#i only make liberty cabbage thank you very much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

firewoodfigs · 4 years

Note

Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)

here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :)

[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]

Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai)

~x~

Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.

But today was different.

The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.

Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.

Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.

And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.

Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.

Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.

Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.

Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.

The empty hallway.

Ten-hundred hours.

Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.

In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.

“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)

Silence.

Roy knocked again.

The tray wobbled precariously.

“Miss Riza?”

A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.

To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.

“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”

A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“

“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”

“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.

Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”

“But...”

“No buts, Miss Riza.”

Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.

“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.

~x~

Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.

Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.

When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.

How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?

Probably not, he thought wryly.

“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”

Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.

“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”

What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.

“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”

“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”

After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”

This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.

Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.

To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.

But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.

Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.

Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)

Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.

And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.

… Like he said, they really hated him.

“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.

Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.

Well.

Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?

Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.

But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.

Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.

~x~

By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.

“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”

“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.

Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.

“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.

One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.

Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.

Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”

Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.

And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.

“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.

“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.

Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”

It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.

“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.

Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”

Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.

~x~

For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?

Roy’s heart shattered.

How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.

Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Get well soon,” he murmured.

Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.

Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep?

God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.

(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)

Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.

Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.

Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #young royai #yesss I'm back with my young royai corniness... sorry not sorry...#what about it!!! uwu #also Roy Mustang vs carrots L O L

51 notes · View notes

that-bi-bliophile · 4 years

Text

So my friends and I have an ongoing collection of quotes that my crazy math teacher has said. We had our last math class today so I felt it would be a good time to share this. (I added some annotations so that it makes more sense to people who weren’t there)

Quotes by Mr. G

-An Ongoing Project-

“Grizzly bear will never get reindeer, correct?”

“Health is good”

“I don’t know what planet you are from”

“Hey, build pyramids!”

“And Humperdink will be sitting at his lonely table” (I looked it up and there’s a song called Lonely Table by Engelbert Humperdinck)

“Power to the power, power to the people.”

“I like that you laugh, it means you are still alive”

“Don’t laugh because people around you are shaking.”

“Someone is laughing, it is not supposed to be like that.”

“You are so engaged, that makes you 19”

“I appreciate if barricades are taken off your desk onto the floor.”

“And fish becomes shark and eats copies.”

“Also, cover your tails”

During an earthquake drill: “Take these drills seriously” -Mr. Asdfghjkl’, “Also, take seriously mathematics” -Mr. G

“I thought it is a box”

“Lice, only in your brain”

“Welcome again to the same stream, but water is different.”

“No, there is no Mr. G.”

“Yes, Mr. G is here”

“Why are you sitting?”

“I am concerned about your grade, and your knowledge. Mainly your knowledge.”

“By the way, I like tables.”

“About geometry and your life.”

“I don’t know what you are digging”

“Kids; too many”

“Look China, look China, look China”

“What information shall we withdraw from China?”

“Give me two points India!” (These last three were from a thing we did graphing country populations by the way)

“Specifically in the mountains.”

“I am driving, Maxime, do you understand?”

“He is doing minimum, it is food for thoughts.”

“He is also a jumper, will you share what you see in the other world?”

“Mr. G often goes tangentially.”

“Ellie chose and very wisely!”

“Ladies and gentlemen, our train is approaching, silence, tunnel, please, or else explosion.”

“Goat leg”

“I will now burst with my anger.”

“Mr. G is standing on his head now.”

“Homework is a bridge.”

“Anita was a fox and Basilio lost his money: golden bars.”

“I feed you, you are a shark and sharks are biting everything.”

“Thank you for stretching, maybe you have the right.”

“Your teacher is Mr. G, I know him.”

“Don’t be scared, but some of you didn’t learn and you are going to suffer.”

“You are the first representative of a younger generation.”

“I am not poisoning you.”

“I am entertaining you. It is the afternoon.”

“Look at their information, it’s terrible!”

“Where comes two? Oh! From the ceiling!”

“I made a mistake, wait, did I?”

“They forbid me to go to school, they say they will arrest me.” (During quarantine)

“Stop with attention span, whatever happened, don’t pay attention.”

“Go, go, go, go, go, go!”

“Anastasiya, did you learn your fingernails very nicely?”

“We are all working, I don’t know what republic you are.”

“No big goose.”

