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Artwork: Monkey Bar Champion by Will Jacques

The Game
Denis Bushlatov

 

“Mary, Mary, eat a straw-berry!” A barefoot girl was wailing, dancing around a white-as-a-shroud old man in a wheelchair. “Sing along, Grampa!”

The old man, all creased in wrinkles, was opening and closing his mouth weakly, blinking his eyes blindly, moving his eyebrows convulsively. His whole face, scrunched up like a baked apple, glowed in death throes.

“A-a-alllongo-o,” he gurgled finally and rocked in a coughing fit. Some green phlegm wormed its way down his chin.

“Maa-loooogooooolooooo,” croaked the old man.

“No, Grampa, you are doing it wrong! That's not how it goes! Let me show you!” And the girl started to dance again, circling Gramps on her sturdy little legs. “Mary, Mary, garden-berry, bear ate the very-berry... berry. What berry is it, Grandpa?”

“Oglo,” groaned the old man. His right eye began to twitch, pupil shrank into a dot, body spasmed uncontrollably.

“What oglo, what oglo, Grampa?! There is no oglo-berry! Berry, think about it, thiiiink.” She jumped on him with ardor, landed on his lap and began to ride him.

“Hey, Grampa! Just like on a ranch! Let's go, go, go! I will be a cowgirl and you – my...,” she paused for a moment and quickly added, “ horsey! My rootin' tootin' cow-horse-bootin'!”

“Mo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o... kho... kho...,” coughed the old man. He was clearly out of air. Under his granddaughter's weight, he gradually receded, sinking deeper into the wheelchair. His fingers twisted frantically, his right eye rolled back, his left, it seemed, was popping out of its socket.

“Wow, what a horsey you are!” exclaimed the girl. “So strong, so scary! We will... defeat all the bad guys!” In the heat of the moment she grabbed his nose with all her might.

“And now, blow the horn, Grampa!” She was obviously bored of playing horsey. “You will be my ship and I will be your captain! Full steam ahead! Ships ahoy! Blow the horn, Grampa!”

And he blew. Some mucus oozed out from under her tightly clenched fist. The old man was gasping, throwing his jaws wide open. Amongst his thoroughly rotten teeth flashed a broadside of a purple tongue.

“That's not how she blows, Grampa! I can do it a hundred times better! Yuck, you drooled all over my hand. If you don't wanna play, just say so.” She glanced at the old man and wrenched away from his grotesque facial spasm. “Don't scare me so! I'm gonna grow up and I'm gonna beat you, beat you!” Shocked at her own volition, the girl gently tapped her fist on his cheek. His head jerked backwards and his cheek coloured with a purple bruise.

“Lo-o-o…” hissed the old man, “Lo-ora... Lo-ora...” He arched violently and fell, and arched again. He was shaking uncontrollably and his slaver ran down his chin.

“Oh! That's much better,” the child lit up. “What a wonderful horsey! Easy. Go!” She pulled herself up and dropped on his belly, started to jump and wriggle, rising to fantastic realms of imagination accessible only to innocents.

“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho,”she sang, “it's off to... space we go!” She jumped up especially high and straddled her old man again. His body responded with a slight shiver. He sighed deeply, gravely and slumped in his chair. His face rested in a grimace, his teeth bared, his left eye, recently mindful, had lost its depth and stared into nowhere.

“Grampa! Gramps! Let's ride! Go! Gallop!” After jumping a few ups on the limp and rubbery body, the girl looked at her grandfather in bewilderment.

“Mm...,” she mumbled, awkwardly shuffled her feet and sprang down. The grandfather's body has sagged on its side, his tongue hung down like a blue stump.

Cocking her head to the side, she studied her Grampa carefully, walked around the wheelchair. She knitted her brows, pursed her lips, and withdrew. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, then turned around and dashed homeward.