NEST

NEST


“Hmph. Yes, it’s stealing, but, how can I tell you… I’m not a thief.”
“You have become one, if you weren’t one. You were looking upwards, you know?”
“I know. I made a mistake, you don’t know how ashamed I am.”
“Listen, they broke into our home once; robbed us blind. Maybe it was you. Then my little one had his bike stolen from our balcony. Hey! And before that, my bike was stolen from this yard, it was chained right over there. People like you! I’m dirt poor as well. And what if I wasn’t, what difference does it make? Do you even know how much it hurts when someone steals from you? Do you know how wounded a person is when they enter his bedroom?” I said icily through my teeth.
“But that wasn’t me. But hit me; here, beat, I’ll take it.”
“I won’t hit you.” I felt sickened by the image of me beating him and him not even defending himself.
“Wait.” I felt as if he stepped toward me. “Do you have a cigarette?” he said, looking into my eyes anxiously.
“Stop! A cigarette? What cigarette? I’m not giving you a cigarette! I’m mad at you!” and I remembered that, when I was little, I used to say to my parents when they were teasing me, “Bug off, scram, I’m mad to you!” I felt ashamed by that “I’m mad at you”; “Some fucking authority I am”, I said to myself.
“I know you don’t b’lieve me, but I’m not a thief. Ya don’t b’lieve ме, I know; and how can you b’lieve me? I wouldn’t b’lieve me.”
“I don’t b’leeve you!”
“I know. But you see that moped on the street, right? I’m collecting bottles, friend. All day, I’m wandering around the streets and dumpsters for crumbs. I haven’t stolen anything, honestly. I’m looking for old things too. Buyin’em’used3F don’t exactly buy; if people can give me things, that’s what I get. And I ask ‘round houses. That’s why I walked into this yard. And I saw these things of yours…”
“My son’s.”
“Your son’s, sorry. And I made a mistake. First time. You don’t know how ashamed I am” he went on quietly and every word was quieter and quieter; every syllable became so quiet, that the word “ashamed” became a whisper.

AuthorOgnen Cemerski
2018-10-30T11:30:43+00:00 October 21st, 2017|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 116|0 Comments