Good Raya and the Evil Rooster
Originally written by: Anton Prous
Translated from Russian into English by: Yana Pospelova, Independent artist
The first time I saw Auntie Raya, I knew she was a witch. She had to be! Now tell me, would a nice non-witch auntie have this kind of face? All scrunched up, dark, with a big misshapen nose and an assortment of moles and knots. She most definitely would not. And then there were her ears: peeking out of her babushka headscarf, they looked like a giantess’ ears and were almost as hairy as a dog’s. Even our dog Trezor had shorter ear hairs! I noticed all this at once when Auntie Raya came to see my grandma. After seeing her, I cried in terror. It wasn't even the face or the surreal ears that scared me, but her teeth! She had only three teeth, all long and yellow and looking like they belonged inside a wolf's mouth, not an aunties’. When Raya spoke, I could see her tongue slither behind the scary teeth like a wet snake I once saw in a puddle behind the wooden toilet, and she sounded like she had tea in her mouth. After I stopped crying, I told her, rather loudly, that only wolves have teeth like these. Mom let out a giggle, and Grandma covered her mouth with her hand. Maybe she was trying to hide her teeth, I didn't know, hers weren't nearly as scary anyway. But Auntie Raya suddenly started crying, turned her back on us, and walked toward her izba*, just across the road from our house. There was a wooden footbridge and a small bench beside her old wicket gate, and along the fence was a ditch surrounded by big pine trees. But I never went there. This was my enemy’s territory.
Raya had an enormous black rooster, almost as big as me. Whenever it spread its wings, craned its neck, and started crowing, making all the hens scatter, I always darted behind our wicket. The rooster was just as ugly as Raya herself. It had no teeth, of course, but what it lacked in teeth, it made up for in moles and knots, which covered its head, comb, and wattles. Its eyes were pitch black with a fiery red rim, its legs were always covered in mud because it liked to stomp on dirt like a stallion. My grandpa had made a sandpit just by our wicket for me to play in, but even there, I was afraid. The rooster would stalk me, and whenever it would locate me, it would lower its head like a bull and start towards me, at first slowly but then faster and faster, until it was running at full speed, spreading its enormous wings... by that time I was usually behind the wicket. Once, I couldn’t hear the rooster approach, and it pecked my leg and butt. It hurt a lot, but what hurt more was fear. My legs had given up on me and I couldn’t run away. I fell face down in the dirt, covered my head, and yelled as loud as I could. Thankfully, Grandpa heard me screaming, jumped out of the barn holding a shovel, and dashed toward us. The rooster didn't let go of me immediately, it kept eluding Grandpa's foot, screeching and roaring and landing more painful pecks... What a terrible day. I stayed inside for the rest of it, and I heard Grandpa say that he told Raya that if the rooster attacked anyone else, then he, Grandpa, would kill it. I, of course, didn't believe it, I didn't even think this kind of rooster could be killed, so I decided to stay home indefinitely.
The following day my parents were all set to visit my great-grandmother Malvina who lived on the other side of the village. But I was determined to stay inside. Then my father offered to carry me on his back. I thought that a rooster couldn’t jump that high, so I agreed. I still kept glancing behind us just to make sure the rooster was not chasing us.
Great grandma Malvina had nasty goats, a cat that always hissed and clawed, a deep pond with a rotting wooden planked footway in front of it, handsome tritons inside of it, stinging nettle and prickly gooseberry bushes all around it that made walking near the pond to look at those tritons very painful. But these obstacles had to be overcome, because how could you go to great-grandma’s and not see the tritons? I used to get scared walking through the vegetable garden alone, but without the threat of the terrible rooster, everything looked friendly and inviting.
When we came back home, Auntie Raya was visiting. She was sitting in the kitchen with Grandma, but I was hungry, so I approached and stood silently in the doorway. Raya noticed me, covered her mouth, and although I could see she was smiling, she asked me sternly, what is it, Antosha? Don't you like me? Would you not marry me? No, you are old, I replied. She laughed and dropped her hand, so I had to look at my feet to avoid seeing her teeth. But just to make sure, I whispered to Grandma if it was possible for me not to marry Raya. This made everyone laugh so much that I couldn't understand if I had to marry old Raya or not, and I ran to Mom crying. But Raya wasn't mad at me, later, we even became friends, and she locked the rooster in the dark barn, where he cried in rage, no doubt dreaming of pecking me to death. Here is how our friendship came to be.
