waited for me to lie down. She tucked me in.
“I’m still scared,” I said to her. “What if I can’t sleep?”
I had to wait until she went and my brother started to snore before I could put the firefly back in the jar. I would’ve liked to have changed my wet underpants, too. But I must’ve fallen asleep right then, because when I opened my eyes again, my family was talking in the kitchen. The house smelled of coffee and toast. In my hand there was a squashed pea.
10
The toaster went off to welcome me to the kitchen. Mom was warming milk. Beside her, twelve eggs sat on their throne of gray cardboard.
“Doesn’t it all smell great?” she said. “I knew he wouldn’t let us down.”
“The boy’s here,” my father warned her.
Mom turned around.
“Come here so I can give you a hug,” she said, kneeling by the oven.
My brother, sister, and father were also hanging around in the kitchen.
“That doesn’t go there,” Dad said. He took out a packet of rice my brother had just put in the top drawer and stored it in the third one down.
When I pulled my chair out from under the table, I found a sack of potatoes on the seat.
“Wait,” said Mom. She came over and took it off so I could sit down. “See how you were able to sleep?”
I nodded, rubbing an eye with the back of my hand.
“Don’t listen to your father,” she whispered in my ear. “That Cricket Man’s an invention to scare kids and make them behave.”
“But I saw him,” I responded.
Dad spoke from the fridge. “I can hear you both,” he said. “You bet you saw him. Because the Cricket Man exists. And he moves like this.” He crossed the kitchen in a squat and put a string of onions on the extractor fan. “The difference is his knees bend backward.”
Mom held my chin and shook her head. Then she straightened with a groan, hefting the potatoes, and she stored them in a low cupboard.
The rest of my family sat down one by one.
“So someone was scared last night,” my father said as he took his seat. “And it seems it wasn’t the baby,” he added, gesturing at my sister without looking at her.
“First the baby cries, then the next night it’s the boy. What is going on in this house?”
“I didn’t cry,” I answered.
“You didn’t? So why did your mother have to go to your room and comfort you?”
“I actually went to calm your other son down,” Mom cut in. She put down a bowl of boiled eggs in the middle of the table before sitting. “He wouldn’t stop laughing.”
“Can we eat?” my sister interrupted. “I’m hungry.”
Dad waited with his wrists resting on the table’s edge, without picking up his cutlery.
“Why isn’t Grandma coming?” Mom whispered. “Shall I go fetch her?”
My sister stretched out an arm to take an egg from the bowl.
Dad smashed his hand down like he was killing a mosquito. “No one eats until Grandma’s here,” he said.
“And how do we know she’s coming?” Mom asked.
My grandmother’s voice came from her room. “I’m coming out,” she shouted.
“She’s coming out,” repeated Dad.
“They understood me,” she added. “I don’t need a translator.”
The sound of her slippers dragging along the hall preceded her appearance in the doorway. She was wearing the nightgown she always ate breakfast in, which she then changed out of and wouldn’t put on again until nighttime. Her white hair, which combed in a certain way hid the bald areas made by the fire, was now brushed forward, covering her face. On either side of her head the bare patches of scalp could be seen.
“Your hair,” said my father. “We’re all here.”
She sorted it out as best she could. Mom wanted to get up, but my grandmother stopped her. “Don’t worry, I’m fine on my own.”
When she sat down, she tidied her hair a bit more and tried to smile, but the result was nothing more than a big crease across her swollen face.
“How are you?” my father asked her.
“What’s wrong
“I’m still scared,” I said to her. “What if I can’t sleep?”
I had to wait until she went and my brother started to snore before I could put the firefly back in the jar. I would’ve liked to have changed my wet underpants, too. But I must’ve fallen asleep right then, because when I opened my eyes again, my family was talking in the kitchen. The house smelled of coffee and toast. In my hand there was a squashed pea.
10
The toaster went off to welcome me to the kitchen. Mom was warming milk. Beside her, twelve eggs sat on their throne of gray cardboard.
“Doesn’t it all smell great?” she said. “I knew he wouldn’t let us down.”
“The boy’s here,” my father warned her.
Mom turned around.
“Come here so I can give you a hug,” she said, kneeling by the oven.
My brother, sister, and father were also hanging around in the kitchen.
“That doesn’t go there,” Dad said. He took out a packet of rice my brother had just put in the top drawer and stored it in the third one down.
When I pulled my chair out from under the table, I found a sack of potatoes on the seat.
“Wait,” said Mom. She came over and took it off so I could sit down. “See how you were able to sleep?”
I nodded, rubbing an eye with the back of my hand.
“Don’t listen to your father,” she whispered in my ear. “That Cricket Man’s an invention to scare kids and make them behave.”
“But I saw him,” I responded.
Dad spoke from the fridge. “I can hear you both,” he said. “You bet you saw him. Because the Cricket Man exists. And he moves like this.” He crossed the kitchen in a squat and put a string of onions on the extractor fan. “The difference is his knees bend backward.”
Mom held my chin and shook her head. Then she straightened with a groan, hefting the potatoes, and she stored them in a low cupboard.
The rest of my family sat down one by one.
“So someone was scared last night,” my father said as he took his seat. “And it seems it wasn’t the baby,” he added, gesturing at my sister without looking at her.
“First the baby cries, then the next night it’s the boy. What is going on in this house?”
“I didn’t cry,” I answered.
“You didn’t? So why did your mother have to go to your room and comfort you?”
“I actually went to calm your other son down,” Mom cut in. She put down a bowl of boiled eggs in the middle of the table before sitting. “He wouldn’t stop laughing.”
“Can we eat?” my sister interrupted. “I’m hungry.”
Dad waited with his wrists resting on the table’s edge, without picking up his cutlery.
“Why isn’t Grandma coming?” Mom whispered. “Shall I go fetch her?”
My sister stretched out an arm to take an egg from the bowl.
Dad smashed his hand down like he was killing a mosquito. “No one eats until Grandma’s here,” he said.
“And how do we know she’s coming?” Mom asked.
My grandmother’s voice came from her room. “I’m coming out,” she shouted.
“She’s coming out,” repeated Dad.
“They understood me,” she added. “I don’t need a translator.”
The sound of her slippers dragging along the hall preceded her appearance in the doorway. She was wearing the nightgown she always ate breakfast in, which she then changed out of and wouldn’t put on again until nighttime. Her white hair, which combed in a certain way hid the bald areas made by the fire, was now brushed forward, covering her face. On either side of her head the bare patches of scalp could be seen.
“Your hair,” said my father. “We’re all here.”
She sorted it out as best she could. Mom wanted to get up, but my grandmother stopped her. “Don’t worry, I’m fine on my own.”
When she sat down, she tidied her hair a bit more and tried to smile, but the result was nothing more than a big crease across her swollen face.
“How are you?” my father asked her.
“What’s wrong
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