My kids came home from afterschool care with a fucked-up assignment about snails. They didn’t put it that way, of course; it was me and Dano talking about it in bed that night and agreeing that it’d be nice if they didn’t get homework from afterschool care too. The kids liked the assignment, because they thought I’d order African snails for them and they’d get to keep them as pets. With their school classmates they had already googled that African snails are raised on coconut-husk bedding and don’t have hair. How novel.

The assignment was: “Read a scholarly article about snails with your parents, write down the most interesting facts in your afterschool diary, and draw some pictures to accompany them.” At first I sent them packing, we have tons of slugs in our garden, they could write a whole saga—despite the fact that they’re only in second grade, they write with almost no mistakes, especially Nina. But then Mišo remembered that last summer I had taught them to salt the slugs and said he’d write a story about that for the afterschool teacher.

Back when I was little, I had no choice. As soon as I could walk, they handed me a bowl of salt and sent me to the cabbage patch to kill the things we called snails. No one cared about genus or species, a slug was a snail when it threatened to eat the whole crop. I squatted down between the rows, picked up some salt with my tiny fingers, and poured it over dozens of slimy bodies. The slugs shriveled up and turned black, and slime gushed out of them. I continued this way down all the vegetable rows until it got dark. Then I got scolded for stepping on the kohlrabies, washed my hands, and went to bed.

And now snails had been elevated to the level of homework subject. The kids couldn’t stop talking about them over dinner; Mišo was particularly taken with the idea of having a pet. When I pointed out that they leave trails of slime everywhere, he stuck his cell phone at me, saying that African snails don’t do that.

“Why would you drag one over here from another continent when you have a garden full of them?”

“I don’t, I looked. There are no snails because you made us salt them last year,” he snapped. He really pissed me off; half BS-ing and half serious, I told him that having a snail was asinine and that it had to be completely unethical to drag one over from Africa just because he wanted to. So Mišo had a meltdown, but thankfully Dano backed me up, sent him to his room, and his dinner stayed on the table uneaten.

Nina stayed quiet, and when she took her plate to the sink, I said over my salad:

“Tomorrow after school we’ll go to the library and look for some books on snails.”

When she ran out of the room to tell Mišo, Dano looked at me like I was out of my mind, and why couldn’t we just look something up on the web and watch an educational video.

“Don’t you start with me too,” I said, exhausted.

***

If nothing else, at least the kids had inherited my love of books. When we walked into the children’s section of the city library, I automatically turned toward the stacks. When I was a kid I used to read one book after another, I’d check out ten and return them a couple of days later, then I’d raid the rest of the shelf, and the following week I’d move on to the next one.

Back then the librarians knew me by name. Nowadays they also treated us like regulars, but the difference was that the bespectacled heavyset ladies in the children’s section had been replaced by a thin curly-haired twenty-something guy. I was sure that after we left he’d whack off. He didn’t give the impression of being a weirdo or a pedophile, not at all, I just thought that he took advantage of every opportunity: the last kid leaves, there’s a scent left behind, arousal and moms’ perfumes, five minutes before closing he straightens the books on the counter, and then he whips it out.

“Snails? Let’s have a look.”

Hunching a bit, he walked ahead of me toward the encyclopedias. The kids sat down in the reading room with books that had piqued their interest. Nina picked up a new retelling of Cinderella, I don’t know what draws her to it, sometimes she just looks at what the princesses are wearing, even though most of the illustrations literally make my eyes hurt. Mišo was looking at the new Minecraft manual, and although I felt like making them do what we came for, I remained quiet and smiled at the librarian. The sooner they forgot about live snails, the better.

The children’s encyclopedias were on the bottom shelf, beaten up and with broken-down bindings, apparently in the internet age no one had searched there for a long time. But the librarian exuded confidence, he didn’t just pull out one book after another, he kept reaching for thick volumes and uttering fake uh-huhs, if there is such a thing. Standing over him I noticed his broad shoulders and the outlines of his muscles under his thin T-shirt. My pulse quickened, I shuddered, then sighed heavily over my reaction. Bent down and with his back to me, he interpreted my sigh the wrong way.

“I’m sorry it’s taking so long,” he said with a nervous laugh. “After all, I’m not Google.”

In my mind I breathed a sigh of relief because although he had a wide back, thankfully he was an idiot, so I didn’t have to think about him—now, in bed at night, or ever.

“It’s hot in here,” I said, exhaled again, and played an awkward charade of fanning myself. He stood up with several books and started to explain why the A/C wasn’t working in their section, but all it did was affirm my belief that I wouldn’t leave Dano for him, and then we moved to a table.

“Look, Mom, here’s a tutorial on making a house shaped like a snail!” Mišo called out excitedly from his book.

“You mean in the shape of a snail shell, don’t you?”

“No, the whole snail.”

The manual really had instructions for building things in the shape of different animals. Sleep in a tiger’s tooth! Look at the world of Minecraft through a giraffe’s eye! Build a garden in an elephant’s ass! I for one would like to sleep in a library with a young librarian—where’s the manual for that?

“Go ahead and build something then, since you’re always playing Minecraft,” I barked, at which point Mišo set aside the manual and lunged at the encyclopedias. Sometimes I feel like the kid does these things on purpose.

Nina joined us, she politely sat down on a chair, even tucked her skirt, nicely and completely naturally. She looked at the pages the librarian was showing her, moving her finger along the lines and reading:

“Snails make suitable pets for children with allergies!”

“Neither of you is allergic to anything,” I said in a milder tone when I saw how happy she was. Normally I’d add that I’m the one with allergies whenever they’d bug me about it, but the librarian beat me to it, saying that he hated animal hair and perhaps he’d get a snail himself. The kids suggested that he should build a terrarium with a plastic castle and a moat full of toy crocodiles.

We stayed for about an hour, copied a few encyclopedia pages, and the children took home some new books. I shelved a few titles, and the librarian shelved the rest. When we brushed up against one another between the shelves, he smiled at me. It made me nauseous until nighttime.

***

The afterschool diary was an invention of the excessively motivated afterschool care teacher, whose name was Emília, but the kids called her Milka, and whenever they mooed at her like cows, she joined in. I could have raised many objections against her life philosophy, but I didn’t say a word, because she was reliable—especially when parents were running late and she had to stay with the kids after hours.

On Friday Dano picked me up at the office, we did our grocery shopping, and then he parked outside the school.

