, before the water managed to rise too high, packed herring, cheese, butter, salami, tomatoes, watermelon, candy, and jam into a bag. Also I packed my red and green cards. Also I packed bread and two cans of wet food for the cat. It wasn’t really necessary to bring the cat food because the cat would catch
fish to subsist on, but I thought that it might take him some time to learn how to catch it. My cat isn’t very smart. I brought the bag back to the living room and carefully sat down on the carpet so no water would get on it.
The rug was rocking but not tipping over. It was time to deal with my policeman. I woke him up and gave him some bread and jam. It seemed like his stomach hurt less now, but his head hurt a lot, he kept holding on to it. He asked if I had any beer, but I told him sternly that he would never drink beer again. I listed all the things I’m not allowed to drink because they make me go crazy and possibly kill someone—I’m really strong and I don’t even need a gun.
I told my policeman that he would never drink beer again, or vodka, or liqueur, or what they sell in cans instead of Pepsi, or vodka (even though I had already said vodka), or wine, or cognac. I told the policeman to wrap himself up in the blanket and sit quietly and I conducted a Conversation with him. I often conduct Conversations with myself or the cat if I can tell that one of us has started on a bad path. Wednesday night I conducted an awful Conversation with myself and afterward I cried a lot, but it’s no use crying over spilt milk. At the time I apologized to the Lord with all my strength and laid out all my red cards on the bed, but after the mess I had made there couldn’t have been enough of them even if I had used up all the scraps from my childhood coat. I tried to think of a punishment for myself, but I couldn’t think of a punishment awful enough to fit, I slept under the bed for two nights and didn’t eat any jam even though I really like jam, but I ended up earning myself a Flood anyway.
I told my policeman this and said that because of me, we would probably all drown. But until we all drowned, I told my policeman, I would have to take responsibility for him, too. I told my policeman that it looked like he was my punishment for the mess I had made on Wednesday. I said that this was my second time bringing someone deranged home—first the cat, and now him, and if you bring home someone deranged, then their behavior becomes your responsibility and you have to train them and take red cards for their behavior if it’s bad.
I told my policeman that he had behaved himself really, really, really badly. My policeman started to cry, but I told him it was no use crying over spilt milk. I said that I had already made one mistake and trained my cat really poorly and when the cat died I had to go down to hell for him and tell them to let him go because his bad behavior was my fault and that now I’d train him much better so that the next time he died he could go to heaven. I told my policeman that now if he died I would have to go down to hell for him, too, and I just don’t have it in me to climb into that hole, especially since I had burned my arm horribly down there. Then I asked the policeman if he could swim and he said no. He was definitely my punishment.
Then I woke up the cat and conducted a Conversation with him, too. I told him that now I answered not only for him but also for the policeman, and that it was time for him to pull himself together because I’ve been training him for who knows how long. I told the cat that now I would have to take red cards for him and for the policeman too and if the cat would keep behaving in a deranged way I would just not be able to deal with that many red cards. I rolled up the sleeves of my pajamas and showed the cat the bite marks on my shoulders, where that woman was biting me on Wednesday. I told the cat that this was the worst thing of all—I couldn’t even feel her biting and beating me, that’s how deranged I was.
I spent all of Thursday running around the city, trying to find her and apologize, but I couldn’t find her. I think I must have looked deranged, I felt so ashamed, so even if she saw me she probably hid—it’s not like she knew I wanted to apologize. I felt so bad that later I couldn’t even remember right away if it had rained Thursday or not—that’s how deranged I was. I told the cat I couldn’t handle three deranged people. I think the cat understood. This was not the first Conversation I had conducted with him, but he’s so dumb and barely listens to me. He looked at my shoulders for a really long time, though, and I think he actually understood me.
Then I addressed the Lord and conducted a Conversation with Him, too. I said that, of course, I had made an awful mess of things, but that He was being unfair because He doesn’t want to take responsibility the way I always take responsibility for the cat. I told the Lord that He didn’t come out looking so great either, and that, at the end of the day, it’s on Him to make us kind and good, and that I always try really hard and until Wednesday I had thought that I was a really good person, but it turned out that I’m not a good person at all, and that He, the Lord, was partly to blame for this.
