"Sasha's Mice." Excerpt from the book “On the Corner of Nezalezhnastsia” by Tony Lashden

material: tony lashden
illustrations: Sofia Khananashvili

In April, the Myane Nyama publishing house published the book “On the Corner of Nezalezhnastsi” by Tony Lashden, a Belarusian writer and activist, founder of the feminist writing laboratory “Stretching”. This is a collection of stories about everyday life, which continues even against the backdrop of political and economic crises. Tony works with magic, mysticism and Belarusian folklore, but this time he adds humor to them. We are publishing an excerpt from the chapter of “Sasha’s Mouse”, the heroine of which moves from Minsk to Kyiv on the eve of a full-scale invasion.

Not all landlords were ready for tenants with mice. After touring about twenty apartments, visiting the most extreme metro stops and being late for viewings four times, Sasha despaired.

As a result, she rented an expensive apartment, whose owner was ready to make any concessions. If only the rent arrived on time. In a two-room mansion with stucco on the ceiling, Sasha was surprised to realize that she and the mice had begun a luxurious life.

In the huge hall with a crystal chandelier and oak cabinets along the perimeter, Sasha’s small suitcase looked out of place. Sasha felt equally out of place. In the new apartment there were no stupid photos with friends, no ugly fleece blanket with a panther, no usual cups, slippers, or towels. There was nothing of our own, the apartment was filled with other people's things. This stranger pressed Sasha to the front door: “It’s time and honor to know that visiting is good, but home is better.”

Sasha bought a Kievsky cake, a bottle of champagne and a bag of organic seeds for the mice. On the carpet in front of the huge TV, she released the animals from the container, and they immediately made their way under her bike.

Sasha wondered if she should cry, but decided that the tears were worth saving.

*

Moving into a new apartment marked a change in the status of Sasha and the mice. Now they were residents of a huge city, which Sasha could not find her way around. She was late, always and everywhere, although she left early. For half an hour, for an hour, for an hour and a half - no matter how long she left, Sasha still got stuck in a traffic jam. The traffic jam invariably grew into rush hour, which only subsided closer to night.

This unprecedented scale, where “close” meant “half an hour by public transport,” imposed its own obligations. Sasha addressed the mice only as “Your mouseiness” and “Your mouseness.” Waking up at six to be on time for errands, she made a curtsey in front of the temporary terrarium and ran off to look for money.

Gaps in Sasha’s material well-being were not immediately discovered. The master's treasures in the form of a set of pots and dinnerware helped to patch up the most catastrophic gaps. But Sasha didn't have a pillow. She didn't have a pillowcase. Sasha didn't have a frying pan. Sasha did not have a spare charger for her mobile phone, and she stole electrical tape from Novaya Poshta to rewind the broken wire.

Mom called every other day and asked if Sasha needed money. Sasha, of course, refused the money. She had everything covered. But, buying luxury mouse food, she gradually switched to two meals a day. And sometimes I slept most of Saturday and Sunday to save on breakfast and lunch - this gave me a free day.

The strength for new impressions ran out after a couple of weeks. It feels like fifteen years have passed in these couple of weeks, during which Sasha has been establishing a semblance of her former life. She went out to meet people who, also finding themselves in a situation of choice: to sit in Kiev or sit in prison, decided that Kiev was a wonderful place. Why not live in it?

In the company of these people, Sasha went to a cafe that was somewhat reminiscent of a cafe in Minsk. She drank deceptively familiar coffee, discussed deceptively familiar topics. After such meetings, she returned home and lay motionless on the floor, hoping that through the parquet she would teleport to her Minsk apartment.

In moments of this loneliness, mice came to Sasha. They settled next to her face. Sasha exhaled into the mice, the only witnesses of the Minsk paradise, and wiped away her tears with them. The mice didn't mind. They even squeaked a little, indicating that they liked it.

In Kiev, Sasha did not want a new experience. She wanted the familiar and familiar. In the evenings, Sasha looked at the prices for trains to Minsk, for planes to Minsk, for minibuses to Minsk, for rides to Minsk. Then she closed the laptop and looked at the wall.

Sasha grew into Kiev through force. She learned to notice pleasant things and not cry so sadly because the store didn’t have her favorite cheesecakes in a green wrapper with a girl. The hardest thing was to get used to the feeling of unreality. Sasha was delirious that her real life in Minsk, cut short due to an absurd accident, would begin again at any moment. You just need to want it very badly. Then the gap between a full, joyful existence in Minsk and this not fully lived life in Kiev will close. And Sasha will again feel what it’s like to be in her place.