“Now we have geese in the water, looking something.”

“It’s not a pack of wolves, okay?”

“It’s called an undisciplined guy.”

“It came because we were catching all big fish”

“Algebra: without algebra there is nothing in life.”

“You are like fish”

“Your brain will grow like a cabbage”

“O.M.G. Our mutual goal”

“Tongue rolling attitude”

“A gebra named al”

“Knowledge shouldn’t be soft”

“Hands up, how many hands do you have?” Max says, “10.” (We have a theory that he’s an alien, he’s also said things like “blonde eyed, blue haired”)

“Only happy people watch a clock, because they want to extend their happiness.”

“Relax, feel in my classroom, at home.”

“Someone is running water.”

“In U.S. you have freedom and liberty” (Mr. G is talking about not finding the discriminant before solving.)

“Bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon, where is my bacon.”

“Alexa, turn off, Alexa will you turn off your music?” (Caused several other people’s Alexa’s to turn on over Google Meets)

“Dying, just relax guys, I’m not dying.”

“Tilda likes her boys like she likes her numbers, positive.”

“What’s up is here.”

CMC: “A score of 14 and over should be commended.”

Mr. G: “A score of 14 and over shouldn’t be commended in this classroom.”

(He told math team he expected us to get at least 26)

“Relley, you are number 7”

“Two minutes! It is too much time!”

“Sixth graders are like rabbits. They are always twitching, and each time you turn around there are more of them.”

“Only Mr. G can put flesh and blood into these skeletons.”

“In Ukraine, they call it the big bear, but here, you call it the big diaper.” (He meant the big dipper)

“Boo, did you do your homework?!” (We have a great recording of this one. We did it for our Spooky Room™ in advisory because his granddaughter is in my advisory)

“Sing the song!” (Then he ‘sings’ the quadratic formula on like one note)

“The textbook is your bible.”

“Shake your heads!”

“‘Good Morning!’ said Bilbo, ‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good one?’”

“Alessandra, you need a life.” (This was really odd for him to say a student shouldn’t just spend all their time on mathematics, a different teacher ran out of the room to tell people @ohnoimfangirlingagain)

“Tilda, you are good, not great, but good.”

“You are the best of the best.”

“You now owe me a Ritz box.”

“Any questions” -Mr. G, “Nope” -Student, “Okay, also not good because there should be questions”-Mr. G

“Like a magic wand.”

“Is anyone falling apart, is anyone under the table?”

“I can see behind the sofa, is anyone in the orchard, picking fruit?”

“Sending them out of the boundaries of the United States, oops out of the equation.”

“You are great specialist at this one.”

“Not president of the united states, but candidate for the equation”

“You are very good citizen of BPC school.”

“Guys tell me, difficult? Difficult in training or easy in battle taking test.”

“Extraneous root is like outside fish that we throw back to the sea because it is not the fish.” (One of my favorites. I’m making it bold so that it’s more visible)

“Relax, go under sofa or whatever is best place for you.”

“ZPP, not Zina.”

“Off we start”

“Alexa, I am not asking you, switch off, Alexa, Alexa, thank you.”

“Tangent tangent tangent secant secant secant secant tangent”

“You need to respond, it is why police respond.”

“Its been one minute, I will count one minute from our time.”

“He is doing simultaneously Step 1 and Step 2! I love you!”

*leaning in and whispering into the computer, so just one student will hear* “Can you hear me? Psst can you hear me? Turn in your homework!”

“Gabby, open your face.”

“You have 9 minutes to relax.”

"Examples, they are clear? Good color?"

"Who is joining shout?"

“Everything: Mr. G is doing everything thoroughly, digging, digging, digging. Where is digging?”

“Coming to this minus, says, ‘Hello!’.”

“The secret is easy: you don't do any stupid things.”

“I will introduce the basic things, and skeleton.”

“Margaux, show me your face. I have forgot already in two months.”

“Drink coffee, oops, tea... talk to your dog... make your cat happy... keep energy up.”

"Just take in your bloodstream"

“Why are you running in orchard, picking wegetables.”

“In many countries. In Ukraine, we had Chernobyl and stay at home, in Africa, we had disease outbreak, no tvs. Now. I am good at distance learning.” (He’s from Ukraine and also taught in Africa)

“See they are asking you? Did you get four? If you didn’t get four, you have a problem?”