I played outside in the sand pit while Raya sat on her wooden bench, petting her goat Zoya, named after my mother, and next to the goat ran a little goatling. I really wanted to pet it, and I stared at its soft fur and little baby hooves until Raya noticed and beckoned me to come closer, she said the rooster was locked away, and Muchtar would never hurt you, that’s her dog - Muchtar. He is a good-looking dog, like Lassie from TV, but I had never seen him run, only walk. I ran over to the baby goat and petted it, it responded with a gentle head butt. It had no horns yet, only small bumps, so it didn't hurt. I asked what the baby goat's name was, and Raya said, well, probably Antosha. And I asked, what about his dad, is it also Borya, like my dad? Raya laughed for a long time and then said yes, but don't tell anyone. Later she brought me a glass of goat milk, it was very good, thick like the starchy kissel* they gave us in kindergarten, and strong-smelling, nothing like cow milk I was used to.
Me and Raya became great friends. I visited her almost every day. She showed me a secret spot she knew that grew ceps but told me never to let my grandpa know where I found them because he was the sneaky type, she said, and there would be no mushrooms left for her. The secret spot was along the ditch, under the great big pine trees littered with crows' nests, where crows always perched and cawed loudly. It wasn't only ceps either, I found all sorts of mushrooms: russulas, woolly and rollrim milkcaps, birch bolete... I came home with a great mushroom haul but never told anyone where I had found them. Grandpa even got mad at me because it was him who always brought home ceps, that he usually found behind our vegetable garden, along the fence. And still, I kept my secret. Grandpa concluded I found them near the fence of evil Raya. I forgot to mention her! Her fence was two meters high and so dense you couldn't see through it. She had a dog too, but not Muchtar, her dog didn't even have a name, it was a big scary wolfhound chained to the side of the house. And her house was also across the road, across Chkalov Street, towards the well. I immediately understood, from my grandfather's words, that this is a good spot for mushroom picking. I wouldn't be friends with evil Raya, though. She never even says hello to us. Sometimes she would jump out of her tall gate with some kind of stick when I was riding my bike with the boys and we were shouting perhaps too loudly. She would rush at us and yell that she would have us all thrown into jail, that we were good-for-nothings. Grandpa even told her off once in front of us, not to stick her nose out of her burrow, not to harass the children, and that we didn't need a supervisor. That's why I was scared to look for mushrooms near her fence, even though sometimes we found very big ceps there. Once I saw her through a crack in the fence, she was coming at me fast, hissing that she would throw me in jail for stealing. I asked Grandma if one could be thrown in jail for stealing mushrooms on the other side of the fence, not inside someone's garden, but Grandma told me to stop going to evil Raya's fence, just to be on the safe side. How did she know I was talking about that fence?
And then Mom left for Leningrad. She didn't tell me, no one told me she was going. She just hugged me, said goodbye, and left. I didn't understand at first, but when I saw her take her bag and start towards the wicket, I cried out that she must not leave me, that I would come with her because there was something I had to show her, that we have to go to the river and the forest, and we have to do all of these things together because she hasn't seen all of them and because... I don't think she understood, words don't come out right when you're crying, they get tangled in your mouth with tears and snot. And it seems that Mom is leaving forever, because she didn't say she would be back in two days, she didn't say she was going to the doctor or anywhere else, which means she's abandoning me! Why else would Grandpa be holding me, keeping me from running after Mom, and why would Grandma be crying too, if Mom wasn't leaving me forever, if she was coming back? Grandpa was tearing up too... If Mom's not giving up on me, why is everyone crying? Then I was suddenly very tired, Mom was gone. I ate soup, seeing the reflection of my cheeks, eyelashes, and nose whenever I looked down, with tears sometimes rippling the surface of the soup. I didn't finish it, the soup was cold and diluted with tears. Then I took a quick nap, not because I'm a small child, but because Grandma gets up very early and needs to sleep after lunch, and I would fool around and disturb her sleep. I dreamt about riding the baby goat, it was saying something, but I couldn't remember what. When I woke up, Grandma had already left. I went out, turned the corner of our fence, and sat on the wooden footbridge over the ditch. Grasshoppers were chirping, wild strawberries were in bloom, and there were first berries gleaming in the sunlight. I was looking past the street, past the well on the other side, past the black izba with beautifully carved window frames, past the house with a Great Dane with black and white spots, past the house of the postwoman whose son drowned a long time ago, and she went mad, past the bathhouse with the dive bar, that's how Dad calls it, past the station where a commuter train was taking Mom away from me... The train must've left already, Mom should be home by now, without me. Why would Mom want to be without me? What kind of things can she be doing without me? How can she do anything without me? There was a lizard and a smaller lizard behind it. Must be her son? Crows cawing in their nests, their sons are there with them. Even Raya's rooster has its hens and chicks. And the goat with the goatling... Only my mom left me to go to Leningrad. My vision became blurred. I picked some unripe strawberries and swallowed them. I'll eat green strawberries and die, that'll show her! But there weren't many more berries. It was starting to get cold, and I was feeling hungry. I went home to Grandma because she hadn't betrayed me and because I wanted pancakes and didn't want to die, not really. Grandma's pancakes are way better than Mom's, anyway. They're plump and nicely browned on both sides, Grandpa eats them with salty bacon crisps, I didn’t like it this way, but now I eat pancakes just like Grandpa! He folds the pancake in half, sticks a fork through it, dips it into the saucer, where bacon crisps float in hot lard, and puts it right into his mouth, while my pancakes are pre-cut by Grandma because a whole pancake is too big for me, I put a crisp on every piece and eat it. They also go great with sour cream, jam, or just by themselves, even cold. I don't think I want to die just now, not while there are pancakes like these.
