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    A Little Frog’s Heart: The Coming of Age
    A Little Frog’s Heart: The Coming of Age
    A Little Frog’s Heart: The Coming of Age
    Ebook434 pages6 hours

    A Little Frog’s Heart: The Coming of Age

    By George Virtosu

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    About this ebook

    The Coming of Age, the fourth volume of the series A Little Frog’s Heart is a hymn to Universal Grandparents, to their wisdom and eternal love for their grandchildren, a work of art which will find its admirers and readers among those who accept it as part of their lives. This picture is a perfect one but as we have already got used to author George Vîrtosu, the reader might well be baffled by the information he has never known his grandparents! Though a tragic one, this reality offered him the most cherished Gift: from all the elders of the village he chose the wisest, the most industrious and enchanting ones. He just took the best from each of them using his own imagination and so he created the perfect grandparents.


    When will you know that you have reached your coming of age? A bet on this topic between two fleas is rapidly transformed into a tragedy for their family, a true „baptism of coming of age” for the main character of the story. You have the opportunity to learn how they are going to sort out this conflict and what are the truths of this marathon of surprising adventures reading the forth volume of the series A Little Frog’s Heart.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAdenium
    Release dateMar 17, 2016
    ISBN9786067420517
    A Little Frog’s Heart: The Coming of Age

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      Book preview

      A Little Frog’s Heart - George Virtosu

      nation.

      Introducing the Old Rat

      Volume III ended with the death and fabulous burial of the Old Rat, who had served as a host and master of the large family of fleas; one of them is our endearing Flea who’s been talking to the little Silkworm, a conversation lasting by now for almost three volumes.

      In the first volume the poor Mother Drop, which had just lost her entire family, took part in the discussions; afterwards, she enters a long period of recovery, to regain her strength and be able to search for her dear ones. Over-excited and sharing a taste for adventure, the Flea and the little Worm, instead of sleeping, talked all night, with the former as the main storyteller (out of pleasure, but also because he could not resist the temptation of showing off). The little Silkworm, being the youngest, was of course more curious, with many ‘whys’ on the tip of his tongue. Albeit small, he wasn’t stupid at all! Impressed by the pompous, even legendary (fairy-tale-like) burial of the Old Rat, he immediately thought that such an end must have been preceded by a similar life, a life not only long, but also rich in trials and adventures. So he did his best to challenge the Flea to properly tell the story.

      The Flea entered the game and started to tell the story of the Old Rat, beginning with what was most familiar, his natural environment – his host’s body, starting to unravel the secrets of the old fur, his wounds, his scars, his heart and red blood cells, all so secretive and careful with their master’s life. And because the Flea’s eldest brother had once been forced to run away from home and hide in the mountains towards the Rat’s head, we are introduced to his nose, eyes, and especially his ears! The ears are cave-like and, as a reward for being granted accommodation and the chance to re-build his confidence, the eldest brother does a first-ever thorough cleaning of the ears. We find out many things about the roads and paths which meander through the Rat’s body, well hidden in his fur, which resembles a huge forest; a forest barely interrupted by small areas, similar to clearings, where tufts of fur have been pulled out by the many dangerous life events. But I’d better not forget about the final story, the confrontation between the Louse and the hive when he and the Flea’s eldest brother wanted to treat themselves to stolen honey.

      I have to confess that I am one of those who don’t have a special liking for fleas, lice, rats, or the sight of blood. Even so, when I started reading A Little Frog’s Heart series, I have not felt any revulsion for his characters, so unusual to come across in fairy tale books; on the contrary, I’ve always felt a sort of sympathy, even empathy. The author must be extremely talented to induce such a dramatic change of heart in his readers. I know this because I had the opportunity to share opinions with other readers.

      You are starting volume IV of the story, which I have already read. As for myself, I can’t wait for the next one, and I’m pretty sure you’ll feel the same when you get to the end of this book.

      June 19, 2011, Iaşi

      Liviu Antonesei

      A Jailhouse Story IV

      In those moments my soul felt empty. It was like an endless desert, abandoned by all wind gusts, punished for being selfish, going for centuries unsupported by any life forms for as far as the eye can see.