“You go, I’m not in the mood for her,” I said.

Milka was waiting outside with the children and helping them with their backpacks, making big gestures with her arms, and waving at me. While Nina and Mišo ran back to their friends, she kept explaining something to Dano with great fervor. He just put on a smile which I recognized as polite agreement. He’d keep it to himself a little longer, and when the kids weren’t around, he’d spit it out.

I was mistaken. As soon as they got in the car, his smile vanished.

“You’ve got plans for the weekend.”

“We’re going to a terra—” Nina shouted, but she stumbled over the word.

“A terrarium fair!” Mišo chimed in.

 “A territorium . . . and you can buy things there.”

“Absolutely not.”

I got really pissed off, mostly because they were shouting over one another and Dano was swearing at the other drivers, even though he himself was braking at a red light like a wanker, as if he hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on around him. We were stopped, letting a bus get into traffic. I noticed a woman at the bus stop. She was battling a child that was throwing himself on the ground and had snot squirting out of his nose. I could see the bags under her eyes get bigger and her wrinkles get deeper in real time. It was shocking. The bus honked, the cars moved, and the image outside the window shifted to a crowd carrying plastic bags, more cars, and traffic lights.

“We’ll go,” I said slowly. “You’ll see the snails, talk about their behavior, but I’m not buying you anything. Taking care of someone isn’t a walk in the park.”

“Something,” Dano corrected me, and we looked at each other. Then he said he couldn’t go, because a colleague had asked him for help moving. I didn’t object; I leaned my head on the glass and listened to Nina’s incessant chatter about what they did in gym class.

Later that day, Mišo had a temper tantrum because Kevin, a kid he sat next to at school, already had a whole snail family at home and kept sending Mišo pictures. With snails on his hand, on his head, on a plate, with different filters and superhero stickers. I tried explaining to Mišo that there was no point in getting angry, he wasn’t getting any snails unless he behaved, and only if he was still interested in them after the fair, since he could do a fine job on the assignment even without having snails at home. We had the articles from the library, and I quickly found instructions on the internet for making a quilled paper snail, which satisfied Nina, who sat there quietly while Mišo cried and kicked the couch.

After a while I thought he had calmed down, because he had gone into his room and was quiet. It wasn’t until bedtime that Dano came back from the kids’ room with a handful of tiny pieces of torn-up photocopies from the library.

***

“I’d be willing to get them one,” Dano said to me that night in the bathroom.

“So you’re saying that I’ll be the one nixing it?”

“That’s what it looks like,” he said, laughing. “Look, either they’ll quickly get bored with it, or they’ll really take care of it.”

Exhausted, I sat down on the edge of the tub and applied cream to my face. It smelled like a shampoo we had used on our first family vacation in Italy. The scent took me back in time at a frightening speed.

“How did this family get to the point where all we talk about is snails and I’m going to spend my Saturday looking at terraria? I don’t even know what other homework they have!”

“I don’t talk about nothing but snails,” he said and stuck a toothbrush in his mouth. We ended up talking until close to 1:00 a.m. about books and things we had read on the internet, and about what movie we’d go see on Sunday. If we managed to find someone to stay with Mišo and Nina. Then we promptly fell asleep.

A long time ago I had brought an article to school about penises, typed on a typewriter, which I had found in my mother’s old notebooks. I didn’t understand it at all, it talked about average length at rest and during arousal, and had statistics for all of Europe, including Slovakia, about how long an erection lasts. I didn’t even know what intercourse was, but I took the article to class and my girlfriends and I tried to decipher it during a break. I don’t remember how the teacher found out about it, though I might have been dumb enough to go brag to her about it. She told my parents, but I didn’t get into trouble, because they knew where the article had come from.

I thought about that on the way to the library, we weren’t in a rush, even though they were only open until noon on Saturdays. I pictured what Milka would do if they brought her a similar text. She’d probably praise them and point out the similarity between a snail and a willy.

“Hurry up, Mom, or they’ll sell out of snails.”

As tired and grumpy as I was that morning, I had to promise Mišo that we wouldn’t leave the fair empty-handed, and I prayed that he’d be content with a guppy. Nina cheerfully wandered behind us, looking at rocks by the side of the road, and once in a while she picked one up and studied it.

The children went their own way at the library, and I was left to explain why we were back. The librarian laughed; one time when he was a child he had a temper tantrum and cut the TV cord.

“You really have a story for everything,” I said, because I knew he didn’t understand what I was saying.

“You’re in luck that you came when you did, we’ll be closing soon for a private event, they’ll be shooting a video here,” he said over the copy machine.

“We’re trying to make it to a terrarium fair.”

His ears perked up. He knew about the fair, where it was held, as well as the hours.

“You know, I spent a little bit of time looking up snails, and they look very—how should I put it—calming. I’ve never had a cat or a dog, but I might be able to handle a snail.”

Before he could finish the sentence I could already sense him piled into my car, telling embarrassing stories, counting red and blue cars with the kids, being uncomfortable in his seat but not adjusting it, and when he’d get out, his scent would linger in the car for a week. But if I lied to him and said that Dano was coming and there were two car seats in the back, he’d have to say no.

“Which one were you thinking about? The African one?” Mišo asked him.

“Finish making the copies and we’ll wait for you outside,” I said immediately, because another conversation about which snail was better—African or the garden variety—and I’d pack up and move to the other side of the world.

***

I walked around the exhibit hall in a trance—there was a constant din of voices, bubbling aquaria, burbling fountains, buzzing neon lights, and chirping crickets. In the car the librarian became Andrej, but we kept speaking in the formal. He stuck with us, which turned out to be useful, because he answered the kids’ questions, and whenever he didn’t know an answer, he tried to entertain them or find out from the sellers and breeders.

I watched a chameleon approach a cricket. It stuck out its tongue a little, then shot it out, and then there were only insect legs sticking out of its mouth. It spat them out and went in search of its next prey.

“If you want to feel like you live on a summer meadow, buy it, it comes with fifty free crickets,” the seller said and pushed the terrarium half an inch closer to me. If she did that for twenty passersby, she’d run out of table. I walked on a bit and looked back. The woman picked up the terrarium and slid it back toward herself. A masterful move.

Seeing the animals was calming; I had never been afraid of spiders, and larger reptiles such as iguanas and agamids downright fascinated me. But my kids started to squeal because I was trying to steer them toward the fish. Then Andrej waved to indicate that he had found the snails.

