Ten boys from our building and the neighboring one lined up on the Soldier line. We had to select a guard whose job was to protect the tin can. He was an important figure, a dangerous opponent to those fighting for higher rank. And he was selected the same way, by knocking the can off. The one who knocked it off immediately avoided the hard and unpopular role of guard.
“I’ll knock it off with my first throw!” My pal Vitya Smirnov took aim. Holding his stick, he drew his arm back… and threw. No, he was not up to it. The stick flopped onto the ground two meters short of the tin can. Poor Vitya was very annoyed. The farther a stick was from the target, the greater chance one had of becoming the guard, and no one wanted to be the guard.
“Look out!” Oparin roared. He failed to knock the can over, but his stick fell closer to the target. Vitya’s shot was the least successful out of the ten, so he had to take his post at the tin can.
And then the battle broke out.
We all lined up at the starting point on the Soldier line. Stick after stick was thrown, but the can remained on the bricks, as if bewitched. That time, I was lucky. Beside myself with delight, I watched as the can flew about seven meters from the bricks, but I had no time to enjoy it. All the boys darted forward with wild cries, overtaking me. “Hurray, hurray!” Now, each of us had to retrieve his stick before the guard could return the can to its place. Anyone who failed to do so would be in trouble, because as soon as the can was in place, the “close combat” would begin. Vitya Smirnov was leaping around the can and, like a pack of wolves, we surrounded him. His task in this combat was to graze at least one of us with his stick. Retrieving one’s stick was quite a feat! If Vitya managed to graze someone with his stick and then knock the can off, he would be the winner. The one who was grazed would become the guard. Our objective was to dodge, avoid being grazed, and knock down the can, leaving Vitya at his post as guard.
The close combat was a picturesque and noisy show. It might seem to passersby who were unfamiliar with the game that we were having a real brawl and that they should let our parents know about it or even inform the police. As we got carried away, we screamed like madmen and brandished our sticks so hard that we brushed them against each other, screamed in pain, swore at each other, crossed our sticks and raised columns of dust.
“Hey, Kolya, be bold!” Oparin yelled at Kolya Kulikov.
“What a goat you are, Sturgeon! Protect me when I attack!” Sipa instructed his partner Server, nicknamed Sturgeon.
“Where are you aiming your stick, you macaque! It should be between the legs!” Server, in turn, reproached Edem, the third member of their unit.
Listening from a distance, one might think that different types of animals who had mastered human speech were shouting to one another – sturgeons, goats, macaques. Who said there was no zoo in Chirchik? Of course, there was, and the most diverse in the whole of Asia.
We all grew tired. We were covered with sweat, bruises, dust. Vitya Smirnov proved to be a mighty fighter, a staunch guard of the tin can. Beaten, bent up and full of holes, the condensed milk can seemed unattainable under the protection of his widely spread legs. But suddenly, an ecstatic roar was heard – it was Oparin who managed to knock down the can. Another ecstatic roar – Edem kicked it once more. And finally, to top it off, I sent the can flying out of the battlefield.
We played Officers until it began to grow dark, and parents could be heard calling their kids home. At that point, I suddenly remembered Emma. It was time to go home, the same way of course.
Vitya Smirnov, who hadn’t yet forgotten that we had been adversaries during the game, nonetheless agreed to help me climb onto the veranda. I climbed onto his back. Vitya groaned. After I got hold of the window frame, I whispered, “Thank you, Vitya. So long.”
Emma, though she was glad I was back, began to tease me again about how she would tell on me. It would be best to put her to bed before Father showed up. After having dinner and washing, we went to bed. I began to doze off right away. Our battle sticks flashed before my eyes as my sister’s squeaky voice was heard:
“Vale-e-ry-y!”
Uh-oh, there she went. My moment for revenge had arrived. I wasn’t even sleepy any longer. Now I’d teach this tattletale a lesson.
Emma was afraid to fall asleep alone, and she often asked for permission to climb into my bed. Usually, I let her. But today…
“Valery, may I stay with you?”
“There are so many stray cats in the building. It’s awful… They say they’ve began to climb into apartments…” I mused.
She was sniffling, it was pitiful long sniffling. What can be scarier than green eyes sparkling in the dark? I waited for a couple of minutes.
“Va-a-le-e-ry!”
“Will you tell on me?”
“No-o-o!” my sister’s trembling voice sounded.
“What if you do? Why should I want a sister who’s a tattletale? We’ll trade you for a brother. It’ll be more fun with him. Boys don’t tattle.”
“I won’t do it again. Please, don’t trade…” And Emma sniffled, as only very little kids can.
“All right, come here.”
The quick rhythmic pounding of bare feet was heard, and in a second Emma’s warm little body was clinging to mine. She inhaled deeply, sniffled one more time… and we fell asleep.
I woke up either for no particular reason or because of some sound. Was that Mama? No, Mama wasn’t in the room. She had already taken Emma to her room, which meant she had come to my bedroom after returning from work. I heard rustling and footsteps in the hallway. It wasn’t our parents’ usual footsteps, accompanied by the clicking of their slippers. No, those were different, unfamiliar sounds. Maybe it was a cat – I tried to calm myself. I remembered that Emma was afraid of cats and how funny that seemed to me. But now I didn’t experience any pleasure at the thought of the whole apartment being full of cats, and I would see their green eyes shining in the dark… The noise subsided, then I heard it again. Then it seemed to me that I heard someone whispering. Footsteps followed. The floor squeaked close to my door… A small beam of light flashed by for a second… I squinted…Then I opened my eyes, and it was dark again… And rustling, rustling… I was covered in cold sweat. I opened my mouth to yell, “Burglars! Burglars!” but not a sound emerged from my throat. It took my breath away. I was struck dumb.
It grew quiet again. I remained in bed. With no energy to move, I listened intently in the darkness. Perhaps that long strain was too much for a kid my age, but I suddenly fell asleep. I don’t remember when or how.
In the morning, loud voices woke me up. Father and Mama were talking anxiously about something. A wind was blowing through the apartment. I understood that the front door was open. Something had happened… I somehow knew what had happened. Before that thought rushed through my mind, I rolled out of bed.
Father was squatting in the hallway, picking up something from the floor. Next to him was Emma’s purse, stuffed with her treasures, silver ribbons.
“It’s strange that I didn’t hear anything,” he mumbled.
“They know when to strike. They choose the time when people are very fast asleep.” Uncle Yura, Dora’s husband stood at the front door. It turned out that it had been he who had sounded the alarm early in the morning when, on his way to work, he had seen that our front door was unlocked, and there was no one in the hallway. “They know their trade,” he said as if giving credit to the burglars’ efficiency and, at the same time, sympathizing with our misfortune.
“How come I didn’t hear anything?” Father mumbled again.
“I heard… I heard them,” I said, first very quietly, then loudly, suddenly remembering what had happened during the night.
Father raised his head.