      Yes, I was desolate. Inside of me, my conscience seemed to shout in revolt: Why? Why, God? My humiliation was absolute. Pain was too great. The suffering was at a peak. It was burning me. For a moment, everything collapsed around me. I sank into darkness, like a blind person. In my head I heard, all of a sudden, the echo of Mother’s words. I imagined her at the end of an ordinary working-day, searching for me so we can go home. Around sunset, when the sun seemed to hide behind the hill, I used to follow it, wanting to see where it went. I was running after it, like a restless little lamb on a spring day, innocently wishing be the master of the plain, to feel the most important one in the flock!

      Innocent like a lamb, I was running up the highest hill, close to our land plots. I was climbing it, wanting to see at any cost where is it that the sun goes to sleep at the end of the day. I was confused and undecided. I wanted to put to satisfy the curiosity born out of its mysterious disappearances and reappearances every day. Yet, on the other side, I was thinking that I was too little and too afraid to let go of my family, which I would have dearly missed …

      Mother’s voice made even my shadow flinch, interrupting my daydreaming. Mother was scared because she had been looking for me for quite a while and her voice was rough, because she had been calling my name everywhere; her fearful words reached me as if whipped by their own echo! Words rushed to touch my ears, wanting to punish them, to make me wish I had never gone wandering off.

      Gheorghiţă! Hey, Gheorghiţă! Mother was calling out, short of breath after having looked for me in despondence.

      When she saw my shadow trembling on the hill, she told me, happy to have found me:

      Come back, come back quickly! See, the night is closing in, and she comes to steal you! She will take you to her kingdom and you will have to stay there forever to serve her!

      When Mother’s warm and worried voice reached my ear-drums, tickling them, I would turn, frightened. Indeed, the night was getting closer, stooping on the way up the slope: she was carrying a large black bag. She was picking and carefully fitting in all the clouds on her way, clouds that didn’t manage to go away with the daylight, being too large and heavy, burdened with countless water drops. They were waiting for their orders, like soldiers preparing a mysterious baptism of nature, one to be performed in secret. Their design, I don’t know why, made me believe that the night really stole children like me, children lost on the plains in love with the dark clouds. Maybe that’s why they couldn’t break up with them.

      The obsession of a kidnapping was clouding my imagination: wasn’t it true that at those covert baptisms, they were planning on giving me as a gift to who knows what? Maybe I was to be given to some strange tree, to keep it company at night, especially when bursting with buds, so as to have someone to admire them?! Well, to be honest I would have liked that! I was cheerfully toying with the idea. Only that a more horrifying question was really frightening me: What if she were to give me to a starving wolf? No, such a thing was not possible, I firmly resisted the idea. The night must have a good heart! She hosts many a nature’s blessings.

      I had to get to Mother. She was probably right, as always and judging by her frightened voice, she must have been in utter panic!

      Mother’s words seemed to have literally spanked my buttocks, making me turn even quicker! I was running so fast, that I was feeling my tiny trousers’ seams bursting because of the too high jumps I was trying to make. I stopped only in Mother’s arms, breathing hard and cuddling at her bosom, where I felt safe. After kissing me hard a couple of times, as if wanting her kiss to be forever stamped on my face, she questioned me:

      My dear, what were you doing on the neighbouring hills, yet again?

      What could I have told her? She had warned me so many times not to fill my head with outrageous desires! Each time I had promised I would listen to her! But I could not keep my promise, because of my stubborn curiosity, much stronger than my fragile wisdom. My curiosity bothered me continuously: if I didn’t obey, it was taking away all my cheerfulness!

      And so, because I did not want Mother to scold me, I decided not to tell her of my thoughts regarding the sun’s adventures. Although I had barely grown a few inches and was only a few days older, I already felt more confident and was trying to hide some of the crazy things that passed through my head.

      This day, my dear Mommy, seemed longer than ever… I was trying to explain in a pleading voice, intended to appease her. And I was under the impression that she was differently clothed from other days! The train of her dress was so long, that it seemed endless! It even had a special shine, as if sprinkled with diamond drops, whose glittering was winking at me, pressing me to follow her! That’s why I wanted to climb the hill! I kept on talking nonsense, wanting to alleviate Mother’s worries.