We bought two, one for Mišo that had a dark body and a brown shell, and one for Nina that was lighter colored and had café latte stripes. She poured rocks at the bottom of the terrarium, since she had a purse full of them.

“You get a cuttlebone free with purchase!” the breeder said with a smile, which made me laugh. Nina lunged at me, hugged my waist, and Mišo joined in. In the palms of their hands they were holding the snails, which the seller said could live up to seven years.

“In nature they could live up to ten,” he added.

“What about you?” I asked Andrej as he was helping me load the snail terrarium into the car. We had left the kids inside; they were watching snake feeding. “You’re not going to buy anything?”

“I was between a guppy and an iguana,” he said seriously, “but in the end I think I’ll go with the fish. It could do well at the library, swimming on the counter. It would liven up the place.”

I tried to catch a falling plant that we had been instructed not to set into the terrarium until we were home. He must have misinterpreted my movement, and he bent toward me with his eyes closed and tried to kiss me. Without missing a beat I gently pushed him aside. He turned red and kept apologizing, but I just went back to the fair.

He was silent the whole way back; the kids, on the other hand, screamed with excitement. I tried to engage him in conversation so that he’d see that I was neither angry nor overjoyed, but he just sat there playing with the knot on the plastic bag in which he had the rainbow-colored guppy.

***

Then on Sunday my fabulous kids let a snail get away. Shortly after lunch Dano and I went to the movies, and Nina and Mišo stayed with our neighbor, a twenty-year-old student named Brigit. She took the kids outside, they took the snails and photographed them, read books, and napped in the sunshine. All of a sudden the darker snail was gone.

We walked out of the movie theater and I found a dozen missed calls from the kids and Brigit. I panicked, but Dano laughed, saying that their snails must have escaped. A phone call, short and full of crying, confirmed it—even though it was Mišo’s snail that was gone, Nina did most of the crying. On the tram we briefly talked about the movie, before Dano started telling me not to be mean.

“Don’t say that you expected this to happen. And that you’ll never buy them another animal.”

“Why are you saying that?”

“Because I know what you’re thinking.”

Brigit was profusely apologetic, we sent her home, it wasn’t her fault. Nina’s eyes were puffy, Mišo was quietly sitting on the couch. They were waiting to see what would happen. I glanced at the lighter snail as it slowly munched on a lettuce leaf in the terrarium.

“Did you actually do the assignment?”

Then Dano printed a few photos from Mišo’s phone showing the two snails when they were still together, and Nina and I made a large quilling snail. They glued the photos and parts of the copied articles into their afterschool diaries. Nina also wrote that her snail’s name was Rainbow, and she drew a rainbow around the whole page. Mišo took his notebook aside, saying that he’d write up how his snail got lost because it had been kidnapped by aliens. Then they put their diaries into their backpacks and we did regular homework for regular children assigned by regular teachers.

In the evening Mišo and Dano watched TV together, but Nina was so tired from the emotional upheaval of the weekend that she wanted to go to bed earlier than usual. I picked up a fairytale library book off her nighstand and read her the last story, about a princess who married the devil. Nina kept squirming in bed, she couldn’t find a comfortable position, she even tossed aside her favorite stuffed pony. I set my mind to be understanding and ready to listen, even though the weekend had worn me out too—when I finished reading, I asked her what was wrong. She was silent for a while, but then she said that Mišo had let his snail escape on purpose. She couldn’t substantiate it—or she could but didn’t want to say any more.

Before she fell asleep, I promised her that on Monday we’d get more books, since we had finished the last one. I avoided Mišo, he was brushing his teeth, so I went to unload the dishwasher. Dano put him to bed and then he came into the bedroom.

“The librarian tried to kiss me yesterday.”

“What? When?”

“When we were loading things into the car. It was odd, he stumbled over his own words, saying I had moved the wrong way or something like that.”

“What a dick.”

“And Nina told me that Mišo let his snail escape on purpose.”

“How’s that even possible?”

I shrugged. The whole afternoon I had fretted about what strange children I have that they even let a snail escape, but I tried to placate myself with the thought that we’d be laughing about it in a few years. When they’re teenagers and they piss me off, I’ll tell the story.

“Daniel?”

“Yes?”

“It’s too much for me,” I said with a sigh. Dano put his arm around my shoulders and tried to calm me down; in the morning we’d ask Mišo what had really happened. I could envision two possibilities—either my son was such a klutz that he‘d managed to lose a hard-won snail, or for some twisted reason he had killed it. As kids we used to burn frogs alive; what if that was an early sign of a psychological disorder? No wonder I turned out the way I did—but what did that say about him?

Soon Dano fell asleep, gently snoring into my ear since he was still hugging me.

When he rolled over, I got out of bed. A ray of light was shining into the living room from the street, but I turned on the lamp for the snail and watched it come out, confused. One time in my younger days I had gotten terribly drunk and kept waking up at night, because the contents of my stomach were rising up to my throat. I kept running out into the yard and going to the same spot each time, under the old vines across from the front door. When I woke up I realized that everyone would see the barf, because we had been drinking cream cocktails. I decided to go get the watering can and rinse off the area.

But there was no sign of vomit on the spot of my nighttime outings. Dozens of slugs crawled around in the grass and my mother was cursing, why had so many of them come into the yard, and precisely to that spot? I didn’t say anything, because even though they knew I had come home drunk, I didn’t feel like listening to their sermons.

       ***      

From the entrance to the children’s section I spotted the guppy on the counter, swimming in a small round fishbowl. Andrej was helping a young mother who had a preschool-aged girl. I set the books we had read on the counter and silently walked to the shelf behind him from which we had been taking the princess stories. I picked out three I knew we hadn’t read.

“Unfortunately, we haven’t bought that book yet,” he said to the little girl, her mother thanked him politely, and they left. I tried to smile at him in the most pleasant way, but when he saw me, he stiffened up.

“Returning five and checking out three.”

He walked to his place with his head down, scanned my library card, and set the returned books aside. The whole time he didn’t so much as look at me.

“I don’t know what got into me.”

“Don’t worry about it, I believe you. Nothing happened, really,” I said, but I could tell that in a few seconds he’d be a nervous wreck.

“One lady found me here, it wasn’t what it looked like, but I got in trouble. For getting off around kids or something like that. She complained, I almost got fired, but it really wasn’t like that.”

