by Costi Gurgu, Learner, Writing Workshops
“Is it my imagination, or do I see a cockroach staring at me?”
Sebastian started, then put the pen down. He looked at the clock—it was ten to ten. He’d worked uninterrupted for more than two hours. It had been a long time since he’d done that.
Razvan rose from the couch and scooped a slipper from the floor, eyes on a corner of the living room where a roach did indeed seem to be staring at his brother.
“Put the slipper down, Razvan.”
“There is a cockroach in your home!”
“Yes, but it’s not mine.”
Razvan stopped and turned. He looked baffled. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it again.
“It’s my downstairs neighbours’ cockroach, from the tenth floor,” supplied Sebastian. “Its name…its name is Sun Tzu. They brought it from China. To bring them luck.”
“Sun Tzu?”
Sebastian gathered the pieces of paper from the table, arranging them by subject. He hadn’t finished the last sentence he was writing and with Razvan bent on crushing Sun Tzu, he couldn’t focus on writing anymore. He pursed his lips, mildly irritated by the interruption.
“Accepting that somebody would actually give a name to a cockroach, how do you know this is the lucky Sun Tzu and not just another pest?”
“First, because we don’t have roaches in our building, so there’s no other. And second, because it is the only roach I’ve seen that stares. They generally tend to hide.”
Sebastian walked over and stopped in front of the bug. Razvan joined him. Sun Tzu stayed in the same position, moving its antennas and turning its minuscule head from one man to the other.
“Aren’t’ you afraid it could multiply and a little army of Chinese philosophers will infest your building?”
“No. My neighbours guaranteed that Sun Tzu has been neutered…uh, castrated.”
Razvan laughed. He returned to sit on the couch. “Do you mean to tell me that they have little knives to cut the thing? I bet that guy is a nephew of the old Sun Tzu, and it’s making fun of us.”
“You can laugh, but apparently the Chinese have a method to neuter them, chemicals that control the roach populations in their cities. They don’t kill them because it would mean bad luck, so they have to somehow keep the population at a minimum.”
“The Chinese from the floor below told you this?”
“No. I read it on the Internet. Like you, I was tempted in the beginning to…crush it. Once you’ve lived in Bucharest in the eighties, it’s hard not to instinctively kill a roach whenever you see one.”
Sebastian went to the kitchen and poured coffee for Razvan, then refilled his own mug. He returned with the coffee to the living room.
“I thought we could have breakfast, then maybe go out and I’ll show you the city, if you like.”
About Costi Gurgu:
Costi Gurgu is a writer born in the city of Constanta, on the Black Sea shore. He currently lives in Toronto with his wife, Vali. He is a graphic designer and an illustrator and has been the Art Director of Playboy Magazine, Madame Figaro Magazine and Tabu Magazine.
His more than 40 stories have appeared in different European magazines and anthologies, and have won numerous awards. He has a story collection, a novel and has edited three KULT anthologies. His first North American sell is the short storyAngels and Moths, published in the anthology AGES OF WONDER.
He had a turtle, Cleo, which apparently suffered of seasickness and fly-sickness and couldn’t cross the ocean to their new homes. He is sure Cleo will roam the Carpathians for many centuries.
This text is an excerpt of Costi’s short story entitled “Ashes,” which was written for Cordelia Strube’s introductory short fiction workshop: ‘Short Fiction Writing – Level I’ (CWWR 410).