Mom was gone for a long time, maybe for three days. While she was away, Grandpa got sick and had to be taken to the hospital, and Grandma needed to visit him. She asked if I wanted to stay with Raya, just for a tiny bit, one night only. I think Grandma was scared I would start crying again, like when Mom left. But she explained everything to me clearly, about Grandpa in hospital with pneumonia, and that she needed to bring him food and talk to the doctor. And then she has to go to work early in the morning at the shop. I didn’t even get upset, because it was interesting at Raya’s, everything was different in the house, in the barn, and in the garden. Our house was tidy, with neat rows of flowers lining the front yard, well-kept vegetable patches, and delicate apple trees. Grandma was always busy in the garden, while Grandpa worked in the barn. He even had a furnace there, and sometimes he forged fences for the cemetery and such. Raya's place was different, there was clutter everywhere, her apple trees were giant and unkempt, the vegetable garden had no beds, and things just grew at random places, carrots with strawberries, potatoes with chives, and even the hens somehow looked dirty. Our garden had a big rhubarb bush, its reddish-green leaves were so huge that a cat could sleep on one without breaking it, and when a sprig with tiny flowers shot up to the sky, it almost looked like it could touch the clouds. Raya's garden had a pond overgrown with green duckweed and frogs that never stopped croaking.
That's how I found myself inside Raya's izba. Everything there was different too. Grandma never let our cat go past the seni*, and our dog Trezor wasn't even allowed to enter the house. Raya let all her animals inside. When we came in, a hen was pecking at the kitchen floor, and Muchtar was lying beside a chair, nibbling at its wooden leg. Raya said he was an old dog, and his teeth hurt. I lightly pet Muchtar on the head, and he responded with a lazy tail wag. He was very sweet. Then Raya went to fetch water from the well, and I tried to ride Muchtar. I mounted him while he was lying down, but I inevitably tumbled down each time he got up. I even hit my head on the stove once. I got scared, but then it turned out that the stove was barely warm, and there was nothing to be afraid of. Then finally, I got Muchtar to sit, mounted him from behind, and held onto his fur, but when he got up, I felt I was sliding down again, so I grabbed his ears. At that exact moment, Raya returned with a bucket, Muchtar wagged his tail, lowered his head, and down I tumbled again, almost spilling the water. Raya took Muchtar and locked him in the seni, where he whimpered a little but then got silent, he probably fell asleep.
After lunch, I lay on Raya's bed, and she turned on the radio. Her radio was an old big black device I only ever saw in movies about the Great Patriotic War. Nothing fun was on, and I fell asleep. After my nap, we went to the other side of the village together. Turns out, there was a shepherd there, and every evening people came by to take their goats home. That's why the goats walk through the village in the evening, and I always thought they were just out enjoying the air. We walked with the goats, the road was littered with goat droppings, and Raya told me a story from when I was a little boy. I had just started to walk, and Zoya was still a baby goat, I used to pick up her droppings—I must have thought they were candies or raisins—and eat them. I filled my mouth with the stuff and wouldn't let Grandpa pick it out. I didn't believe her, of course, how could I eat poop? It's not at all like raisins; everyone can see that. I understand one little pellet, but a mouthful? Raya never explained and just laughed, and I laughed with her because it must’ve looked funny, a little boy with a mouth full of goat poop.
We had dinner, Raya fried up ceps with onions and potatoes. She served delicious jam with bad tea. And then I went to bed. I don't know where Raya slept because her bed was the only one in the house. I asked her to tell me a bedtime story, and she told me about her life, her husband who had died, and the war... It was nothing like a fairy tale, but rather boring and scary at the same time. Lying in someone else's bed was weird, the bedroom was different, a different streetlight shone a different light through a different window. Raya's izba had no wallpaper under the wall carpets, like our house, it only had a wardrobe, a cabinet, a table, and a single shelf. Some walls were just exposed logs. I could hear mice behind the carpet, or maybe they were rats. Mice are nicer. I suddenly remembered how Grandpa demolished our old barn to build another one. Under the floorboards, we found a nest with tiny pink rat pups. I put one pup in my palm and went home to show it to Grandma. I didn't know that Grandma could scream so loudly and run so fast. When I returned to the barn, I saw Grandpa slicing the rat pups with a shovel. I watched silently, tears streaming down my face and neck. I didn't shriek like Grandma, but there was a knot in my throat, I couldn't bear the thought of those tiny blind babies, completely bald, pink, and warm, squealing for their mom because their mom had left them just like my mom had left me, because their house was demolished and then they were killed with a shovel, and this was all so, so wrong. I stopped talking to Grandpa for a long time, even though he made a bow and arrows for me and taught me how to make a screw tied to a feather with a thread fly up... I was lying on Raya's bed, and I was happy that her rat or mouse pups were safe behind the carpet, like I was safe under the duvet, and their mom must be with them.