“I believe you,” I repeated the phrase learned from living with kids and from the wise books from the section one floor higher. Andrej clutched the counter, insecure, looking into my eyes, based on which I concluded that he was probably telling the truth, which I couldn’t have cared less about.

He started to cry and babble more nonsense, how much he liked kids, but only as friends, that he wanted to educate them, that he had dated women, normal adult women, but it didn’t work out, particularly with the last one, which had been long-term, but he had gotten over that, that he should have at least bought a chameleon but he always backed out of everything, what kind of a life was that, what kind of a man was he.

I didn’t know how to react to my own kids’ tears, let alone to the whimpering of an adult stranger. What was I supposed to deduce from his scatterbrained descriptions, from the feeble picture of his embarrassing long-standing difficulties with women, animals, and himself? I felt like slapping him and leaving.

Then the situation turned on a dime, he stopped babbling, swallowed hard, and said:

“You’re my favorite customer.”

There really was nothing I could say to that.

***

When I came to pick up the kids from afterschool care, they were just running out of the building, and together with a few classmates whose parents were also waiting, they jumped onto their scooters. I was packing up Nina’s lunchbox when Milka appeared over me. Her hands were clasped as if she were in a holy picture, but tense, not calm.

“Did you check Miško’s homework about the snail?”

First I blurted out yes, Nina and I had been making a quilling snail and Mišo was writing up how his snail had escaped. As I was answering her I realized that he had been writing away from us, and then he quickly stuck his afterschool diary into his backpack and pulled out his math homework. I slowly moved away from the lockers, out of the hallway.

“Ninka’s snail is beautiful, you should put it on your fridge.”

“I definitely will,” I said, already outside.

“Miško’s homework wasn’t . . . ”

“Could you stop calling it homework?” I said, turning to her. “At best it’s a workbook they need for afterschool care. If I didn’t bring them here, we wouldn’t have to worry about such assignments. Neither they nor I.”

She didn’t avert her gaze for an instant.

“Miško wrote in his diary that snails are asinine. That was it,” she said firmly, surprising me with her moralizing tone, which I wasn’t used to from her.

“Well, after spending a Saturday at a terrarium fair, I think so too.”

It didn’t come out as confidently as I had hoped. She took me by the arm.

“You know, you were given a simple assignment. All of the parents got it done, no one complained. You didn’t have to do it, if you didn’t want to. Some people simply don’t have it in them.”

I walked down the steps.

“A simple assignment,” she repeated.

Scooters clattered over the cracks in the sidewalk. Nina had never been good at riding a scooter, but she tried to keep up with her brother and the rest of the kids. She turned toward me, hit a bump, and something told me to move and stop her fall. But she made it, and with a smile, she rode around me in an elegant arc.

Deti prišli domov z družiny s prijebanou úlohou o slimákoch. Samozrejme, že to tak nepovedali ony, len ja s Danom sme sa večer v posteli zhodli, že by nemuseli dostávať prácu na doma aj z družiny. Zadanie sa im páčilo, lebo predpokladali, že im objednám africké slimáky a nechajú si ich ako domácich miláčikov. Už so spolužiakmi stihli v škole vygúgliť, že sa chovajú na kokosovej podstielke a nemajú chlpy. Objavné.

Zadanie znelo: „Prečítajte si s rodičmi odborný text o slimákoch, zapíšte si najzaujímavejšie fakty do poškoláckeho denníčka a vytvorte k nim ilustrácie.“ Najprv som ich s tým poslala do riti, na záhrade máme priehrštia slizniakov, môžu o nich napísať celú ságu – hoci chodia do druhej triedy, píšu takmer bezchybne, hlavne Nina. Ale potom si Mišo spomenul, že som ich minulé leto učila slizniaky soliť, tak povedal, že napíše pani vychovávateľke príbeh o tom.

Keď som ja bola malá, nemala som na výber. Sotva som vedela chodiť, vyfasovala som misku soli a vyhnali ma medzi kapustné hlavy zabíjať to, čo sme nazývali slimákmi. Čeľade a rody nikoho nezaujímali, slizniak bol slimák, kým hrozilo, že požerie celú úrodu. Čupla som si medzi hriadky, nabrala do prštekov soľ a sypala ju na desiatky klzkých tiel. Slizniaky sa zošúverili, sčerneli, vypustili z tela viac slizu než bežne, keď sa iba pohybovali. Takto som postupovala pomedzi všetku zasadenú zeleninu, kým sa nezotmelo. Potom som dostala za to, že som pošliapala kaleráby, šla som si umyť ruky a spať.

No a teraz sú slimáky povýšené na predmet domácej úlohy. Počas večere o nich deti neprestali hovoriť, najmä Miša nápad s domácim miláčikom nadchol. Keď som mu povedala, že zanechávajú všade sliz, otrčil mi mobil, vraj africké to nerobia.

„Načo by si ho sem trepal z iného kontinentu, keď ich máš plnú záhradu?“

„Nemám, bol som sa pozrieť. Žiadne tam nie sú, lebo si nás minulý rok prinútila všetky posoliť,“ odvrkol. Celkom ma nasral, trochu som strieľala do vetra a trochu som to myslela vážne, povedala som, že mať slimáka doma je kokotina a asi je aj úplne neetické dovliecť ho sem z Afriky len preto, lebo chce. Tak sa rozreval, Dano ma našťastie podržal, poslal ho do izby a večera zostala nedojedená na stole. Nina mlčala a keď zaniesla tanier do drezu, povedala som ponad šalát:

„Zajtra po škole pôjdeme do knižnice, pozrieme sa po nejakých encyklopédiách o slimákoch.“

Keď vybehla z izby, aby to povedala Mišovi, Dano si zaťukal na čelo, či si nemôžeme len niečo nájsť na webe a pozrieť si náučné video.

„Nezačínaj aj ty, prosím ťa,“ povedala som unavene.

Ak nič iné, deti po mne zdedili aspoň lásku ku knihám. Keď sme vošli do detského oddelenia mestskej knižnice, ako naprogramovaná som zabočila k policiam. Kedysi som čítala jednu knihu za druhou, požičala som si ich zo desať a o pár dní vrátila, potom som vyplienila zvyšok poličky a o týždeň pokračovala na ďalšiu.

