(3 Years Passed)
(August 21st, 1973)
(Tuesday-Evening)
-"Tomas, we've already discussed this. Those who pick fights-"
-"Often get bitten in the back. I understand, Mom. But you need to realize that I'm doing this for both Hanae and your safety."
Tomas interjected, completely interrupting his mother's words, and replied.
-"Tomas..."
- "Mom, you need to calm down and breathe. You're slowly getting sick, and you've already done so much for Hanae and me. So please, let me handle this."
His mother stared at him, her eyes tired and sunken, lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to argue, but the weight of her own exhaustion held her back. Tomas didn't flinch. He stood tall—taller than most boys his age, already brushing 5'3"—but it wasn't his height that made him seem older. It was the way he carried himself, like someone who had seen too much too soon. She finally spoke, her voice low and intentional, "You think I don't know what you've been doing?" Tomas blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Volali mi ze školy. Zase. Říkali, že ses od začátku semestru popral už třikrát. Třikrát, Tomáši. A to uplynuly teprve tři týdny" ("I got a call from the school. Again. They said you've been in three fights since the term started. Three, Tomas. And it's only been three weeks.") He looked away, jaw tightening. "Oni začali". ("They started it.")
- "To není v pořádku" ("That's not good"), she snapped, coughing into her sleeve. "Nemůžeš jen tak rozdávat rány." ("You can't just go around throwing punches.")
-"They were touching Hanae," he said, voice suddenly sharp. "One of them was a seventh grader. Another was a teacher. A teacher, Mom."
She froze.
"Nedovolím, aby se znovu stalo to, co před třemi lety." ("I'm not going to let what happened three years ago happen again"), he continued. "Tehdy jsem nebyl dost rychlý. Neochránil jsem ji. Ani jsem nechápal, co se děje. Ale teď už to vím". ("I wasn't fast enough then. I didn't save her. I didn't even understand what was happening. But I do now.") Her expression softened, but her voice remained stern. "Je ti deset, Tome".("You're ten, Tomas").
-"Za dva dny mi bude jedenáct", ("I'll be eleven in two days,") he shot back. "A… vzhledem k tomu, jak na tom jsme, musím nějak dospět. Nechci jen sedět a sledovat, jak se všechno, co miluju, rozpadá". ("And… based on our current circumstances, I need to grow up somehow. Rather than sitting back and watching everything I adore collapse.")
She looked at him, really taking in his appearance. The bruises on his cheek. The faint scars on his temple and left eye. The way his shoulders were squared, like he was continually ready for a fight. She saw the boy she raised—but also the man he was becoming far too soon.
"A pekárna?" ("And the bakery?") she asked, her tone fainter. "Myslíš, že jsem tě minulý týden neslyšela?" ("You think I didn't hear you last week?") Tomas's stomach dropped.
-"Byla jsem vzadu, hnětla těsto, a slyšela jsem tě. Nahlas. Zuřil jsi, křičel jsi na pana Vaňka a ostatní". ("I was in the back, kneading dough, and I heard your voice. Loud. Enraged, you were yelling at Mr. Vaněk and the others").
-"Přetěžovali tě," ("They were overworking you,") Tomas said. "Je jim jedno, že jsi nemocná. Jen chtějí, abys pořád chodila do práce, bez ohledu na to, co ti to dělá." ("They don't care that you're sick. They just want you to keep showing up, no matter what it does to you").
-"Nechápeš, jak to chodí!", ("You don't understand how this works!") she said, her voice rising. "Jestli budeš dál dělat problémy, vyhodí mě. A co pak? Z čeho budeme jíst? Jak zaplatíme nájem?" ("If you keep causing trouble, they'll fire me. Then what? How do we eat? How do we pay rent?").
-"Je mi to jedno," ("I don't care,") Tomas said, stepping forward. "Budu víc pracovat. Udělám cokoli. Ale nedovolím, aby se k tobě takhle chovali". ("I'll work more. I'll do whatever it takes. But I won't let them treat you like that").
