\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201dHey, you over there! Watch that mug, will you? You think after you croaked, we won\u2019t need it anymore?\u201d<\/p>\n
For sure, I wasn\u2019t certain that after I’m croaking, it will be no use of it, and I wasn\u2019t sure about the contrary either; but I was always told to act carefully, not to break anything, not to get anything dirty, to cut it short, not to break anything that could \u2013 possibly – be useful to someone else, somebody who would find himself in my position and\u00a0 would be told:<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201dHey, you over there! Watch that mug, will you!… You think after you\u2019ve croaked, we won\u2019t need it anymore?\u201d<\/p>\n
That\u2019s why I turn around and, as I grab the mug handle, I spin it around my forefinger a few times, and then, as if I were absent-minded, I let it go faking the wonder of what comes next.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The mug hits the ground in a bang and breaks. Then I prepare my soles for the eigthy blows, never less or more, even though each day I am told that the punishment for my next error will be harsher. As it\u2019s not the first time I\u2019m taking the eighty blows, you wouldn\u2019t know if it hurts or not. I won\u2019t tell you, so let\u2019s go on. After the eighty blows, I put my shoes on and crawl as much as I can to the corner of the room where I fall down to the ground, my back against the wall. The hack and the other two get out slamming the door. Hardly has he locked the door when the jerk in charge, a guy twice as big as me, gets near, examines both sides of my kisser with his clog’s tip, then snaps his finger like a deayman and says to one of his scumbags:<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201dBust him, he\u2019s a stupid asshole!\u201d<\/p>\n
Just what he was waiting for. He grasped my hair, had me standing up \u2013 he knows I\u2019m barely able to stand up since he has been doing this procedure \u2013 and puts me against the wall and starts raining blows on me till I can hardly feel anything. I supppose he blows me a few punches more. I fall down again and stay like that, unconsciously, for a few good hours. I still wake up sometimes at night mumbling something about not finding my back or my hands or my legs, and then I go back to sleep. Next day I don\u2019t wake up till noon. The guard hands me the mug and I drink a little and put it on the edge of the wall. It\u2019s not really ok. It\u2019s half outside, but it doesn\u2019t fall off.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201dHey, you over there!\u201d, the guard shouts at me. \u201dWatch that mug, will you… you think after you\u2019ve died, we won\u2019t need it anymore?\u201d<\/p>\n
I do not think that, I usually don\u2019t think anything. The handle is spinning round my forefinger a few times, then the mug is breaking, then there they come the eighty blows, then the warning for the next worse time, the door slammed, the boss saying:<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201dGive it to him, he\u2019s a stupid asshole!\u201d<\/p>\n
My lawyer came yesterday and told me everything was settled. They\u2019ve taken me out of my cell today, that state I was in, they took me to court. My lawyer probably spoke for an hour \u2013 I don\u2019t know what he said because I\u2019d fell asleep \u2013 they woke me up only after he had finished his speech. The judge stood up and told me I was discharged, they gave me back my clothes and I went home. I went to bed, but, about five in the morning, two guys came to remind me I was called immediately to court. Of course, I went there and sat in the same dock I had sat a few hours before when having been discharged. The guard, as the civil part, accused me of having brought prejudicies to the state amounting to 5, 200 broken mugs during my imprisonment. The prosecutor asked for four years in prison, my lawyer agreed and the judge approved the sentence. They took my clothes and took me back to the cell, then the guard came and handed me the mug, I took it: the shelf is too narrow. Just half the mug is on it.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cHey, you over there!<\/p>\n
One, two, three, around my forefinger. Smash!<\/p>\n
The pieces are flying all over the place. The boss\u2019s clog is walking on my cheek.<\/p>\n
\u201cGive it to him, he\u2019s a stupid asshole!\u201d<\/p>\n
Bang! The butcher\u2019s fist has a stifled sound in my stomach. I took a chip in my hand. I don\u2019t even have to move: the butcher\u2019s throat cuts itself with it. He was going to land me a blow in my stomach with his head. He\u2019s dead. The chip cut his throat. The guard comes in. He takes me. They sentenced me to death. They put me in a car along with five others. We go out of town. It\u2019s nice. Sunny. I can see a forest over there\u2026 I\u2019m smiling.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cHey, you over there! What are you giggling about?! You think you\u2019re out for a walk?\u201d<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t think anything. But I smile because, well\u2026 it\u2019s different. On the right there\u2019s a field with holes. It\u2019s probably the shooting ground where they\u2019re going to kill us. We get off. All six of us. They call our names and make us count by twos. It\u2019s not working well; we start counting one more time. Then we move to the wall, but the sun gets straight in my eyes. I shake my head and I knit my brows: useless. I take a step to the right: that\u2019s better.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cHey, you over there! What\u2019s all that fuss? You think we have so many bullets to throw away on you?\u201d<\/p>\n
I still don\u2019t think anything. They\u2019re loading the guns. They\u2019re shooting. I feel nothing. I look around: the other five are dead. They\u2019re very dead. They fell as they could: one, with his hand in the front, another in a crouch\u2026 I throw myself to the ground, too, but that won\u2019t do:<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cHey, you over there! You think you\u2019re some kind of actor or somethin\u2019? Stand up and back to the car!\u201d<\/p>\n
I go. We get to the prison. I go in. There\u2019s an awful smell in the cell. I\u2019m trying to do something, anything: to go the cinema, to swim, to sing, to read, to dance; I do whatever I can waiting for a change. Nothing. It\u2019s useless: the guard comes in with the mug. I take it. I do what I usually do.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, you over there!\u201d<\/p>\n
Smash! The slammed door.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cGive it to him, he\u2019s a stupid asshole!\u201d<\/p>\n
Bang! No pain. At night, I look for an arm, a leg\u2026<\/p>\n
Eventually, it goes away. I wake up, the mug in my hand.<\/p>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cHey you, over there!\u201d<\/p>\n
Nothing. Next day.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"by\u00a0Dumitru Radu Popa (USA) Translated from Romanian by Olimpia Malai (MTTLC)\u00a0 pentru versiunea rom\u00e2n\u0103 click aici\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201dHey, you over there! Watch that mug, will you? You think after you croaked, we won\u2019t need it anymore?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[22],"tags":[592,593,1116],"class_list":["post-4870","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-short-story","tag-dumitru-radu-popa","tag-olimpia-malai","tag-short-story"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-1gy","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4870","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4870"}],"version-history":[{"count":16,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4870\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4961,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4870\/revisions\/4961"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4870"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4870"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4870"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}