I'm my father's brevidijemal. I'm his firstborn son. To be more precise, I'm his only heir. That's what brevidijemal means. Whether it be in Dronesk or in Rujgaâessentially everywhere I had been and every person I had met knew the responsibilities of such a position.
I don't like to think of myself as having been a lonely child. Yet, thinking back on my childhood, some of my earliest, fondest, memories were of looking out my bedroom window, at the wilderness of Ljerumlup. If one made a motion picture of those times, I'm afraid it would be hours on end of me playing some make-believe game all by myself.
My parents divorced when I was four years old. My mother remarried shortly after and settled down two blocks from her childhood home in Rujga. I was born with asthma and both my parents decided that the clean air in Dronesk was better for my health. Not that living with my mother had ever been a topic of debate. These things were written in stone. I'm a brevidijemal, but more importantly, I'm Stefan Konstantin's son, and so, custom mandates that I grow up in my ancestral home.
The older I get, the harder it is imagining her ever belonging here, surrounded by evergreens. She always seemed like a city person to me, with her partying and her incurable taste for high heels that were ill-suited for Dronesk's rugged streets. I convinced myself that the reason she never once returned was that she felt homesick. Because that's what she always said on the phone: there's no place like home, but deep down I knew my father would've never allowed it.
There were times when I was younger when she would break down in the middle of our phone call, sobbing how she was a bad mother. She weaved beautiful tales about how when I came to live with her in Rujga, I would get everything I wanted. She never stopped trying, but as I grew older, I came to realise the extent by which my life was governed by structures neither of us could break. In Ljerumlup things were often as they were for no other reason than that's how they had always been.
My aunt and her husband, and their two children, Adriana and Viktor, were our only neighbours. Up until I was eight years old Adriana was my only friend in Ljerumlupâin Elhem, in all of Dronesk. But she's never been just a friend, she's a Konstantin as well. Moreover, she had always been the strictest enforcer of brevidije mal. Being four months older than me, she was the example I was made to follow. Everything she did was constantly praised. Our differences, at that age, were rooted in that she felt nurtured by our parents' approval whereas I felt stifled. I didn't realise how many codes of conduct and century-old customs we had in our little bubble in Ljerumlup until Yuri Karamov held them under a microscope.
The truth was that behind his back I was still calling Karamov a bumpkin, even after that afternoon spent taking pictures in his backyard. I didn't see the harm in my behaviour since deep down I thought I knew Yuri better than my classmates who were perpetuating the use of the nicknames. Yet, I didn't want to seem like I was favouring him over the other Brommian at school (some which I thought deserved the nicknames) so I called all of them bumpkins and dimwits, and whatever else was popular.
In my mind, I thought of Yuri as my friend long before I could admit it out loud. I not only daydreamt about striking up a conversation with him, I went as far as playing out scenarios of us going over to each other's houses. We would play chess and tinker with his analog camera. The days I felt particularly isolated at home, I would envisioned us chasing our bikes downtown to the Center. It might not sound like that big of a deal, but to actively seek a friendship with Karamov, a Brommian, was...strange. I felt ridiculous for even wanting to, but even more so of never having had to make a friend before. I didn't know how to go about it.
It wasn't until the middle of January that the opportunity to shed my pride and to strike up a conversation with Yuri presented itself. But like with most aspects of life, it wasn't an ideal situation.
We weren't allowed to wander the hallways after the last bell had rung. So I wasn't technically supposed to have witnessed Yuri in detention, but my curiosity had dragged me all the way out to the western wing of the school building, and I couldn't pass up the chance to press my ear against his classroom door when I heard his voice from down the hallway.
Ever since returning from winter break, there had been a rumour going around that Millin and Yuri had angered Mr Unjis, to the point where he had given them both after-school coursework for the rest of the semester. Some said that their punishment had been to write 50 sentences from the cursive textbook on the blackboard, others said that the two had to recite chapters from the law book out loud while Mr Unjis listened.
I was as curious as everybody else, but I didn't want to give the rumour much weight. That was until Adriana was sent out by Ms Gourdin to get an extra set of blackboard erasers from Mr Unjis's classroom. Having returned from her endeavour, she had told me that she'd stumbled in on the two boys reciting poetry in hexameter while Mr Unjis paced the rows.