Za mojich čias ma tu knihovníčky poznali po mene. Aj teraz sa k nám na každom oddelení správali ako k stálym zákazníkom, ibaže okuliarnaté rozložité panie na detskom vystriedal chudý kučeravý dvadsiatnik. Bola som presvedčená, že si po našom odchode vyhoní. Nepôsobil ako čudák alebo pedofil, to nie, len som si myslela, že to využije vždy, keď má príležitosť: posledné dieťa odíde, zostane tu pach, vzrušenie a voňavky mamičiek, päť minút pred záverečnou vyrovná knihy na pulte a potom ho vytiahne.

„Slimáky? Tak sa na to pozrieme.“

Trochu zhrbený kráčal predo mnou k encyklopédiám. Deti sa posadili do čitárne s knihami, čo ich zaujali. Nina si vzala novú verziu Popolušky, neviem, čo ju k tomu ťahá, niekedy si len pozerá, čo majú princezné oblečené, pritom z väčšiny ilustrácií ma vyslovene bolia oči. Mišo hľadel do novej príručky Minecraftu, a hoci som im to trochu chcela dať vyžrať, zostala som ticho a usmievala sa na knihovníka. Čím skôr zabudnú na živé slimáky, tým lepšie.

Detské encyklopédie stáli v najspodnejšej polici, dokmásané a so zničenými väzbami, zjavne tu v dobe internetu už dlho nikto nepátral. Knihovník však pôsobil sebavedomo, nevyberal jednu knihu za druhou, siahal po hrubých tituloch a falošne si pohmkával, ak sa to vôbec dá. Takto zhora som si všimla, aké má široké ramená a ako sa mu pod tenkým tričkom rysujú svaly. Zrýchlil sa mi tep, otriasla som sa a zhlboka si nad sebou vzdychla. Skrčený a otočený chrbtom si to zle vysvetlil.

„Prepáčte, že to tak dlho trvá,“ zachechtal sa nervózne. „Predsa len nie som Goo-gle.“

V duchu som si vydýchla, že chrbát má široký, ale našťastie je debil, tak sa ním nemusím zaoberať, teraz, večer v posteli ani nikdy.

„Máte tu teplo,“ povedala som, znovu vydýchla a zahrala trápnu rošádu s povievaním ruky pod pazuchou. Dvihol sa s niekoľkými knihami a začal vysvetľovať, prečo u nich na oddelení nefunguje klíma, ale iba ma utvrdil v tom, že kvôli nemu Dana neopustím, a prešli sme k stolíku.

„Mami, pozri, je tu tutoriál, ako si vyrobiť dom v tvare slimáka!“ zvolal Mišo nadšene nad svojou knižkou.

„Hádam ulity, nie?“

„Nie, celého slimáka.“

V príručke bol naozaj návod s inšpiráciami na stavby v tvare rôznych zvierat. Spite v tigrom zube! Pozerajte na minecraftový svet z oka žirafy! Spravte si záhradku v slonej riti! Ja by som napríklad chcela spávať v knižnici s mladým knihovníkom, kde je príručka, ako na to?

„No tak si tam aj niečo postav, keď už to musíš hrať,“ vyštekla som, načo Mišo príručku odložil a vrhol sa na encyklopédie. Niekedy mám pocit, že mi to decko robí takéto veci naschvál.

Pridala sa k nám aj Nina, slušne si sadla na stoličku, ešte aj sukňu si napravila, úhľadne a celkom prirodzene. Pozerala na stránky, ktoré jej ukazoval knihovník, podopierala si riadky prstom a čítala:

„Slimáky sú vhodní domáci miláčikovia pre alergické deti!“

„Ani jeden z vás nie je na nič alergický,“ povedala som miernejšie, keď som videla, ako sa teší. Bežne by som pridala, že ja som alergická, keď ma s tým stále otravujú, ale knihovník sa usmial, povedal, že on neznesie zvieracie chlpy a možno si sám nejakého slimáka zadováži. Deti mu začali radiť, nech postaví terárium s umelým hradom a priekopou plnou hračkárskych krokodílov.

Zdržali sme sa asi hodinu, skopírovali sme si pár strán z encyklopédií, deti si domov niesli ďalšie výpožičky. Nejaké knihy som vrátila do police ja, nejaké knihovník. Keď sme sa o seba šuchli medzi regálmi, usmial sa na mňa. Zostalo mi z toho zle až do večera.

Poškolácky denníček bol výmysel premotivovanej vychovávateľky v družine, volala sa Emília, no deti ju volali Milka a keď na ňu bučali ako na kravu, pridala sa. Proti jej životnej filozofii by som vedela nájsť kopu výhrad, no nesťažovala som sa, kým sa na ňu dalo spoľahnúť – najmä keď rodičia meškali a ona musela s deťmi ostávať po pracovnom čase.

V piatok ma Dano vyzdvihol z kancelárie, šli sme nakúpiť a potom zaparkoval pred školou.

„Choď ty sám, ja na ňu nemám náladu.“

Milka čakala s deťmi vonku a pomáhala im s taškami, rozhadzovala rukami a kývala mi. Kým Mišo s Ninou ešte odbehli za kamarátmi, Danovi niečo vehementne vysvetľovala. On len vytiahol úsmev, za ktorým som ja poznala čisto zdvorilostný súhlas. Ešte chvíľu si nechá všetko pre seba a keď budeme bez detí, vyklopí mi to.

Mýlila som sa. Len čo nastúpili do auta, úsmev zmizol úplne.

„Už máš plán na víkend.“

„Ideme na tera-“ zvolala Nina, ale zakoktala sa.

„Teratistickú výstavu!“ pridal sa Mišo.

„Terárostickú… a je predajná.“

„V žiadnom prípade.“

Nasrala som sa, najmä preto, že sa prekrikovali a Dano pri šoférovaní nadával na všetkých vodičov okolo, hoci on sám brzdil na červenú prudko ako chuj, akoby nesledoval, čo sa okolo neho deje. Stáli sme, aby mohol prejsť autobus. Všimla som si ženu na zastávke. Bojovala s dieťaťom, ktoré sa hádzalo o zem a z nosa mu striekali sople. Vačky pod očami sa jej rozširovali a vrásky prehlbovali v priamom prenose. Ochromilo ma to. Autobus zatrúbil, autá vyštartovali a obraz za oknom sa pohol, zmenil sa na dav s igelitkami, ďalšie autá a semafory.