“I know, I know, but they are more mistakes here, they are playing tricks, they are wrong.”

“Grudge on you, very big grudge on you.”

“You see, I am covering.”

“Don’t jump to conclusion, good teams don’t jump to conclusion. Now jump to conclusion.”

Anastasiya “Play ocean sounds for one hour.” Mr. G “You have to go somewhere?”

Cole plays music, Mr. G says “Not funny.”

“Seventh grade are all five, five musketeers.”

“We are 15 already which means someone else is here”

“So far, I am boxing you.”

“Herrings are little fish that Russians love, not Ukranians.”

“In Zambia there are potholes in the road. So I would fill them in with gravel. Now we are going to do that with your knowledge.”

“Cinderella had to get peas from sand. And she shook the blanket. Use BUCK.” (He often tells us to shake our heads)

“Please guys, open your faces.”

“You are like little red riding hood: lost.”

“To my surprise, it is time to start.”

“Now it is time to collect stones.”

“What will you do in Europe?”

“I don't like that it’s excluded, because 2 will feel excluded.”

“Infinite algebra 1”

“I am back to discuss with you our problems.”

“What is secret about? You are canceling.”

“It’s like I am merging to highway.”

“Welcome to Ukraine, my friends.”

“I have plans for you, but you will always change plans.”

“Wow, it’s attacking me from all sides! Zina in the kitchen...”

“It's like avalanche or cabbage growing, I hope paper cabbage is still growing full of your energy.”

“Be cute enough to see.”

“Give me volume! Volume, volume, volume, volume, volume!”

“I wasn’t running with you… you know, fast?”

“Three trees doesn’t make woods.” (But in Chinese two do, just saying)

“So far you are free.”

“Is there anyone falling apart, under the table, please come out. I see you.”

“What should I say now? That it is too much work, sorry.”

“The last is seesaw problem. I am joking, I don’t know if I will show you today seesaw.”

“And I will be watching you now.”

“Do you want to talk about life? We are talking about life.”

"Don't touch 7th graders, they are like a hive of bees, you never know, they will bite you."

“You are late for the date with Mr. G.”

“Someone wants to join, no.”

“Someone is just troubling us.”

“Someone is just breaking my computer.”

“There is no problem, it is my invention.”

I will miss his class a lot.

#he's kind of crazy #but it's really funny

14 notes · View notes

7r0773r · 6 years

Text

Dancing Bears: True Stories of People Nostalgic for Life Under Tyranny by Witold Szablowski, translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones

“Before the war, a Gypsy was a nobody. It’s entirely thanks to the Communists that after the war we were given rights, jobs, and apartments, that our people learned to read and write, and that the Bulgarians started to give us a bit of respect.” (p. 13)

***

“They’re going to their life of freedom in cages,” someone remarked, but this subtle piece of spite didn’t spoil the atmosphere of triumph and success. (p. 27)

***

“And then he adds something that I find way out of line--he says he knows what’s best for the bear. He says his corn and bread are better than our nuts and apples, and that a Gypsy’s chain and gadulka are better than our thirty acres.

“But what bugs me most is when he says he loves the bear, and that we’re trying to take away a member of his family.

“ ‘Man,’ I think to myself, ‘you’re hurting that animal. You’re degrading it. You’re forcing it to behave in a way that’s totally contrary to its nature. You’re making a laughing stock out of a proud wild animal! You’re making a fool of it!’

“But what would a Gypsy understand even if I said all that to him?

“They’d been hearing for years that they’d have to hand over the bears, and they were used to the idea. But they thought it would just end in talk again. They didn’t understand that we weren’t going to let them off. We were building a nature reserve. We had the support of important people--politicians, actors, and journalists. And as soon as they sat down at the same table as us--with food, rakia, and gifts--they were in the losing position, because everyone else was on our side, and they were just Gypsies carrying on traditions from a world that no longer exists.” (pp. 38-39)

***

For days on end, Vela kept touching her nose, looking for the ring. Although it had caused her pain throughout her life, she couldn’t cope with its removal, as if she’d grown so used to being a slave that she regarded her sudden freedom as a threat and feared it more than the pain.

The same thing happened with Mima, one of the bears taken from the Stanev family.

