The small dog is climbing up the chimney, but the big one has seen what he’s doing through the window, and is hiding behind a chimney pot with his plank. The small dog’s head appears. He looks around and smiles, thinking the coast is clear. He jumps out and is all ready to leap down from the roof, when the big dog stands up with his plank and swings it like a baseball bat. WHACK! With the sound of a long, descending whistle, the small dog flies into the far distance while the bigger dog runs around the four corners of the roof like he’s scored a home run, acknowledging the cheers of an imaginary crowd. Liev gives a tiny, comma-sized smile, and turns back to me. ‘If you . . . ever . . . you know, lose something in there again, you have to promise me you won’t go in.’
‘OK,’ I say.
That seems to be it. Easy. If he knew what I’d really done . . . where I’d been . . .
He’s already on his way out when curiosity gets the better of me. ‘Why?’ I say.
He stops and turns, his face now blank and puzzled, as if he’s already forgotten what we were talking about. ‘What?’ he says.
‘What’s in there that’s so forbidden?’
‘Nothing. It’s just private property.’
‘Whose is it?’
‘Well . . . it’s private, but I suppose it belongs to all of us.’
‘So it’s public?’
‘It’s . . . disputed.’
‘By who?’
‘The people who used to live there.’
‘Who used to live there?’
‘No one.’
‘No one? So who’s disputing what?’
‘You know what I mean, smart guy,’ he says, with a sneer. ‘They abandon their houses then they act like it’s our fault.’
‘I saw it. I was in there,’ I say. ‘I saw the house.’
He stares at me, not blinking, a cold, level gaze.
‘Have you seen it, too?’ I ask.
He shrugs. ‘They’re bad people. They build without permits. They don’t listen to the government, they don’t listen to the army, they only understand violence.’
‘What happened to the people who lived there? Where are they now?’
‘Gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘Somewhere they belong. Why are you asking all these stupid questions?’
‘I just . . . it was weird. The house. It’s smashed up, but everything is still there, as if they didn’t even pack – as if something just fell out of the sky in the middle of an ordinary day and crushed the place. It felt spooky.’
‘You don’t have to worry. Nothing fell out of the sky. It can’t happen to us.’
‘That’s not what I mean. I felt something bad.’
‘You felt something?’
‘Did anyone die?’
I sense him begin to lose his patience. ‘When these things happen every care is taken to save lives, but some people don’t want to be saved. And people die everywhere all the time. It’s normal. What’s crazy is that we have to fight so hard for every square inch of land we want to live on. What’s crazy is that there are traitors who help those people fight for land that ought to be ours. What’s crazy is that some people won’t stay where they are put, and just go on and on and on trying to stop us living normal, peaceful lives. And if you’re having feelings and worrying about things that don’t concern you, then I suggest you concentrate a bit harder on your studies, and spend less time speculating about things you can’t possibly understand. Do you hear me?’
He’s now looming over me, and above his beard I can see his face is flushed, with tiny deltas of purple veins lit up around the rims of his nostrils. I shrug and turn back to the TV. The big dog is now hammering the smaller dog into the ground like a fence post.
Liev stands over me a short while longer, slightly out of breath from his rant, then slips away, back to the kitchen.
I don’t want to risk talking to him again before dinner so I flick off the TV and retreat to my bedroom, picking up my schoolbag as I go. I have to find a hiding place for that scarf.
In the middle of the night , the red digits of my bedside
‘OK,’ I say.
That seems to be it. Easy. If he knew what I’d really done . . . where I’d been . . .
He’s already on his way out when curiosity gets the better of me. ‘Why?’ I say.
He stops and turns, his face now blank and puzzled, as if he’s already forgotten what we were talking about. ‘What?’ he says.
‘What’s in there that’s so forbidden?’
‘Nothing. It’s just private property.’
‘Whose is it?’
‘Well . . . it’s private, but I suppose it belongs to all of us.’
‘So it’s public?’
‘It’s . . . disputed.’
‘By who?’
‘The people who used to live there.’
‘Who used to live there?’
‘No one.’
‘No one? So who’s disputing what?’
‘You know what I mean, smart guy,’ he says, with a sneer. ‘They abandon their houses then they act like it’s our fault.’
‘I saw it. I was in there,’ I say. ‘I saw the house.’
He stares at me, not blinking, a cold, level gaze.
‘Have you seen it, too?’ I ask.
He shrugs. ‘They’re bad people. They build without permits. They don’t listen to the government, they don’t listen to the army, they only understand violence.’
‘What happened to the people who lived there? Where are they now?’
‘Gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘Somewhere they belong. Why are you asking all these stupid questions?’
‘I just . . . it was weird. The house. It’s smashed up, but everything is still there, as if they didn’t even pack – as if something just fell out of the sky in the middle of an ordinary day and crushed the place. It felt spooky.’
‘You don’t have to worry. Nothing fell out of the sky. It can’t happen to us.’
‘That’s not what I mean. I felt something bad.’
‘You felt something?’
‘Did anyone die?’
I sense him begin to lose his patience. ‘When these things happen every care is taken to save lives, but some people don’t want to be saved. And people die everywhere all the time. It’s normal. What’s crazy is that we have to fight so hard for every square inch of land we want to live on. What’s crazy is that there are traitors who help those people fight for land that ought to be ours. What’s crazy is that some people won’t stay where they are put, and just go on and on and on trying to stop us living normal, peaceful lives. And if you’re having feelings and worrying about things that don’t concern you, then I suggest you concentrate a bit harder on your studies, and spend less time speculating about things you can’t possibly understand. Do you hear me?’
He’s now looming over me, and above his beard I can see his face is flushed, with tiny deltas of purple veins lit up around the rims of his nostrils. I shrug and turn back to the TV. The big dog is now hammering the smaller dog into the ground like a fence post.
Liev stands over me a short while longer, slightly out of breath from his rant, then slips away, back to the kitchen.
I don’t want to risk talking to him again before dinner so I flick off the TV and retreat to my bedroom, picking up my schoolbag as I go. I have to find a hiding place for that scarf.
In the middle of the night , the red digits of my bedside
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