The mental image of Yuri Karamov reciting poetry had imprinted itself on my mind. It had within minutes turned into the point of gravity around which all my other thoughts now rotated.
I had to see it for myself.
One day after school I made up the excuse to find Mr Unjis, and pretend Ms Gourdin needed some blackboard erasers. I marched to the west wing and as I was walking down the hallway, I heard faint voices coming from 2E's homeroom.
I tiptoed my way to the door and pressed my ear gently against the cold wood. I stood there and listened to Yuri recite, not poetry, not hexameter, but the lyrics to the national anthem. I was ecstatic. Every so often there was a sharp noise that rang out, and I would jerk in surprise. Yuri would quiet down. A mature voiceâthat of Mr Unjisâwould correct him before Yuri began reciting again. If Millin was in there as well, I didn't hear him.
I had my ear pressed against the door, half listening, half contemplating what I would do if someone came across me in the hallway. The act of sneaking around was so indulgent, I lost the time to formulate a plan. Before I knew it, the door flew open in my face and there on the other side stood a fuming Mr Unjis.
- What have I told you bastards! He barked. His pointer was raised above his head.
When he saw me flinch into a crouch, he almost immediately seemed to collect himself. He lowered his pointer, but his face held on to its menacing frown.
- Konstantin? What on earth?
- M--M--Miss...M--M--Miss Gourdinâ
- Yes, boy, spit it out! Miss Gourdin, what?
I hated Mr Unjis. Anyone with a half a brain-cell would. He was the embodiment of the strict middle-aged teacher. He dressed as if he was waiting for an invitation to the prime minister's office, and never let the fact that he shopped bargains at Middle Way discourage his sense of importance. He loved to sneer and make fun of the kids. He was militantly patriotic and his hatred for the Brommian was almost as strong as his dislike for children in general, which of course made his teaching post a cherished one by the principle.
- IâI...
The longer Mr Unjis's hawk-like eyes remained trained on me, the surer he seemed of my reason for eavesdropping. I couldn't have been the only student that had interrupted his after-school tutoring to find out if the rumours were true.
After some quiet deliberation, he beckoned me inside.
- Come in will you, Ru. He held the door open for me. I stepped into his classroom, a replica of Ms Gourdin's, if not a little bit tidier.
Yuri was facing the blackboard, his posture straight. He held a sheet of paper in his hands. He didn't even so much as glance our way. Mr Unjis allowed my gaze to take him inâhis worn school uniform, his muddy shoes, his hair in desperate need of a trimmingâbefore he seized my attention once more.
- Say, Konstantin, he began, - are you a good student?
I nodded.
- A good student who sneaks around and disrupts classes? Can such a thing really exist? Mr Unjis's gaunt face glared down at me.
- Tell me, what would your father say if he heard about this?
- Please.
Mr Unjis smiled a tight-lipped smile.
- Please? Oh no. He shook his head. - Mercy should be asked of God, not of me.
- On the other hand, he mused, - maybe I can let you off lightly this time, would you like that?
My fervent nodding only made Mr Unjis's smile brighter.
- Here-, he handed me his pointer. - I want you to examine the Brommian over there. Make sure he articulates and pronounces correctly. If he so much as beeps in response, call for Madame Boli next door. I'll be right back.
The pointer was long and made out of plastic except for the wooden handle which was still warm from Mr Unjis's tyrant grip. I was dumbfounded. He couldn't be doing this to me.
- If-, Mr Unjis crouched down to my level. His tobacco breath wafted in my face. - I hear that you didn't follow my orders, I will not only personally speak with your father, I will invite him to school and we will look over your progress report together. And who knows what's written in your progress report Ru, do you? He raised an eyebrow at me, daring me to contradict him.
I shook my head.
- I think not.
Without sparing us a backward glance, he he slithered out of the classroom. My heartbeat throbbed in my throat. Yuri was glaring at me. His back wasn't as straight as it had been when Mr Unjis was in the classroom.
- I'm not going to read to you, he spat.
He was angry, understandably.
- Please. Just read. I won't correct you.
Yuri glared at the piece of paper in his hands, refusing to utter a word.
Just as the silence was becoming unbearable, he started reading out loud. At first, just a murmur, indecipherable to my ears. With each line, his voice grew louder and steadier. A cold shower of relief washed over me at having escaped Mr Unjis's punishment so narrowly. There was nothing I could have done had he refused. I didn't want to put Yuri in trouble if I was ever forced to save myself.