But there are also bears who feel fine in a few minutes and never wonder where the piece of metal that always caused them pain his gone.

That’s what happened with Misho and Svetla. They reacted to the removal of the ring as if losing it were the most ordinary thing in the world. They immediately got on with fighting for their place within the group, and later with love affairs. The lack of the ring never bothered them in the least. (pp. 58-59)

***

“Nobody has tried anything like this before. Nobody has managed to restore nature to animals that have lived with people for whole generations. I do have some concerns. I can’t be sure we’re not opening Pandora’s box. We could be unblocking other things in their minds--who knows where that will take us? Wild bears would find a way to get out of here in two days flat. They wouldn’t have the least problem, not even with the electric fence. They have far greater self-confidence and they’re more creative. Perhaps one day our bears will go for the electric fence too, destroy it and be off into the forest. That would be a success for us, but on the other hand it would also be our failure. Why? Because our bears wouldn’t survive as much as a week at liberty. I’ll be happy to tell you about it, but right now it’s feeding time. They guys have brought the bread. Come on, you can help us to scatter it.” (pp. 66-67)

***

“But you can’t just let a bear go and expect it to cope with everything for itself. Freedom is a terribly complicated business. You have to give it to them gradually, in small doses. And the fact that they’re hibernating means our bears are making progress on the road to freedom. They’re no longer living from one day to the next. They’ve learned to prepare for tougher times.” (p. 72)

***

And when the citizens add up all those large sums, they come to the unpleasant conclusion that far more care is taken of the bears than of them. While the animals are being taught resourcefulness, conflict solving, and hibernation, while pools are being built for them and playgrounds adapted to their needs, the people of Belitsa are being left to fend for themselves. Although they’ve been learning freedom for longer than the bears, they don’t have a team of experts to help them with the transformation.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t born a bear,” the former mayor of Belitsa, Hasan Ilan, once said bitterly, as he compared the park’s budget with the town’s. (p. 80)

***

“In the wild, a bear cub spends the first two years of its life with its mother, who teaches it everything. Scientists in Alaska have recorded entire bear lessons, during which the mothers take their cubs to the riverbank and show them how to position their paws in order to catch fish.

“But what could our mother bears teach their offspring? Maybe just that when a truck comes along, there’s going to be food. Or that if you can’t manage to dig yourself a pit to hibernate in, a hairy-faced human will come along and build you a kennel out of planks.

“Unfortunately, our bears not only hav the smell but also the mentality of captives. For twenty or thirty years they were used to having somebody do the thinking for them, providing them with an occupation, telling them what they had to do, what they were going to eat and where to sleep. It wasn’t the ideal life for a bear, but it was the only one they knew.” (pp. 86-87)

***

to this day,

almost all the bears still

dance.

When they see a human being, they stand up on their hind legs and start rocking from side to side. As if they were begging, as in the past, for bread, candy, a sip of beer, a caress, or to be free of pain. Pain that nobody has been inflicting on them for years. (p. 90)

***

When spring comes, Misho wakes from his lethargy and goes to find Svetla. He circles her like a shy teenager. Now he goes closer, now he moves away again. He roars, rubs against a tree, and goes up to her again. Svetla patiently watches the performance.

Until they come together.

Their attempt to continue the species doesn’t last long. Once it’s over, Svetla plunges into a state of bliss for several weeks. Only after a month or two does she realize something hasn’t gone right. Then both she and Misho start to dance, each in a different corner of the park for dancing bears at Belitsa, the park that’s like something out of a tourist brochure. (pp. 98-99)

***

“Everyone goes to Poland for their shopping, because in Ukraine, even though we’ve got the best earth in Europe, it lies fallow. You tell me, Witold, where’s the sense in that? Ukraine could be Europe’s granary. You could eat our black earth with a spoon--there’s no soil like it anywhere in the world. But what happens? It just lies fallow. People are only interested in opportunities to earn money abroad. Or to get something for nothing, just as they got used to doing under the Commies. My old man doesn’t meet any of the EU standards. He’s never seen face cream in his life. Whatever cash I send him, he drinks away. I keep telling him: ‘We were given two and a half acres when they closed down the collective farm. you could take just a little bit of it and sow some carrots, cucumbers, and tomatoes. You could raise hens. Why not have something of your own?’”