And then Mom came back. I immediately wasn't mad anymore and was instead very happy. I taught her how to fish, but she was very afraid of worms. She would dump the worms out of the jar, and I would scold her because they were hard to dig up, and it wasn't right to scatter them like that, there wouldn't be enough left. She would dump the worms onto the grass and wait for the worm to crawl onto the hook by itself so she could cast it. Well, of course, I had to put the worm on the hook myself, otherwise it would just float away in the water. Who doesn't understand that?! We didn't catch any fish because I had to help my mum, rescue worms and cast my own rod. There were a few bites, but I didn't manage to hook them and got very upset. Still, this was a happy day, fishing with Mom. A very happy day. It's a shame that it was only once in my life that we went fishing together...
And then summer was suddenly over. Of course, before it ended, I got to go mushroom hunting and raspberry picking with Grandpa, we even went fishing, and he caught many tablets and small roaches. And I went crayfish hunting with Dad, well, it was very fun. And at the end of summer, we picked flowers in the garden and left. Now Grandma was crying, but I wasn't. But I told her that we would come back, that there was no need to cry, that they were waiting for me at kindergarten, and that winter was coming soon, and we would come back to build a snow slide here.
And, of course, we came back in the winter. Uncle Serezha, Mom's younger brother, built us a snow slide together with Dad, and we broke it that same day with my brothers Misha and Valera because we were fighting about who would get to try it first. Then he built a whole snow house, first clearing out a footpath near the fence, throwing the snow into the already covered ditch, and then making a long tunnel right through the ditch! We played inside the house, but when Grandma saw us, she made us all come out because she got scared the snow roof would collapse on us and we would suffocate. Then Uncle Serezha jumped on top of the snow house and fell inside, but he didn't suffocate, he just laughed while we all yelled at him for breaking such a good house. We laughed with him, too.
The next morning, I left our house and went across the street toward Auntie Raya's izba. Her yard was full of strangers; they told me Raya had died and Muchtar had run away. I asked about the rooster, but they didn't answer. Outside in the snow, I saw a black radio and some stray things. There was no sign of the goat or the goatling. The snow was dirty, not like the white snow in our yard, where we only dusted the pathways with sand to make them less slippery. The wooden bench near Raya's wicket gate was completely covered in snow, and the path where I used to pick mushrooms was invisible. The strangers in the yard were arguing loudly. I went home.
Everyone was watching someone sing on TV. I lay on the sofa by Grandma's side and put my head on her stomach. I liked making Grandma laugh so that her belly would jiggle, making my head jump. I used to say Grandma had a big frog in her stomach, making her laugh harder and my head jump even higher. But this time, I didn't feel like laughing. I was thinking about Raya, Zoya the goat and Antosha the goatling, and their father and where they could be, I wonder... I asked Grandma when she would die, but she said I was talking nonsense, and I went to bed.
I was lying awake in the small bedroom next to the kitchen. Above my bed was a small lamp shaped like a pretty rose, my dad had bought it for me so I wouldn’t fear the dark. I thought about how it would’ve been better if Raya had warned me that she would die instead of just disappearing like Mom did. Grandma should also warn us, and explain when she would die, and then no one would cry because everyone would be ready and prepared. Maybe we die just like those rat pups, one moment, we have a home, the next, we don't, and it's all so sudden. I imagined someone big standing over our house with a giant shovel, looking at us without any love or compassion, maybe even searching for the weakest among us, then letting the shovel down, and us disappearing without ever learning what happens next, without knowing that someone remembers us like I remembered Raya, and the goats, and the rat babies, and then there will be a new barn where our house stood, and the past will no longer exist. Already drifting off to sleep, I whispered that I would never forget you, Raya, and that you weren't an evil witch, that you were even beautiful, but honestly, I wouldn't marry you, I would just visit you again and again if you didn't die!
***
*Izba - a traditional Slavic house, typically made of logs.
*Seni - a room inside an izba that separates the living area from the street.
*Kissel - a fruit drink thickened with starch, popular in Eastern Europe.