*

In December, when people started talking a lot about the war from everywhere, Sasha realized that this was the end. Not for the country, no. For her personally.

Talk about the war paralyzed Sasha. However, this paralysis affected only her thoughts. The arms and legs continued to do their business, but Sasha’s mind froze. Sasha couldn’t even think about what she should actually do. Thoughts floated somewhere far away. No matter how hard Sasha tried to focus on the evacuation, she could not even create a note on her phone.

War. What does "war" mean? The “war” can’t start right here and now? Sasha went grocery shopping, walked laps in the park, and performed basic work duties. Wherever she went, she looked at each place carefully, wondering if there might be a war going on here. Could there be a war in a croissant bakery? Could there be a war in the independent bookstore? Could there be a war in grocery? Sasha reassured herself that there could be no war here, wars happen in other places, at other times, with other people.

Mom started calling more often. In the voice of a person who had discovered the secrets of world conspiracies, my mother whispered that this would not end well. Sasha needs to go home. Mom shared the latest news from Viber and recounted how a neighbor, whose sister has a friend, and who has a daughter-in-law married to a lieutenant colonel, knew for sure that everything would be planned for February 17th.

To shut up the flow of paranoia, Sasha loudly answered: “Yeah, mom, yes, mom.” And, hanging up, she crumpled up her sweater and screamed into it as far as she could get air. The scream left my ears ringing for a long time.

Sasha didn’t know where to go and to whom. It was impossible to return home. She didn't have a visa. There were as many countries where she would be allowed in without a visa as there were mice. But what to do there? As soon as Sasha imagined that she would have to pack her things again, go to God knows where, look for a new apartment, a new job there, and then again, with her last breath, organize her life, buy all these blankets and pillows, frying pans and colanders - here Sasha became crimson with hatred for frying pans and colanders - then it was better not to go anywhere. You can die in Kiev too.

Besides, how can she get the mice out? You’ll have to die with them, there’s nothing you can do, it’s such a bitter fate. Thinking about mice, Sasha always started to cry. She imagined how tiny defenseless mice would cling to her, and the three of them would lie in such an empty bathtub, trembling with fear.

To cope with these thoughts, Sasha went to the terrarium and touched the mice. The mice squealed happily. Sasha was distracted from planning her death under the rubble of the house and went to prepare dinner.

The mice were stronger than death.

*

On the night of the invasion, Sasha was with a friend. They sat in the dark and anxiously updated their news feed. Time moved in fits and starts. Five minutes, half an hour, five minutes again. Sasha was only able to read the first words in the liners—the lines were jumping around. Has it already started? And now? And now?

Exhausted from the night's vigil, Sasha seemed to fall asleep for a while. In a restless, shallow sleep, Sasha dreamed of her running through the forest. A friend called her in a terrible, broken voice: “Sasha,” and the dream was broken.

“We're leaving. Right now,” the friend stood up abruptly and pulled her bag from under the sofa. She threw everything she saw there indiscriminately. Books, laptop, plate with a bird, two forks. There was not a drop of efficiency in her friend’s movements. Confused and frightened, she walked from corner to corner.

“I can’t,” Sasha heard her own muffled voice, tried to get up and sat back due to weakness. “I need to get the mice.”

The friend stood in front of Sasha and leaned right towards her face.

“Sasha, what mice. We need to go right now, can you imagine what will happen in the morning? Everyone will break down, we won’t be able to leave the city.”

Sasha stood up and repeated: “I can’t go. I need to get the mice." Now her voice was firm.

She ran out of the entrance.

Lights flashed in houses everywhere. Either people were getting ready for work, or they were also reading the news. Sasha forced herself to move forward, not to peer at the movement in the courtyards, not to read into what was happening.

Sasha thought about the lost Minsk, about the family and friends she left behind. About Kiev, to which she just got used. About friends and jobs that you have to leave. About the next round of forced wanderings.

From running, my mouth burned with a metallic taste. Without slowing down, Sasha spat. Around the bend in the street her house appeared, exactly the same as she had left it in the evening.

You can take away Sasha’s loved ones and you can take away her usual life. You can take away your beloved city and all the years spent there. The last of her strength can be taken from her.

Sasha opened the apartment door and, hearing the familiar rustling of mice, suddenly calmed down.

You can take everything from Sasha, but not the mice.

She will not give the mice to anyone.