“And wha does he say to that?”

“He says he won’t do it! Because he doesn’t feel like it. Unfortunately, the whole Ukrainian nation is just like our marriage. Either they work hard, but abroad, like me. Or they sit in their village and whack a stick against a tree in the hope that a pear might fall. I pray for the EU to come to us too. For the Dutch and the Germans to come here, and the Poles too, and plough that land for us. The collective farm will start up again, but this time it’ll be privately owned.” (pp. 135-36)

***

“When I went to the bazaar in Kabul with my air force pals,” says Viktor, “one of the stallholders said to us in Russian, ‘Good cabbage, very shitty!’ Someone had taught him to prattle that nonsense. It’s the same thing with the Russian youth. Someone has told them they have to defend the Bronze Soldier. So that’s what they’re doing.” (p. 154)

***

“What does Memed think about the Serbs in Kosovo?”

“He can tell the difference between criminals and regular people. Wars are not fought between races. They’re fought between criminals from one side and the other. He understands that. After the declaration of independence, he could see that I was out of sorts. ‘Tatiana,’ he said, ‘we’re just pawns on the chessboard. The Americans are playing against the Russkies. It’s sheer chance that you’re a black pawn and I’m a white one.’” (p. 200)

***

“Until 2004 there wasn’t a single Serb left in our village. They’d all run off with the army. They were afraid we’d take revenge on them. But now time has passed and not all of them have made a life for themselves in Serbia. Now Belgrade is protesting against our independence, but they don’t treat the Serbs from Kosovo well there. So they’re starting to come back. In the past four years twelve families have returned--almost fifty people. The UN gives us money. We’re building houses for them. We’re helping them to get set up. But it’s not enough, because they don’t have jobs. So we had the idea of giving them chickens. They’ll be starting up miniature farms, selling eggs and meat. They’ll have something to eat. We’ve bought a small hut for one of them, and he’ll have a greengrocer’s store there. Tomorrow we’re going to fetch the first hundred chickens. Maybe this will allow us to attract a few more Serbs.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“So the government in Belgrade won’t go saying they’re badly treated here. Besides, there’s money provided for it. Why not take advantage of that?”

“Aren’t the Albanians protesting?”

“I have a neighbor. A great Albanian patriot. Ask him about the Serbs, he’d say he’d shoot the lot. But when they started to come back, it reminded him that he used to have a good friend called Goran, who was a Serb. And now he runs after me to ask if I can get his pal Goran to come back. Because he’d like to see him again before he dies.” (pp. 205-06)

***

“I used to work at a clothing factory. In the personnel department too. When the Soviet Union collapsed, the factory collapsed with it. And everything was looted--even the glass was stolen out of the window frames. In Stalin’s day something like that wouldn’t have been possible. The culprits would have been punished. So these days when I hear the stories they tell about him, I say, ‘People, you’ve lost your minds. Remember the Soviet Union. Everyone had work. The children had a free education. From Tbilisi to Vladivostok.’ If it weren’t for Communism, I, for example, would still be living in the countryside. I would never have thought of occupying a managerial position, because only men had those jobs before then. No system has ever given women as much.

“Since its collapse, everything is worse. In the past, the doctors couldn’t refuse to help a poor person. Now the health service is private, and even if you break a leg you have to pay. It’s the same with education. A retired person used to have the phone for free, and paid less for electricity. But now? You get a pension of twenty dollars, and the prices are like in the West.

“And life gets worse and worse for women. In the USSR men had a good life. There were no wars. And if a man hit you, you could go and complain to the party committee. The committee informed the party cell at the factory, and the abuser could get into big trouble.

“These days the men has no work and they’re frustrated. And when one of them hits you, you’ve no one to defend you.” (pp. 212-13)

***

“What do I think about Stalin? Here, in Gori, it’s customary for parents or grandparents to take their kids to the museum and tell them about him. I brought my toddler here too. And I told him, just like it says in those American guides to success, ‘He was much worse off than you are. His father drank, his cottage was falling down, and the other kids were good-for-nothings. But he was hardworking, thanks to which years later he ruled the entire country. If you study, you can achieve a lot too.’” (p. 218)

#witold szablowski #book quotes

0 notes