Learn from Your Children

Years ago I was with the two kids at the open-air mineral pool in Pavel Banya. They had just got out of the big pool and gone into the children's one. Reassured, I went over to our things to get myself a cigarette. As I was walking back towards them, a large gang of Roma leapt out of the big pool and surrounded me

• “What were you rummaging around in there for, eh?” I caught a peculiar smell – not from them. It was the smell I remembered from when I was little, after a fall or a fight. I looked over at the kids, who had heard the commotion and were staring at me in fright. I explained to the Roma that I'd been digging through my things for a cigarette, which I took a drag on. And that I was there with my grandsons.

• “Oh, don't try that trick with the kids on us!” said several of the women in the group almost at once. Their men, now a little less sure of themselves, made me show them our things. They turned out to be close to theirs, also on the grass at the side. I looked over at the children's pool. My older grandson, 11 years old, had tears welling up in his eyes, while the younger one, 7 years old, bravely jumped out, stood between me and the gang, spread his arms like a boxing referee and said:

• “Grandpa, stay calm! Only speak English to them!”

Having already started justifying myself in Bulgarian, it was too late to switch to English. But the presence of the child between us did the trick, and after a while the Roma gang went back into the pool, leaving one of them to guard their things. I lit one cigarette off another, and the kids carried on playing in the pool. I'd dodged a beating. What would have happened if I'd been on my own? What kind of guardian grandpa was I?

When I was little, our grandpa was big, strong, commanding, with a fearsome moustache, and in our opinion – that of his six grandchildren – he could easily have protected us even from a three-headed dragon.

Two weeks later my wife and I, without the grandchildren, decided to take a trip to the Srednogorets hut in Sredna Gora. Somewhere past the village of Aleksandrovo, heading towards the mountain, we stopped the car. When we asked a local man which way the hut was, he answered: along the road, then on the right there's a marked path, but it's overgrown. And don't leave your car here – outside the village!

We didn't listen to him. We found the path, then lost it. Several times over. Just as we had got our bearings and climbed high enough, smoke began drifting through the forest. A little later we reached a clearing where, from all four corners, smoke seemed to be rising out of the ground, and out of it emerged 7 or 8 Roma. They walked slowly over to the path and stopped about 50 metres ahead of us. My wife squeezed my hand hard. Shortly before, she had been saying that, according to a lot of people, walking in the mountains wasn't safe at all any more, and I had laughed at her. Against the smoke the Roma looked like devils, some of them even holding pitchforks. Their appearance didn't suggest they were looking for integration. Once again I could smell “a good hiding” in the air.

Perhaps it would have been better simply to turn round and go back. Then I remembered our little grandson Nichi. I told my wife to wait where she was. If I called her, she was to follow me and say something to them in English. I set off “bravely” towards the Roma. If I'd been Chuck Norris – fair enough, but I wasn't. In my head there was only what I'd dubbed “the Nichi Method”, and I asked them: “Do you know where is ‘Srednogorets’ hut?” They didn't question my pronunciation and opened up a corridor for us to pass through. I called to my wife: “Come on, lady!” She set off and greeted them: “Hi, guys!” – she absolutely amazed me. Half an hour later we reached the hut. We would have stayed the night there, but we were worried about the car. On the way back, in the middle of that same clearing, there stood a lorry. The Roma were loading it with sacks of charcoal – the output of the pits. They waved to us, somehow in English, meaning: “Clear off quickly, please!”

Our car was waiting for us unharmed, and we drove home giggling in English.

Our grandson Nichi's method against dangerous Roma had turned out to be perfect.

The following year, one evening, I picked the grandchildren up from school and drove towards their parents' flat. The little one needed a wee, so I had to stop by a little park, and then we set off again. Shortly afterwards the traffic police pulled us over.

• “Good evening. Sergeant Ivanov. Step out of the car with your documents.”

I ventured to ask:

• “Have I committed some offence?”
• “You didn't have your lights on.”

I started making excuses about my grandson's needs and that afterwards I'd forgotten….

• “Don't explain to me. Come to the car in front of you so we can write you up.”

• “Look, it's getting dark, the children's parents will be worried. At least let me tell the little ones to sit quietly in the car on their own, eh?”

• “All right, but don't take long!” said Ivanov, and headed for their car.

I went back to the kids, who were looking at me in fright. I told them to wait for me without getting out, because the traffic police had caught me committing an offence and were going to write me up for a fine. They started asking what writing up was, what I'd done wrong, how much they would fine me, how long I'd be, whether they should call their parents….