„Pôjdeme,“ povedala som pomaly. „Pozriete si slimáky, porozprávate sa, ako sa chovajú, ale nič vám nekúpim. Starať sa o niekoho naozaj nie je len tak.“

„Niečo,“ opravil ma Dano a pozreli sme na seba. Potom povedal, že on nemôže, lebo ho kolega poprosil o pomoc pri sťahovaní. Nenamietala som, oprela som si hlavu o sklo a počúvala Ninino nekonečné rozprávanie o tom, čo robili na telesnej.

Miša chytil v ten deň doma záchvat zlosti, lebo Kevin, jeho spolusediaci, mal doma už celú slimačiu rodinu a neustále mu posielal fotky. Ako ich má na ruke, na hlave, na tanieri, s rôznymi filtrami a superhrdinskými nálepkami. Snažila som sa mu vysvetliť, že tým nič nevyrieši, slimáky dostane, ak bude poslúchať a neprejde ho to ani po návšteve výstavy, veď úlohu do denníčka spraví peknú aj bez toho, aby ich choval doma. Mali sme predsa texty z knižnice a na internete som ľahko našla návod na quillingového slimáka, čo potešilo Ninu, ktorá ticho sedela, kým Mišo plakal a kopal nohami do gauča.

Zdalo sa mi, že sa neskôr trochu upokojil, lebo zaliezol do izby a bol ticho. Až pred večierkou prišiel z detskej Dano a v hrsti niesol kópie z knižnice potrhané na drobné kúsky.

„Ja by som im ho aj kúpil,“ povedal mi Dano v noci v kúpeľni.

„Čím chceš naznačiť, že ja budem tá, kto im ho nedovolí?“

„Už to tak asi bude,“ zasmial sa. „Pozri, buď ich rýchlo prestane baviť, alebo sa oňho budú fakt starať.“

Unavená som si sadla na okraj vane a natierala si tvár krémom. Voňal ako šampón, ktorý sme používali na našej prvej spoločnej dovolenke v Taliansku. Tá vôňa ma desivo rýchlo presunula späť.

„Ako táto rodina dospela do bodu, že sa nonstop musíme baviť len o slimákoch a že sobotu zabijem očumovaním terárií? Veď ja ani neviem, aké majú ostatné úlohy!“

„Ja sa nebavím len o slimákoch,“ povedal a strčil si kefku do úst. Potom sme sa asi do jednej rozprávali o knihách a čo sme čítali na nete, na aký film zájdeme v nedeľu. Ak sa nám podarí niekoho zohnať k Mišovi a Nine. Hneď nato sme zaspali.

Kedysi som do školy doniesla článok o penisoch, prepísaný na písacom stroji, vykutrala som ho v maminých starých písankách. Vôbec som mu nerozumela, boli tam čísla priemernej dĺžky v pokoji aj počas vzrušenia, štatistiky pre Európu aj Slovensko o trvaní erekcie. Ani som nevedela, čo je súlož, ale článok som doniesla do triedy a s kamoškami sme sa ho snažili cez prestávku rozlúštiť. Nepamätám si, ako nám ho triedna zhabala, ale určite som mohla byť dostatočne blbá na to, aby som sa jej s tým priamo pochválila. Bonzla ma doma, ale nemala som z toho potom žiadne problémy, pretože naši vedeli, odkiaľ sa vzal.

Myslela som na to cestou do knižnice, veľmi sme sa neponáhľali, aj keď v soboty býva otvorené len do dvanástej. Predstavila som si Milku, ako by sa tvárila, keby jej deti doniesli taký text. Asi by ich pochválila a špeciálne vyzdvihla podobnosť medzi slimákom a pipíkom.

„Mama, pohni sa, lebo všetky slimáky vypredajú.“

Mišovi som ráno musela unavená a nevrlá sľúbiť, že z výstavy neodídeme naprázdno, a modlila som sa, aby mu stačila gupka. Nina sa veselo motala za nami, obzerala si kamene pri ceste a sem-tam nejaký zodvihla a skúmala.

Deti si šli v knižnici po svojom a ja som musela vysvetliť, prečo sme späť. Knihovník sa zasmial, on raz ako dieťa v amoku prestrihol šnúru od televízora.

„Vy máte príhodu fakt na všetko,“ povedala som, lebo som vedela, že mi nerozumie.

„Máte šťastie, že ste prišli teraz. O chvíľu zatvárame, máme tu súkromnú akciu, bude sa tu točiť videoklip,“ hovoril mi nad kopírkou.

„Ponáhľame sa odtiaľto na teraristickú výstavu.“

Spozornel. O veľtrhu vedel, kde sa koná aj dokedy.

„Viete, ja som si trochu tie slimáky pozeral a vyzerajú veľmi – ako by som to povedal – upokojujúco. Sám som nikdy nemal psa ani mačku, ale toto by som možno zvládol.“

Sotva dopovedal a už som cítila, ako ho mám nasáčkovaného v aute, ako rozpráva trápne príhody a hrá s deťmi nejakú hru na počítanie modrých a červených áut, zle sa mu sedí, ale sedačku si neposunie, a keď vystúpi, v aute po ňom zostane vôňa ešte týždeň. Ak mu však zaklamem, že ide aj Dano a máme vzadu široké podsedáky, bude musieť odmietnuť.

„A ktorého? Afrického?“ spýtal sa Mišo.

„Tak to dokopírujte a počkáme vás vonku,“ povedala som okamžite, lebo ešte jeden rozhovor o tom, či je lepší africký alebo záhradný, a zbalila by som si všetky veci a odsťahovala sa navždy na druhý koniec sveta.

Po výstavnej hale som chodila ako v tranze – neprestajne v nej šumeli hlasy, bublali akváriá, zurčali fontánky, vrčali neónky a lampy a cvrlikali cvrčky. Z knihovníka sa v aute stal Andrej, ale naďalej sme si vykali. Držal sa nás, mala som naňho vlastne šťastie, lebo deťom odpovedal na otázky a aj keď nepoznal odpoveď, snažil sa ich pobaviť alebo sa pýtal predajcov a chovateľov.

Pozorovala som chameleóna, ktorý sa blížil k cvrčkovi. Vystrčil trochu jazyk, vystrelil ho a z papuľky mu trčali len hmyzie nohy. Vypľul ich a vybral sa za ďalšou korisťou.