      Why? She looked at me with wide open eyes. I hope you didn’t want to leave me this early, at your age? She was getting even more worried.

      I began to stammer:

      No, no! How could I leave you? God forbid, dear Mother! Without you I wouldn’t even dream of living elsewhere… I wanted to convince her, but also to stall her in order to find a more convincing answer. I simply wanted to… well… I stammered. I wanted to reach the highest peaks of the day which just ended, to be able to see how large our land was!

      But why would you need to know how large our land is? Mother asked.

      I wanted to be able to describe it to the whole world when I grow up and travel the world. Tell other people all about it and pride myself over my homeland’s beauty! I was improvising as I was watching the sun go down beyond the line of the horizon.

      The hill top I had just climbed down caught my eye: the sun, which had been disappearing behind it, embellished it, creating the image of a volcano. Mother hugged me once more. After kissing me again, even more lovingly than the last time, she told me:

      Sweetie, to get to the highest peaks of light, and there see clearly everything around you, you’ll have to pass through the fire of suffering because light comes directly out of this fire! But it doesn’t come easily: it requires an offering from all those who attempt to conquer it. That’s why I’m telling you it won’t be easy for you: that pain will torment you! But the priceless lessons the suffering will offer you, they are the only ones that can properly equip you for life. Mother would end her speech with a sigh ripped out of her pure heart.

      She had already passed through this fire, and not just once, because she had brought into the world a fair share of lovely witty children. She then took me by the shoulders, and we walked together to the other little siblings waiting for us at home.

      So much time has passed since! The memory I was re-living now, sitting in a strange car, might just have been my moment of total abandonment. Only now do I begin to understand the meaning of Mother’s words. Resigned, I only wanted to surprise the suffering, to break the umbilical cord that tied me to it, feeding me poisoned energy, cutting me off from everything that was positive in my life. My consciousness was looking for a drop of light in the abyss that was sucking me in. But I wasn’t after just any drop, I was hunting for the one which appears in the beginning of the day, at the end of myriads of moments, from sunset to dawn, along which, wrapped in the warmth of the translucent rays, it travels the earth from end to end, in the presence of the Morning Star, hidden to us, mortals. Only that drop would have been the one blessed by God, to receive sanctifying power from the Creator. Only that one drop of light, sliding down the hot forehead of a long summer’s day, along its peachy cheeks, could have ‘baptised’ my eyes giving my sight back. A sight and a new vision, to reach out to from the darkness I was in, and get a wisp of hope, embellished with a crystal scarf, weaved out of life’s sparkle. This was the only one to give hope to those unexpectedly hit by the waves of disappointment.

      I had abandoned, a long time now, the oppressive atmosphere of the car I was in: I was feverishly looking for that one grain of hope. I was telling myself that, had I found it, I would have picked it up carefully and sheltered it in the brightest corner of my heart, nurturing it as if it were the most fragile flower. In return, the flower would save its last petal for me, as a reward for my gentle care! But it wouldn’t be just any petal! Imagine a pure game of love when, picking up a small daisy in blossom, full of emotion and beautifully innocent, I start to pluck it, petal by petal, wanting to discover the end of a most feverish wait…

      Believing in his power to work wonders, this petal (which offered to be the guide of my hope) helped me gather my strength, which, after so many blows, had pitifully lost all will-power, all wish to fight back.

      I didn’t want to lose confidence in myself! I refused to let my mind be overwhelmed by the bitterness of despair, not even for a moment: I, and I alone, would have then had to suffer, even more, by empowering those who wanted me down, by making them feel like they’d won.