• “Stay here nice and quiet, I'll be back within 20 minutes. Under no circumstances call Mum and Dad, so you don't worry them for nothing. Promise?”

• “OK, Grandpa!”

I went to the police car. As I expected, his senior colleague behind the wheel was pretending to write out a ticket, while Ivanov held my documents. He turned to me and launched into what I myself call “negotiations”, in which I had some experience:

• “What do you do for a living?”
• “I'm an engineer.”

Let me translate for you what this means. Their question is a hint that they might not write you up after all – I get off cheaper, and they pocket some cash. The fine varies depending on your profession. If you're a lawyer or a businessman, it's a lot; if you're unemployed, 10 leva. Back then, being an engineer was worth a little over 10 leva.

• “So what now – shall we write you a ticket for 50 leva? You don't look drunk or loaded.”

/– Give us 20 leva and we all go our separate ways./

• “Oh, let's not complicate our lives….” /I agree./

I started rummaging in my pockets for 2 x 10 leva, for their convenience. Just then, behind us, came children's shrieking. I turned round, frightened. My older grandson Viki had dragged the little one, Nichi, out of the car, was shouting at him and laying into him, while Nichi squealed. Thank goodness it was happening on the pavement. I leapt out and ran to calm them down. Some passers-by, mostly women, stopped and were about to get involved. Just as I was thinking of grabbing the pair of them by the ears and shoving them into our car so people wouldn't stand there gawping at the show, Ivanov appeared, handed me my documents and said:

• “You're free to go, sir. Sort the kids out quickly. And don't forget to put your lights on! Take your documents.”

I stuffed them mechanically into my back pocket and thanked him. Then I grabbed the kids by the elbows and pushed them towards the car, at which the older one started squealing too. We were on the brink of hysteria. I yelled at them so hard that they went silent instantly. I felt awkward, but very soon, as if on cue, they suddenly doubled up with laughter.

• “And now what's got into you, you little idiots?” I almost roared at them.
• “Look, Grandpa, the police have gone. Let's get out of here too!” said the older one. The two of them jumped into the car and buckled their seatbelts straight away, like never before.

I set off without thinking it over; I'd deal with them later.

• “The lights, Grandpa!” said the older one.
• “Your seatbelt, Grandpa!” added the younger one.

They were right. After a short pause their laughter burst out again:

• “Oh no, no, no, I can't! Sooo awesome….. Cool!” Clearly they weren't going to stop their howling any time soon. At that moment it dawned on me. When they had calmed down a bit, I asked:

• “Which of you came up with the idea of getting rid of the police like that?”

• “Me!” the older one answered proudly.

• “Congratulations, you managed to fool me as well!”

I smiled to myself – evidently this was “the Viki Method” against traffic police.

• “But Grandpa, shouldn't you praise me too, for agreeing to let Viki beat me up when I hadn't done anything wrong?”

• “Actually, thank you both. And congratulations on a terrific show. One day I'll treat you!”

• “Wooow!”

• “And who came up with the idea?” “Me!” the older one answered himself.

• “But who took the beating?” “Me!” the younger one added proudly.

For a short while blissful silence fell in the back. A minute later the older one piped up:

• “Grandpa, don't treat us. You haven't got money to spare anyway.”

I got to thinking what a child Viki was – he had a sensitive, compassionate soul.

Maybe when I set off towards the police car he had burst into tears, but even so he had found the strength to help me. I love that child. He isn't like his little brother, who is mentally tough and rather mercenary. But then again, he is very affectionate and caring. I love that child too. I got quite emotional. I looked in the rear-view mirror. They were whispering something animatedly to each other, their eyes shining. Lines of poetry flooded my mind: “Two lovely eyes. The eyes of a child. Music, rays of light. They neither ask nor promise”… They were clearly overexcited, the little darlings – who knows how frightened they'd been for me, their beloved grandpa. Which made me go completely soft.

We were approaching their block of flats and I was just about to ask them not to tell anyone about the incident when the older one asked me:

• “Hey, Grandpa, how much would the fine have been?”

• “50 leva!” I fired off, without thinking that this might have consequences.

• “Ohhh, Grandpaaa, why don't you give it to us?” the little one added sweetly, in his typical style. “After all, we got you out of the fine.”

• “Numbskull!” the older one cut him short. “If he gives us 20 leva each, there'll be 10 leva left for him too! Think a bit before you speak!”

Learn from your children…