Little Bastards in Springtime by Katja Rudolph Read Free Book Online

any society.”
    “You just asked,” I say, slowly and patiently, because sometimes adults are idiots, they just don’t use their brains, “what if
every
able-bodied man picked up and left? And I’m telling you, Bako, there’d be no war, that’s what would happen. Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t Ujak Luka doing a good thing?”
    “Oh, Jevrem.” Baka shrugs her shoulders like she’s shaking off an irritating hand. “Sometimes you’re just like your father.”
    “Right all the time?” I mumble under my breath so Baka can’t hear.
    I like Ujak Luka, I don’t think he’s a coward, I don’t think that’s why he left. I think he left for good reasons, but I’m not exactly sure what they are. And Baka’s not that sad, I can hear it in her voice; she’s secretly happy he’s safe, somewhere out there in the normal world.
    “He’s always done his own thing,” she says. “He’s always been a rebel. Don’t tell anyone, Jevrem, but he called me. He’s in California, America. He’s doing crazy things, as usual.”
    “What crazy things, Baka?” I ask. I picture him robbing banks in the hot, dusty afternoons like in westerns, a big glinting gun on each hip, and then in the evenings throwing parties for Mafia dons and movie stars in tuxedoes who stand around drinking champagne beside gleaming blue swimming pools full of girls in tiny yellow bikinis.
    But she just shakes her head; she doesn’t want to talk about him and his outlaw behaviour. So I ask her about the criminals and gangsters here, and Baka says, at least they’re doing some good for once. Standing up for their community, their city. She thinks our new defenders are scum, but that’s all we have right now to stand up to the scum on the other side. I feel happy about the criminals too. It must feel nice for them to be doing some good for once, getting some respect. Maybe it will turn them into better people. I tell Baka I overheard Mama saying they’re just in it for the money, so they can carry on their shady deals, smuggle, take over the black market, drive fancy cars, get all the girls they want, and basically get rich and have a lovely time while the rest of us are tormented and trapped like rats. Baka says, as long as they save us from the fascist mobs I don’t care why they’re doing it. Sometimes you just have to be practical-minded,Jevrem. She wags a finger in my face. Sometimes you just have to do what needs to be done to survive, and not worry what everyone else thinks about it.
    I play with my Transformers on Baka’s kitchen table. She does the crossword puzzle. She lets me help sometimes and I’m quite good at it.
Grateful? A-S-H-E-S.
She brings out half a chocolate cake, which her friend made for their weekly get-together, and we each have two big pieces.
    I GO home at suppertime, but no food has been prepared. Mama’s friend Olga is over, the one with a man’s haircut and bright red glasses who plays violin in the symphony. They’re sitting at the table drinking coffee, talking about the usual thing.
    “Barricades. Everywhere,” Olga is saying. “The First Corps Sarajevo are very badly armed, compared to the Serbs and their Territorial Defense Forces. But we have more men.”
    “Men,” Mama says. “Always men, men, men and their violence. Wearing stockings over their heads so their neighbours won’t recognize them at the barricades. Women set up counter-barricades and serve meatballs. That’s what the women do. They feed people. Lazar, did you hear that story? Women
feeding
people, men
shooting
at people.”
    Papa appears in the hallway, irritated. “What?”
    “The men have guns to shoot each other with, the women have meatballs. I want to see a day when meatballs are more powerful than bullets. But where are the women tonight? Oh yes, they can no longer go out because it’s too dangerous.”
    “Oh,” Papa groans, “it has nothing to do with that. Women can be just as nationalistic and fascistic as men.” He