      Still my soul felt empty, burdened with sorrow like a desolate desert stretching far and wide to every corner of the earth. Even so, we knew that the desert, frequently punished by the wind with long absences, is still visited by the wandering wind from time to time. Even on the rare occasion of such a call, courtesy was out of the question! One of the reasons, however, may well have been the fact that the wind couldn’t help to feel pity for the abandoned thistles, wandering here and there on the hot sand, itself punished constantly by the sunbeams. So, no matter for what reason, the wind would visit the desert anyway… It will get closer to the hilltops, knowing that they will always be pleased to see the wind again, it being the only one to caress their dried thighs. Through a charmed whistle, it will whisper only what they could understand, because, if the Desert found out their secret, he would mercilessly punish them! Having a vengeful nature, he would wipe out all the sand dunes with one mighty shake of his scorched body. The malice nestled in his heart; it was a way of retaliating to the feelings of abandonment which never left him…

      That is why the Wind will be cautious and will talk to the sandy hills as quietly as possible:

      My dears, your patience and suffering will be eventually rewarded by the immortal Time. He will give you, at some point, a drop of the elixir of life, in which the rest of the earth plentifully rejoices.

      Afterwards the Wind will caress them softly, so that, thrilled by its touch, the sand grains will raise in the air, dancing. Feeling them ready to abandon themselves to him, the Wind would add:

      I too will help the immortal Time and together we will take you over the endless lands! You will get to see many other places on this earth, to share the happiness in their lives! Thus would the Wind promise, in a flashy smile, to boost their self-confidence.

      Full of hope, the sand dunes would do whatever the Wind now told them to, so that his promises may come true. Without hesitation, he will propose a game: a ‘football match’ where, instead of balls, they would use the nearby wandering thistles.

      This game is a rehearsal, the Wind will continue to speak to the sand dunes. You will play it, too, when we decide that you should reach the places promised by the immortal Time! He will enchant the deserted hills. The vast desert, your master, has a wicked heart, and he would not let you go easily. But, if you trained for different competitions, you could reach other lands, where he would send you! You’ll get his hopes high by promising to bring him many victory cups, made of North Pole ice, to quench his eternal thirst!

      But how will you persuade him? The sand dunes would ask in a disappointed voice. Our master does not like games, does not want events in his kingdom, especially sport contests!

      The Wind would laughingly reply:

      Well… The desert, your master, will even accept to be the referee of this football match! You will see! It will suffice to find out that they are giving the North Pole ice cup as a prize! Of course, as a referee, he will be on your side, wanting his dunes to win all the games!

      And if we lose, what happens to us? They asked with the same distrust, knowing the anger of their master when things wouldn’t go his way.

      Ha! the Wind laughed. No worries, my dears, he would calm them down. I haven’t grown old for nothing; I should know by now how to get what I want. Let me tell you something: he was left on earth as an ancestral relic of what once was a sparkling River. His waters proudly carried bits of the wisdom in the lands it crossed.

      The sand dunes would listen carefully, and so the Wind will whisper in confidence:

      "It is said that, when God put him on earth, to separate pasture from thick forest, the River asked the Creator: ‘Which is my purpose, God? Why have you chosen me precisely for this enchanted spot? The forest and the pasture love each other, obviously! Why should I separate them by passing through? Why cut with my crystal-clear waters through the fresh green of their meadows?’ It is said that God replied, all smiles, making an innocent joke: ‘Your waters will refresh and beautify Nature; as for the location of your river-bed, I chose it on purpose so that you will help the innocent lamb on the pasture stay alive, and the terrible wolf living in the thick forest to feel always sated!’

      With this, the Wind became quiet. The proverb is indeed a wise one, teaching us there is equilibrium in everything. Of course that balance is hard to find, and many times we need to compromise in order to reach it.

      This is what we call diplomacy, said the Wind through his teeth, winking to the sand dunes.

      And then he added:

      That is exactly what I too will do: I will tell the Desert that whoever wins the game gets the crystal cup, brought right from the North Pole. And that whoever loses will have to collect all those wandering thistles, and to bear them on his back all along the face of the earth, as a sign of his defeat. The desert will agree, undoubtedly! He will want the cup no matter what. With it, at times, the wind would quench his dry soul with a purifying drop of water. And I will willingly let the cup go to him, whispered the Wind in the end to the sandy hills. I will give the ice-cup to the desert as a priceless gift. In it, filling it to the brim, the enchanted Elixir of Life. This is our secret project, to give life to the desert, even against his will, the old Wind added. And I strongly wish the Desert could be tamed, that he wouldn’t be so harsh on you, his sand dunes, or on those accidentally lost on his expanses. I think he will get to change when he tastes the Elixir of Life…

      How about you, what will you do when you lose? You’ll be put to shame! The sand dunes anxiously asked the old Wind.

