It takes my father
four thousand one hundred and twenty-seven steps
to get to the waterworks from our door.
As soon as I hear him
clattering with the keys in front of the door
I begin to fear,
and slowly start counting.
When I get to three hundred and ten,
I speed up the tempo,
because after the corner the shooting starts,
he has to start running after that.
My mother says, if he runs,
the bullets will certainly not hit my father.
Then my mother and I are afraid until the afternoon,
until he gets home from the waterworks,
and we can finally see that he didn’t get shot.
All the fear makes me tired sometimes,
and now and then I only wake up
when my father sits down next to the fotel, all sweaty,
on the floor, and caresses my hair with a smile on his face.
My father keeps running everywhere,
even after the war is over.
He just can’t get used to it,
that you can even just walk slowly
now on the streets.
translated by Nagy Hajnal Csilla