She stared at him, her hands trembling. "You're still too young, Tomas". It took him some time to reply. Then he spoke, "No. I don't want to be that naive somebody anymore, Mom. It's not worth seeing that sight again". The silence between them stretched, heavy with everything unsaid. Finally, she turned away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
-"I didn't want this for you," she whispered. "I didn't want you to carry all this."
-"I know," Tomas said. "But I'd rather carry it than watch you fall."
She didn't respond to that. Before she can do anything, he rephrased his Mother's words aloud: "If someone picks a fight, always fight back no matter what the cost is". She stood there, faintly smiling at him while he was looking at the floor. She again didn't say anything, but softly ruffled his grey strands and replied with her final word before disappearing into her room. "You remembered that and took it literally, huh? "Můj pomocníček". ("My little helper"). Tomas was staggered to hear that again. He stood there for a long time to even process what had just happened. Not only that, the poundage of his mom's words pressed against his chest. She didn't lament what he'd done. But he abhorred that it had come to this
Later that night, the house was quiet. Lenka, their mother, was sleeping soundly in her room, while Hanae was asleep, curled up on the couch with a blanket pulled over her head. Since it got fairly hot in their room, on the other hand, Tomas sat at the kitchen table, with a single candle flickering beside him. At the same time, he's contemplating what a day he had today.
(Earlier Today)
(August 21st, 1973)
(Tuesday Morning)
The sun hadn't fully risen yet when Tomas heard the front door creak open. He was already dressed, sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling in his diary. His mom stepped out quietly, apron tied, hair pulled back into a tight bun, her face pale but determined. "Ty už jsi vzhůru?" ("You're up early?") Lenka asked, voice hoarse. "Jen se chci ujistit, že je všechno v pořádku," ("Just making sure everything's okay.") Tomas replied, closing his diary.
She gave him a weary smile and placed a hand on his shoulder.
-Dohlédni na to, aby Hanae snědla snídani. A nezapomeň si vzít oběd." ("Make sure Hanae eats. And don't forget your lunch.")
-"Neboj, nezapomenu. Opatruj se." ("I won't. Be careful.") he said, while looking at his Mom with a tense expression. She nodded, then stepped out into the morning fog. Tomas watched her disappear down the road, then turned back to the stove. He cracked two eggs into a pan, sliced bread, and poured milk into two glasses. Breakfast was simple, but filling. He plated everything, set the table, and glanced at the clock. Almost time. He grabbed his backpack, slung it over the chair, and called out:
-"Hej, ospalče! Vstávej, je ráno a musíme do školy!" ("Hey, sleepyhead! Get up, it's morning, and we need to go to school!")
-"Ach jo... už?" ("Aww man... already?") Hanae groaned from the bedroom -"Ano, Hanae. Osm hodin fakt uteče rychle," ("Yes, Hanae. Eight hours really fly by.") Tomas replied, smiling to himself.
-"No, dobře..." ("Okay then..."), she sighed, still half-asleep.
-"Tak se zatím připrav. Já udělám snídani, a až bude hotová, zavolám tě."
("Alright then, get ready. I'll start making breakfast, and when it's done, I'll let you know.")
-"Dobře," ("Okay.") she mumbled.
Tomas smiled to himself and turned back to the stove. After some time, something felt off. The usual morning chatter was missing. No humming, no complaints about socks, no babbling about dreams. He frowned, wiped his hands, and walked down the hall.
-"Hanae? Jsi v pořádku?" ("Hanae? You alright?") No response. He pushed the door open and froze. Hanae was lying on the floor, half-dressed, her skin pale and clammy. Her legs were curled inward, and between her thighs—blood. Tomas's heart dropped.
-"Hanae?" he whispered, rushing to her side. He tapped her cheek gently. "Probuď se... prosím." ("Wake up... please.") Still no response.
Panic surged through him. He grabbed towels, water, gauze, the medkit—anything he could find. He wiped her down, but the blood kept coming. His hands trembled. His breath caught.
10... 9... 8... He inhaled.
7... 6... 5... He exhaled.
4... 3... 2... 1...
