Josefine and Leo are holding sticks and poking at the ground. When they spot Jan, they stiffen and smile, looking slightly embarrassed. Josefine meets Leo’s eye, and they start to giggle. Suddenly they drop the sticks and race off, shrieking and laughing, heading into the undergrowth.
Jan goes over to see what they were playing with.
Something tiny. It looks like a little grey-brown scrap of material on the path. But it’s a wood mouse. It is lying among the leaves with its mouth open, gasping for breath: it is dying. The soft, silky fur is flecked with blood. Jan realizes that the children were poking holes in it as part of their game.
No, not a game
. A sadistic ritual, to experience the feeling of power over life and death.
Jan is on his own, he has to do something. He gently edges the soft body off the path with his right foot and searches for a big, blunt stone. He picks it up, raises it in both hands, and takes aim.
Thou shalt not kill
, he thinks, but he hurls the stone down anyway. It lands on the mouse like a falling meteorite.
Done.
He leaves the stone where it fell and rejoins the group. They are all there, and he notices that Leo is still smiling and looking pleased with himself.
After almost an hour in the forest they make their way home, back across the bridge and along the fence.
When the children are all indoors and have taken off their coats, they are sent to wash their hands, and then it’s time for Jan to accompany Katinka to the lift. She goes up to see her mother by herself.
Then it’s story time. Jan chooses to read about one of the adventures of Pippi Longstocking, which includes her assertion that a person who is really big must also be really kind.
Afterwards he asks Natalie, Josefine, Leo and Hugo to stay behind in the playroom. He gets them to sit down on the floor in front of him.
‘I saw you playing in the forest today,’ he says.
The children smile up at him shyly.
‘And you left something behind on the path … A little mouse.’
Suddenly they seem to understand what he’s talking about, what he wants. Josefine points and says, ‘It was Leo – he stamped on it!’
‘It was poorly!’ counters Leo. ‘It was just lying there on the ground.’
‘No it wasn’t, it was moving! It was
crawling
!’
Jan lets them bicker for a little while, then he says, ‘But now the mouse is dead. It’s not crawling any more.’
The children fall silent, staring at him.
He speaks slowly: ‘How do you think the mouse must have felt, before it died?’
No one answers.
Jan looks them in the eye, one by one. ‘Did anyone feel sorry for the mouse?’
Still no reply. Leo stares back at him with a defiant expression; the others gaze at the floor.
‘You poked that little wood mouse with your sticks until it bled,’ Jan says quietly. ‘Did anyone feel sorry for the mouse when that happened?’
Eventually the smallest child nods hesitantly.
‘OK, Hugo, good boy. Anyone else?’
After a moment Natalie and Josefine also nod, one after the other. Only Leo refuses to meet Jan’s eye now. He looks at the floor, muttering something about ‘Daddy’ and ‘Mummy’.
Jan leans forward. ‘What did you say, Leo?’
But Leo doesn’t answer. Jan could press him, perhaps even make him cry.
That’s what Daddy did to Mummy
.
Is that really what Leo said? Jan thinks he might have misheard, and would like to ask the boy again. But instead he simply says, ‘I’m glad we’ve talked about this.’
The children realize they are free to go; they leap up from the floor and race out.
He watches them go – did they understand his point? He can still remember the telling-off he got from his teacher when he was eight years old; he was playing Nazis with his friend Hans and the other boys in his class. They had marched across the playground in straight lines, shouting ‘Heil Hitler!’ and feeling tough and powerful –
they were actually marching in step!
– until a teacher came over and
Jan goes over to see what they were playing with.
Something tiny. It looks like a little grey-brown scrap of material on the path. But it’s a wood mouse. It is lying among the leaves with its mouth open, gasping for breath: it is dying. The soft, silky fur is flecked with blood. Jan realizes that the children were poking holes in it as part of their game.
No, not a game
. A sadistic ritual, to experience the feeling of power over life and death.
Jan is on his own, he has to do something. He gently edges the soft body off the path with his right foot and searches for a big, blunt stone. He picks it up, raises it in both hands, and takes aim.
Thou shalt not kill
, he thinks, but he hurls the stone down anyway. It lands on the mouse like a falling meteorite.
Done.
He leaves the stone where it fell and rejoins the group. They are all there, and he notices that Leo is still smiling and looking pleased with himself.
After almost an hour in the forest they make their way home, back across the bridge and along the fence.
When the children are all indoors and have taken off their coats, they are sent to wash their hands, and then it’s time for Jan to accompany Katinka to the lift. She goes up to see her mother by herself.
Then it’s story time. Jan chooses to read about one of the adventures of Pippi Longstocking, which includes her assertion that a person who is really big must also be really kind.
Afterwards he asks Natalie, Josefine, Leo and Hugo to stay behind in the playroom. He gets them to sit down on the floor in front of him.
‘I saw you playing in the forest today,’ he says.
The children smile up at him shyly.
‘And you left something behind on the path … A little mouse.’
Suddenly they seem to understand what he’s talking about, what he wants. Josefine points and says, ‘It was Leo – he stamped on it!’
‘It was poorly!’ counters Leo. ‘It was just lying there on the ground.’
‘No it wasn’t, it was moving! It was
crawling
!’
Jan lets them bicker for a little while, then he says, ‘But now the mouse is dead. It’s not crawling any more.’
The children fall silent, staring at him.
He speaks slowly: ‘How do you think the mouse must have felt, before it died?’
No one answers.
Jan looks them in the eye, one by one. ‘Did anyone feel sorry for the mouse?’
Still no reply. Leo stares back at him with a defiant expression; the others gaze at the floor.
‘You poked that little wood mouse with your sticks until it bled,’ Jan says quietly. ‘Did anyone feel sorry for the mouse when that happened?’
Eventually the smallest child nods hesitantly.
‘OK, Hugo, good boy. Anyone else?’
After a moment Natalie and Josefine also nod, one after the other. Only Leo refuses to meet Jan’s eye now. He looks at the floor, muttering something about ‘Daddy’ and ‘Mummy’.
Jan leans forward. ‘What did you say, Leo?’
But Leo doesn’t answer. Jan could press him, perhaps even make him cry.
That’s what Daddy did to Mummy
.
Is that really what Leo said? Jan thinks he might have misheard, and would like to ask the boy again. But instead he simply says, ‘I’m glad we’ve talked about this.’
The children realize they are free to go; they leap up from the floor and race out.
He watches them go – did they understand his point? He can still remember the telling-off he got from his teacher when he was eight years old; he was playing Nazis with his friend Hans and the other boys in his class. They had marched across the playground in straight lines, shouting ‘Heil Hitler!’ and feeling tough and powerful –
they were actually marching in step!
– until a teacher came over and
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