Yuri took his time. His voice was uncharacteristically thick with his Brommian accent. I couldn't tell whether he was nervous or was doing it out of spite.
I was invested in his reading. Perhaps more than I ought to have been. I hummed along with the lyrics I knew by heart and wished he wouldn't make any mistakes. But he did. He butchered the words with the same difficulty a lawnmower would have cutting gravel. I had to reinforce what I already knew to lessen the urge to grit my teeth. I had to tell myself that he was reading an advanced text that wasn't in his native language, with words that even I didn't fully understand.
It wasn't that he was stupid. It all boiled down to Mr Unjis: his pointer, his menacing face, the way he smacked the table; a resounding thwack for each word Yuri pronounced wrong. It was our peers mocking him. It was a whole system designed against him prospering.
I was eight, I didn't understand all of that yet. But I felt it. I felt the injustice like a sailor's knot, twisting my intestines. I knew whatever Yuri had done, or hadn't done, hadn't merited such humiliation. Yes, Yuri could be rowdy at times. I had seen it myself in the hallways, but this, this was cruel.
My hand grew clammy around the wooden handle. I wished I could've just disintegrated to dust and flown, windswept, out of the window. They say time heals all ails, and that proved to be true for me that day. My heartbeat slowed down for each second that passed, and for a peaceful moment, the situation seemed manageable. I was convinced Mr Unjis would return in no time to take over, and that I would be allowed to go home. But then, out of nowhere, Yuri stopped reciting, leveling my hopes to the ground.
His hard-set expression was a slight improvement from his harsh glare moments ago, but I wouldn't have called it benign.
- What are you doing here? He asked.
- MsâMs Gourdin wantedâ
- Liar.
I fixed my gaze at a point near his face, to avoid looking him in the eyes. The soles of my feet itched to move, to fidget.
- Why are you here? Just tell me.
My eyes flickered over his impatient stance. He didn't seem to care that he had caught me in a lie. The way he examined my face, it was as if he wanted to glean something specific.
- Adriana told me you were here, I confessed.
-Who? His brow furrowed.
- My cousin.
- I wanted to see you, I explained.
His brows pinched tighter together before his eyes flickered back to his piece of paper.
- Why? His voice was small. He stared at his paper like it was the most fascinating thing in the universe.
I gathered my courage and said, - Because I want to be your friend, but you're always playing ball with those stupidâ
I stopped dead in my tracks. My eyes widened. I couldn't believe that I'd almost called his friends stupid Brommian. I wanted to smack the side of my head on a wall.
Yuri, having caught on, let out a short gasp of air that passed for a chuckle.
- Why don't you play ball with us?
- Because I have asthma.
- Oh. He seemed to remember.
- What do you do then?
I didn't want to tell him I played inside with my cousin, even I knew that that was social suicide. He would never hang out with me after hearing that.
- I was thinking we could take pictures with your camera around school like we did in your backyard.
Yuri's face deflated.
- I'm not allowed to bring it to school. Someone might steal it.
- Oh.
- Do you like chess then?
- What's that?
- It's a game with...a lot of players...and....-
- What about board games? Do you like board games? I asked, trying a new strategy.
- Like...Catch Fish? He scrunched up his nose, seemingly puzzle why anyone would like Catch Fish.
- Yeah...but there are many others.
- It's okay, he shrugged.
There was a small silence that followed, in which I felt his interest wane.
- Do you want to come over to my house, we couldâ
- Today? Yuri was surprised. - I have to ask my mother.
- Oh, okay. You...you could some other time...
- No! I think...I...I think Mama is okay with it.
- Really? Okay.
- That's great! I added. The rush of adrenaline to my head was all too familiar. I was woozy and relieved, and completely drunk on happiness.
We smiled at each other, reassured that we had found a way to spend time together. But it wasn't before long that the graveness of our situation, and the looming threat of Mr Unjis, crept up upon us. Yuri went back to reciting the national anthem, a permanent grin on his face, and I pretended to listen to him over the roaring blood in my ears.
When Mr Unjisreturned my excitement was practically palpable. He took a long glance at both of us. His only response had been a downward quirk at the corner of his mouth.