He needed to do something. Fast. He grabbed a long bath towel, wrapped it around her waist like a makeshift dress, and lifted her carefully into his arms. She was heavier than he remembered, but he didn't stop. He carried her to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and placed her gently in the tub. The water rose slowly around her. Tomas knelt beside the tub, watching her face, praying for movement. Then, her eyes fluttered open.
-"Tome?" ("Tomas?") she whispered, voice shaky.
-"Jsi v pořádku. Jsi v pořádku." ("You're okay. You're okay.") he replied, as he frantically pushed her grey strands off her face, nearly crying.
She looked down, saw the blood, and started to sob.
-"Co se to se mnou děje?" ("What's happening to me?")
-"Nevím. Ale zjistím to." ("I don't know. But I'll figure it out.") He said honestly
She reached for his hand, and he held it tight to ease her a bit. Then, he ran to the living room, grabbed one of Mom's old biology books, and flipped through the pages. Menstruation. Puberty. Uterine shedding. It didn't make complete sense; rather, it was enough. He returned to the bathroom, sat beside Hanae, and read aloud.
-"Píše se tu, že se to děje dívkám, když dospívají. Říká se tomu menstruace. Není to nebezpečné. Je to jen... něco, co tělo dělá." ("It says this happens to girls when they grow up. It's called a period. It's not dangerous. It's just... something your body does.")
She sniffled. "Myslela jsem, že umírám." ("I thought I was dying.")
-"Já taky," ("I did too"). He admitted. "Ale nejsi. Jen dospíváš.. " ("But you're not. You're just growing up.")
She nodded slowly, calming down.
-"Jdi se osprchovat. Já zatím vymyslím něco, co ti pomůže." ("Go ahead and shower. I'll figure out something to help with the bleeding.") She smiled weakly. "Thanks, Tomas."
He stepped out, closed the door behind him, and leaned against the wall. His heart was still racing, but his hands had stopped shaking. He didn't tell Mom. He couldn't. She had enough to worry about. This was something he and Hanae could handle. But of course, Tomas doesn't know much, so when the time comes, Hanae has to confront it with Mom or someone at least.
(Back to the Kitchen Table)
As the noise of the clock ticking filled the house, Tomas's head continued procrastinating as if there was no end. Without any thought, he opened up the diary again, and wrote everything he got flooding his head.
(August 21st, 1973)
(Tuesday)
Dear Diary,
Another fight broke out, the third one in three weeks. People in class say I've become more reckless and more "active" than before. But no one truly understood why. None of them sees what's happening right under their noses, what's allowed to happen. Hanae's been touched. Repeatedly. In the hallways, during class. Even by those adults who should protect her. The teachers pretend not to see, and the principal does nothing but smile and talk about "discipline." So, in the end, I have to handle the situation myself. They've even called me violent at one point. Maybe I am. But if that's what it takes to guard Hanae, then so be it.
Mom doesn't fully understand anymore. She says fighting solves nothing, that I'm throwing away my future for a few bruises that will heal by morning. But how do I explain that I can't stand still anymore? That every time I hear Hanae's name whispered in the halls, my blood starts to boil? Of course, Mom is not in the right mindset either. She's growing weaker by each day, and she's not getting better. Not one bit. Every day, her sickness constantly affects her performance, and she can barely lift a spoon towards her mouth. Either Hanae or I always insisted on offering a hand, but it always became useless. "It's okay, I can do it," Mom says repeatedly, out of habit. Even medicine, we offer, just for "No, I'm fine". Declined. However, despite Mom's condition, she still has some fire within her. When I came home beaten up again. She treated my wounds and gave me a good scolding during treatment. Although that may sound "okay", every day from now on, I feel a little less like myself. Like something inside me is breaking, splintering, and I can't put it back together…
Suddenly, Tomas's hand was stuck in one place and was unable to move. His hand stopped writing, while the words in his conscience went empty. The ink trails formed a faint line across the page, not even creating letters; just a long line being dragged through the blank spaces.
"I wanted to keep writing, but…I can't. The words won't come out," Tomas said in his head. Until the next line is smudged, as if his hand shook. Without even noticing, he pressed the pen deeply into his diary, causing the page to tear. "...maybe some other time"