A Short Story About My Cousin Peter

Peter was the youngest of all grandchildren connected by blood to the Popielewicz family.  Being the only child in his immediate family he turned greedy and self-centered as soon as he realized what these two characteristics were all about.  He had to have more on his plate when we all ate or he wouldn’t eat at all.  And if another one of us received a toy he would throw fits until he got a toy like it or better.  It was the same with clothes.  And it was the same whenever our grandmother took us shopping.  Especially to the very popular, colorful bazaar.

A bazaar was a unique festivity and everyone looked forward to it.  It took place only once a year, during summertime, and was as popular as a traveling Circus.  All kinds of goodies could be purchased: delicious snacks, all sorts of souvenirs, traditional decorations, balloons, sugar cones, lemonade, ice cream, and wooden toys.  Among all these things were fake, metal guns and little charges made of gun powder.  When fired from the gun they produced quite a bit of noise, were completely harmless as no projectile left the muzzle, and only an occasional spark flew out.  All kids in post-war communist Poland grew up watching war movies and playing war games was in their blood as much as playing soccer.

Our grandmother decided to buy each grandchild a gun and one pack of twenty-five charges.  And here Peter had to display his two characteristics.  He wouldn’t stop whining until he received another pack.  He had to have more than the others.  And so the grandmother gave in.

Back at the house we immediately started to play war.  “We’re partisans!”  “We’re Germans!”  We split into two groups.  Everyone scattered around.  We hid behind trees and around corners of the house.  Someone climbed a tree.  Soon shots rang out from every direction.  Total chaos devoured the peaceful front yard.  Bang!  “You’re dead!”  “I got you!  “You’re dead, lye down!”  “No, I’m wounded!”  Bang!  Within a quarter of an hour we all went through one pack of charges each.

Silence arrived and all our eyes became fixed on Peter.  We all knew he had more charges and naturally we expected him to distribute them since we all had so much fun.  But he didn’t.  He wouldn’t.  They were his.  When he realized that we were about to jump him and take them by force he put them on the steps and sat on them.  Someone approached him and Peter threatened to call his mother.  And we didn’t really want to deal with her.

It was hot.  I thought to myself, “Could they explode?”  I looked at the sun.  It was straight up.  Minutes ticked by…

And then it happened.  There was a short burst of explosions.  Smoke and sparks came out from under Peter’s butt.  He jumped up and ran across the front yard.  Smoke followed him as if he was a torch.  He stopped in the middle of the yard and jumped up and down while screaming on top of his lungs.  He took his shorts off, then his underwear.  Smoke kept on pouring out.  It seemed as if his balls were on fire.

I imagined he was in considerable pain.  I looked with concern while everyone else started to laugh out loud.  His parents—no, not just his parents—everyone came running out of the house to see what had happened.

Peter got exactly what he deserved.  At this moment I became convinced that this would happen to anyone anywhere who would dare do a similar thing on a smaller or a grander scale…