„Keď sa chcete doma furt cítiť jak na letnej lúčke, tak si ho kúpte – dávame k nemu päťdesiat cvrčkov grátis,“ povedala mi predajkyňa a terárium potisla asi centimeter ku mne. Ak to tak spraví pre dvadsiatich okoloidúcich, tak sa dosť preráta. Prešla som pár krokov ďalej a obzrela sa. Žena terárium zdvihla a posunula späť k sebe. Majstrovský ťah.

Pohľad na zvieratá ma upokojoval, pavúkov som sa nebála nikdy a väčšie plazy ako leguány a agámy ma vyslovene fascinovali. Lenže deti začali pišťať, lebo som ich chcela nasmerovať skôr k rybičkám. Nato Andrej zakýval, že našiel slimáky.

Kúpili sme dva, Mišovi jedného s tmavým telom a hnedou ulitou a Nine bledšieho s pásmi vo farbe raňajkovej kávy. Na podstielku v teráriu im nasypala kamene, ktorých mala plnú kabelku.

„A máte k tomu sépiovú kosť grátis!“ povedal s úsmevom chovateľ, načo som sa len zasmiala. Nina sa na mňa vrhla, objala ma okolo pásu a pridal sa aj Mišo. Na dlaniach si držali slimáky, ktoré sa môžu podľa predajcu dožiť až sedem rokov.

„Vo voľnej prírode aj desať,“ doplnil.

„A čo vy?“ spýtala som sa Andreja, keď mi pomáhal naložiť slimačie terárium do auta. Deti sme nechali vnútri, sledovali kŕmenie hadov. „Nič si nekúpite?“

„Uvažoval som, že gupku alebo leguána,“ povedal vážne, „ale asi nakoniec vezmem len tú rybičku. Mohla by sa hodiť aj do knižnice, plávala by si na pultíku. Bolo by to tam také živšie.“

Snažila som sa zachytiť padajúcu rastlinu, ktorú nám prikázali zasadiť do terária až doma. Asi si zle vysvetlil môj pohyb, nahol sa ku mne so zatvorenými očami a snažil sa ma pobozkať. Nevyviedol ma vôbec z miery, iba som ho jemne odsunula nabok. Očervenel a ospravedlňoval sa, no ja som sa vrátila späť do haly.

Celou cestou bol ticho, deti, naopak, vrieskali od nadšenia. Snažila som sa ho zapojiť do konverzácie, aby videl, že sa nehnevám ani neradujem, ale on len sedel a hral sa s uzlom na igelitovom vrecku, v ktorom si niesol dúhovú gupku.

No a v nedeľu mojim úžasným deťom slimák ušiel. Šli sme krátko po obede s Danom do kina, Ninu s Mišom strážila naša suseda, dvadsaťročná študentka Brigit. Šla s deťmi von, vzali si slimáky a fotili ich, čítali si knihy, driemali na slnku. A tmavý bol zrazu fuč.

Vyšli sme z kinosály a našla som si tucet neprijatých hovorov od detí aj Brigit. Zľakla som sa, Dano sa zasmial, že im isto utiekli slimáky. Potvrdil nám to telefonát, krátky a urevaný – hoci sa stratil Mišov, plakala hlavne Nina. V električke sme sa letmo bavili o filme, než ma Dano začal vystríhať, aby som nebola zlá.

„Nieže im povieš, že si čakala, že sa to stane. A že im už nikdy žiadne zviera nekúpiš.“

„Prečo mi toto hovoríš?“

„Lebo viem, že na to myslíš.“

Brigit sa srdcervúco ospravedlňovala, poslali sme ju domov, za nič nemohla. Nine spuchli oči, Mišo sedel ticho na gauči. Čakali, čo bude. Pozrela som na bledého slimáka, ako pomaly chrúme list šalátu v teráriu.

„Spravili ste si vôbec tú úlohu?“

Dano potom z Mišovho mobilu vytlačil pár fotiek oboch slimákov, keď ešte žili pokope, a my s Ninou sme spravili veľkého quillingového slimáka. Do poškoláckych denníčkov si nalepili fotky a časti z nakopírovaných článkov. Nina ešte dopísala, že jej slimák sa volá Rainbow a nakreslila okolo celej strany dúhu. Mišo si vzal zošit bokom, vraj opíše, ako sa jeho slimák stratil, lebo ho uniesli mimozemšťania. Potom si prichystali denníčky do tašiek a šli sme robiť normálne úlohy pre normálne deti od normálnych učiteliek.

Večer ešte Mišo s Danom pozerali telku, ale Nina zostala pre citové vypätie z víkendu taká unavená, že chcela ísť do postele skôr než bežne. Zobrala som z nočného stolíka požičanú rozprávkovú knihu a prečítala jej posledný príbeh o princeznej, ktorá sa vydala za čerta. Nina sa na posteli mrvila, nevedela si nájsť polohu, dokonca odhodila svojho obľúbeného plyšového poníka. Zaumienila som si, že budem chápavá a pripravená počúvať, hoci aj mňa víkend vyčerpal – keď som dočítala, spýtala som sa, čo jej je. Chvíľu mlčala, ale nakoniec povedala, že Mišo nechal slimáka utiecť naschvál. Nemala to ničím podložené – alebo mala a nechcela mi povedať viac.

Než zaspala, sľúbila som jej, že v pondelok zoženieme ďalšie knihy, pretože poslednú sme dočítali. Mišovi som sa vyhla, umýval si zuby, tak som radšej vykladala umývačku. Dano ho uložil do izby k Nine a prišiel za mnou do spálne.

„Včera ma ten knihovník chcel pobozkať.“

„Čo? Kedy?“

„Keď sme nakladali veci do auta. Bolo to divné, začal strašne habkať, že som sa zle pohla či čo.“

„No to je kokot.“

„A Nina mi povedala, že Mišo nechal ujsť toho slimáka náročky.“

„To sa ako dá?“

Pokrčila som plecami. Celé popoludnie som sa bála, že mám také čudné deti, ktorým utečie aj slimák, no snažila som sa uchlácholiť myšlienkou, že o pár rokov sa na tom budeme smiať. Keď budú tínedžeri a naserú ma, tak to vytiahnem.