      I… said the Wind pensively. Well, that’s exactly what I wish for! To lose this game! I will take the thistles on my back, admitting my failure. I will gladly take them out of the desert, for that will be my punishment. No matter how strong or great I am on this earth, being of the same rank as the Sun or the Rain, I could not take them without the Desert’s permission, without its acceptance. God put us to rule over the same place, but the law must be obeyed in any corner of the world, irrespective of its nature. No one is above the law! The supreme prize is the sacrifice itself, so that life may follow its natural course.

      The old Wind wanted to say that the Desert will be able to enjoy the victory cups, but the prize that really mattered, of an unparalleled value, was the one the Wind got. With God’s blessing, he will see his dream fulfilled: he will be able to give the thistles a precious gift: freedom! It is the most important gift in life, together with good health, which anyone could enjoy!

      Freedom and health are the only gifts that God gave to each of us to enjoy, and in order to make the point that they are both equally important, He joined them together forever in holy matrimony from the beginning of times. We cannot live in the daily routine of life if one of them is missing. If one is missing, we are like blind people, who cannot see the road ahead.

      After taking them out of the deserted lands using God’s gifts, the Wind will admit to the thistles that he did not invent the game out of pleasure, but for their sake and out of mercy for them. He will advise them to make it into the gift that keeps giving and to pass it on, helping those in need in their turn.

      I wanted to set you free, that is why I invented this game. I didn’t do it for master Desert, because his insatiable selfishness does not deserve any attention! You will be free! He would speak to the thistles adopting a winner’s attitude. From today on, you are free. But never forget that freedom comes with responsibility! As you roll across the face of the earth, tell everyone you meet to pay attention to the Desert’s deceiving mirage, that can easily lure the innocents into a deadly trap. You were lucky this time, because the Desert hasn’t put you in his prisons, hidden under the peaks of the abandoned hills… From now on, follow your destiny! The Wind would urge the wandering thistles. Just be careful not to stray from the path, he would warn them.

      The Wind knows that the thistles are not the ones responsible, that they are just blameless victims. They started wandering about the desert, chased by who knows which ghost, lured by deceitful echoes! That is why he offers his help, uniting their powers, donating from his endless hope, grooming them to follow him in a strange journey up to the unknown boundaries of the wasteland. Turning them up and down and taking them away, still further away. The Wind will whisper that at the end of this journey he will show them the right path their own ancestors prepared for them, from which the adventurous thistles had strayed a very long time ago.

      In their turn, tired and overwhelmed by the pain of disobedience, the thistles are aware that the rediscovery of the right path with the help of the old Wind is worth any sacrifice. That is why they silently obeyed his will, letting him sing his victory song, a whistling which will suck all remaining life from their dry bodies. He will pull mercilessly, one by one, all those thorns that have once protected them. The Wind will carry them right where the Desert ends, but won’t let them cross the borderlines this time. He will sow them right there, on the very border. This way, all those wanting to trespass on the deceiving land of sands, driven by illusions, will feel the pain of their sting and will realise the mistakes they were ready to make. Then the Wind’s shriek will fade away, discretely meandering through the sand dunes. In the end, the thistles will be able to thank the dunes for going along with the old Wind’s plan.

      This was the script developing in my heart. The Wind was my consciousness. The hills represented hope, and the Desert meant the trouble I found myself in, while I myself was the wandering thistle. Everything was unrecognizable around me, and a stranger I was to myself. It’s difficult when the desert lies all around you, but when your own soul becomes a barren wasteland, the sheer weight of the burden is impossible to bear.

      I remember my grandfather, when I was a child, telling this story, that when your strength is diminishing, the tears are bitter, and the saliva deceivingly becomes sweeter, as if wanting to help you get out of the abyss. That’s exactly what I felt was happening to me. In the corner of the eye, the tears I stubbornly wanted to contain, made me burn from the high concentration in salt, while an unpleasant taste, sweet and sour, was stuck in my throat.

