Yordankino

This is an autoethnographic project which is still work in progress to be developed into a photobook. It explores the coming of age and childhood under communism. This work has been developed over a number of years in the village I spend my summers in under communism in the late 80s with my grandparents and my sister and cousins.

The photographs are a combination of studio work, pinhole photography, Smena film camera which was produced and used by my family around the same period with the film berried in the soil for a week before exposure. The images are also partially produced in a participatory manner by the neighbouring residents who were given disposable cameras.

The accompanying text are written by my sister as a reflective account of events.

“I know what we can do with the dead flies.” I said.

We stared at the jar where we collected the flies that we killed before meals. We stood outside by the fireplace.

“Feed them to frogs.”

“Girls, start getting lunch ready!” we heard Grandma shout. We couldn’t see her. Her muffled voice came from somewhere behind the house. Raspberries and cassis lined the wire fence on both sides of the property. Perhaps she was picking raspberries.

“Let’s try it.” said Iskra as we headed into the cottage.

Iskra and I prepared lunch most days. I loved the gas burners, the scratchiness on the side of the match box, the sparks. Poof! When the lit matchstick met the burner it popped. I liked the after smell of cooking gas and burnt matchsticks.

Grandma had left a bunch of zucchini from the garden on the table. Iskra peeled them. I cut them into wheels. We rolled the zucchini wheels in flour and fried them in a pan of hot oil. When they were ready we fished the zucchini out of the pan one at a time with a fork. The wheels came out golden and crispy. I burned my tongue trying them too soon after they came out.

We didn’t speak while we cooked. My mind drifted to the rabies shot I was going to get today. Iskra seemed lost in her own thoughts. Like robots our hands prepared the food while our minds strayed in their own directions.

“Get the table ready. I will finish the meal.”-Grandma said when she stepped into the opposite end of the narrow cottage hallway where we stood in front of the burners.

Mina tagged behind her. This hallway served as our kitchen. It was also where Grandpa slept on a portable bed at night. He opened it up and made it every evening. Grandpa’s portable bed stood folded behind the front door during the day. We never saw Grandpa put it away in the morning. He always woke up before us. We had the light on in the hallway. The one small window by the door never let enough sun light in.

We left the cooking to Grandma and set out to take care of the flies in the room before getting the table ready for lunch. The flies always managed to enter the house, no matter how careful we were not to leave doors or windows open. That’s how we knew it was summer. When the flies started to disappear in September it meant vacation was over and it was time to go back to school. I almost missed the flies in the fall.

We grabbed towels from the hooks by the front door. The cottage had one room off the hallway on the left. We ate at the table there. Grandma, Mina, Iskra and I also slept in the room. I heard erratic buzzing. I figured there must have been at least twenty flies. I followed one with my eyes and waited for him to land on an empty flat surface like the wall or the table. As soon as he landed on the bed I swatted him with the towel. His body remained still. I got him! It didn’t always work. Sometimes the fly would move just before the towel landed on him and fly off unscathed.

“I got one!”-I yelled.

“Not exactly a brave tailor.” Iskra giggled.

“I’ll go for seven in one shot.” said Mina.

She had no idea how hard that was, but I didn’t bother discouraging her.

“Yee-ha!” Iskra swirled the towel in the air like a lasso.

“The body count is growing. The frogs will have a feast.” I said.

Mina slammed her towel against the window with great power. It made a loud thud.

“Mina, you’ll break the window.” Iskra warned her.

“I was just trying to get seven flies with one shot.” Mina looked like she was about to cry.

“Just be careful. If you break the window all the flies will get back into the house.”

“Please can you spare some change?” I hung the towel on my head like a scarf pretending to be a beggar.

The room felt silent after we took care of the files. We picked their dead bodies off the table, the floor and the beds and dropped them in the jar. Prior summers we threw them in the trash but this time we had decided to collect them in the jar. And now we had a use for them. I couldn’t wait to feed them to the frogs.

“Mina, would you like flies sprinkled on your lunch?” I asked.

“That’s disgusting. You’re mean.” She said.

During lunch Grandma reminded me that we had to visit the doctor for my rabies shot. This was number seven. I tried to think about the shot as little as possible. I disliked going more than anything. My belly felt sore. I had stopped wearing pants because the waist band hurt when I sat down. Grandma sawed me a skirt with a loose elastic waist. It was the only thing I felt comfortable wearing.

“I wish the dog would just show up so I don’t have to get any more shots. They’re so painful.” I complained.

Grandpa looked at me.

“Fear of pain can turn you into a slave.” he said.

“Granpa, I am doing my best not to let it get to me, but it’s hard.”

“Just remember. Humans are capable of surviving great pain.”

“I know.”

I remembered how Grandpa had told me he had been captured by the police. The had beaten the bottoms of his feet. For some reason the bottoms of the feet didn’t seem like it would hurt much. Not as painful as the rabies shots.