„Daniel?“

„Čo?“

„Ja to nezvládam,“ vzdychla som. Dano ma chytil okolo pliec a upokojoval, Miša sa predsa ráno spýtame, čo sa stalo naozaj. Pred očami sa mi premietali dve verzie – buď je môj syn také nemehlo, že sa mu podarilo ťažko vydrankaného slimáka stratiť, alebo ho z nejakého chorého dôvodu zabil. My sme kedysi zaživa pálili žaby, čo ak to už vtedy u mňa predznamenalo nejakú formu psychopatie, nečudo, že som dnes to, čo som – ale čo teda bude z neho? Dano po chvíli zaspal, jemne mi chrápal do ucha, lebo ma stále objímal.

Keď sa otočil, vstala som z postele. Do obývačky prenikal lúč z ulice, ale zapla som lampu aj slimákovi a sledovala, ako sa začudovane vystrkuje von. Raz, ešte mladá, som sa strašne opila a v noci som sa budila, pretože mi bolo zle. Vybiehala som na dvor a vracala na jedno miesto, pod staré hrozno oproti vchodovým dverám. Keď som sa zobudila, došlo mi, že grcku všetci uvidia, lebo sme pili smotanové kokteily. Odhodlala som sa ísť po krhlu a spláchnuť ju.

Na mieste mojich nočných výletov však nebolo po zvratkoch ani stopy. V tráve sa hmýrili desiatky slizniakov a mama nadávala, prečo sa ich toľko naťahalo do dvora a práve na také miesto. Čušala som, lebo síce vedeli, že som prišla opitá, ale nepotrebovala som počúvať ich kázne.

Už odo dverí detského oddelenia som videla na stole gupku, plávala v malom guľatom akváriu. Andrej sa práve venoval mladej matke s dievčatkom v predškolskom veku. Prečítané knihy som položila na pult a nečujne prešla k polici za jeho chrbtom, odkiaľ sme brávali princeznovské príbehy. Vybrala som tri, o ktorých som vedela, že sme ich nečítali.

„Bohužiaľ, túto knižku musíme dokúpiť,“ povedal dievčatku, matka sa slušne poďakovala a odišli. Snažila som sa naňho usmievať čo najvľúdnejšie, no keď ma uvidel, zmeravel.

„Vraciam päť a beriem tri.“

Prešiel na svoje miesto so sklonenou hlavou, načítal preukaz a odložil vrátené knihy bokom. Celý čas sa na mňa ani nepozrel.

„Neviem, čo to do mňa vošlo.“

„Nebojte sa, ja vám verím. Naozaj sa nič nestalo,“ povedala som, no videla som na ňom, že sa do pár sekúnd zosype.

„Jedna pani ma tu raz našla, nebolo to tak, ako to vyzeralo, ale mal som z toho problémy. Že sa tu ukájam nad deťmi alebo čo. Sťažovala sa, skoro ma vyhodili, ale nebolo to tak, naozaj.“

„Verím vám,“ zopakovala som frázu, naučenú zo života s deťmi a z múdrych kníh z oddelenia o poschodie vyššie. Andrej sa držal toho svojho pultíka kŕčovito a neisto, pozeral sa mi do očí, z čoho som usúdila, že zrejme hovorí pravdu, o ktorú som vôbec nestála.

Začal plakať a hovoriť ďalšie nezmysly, ako má rád deti, ale iba ako kamarátov, že ich chce vzdelávať, že mal aj frajerky, normálne dospelé ženy, nevyšlo mu to hlavne s poslednou, dlhodobou, ale to už predsa prekonal, že si mal kúpiť aspoň chameleóna a vždy takto zo všetkého vycúva, čo to je za život, čo je za chlapa.

Nevedela som, ako reagovať na plač vlastných detí, nieto na vzlyky cudzieho dospelého muža. Čo som mohla vydedukovať z jeho roztržitých opisov, z chabého obrazu jeho trápnych dlhodobých problémov so ženami, zvieratami aj so sebou samým? Mala som chuť streliť mu a odísť.

Vtedy akoby uťalo, prestal bľabotať, ťažko prehltol a dodal:

„Vy ste moja obľúbená zákazníčka.“

A na to som už fakt nemala čo povedať.

Keď som prišla po deti do družiny, práve vybiehali zo školy a s niekoľkými ďalšími spolužiakmi, na ktorých tiež čakali rodičia, sa naskakovali na kolobežky. Balila som Nininu dózu na ovocie, keď sa nado mnou zjavila Milka. Ruky spínala ako na svätom obrázku, avšak nie pokojne, no napäto a bez pohybu.

„Kontrolovali ste Miškovi úlohu o slimákovi?“

Najskôr som vyhŕkla, že áno, robili sme s Ninou quillingového slimáka a Mišo predsa opísal, ako ten jeho ušiel. Ako som jej odpovedala, tak som si uvedomovala, že si písal bokom od nás a potom len rýchlo strčil poškolácky denník do tašky a vytiahol matematiku. Pomaly som sa posúvala preč od skriniek, von z chodby.

„Ten Ninkin slimák je krásny, dajte si ho na chladničku.“

„Určite dám,“ povedala som už vonku.

„Miškova úloha nebola –“

„Môžete to prestať volať úloha?“ povedala som a obrátila som sa k nej. „Je to prinajlepšom pracovný zošit, ktorý potrebujú do družiny. Keby som ich do nej nevodila, nemali by sme starosti s takýmito zadaniami. Ani oni, ani ja.“

Neuhla pohľadom ani na sekundu.

„Miško do svojho denníčka napísal, že slimáky sú kokotina. Nič viac,“ povedala pevne, prekvapil ma aj ten mravokárny tón, na ktorý som u nej nebola zvyknutá.

„Nuž, po sobote strávenej na teraristickej výstave si to myslím tiež.“

Nevyšlo to zo mňa tak sebaisto, ako som dúfala. Chytila ma za rameno.

„Viete, dostali ste obyčajnú úlohu. Všetci rodičia ju zvládli, nikto sa nesťažoval. Nemuseli ste ju robiť, ak ste nechceli. Niektorí ľudia na to proste nemajú.“

Zišla som dole po schodoch.

„Obyčajná úloha,“ zopakovala.

Na popraskanom chodníku rachotili kolobežky. Nine to nikdy nešlo, ale skúšala sa vyrovnať bratovi a ostatným deťom. Otočila sa smerom ku mne, nabrala hrboľ a vo mne sa niečo spustilo, aby som sa pohla a zastavila jej pád. No ona to ustála a so smiechom okolo mňa spravila elegantný oblúčik.