While I was saying all this, I couldn’t see the Lord, but I think He heard me. Probably it was stupid to anger Him during the Flood, especially since our rug had already floated out the window, the same window I had thrown the cat from yesterday, and now it was unclear where it was floating to, but I decided to get all the Conversations out of the way in one go. So I told the Lord that if He has even a shred of conscience, then He should answer for deranged me like I answer for the deranged cat and now also for the deranged policeman. I told the Lord that if we all drowned in His Flood, then by all rights He would have to come get us in hell, to ask them to let us out and then train us properly so that nothing like this would happen again.
I thought that in return for such a conversation the Lord would capsize our rug, but nothing like that happened. I realized that the Lord had a conscience after all and calmed down all of a sudden. The policeman and the cat were sitting quietly on the rug and looking around, and underneath us the rug was rocking very pleasantly on the waves. There were almost no people around, only the good Tajik floating right past us in his wheelbarrow. He was sitting in the wheelbarrow, singing something and drawing circles on the water with his finger; they were turning out really lovely. I asked the good Tajik if he needed his broom and he said no and gave it to us. I started to row with the broom a little so the rug wouldn’t run into the trees so much, their branches turned out to be right above us and it was very beautiful. All of a sudden my cat ran to the edge of the rug and started batting at something with his paw. I was glad that he had started to catch fish to subsist on so quickly, and thought that my instructive Conversation hadn’t been in vain, but it wasn’t a fish, it was that same woman.
She was swimming underwater, I shouted and waved my arms at her, I even jumped up and nearly capsized the rug, and my heart leapt up into my throat, but she swam away really quickly. I started to row with the broom with all my strength, and that’s when that woman surfaced and whacked me horribly hard on the head with her tail. My head started buzzing like crazy, the blow made me tumble into the water and I started to go under. My policeman pulled me back onto the rug and shouted something at that woman, although she had long since swum off; I wasn’t listening, but the words he used to chew her out would have earned me two red cards. I picked out as many scales from my hair as I could. My head was buzzing, but I think I felt a little better. I ate a piece of bread without jam, and then thought about it and ate another one with jam.
PART III
THEATER
THE WITNESS FROM FRIAZINO1
A play conceived as an opera libretto
TRANSLATED BY MAYA VINOKOUR
Dedicated to Boris Filanovsky, who’s all that and more.
The play takes place at approximately 10:30 a.m. on May 9, 2015, the seventieth anniversary of Victory Day.
SCENE 1
Ambulance driver: Coming through, coming through! Veteran on board. Coming through, veteran on board. It’s his heart, let me through.
Crowd on its way to the parade: Wait, what’s up with him?
Ambulance driver: He just got appointed, his nerves couldn’t take it.
Crowd: So how many years did they give him?
Ambulance driver: Eighty-three. Yesterday it was only forty-two, though. His nerves gave out.
Crowd: See what the man takes on for our sake.
Ambulance driver: It’s OK, he’s got another couple of years
in him. Let me through, fellow citizens.
Crowd: We’ll let you through, don’t worry!
Ambulance driver: Happy holiday, fellow citizens.
Crowd: A joyous resurrection to us all.
SCENE 2
Two girls are telling a story in an empty classroom (in parallel, to each other, on opposite ends of the stage). The Witness is marking notebooks at the teacher’s desk.
FIRST GIRL: SECOND GIRL:
She walks up, I say: She walks up, says:
“Give me your phone.” “Give me your phone.”
She takes it out and gives it to me.
I say: I say: “Why?”
“Give me your watch.” She took it away.
Her: “Why?” Then she says:
I say: “Give me your watch.”
“To look at the time.” I gave it.
I also took her She wanted my lighter too,
Lighter. I wouldn’t give it.
Then I say to her: Then she says to me:
“Kiss me.” “Kiss me.”
Everyone left for the parade, Everyone left for the parade,
We were the only ones We were the only ones
In the class to be punished. In the class to be punished.
(I only poked her (I didn’t want to keep
gently, and she up and turning around, she kept
starts screaming, the idiot.) poking me in the back with a pencil).
After, she says: After, I say:
“Give back my phone.” “Give back my phone.”
I returned the She gave back my phone,
Lighter to her and left. But she took my watch, the lighter
She took too—and left.
SCENE 3
Found Life Page 29