Gábor T. Szántó: Academy


Dad and mom teach him to poop. They surround the pink party and encourage it. I really want you to succeed, so I try, but it’s weird that I have to start and finish the poop when they think I need to, and they don’t even give me diapers anymore, just for the night. I try as they say, because if I take the floor and do it skillfully, they will be happy. When I’m done, they look, laugh and wipe my ass. I’m proud. They head for the hall, but they won’t let me take the party, as if they’re afraid I’ll drop it. It could be a big deal because Dad comes with us too. But where are they taking the party? Maybe it’s the right time to show it to your neighbors when you first get into it? They pick up the pink potty and I can’t see my poop. It’s bad if I don’t see it, after all, it’s mine after all, and they take it as if it doesn’t even belong to me. Where are they being taken and why? Why do they blow, and why do they say they blow but stink, throw it out ?! What is being thrown out? It’s like there’s something funny about that. Even thinking is bad. I don’t want to be thrown out. I’m not stinky, I don’t want to stink, and I don’t want anything that comes out of me to say that! It was better until I pooped in a diaper, because then I felt how deliciously warm it was, and it couldn’t cool off, but now my poor poop can get cold in the potty that I don’t sit on it. They call me too, go after them, I just don’t understand why they raise me so high, why I can’t take myself, since it’s mine. Why are they afraid of me, then I don’t want to hurt the poop, because I’m already a big boy, I know that no one should be harmed, and of course I don’t hurt the poop, because mine would hurt if I did. We go to the hall, towards the kitchen, but at the same time they stop in front of a door and open it. This door is usually closed. Behind it is a strange white something, a little shimmer, a narrow one at the bottom, a wide top that folds up at the top, and something else that can also be folded up, but it has no middle, like a hoop. I’ve seen this thing from a distance when the door was left open, but I’ve never had anything to do with it because they told me not to come in here and I couldn’t even touch it. They always joked about taking care not to fall into it. And they smiled at him, I didn’t dare go near him. I don’t know what’s so funny about falling into it. I think it’s more scary. Dad opens the top and explains, but it’s too complicated what he says to be an adult. Then they both talk to me now. Just look how interesting! They say, pouring in the poop. My poop! Help! What are they doing? Dad pulls a chain that hangs from a box. I dare not move because I hear scary sounds. I cling to the glittery rim of the white, but they say don’t touch it. I’m scared, very much, but I look inside, there my poop is drowning in the water. Don’t they know I can’t swim yet with just a float? Water rushes down, sweeps away, and in an instant disappears my poop into a hole, but so that there is no trace of the large water that almost pours out, that I have to jump back because it splashes, but in the end it’s also awful disappears in a hole where my poor kakim, which was a moment before, is nowhere to be seen, as if it had never existed, I can almost hear the poop crying in the cold water, crying for help as it crashes, no gets air and drowns, swallows the hole. What did they do? I tremble from the cold water and don’t get any air. I feel dizzy, trembling, and have nausea. The cold is running down my back because I can feel myself falling in vain as I try to cling to my whistle. Well, they don’t understand that I’m disappearing in that hole, the water is taking me down, the terrible sounds are taking me down to the ground, where horrible beings live. It must be so scary that you can’t hear someone crying for help. But what did I do to do this to me? Maybe I’m not even anymore? After all, it’s me who thinks that or not? And if not, who am I? A piece of me has just disappeared, so how can I be here? Or maybe I’m down there and yet I think that’s because the fear will remain if I drown, even then? After all, the poop, my poop, that was in me before, was destroyed. But then, who thinks and is afraid of this? Who am I if they were pulled down the toilet? How come I am still here and I think so while I’m gone? Maybe the rest will be pulled out of me? Maybe they did it to take care of myself and be good because they can pull it off whole. They showed me what they could do to me if I didn’t take the floor. I even have to look into the toilet bowl to see where they can plug in if I’m bad. They move in and laugh: do I see that he is nowhere to be seen? Are you glad I lost? It was like I had a hole in me and I crashed. As if I didn’t exist anymore. I’m dizzy. Nauseous. I do not want! I’ll whistle. I still feel it. Maybe I’m still? There is enough of me to be scared. But then what went down before, if not me, and why do I still feel like I’m falling? Maybe you can die more than once, in several pieces? Maybe their parents are pulling the kids down the toilet in pieces? Or are they just being shown to be careful because if I get bad, they can pull it off in its entirety? They even have fun threatening it. They haven’t done this before. I didn’t want to bother them, I don’t even know I got here. What an injustice this is! Help! Someone help me! I want to go home! I want to go home! I don’t sit on their party anymore. Maybe I’m not anymore. It’s like a night when I just wake up on Mom’s lap and I don’t know where I was, I just don’t wake up now. The cold water took me down, I disappeared down the drain. Maybe I’m already dead because under the ground where my kaki ended up, only the dead live. But then how are there mom and dad here who talk and laugh like they do live? They were not taken down by the water. The dead may be able to come up and come up and pull down in the toilet. Because I know that he who is not alive is dead. They said. I have nausea, but I don’t like to vomit because then it’s like something is coming out of me. As now. Maybe I’ve been downstairs, but I don’t remember it? I’m dizzy. They finally lay down, I’m sick, shaking cold. They want to put the thermometer in my ass, but I yell not to, because then I’m sure I’ll have to go back again. I never want to poop again. (Open sentence)

Source: Népszava by nepszava.hu.

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