      I sighed deeply; it was more like an involuntary sigh. Disappointed, I lowered my eyes and remained lost in thoughts. I wanted to summon up my strength, to focus on the situation at hand. I had to rebalance myself as I thought fit, because I had to appear, as the interpreter told me, in front of the French authorities. All sorts of thoughts were passing through my head, questions, answers, followed by more questions…

      As I sat there, lowered eyes and scattered thoughts, all of a sudden my sight focused on the hands on my knees. At first, excited as I was, I did not realise whose those handcuffed hands were. I reacted like that because the handcuffs had been put over the sleeves of my sweater! That image shocked me! A sharp pain stabbed my heart. The sleeves of my sweater, crushed under the remorseless grip of the handcuffs, reminded me instantly of my Mother, making me feel the suffering she had endured at the time: the remorse for the suffering I had inflicted on her weighed heavily on my conscience. I had the feeling that those handcuffs were binding my Mother’s hands, her tired hands, and not mine! Her warm hands, that had knitted the sweater for me, by God’s will! The sweater made of the fleece of the legendary ram...

      It was the hour my Mother milked the cow and, through the veil of my overwhelming sadness, I imagined her feeling lost. I imagined her feeling my pain, dropping the milk jar, terrified at her son’s misfortune. Certainly her motherly heart had told her of my suffering, the fate she had warned me about in my childhood.

      I looked up, as if wanting to meet the weeping eyes I felt were watching me from far away. But the dark eyes I found instead, those of the lady near the driver, brought me back to reality, because my Mother had blue eyes.

      The interpreter was looking at me with sadness. She had been moved by my grief. I wanted to ask her a favour:

      Dear Mother, since I suppose you have children my age... I heard myself telling her.

      She continued to look at me, slightly nodding; raising my handcuffed arms, I pleaded gently:

      I beg you to take the sleeves of the sweater from under these damned handcuffs. Only looking at them makes me sick inside! Will you roll them up for me, so that they stay away from the cold hard steel of the manacles? Please, do not deny me this favour! This sweater is made by my Mother’s hands! If you come from the same place as me, the land of Bessarabia filled with heart-breaking ballads, you must know the legend of the mothers knitting such a sweater, hoping that God would give them the child they wanted! Perhaps your own birth was an answer to such a prayer, a prayer coming from a Mother who wanted you more than anything in the world! I am sure your childhood was cradled by the same traditions, the same legends... My suffering is unbearable seeing these handcuffs squeezing my beloved sweater! I continued my pleading towards her. Looking down, I can see my Mother’s handcuffed hands, not mine... Please! I raised my voice, begging her, while at the corner of my mouth I felt the salty taste of rebellious a tear.

      I had spoken the last words in a sharper than usual tone, as hopelessness cornered me, but their echo sounded more like an order than a kind request. I raised my handcuffed hands even higher in front of her.

      Looking me in the eyes, the interpreter shook her head disapprovingly: it was not possible. But it was obvious that my sorrowful words reached her heart, piercing it like an arrow, blindly shot, yet rewarding by having reached a target for the first time! I suddenly saw her burst into tears, like an innocent child. From her refusal I understood: she was not allowed to touch me.

      I wanted to lower my hands, but at the same time I was savagely hit, all of a sudden, by the hooded giant at my left: his elbow landed a crashing blow to my mouth! I lost my sight for a moment. Next I was seeing only a curtain of little coloured stars, like fireworks on a holiday. I had no idea where it had come from, but I had no time to think about it, because right after that, everything around me went black. I sank into total darkness, and only after a few moments a little light appeared, just like a star blinking shyly in the night, in the aftermath of a storm. It felt like I was starting to run towards that glitter, realizing it was my way out of darkness.

      Only later would I find out that it had been just a temporal dive, a journey back in time, such as I had heard a lot about in various scientific treaties.

      In those moments I lost conscience and, in a dream-like state, I returned to the time of my childhood.

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