“Why did they hit you on the bottoms of your feet, Grandpa?”

“Because it doesn’t leave marks”

“I don’t know what I would have done in your place.” Torture scared me.

“None of us know what we’ll do in a situation until we’re in it. I have surprised myself many times.” Grandpa said.

Over the years Grandpa told us many stories about resistance fighters, critical missions, torture and redemption. I loved Grandpa’s stories and often suggested that he write a book so more people could enjoy them. He would say “Maybe one day I will.”

Grandma, Iskra, Mina and I left for Dr. Ivanov’s after lunch. I brought the jar of flies. Grandpa had work to do in the attic and stayed behind. I noticed that Doctor Ivanov’s lab coat now missed a button right around his belly button. I wondered whether he realized it. Iskra and Mina waited outside with the jar of flies. Mina would have balled the minute she saw the injection. Grandma held my hand.

“I’ll go on the count of three.” Dr. Ivanov said.

I closed my eyes. I was so tired of this routine.

“One…”

I pictured the needle going into my skin and shuddered.

“Nevena, I can injure you if you move like this. You have to stay still.” Dr. Ivanov said. He seemed annoyed.

“It’s hard to stay still when it hurts so much.”

“I’ll go on the count of three.”

“One… two… three…”

I tried my best to remain a statue despite the enormous pain.

“You’re done, Nevena. I’ll see you tomorrow for shot number eight.”

He rubbed the moist piece of cotton on the spot of the injection and left the room.

Grandma allowed Iskra and I to stay in the village till five. Mina wanted to stay with us, but we didn’t want her to. She cried at the drop of a hat, walked super slowly and threatened to tell on us when we didn’t do what she wanted.

We walked to the river by the doctor’s house. Iskra sat on the grass. I needed to lie down. Sitting made my stomach hurt. The sound of the running stream felt soothing. We couldn’t see chickens, but we could smell them. Freshly laid eggs smelled the same way, like chicken coop. Iskra picked up a pebble and threw it into the water. Drops from the splash landed on my face. It felt refreshing in the heat.

“Can you get mange from frogs?” she asked.

“I’ve touched frogs before and nothing’s happened.”

Iskra took her shoes off and stepped into the water. She scooped up a handful of flies from the jar and sprinkled them in in the water. The current carried the flies downstream like specs of dust. They disappeared. Iskra sprinkled more dead flies. The backs of my legs and arms started to feel moist and itchy. I stood up and scratched all over.

“The frogs are not eating them.” I said.

“I say the frogs must still be stuffed from lunch.” Iskra giggled.

I spotted a frog standing on a rock by the water. He was brownish with dark spots. I grabbed him in my hand. He felt cool and smooth. Iskra presented him with a dead fly on the palm of her hand. I held him down on my palm and pointed him towards the treat, but he showed no interest.

“I say we found a vegetarian.” Said Iskra.

I laughed.

“Hey guys!” a familiar boy’s voice called out.

It was Alex. His grandparents were friendly with Grandma and Grandpa. They also lived in the city. Sometimes we played with him. He was a year older than me and two years younger than Iskra.

“What’re you doing?”

“Feeding frogs.” I said.

“But the guest of honor is boycotting the feast.” laughed Iskra.

“I thought frogs like flies.” said Alex.

“Me too.” I said.

“Where did you get the flies from?” asked Alex.

“We killed them before lunch.”

Alex inspected the contents of the jar.

“I say let’s try a different frog. Maybe this one is picky like Mina. I hope he doesn’t have mange.” Said Iskra. She looked at the frog in my hands.

“He doesn’t have mange!” I said.

I dropped the frog into the water. If he had mange it was probably too late. I felt upset at the thought of another horrible illness.

We tried feeding more frogs. None of them seemed to have any apetite.

“Alex, can we use your bag to keep the frogs in?” I asked. He carried a home sewn fabric bag, just like the ones Grandma made.

“I don’t know. Grandma sent me to the store to buy stuff.”

“We have nowhere else to put them.” I pleaded.

“I guess we can use it. I won’t tell grandmother.” Alex agreed.

Catching frogs was fun. First I spotted him. Next I positioned myself carefully and waited for the right moment. Pounce! If I moved too close or too suddenly the frog would sense my intention and jump off. It required precise timing. We collected the frogs in Alex’ shopping bag. We tied the handles together to keep the frogs from jumping out. After a while the bag was half full and heavy.

[they encounter dog at this point?]

“What do we do with these frogs? I need the bag to go to the store.” Said Alex.

“Let’s make them for dinner.” I said.

I surprised myself with my own suggestion.

“Who eats frogs?” Alex asked.

“For one the French eat them, but I’ve also tried them.” I said.

I’d had frogs when I was about six traveling with my other grandparents. Mr. and Mrs. Mechev served us frogs for dinner in their wagon. They said it would taste just like chicken. I didn’t recall the taste.

“I wouldn’t eat them even if somebody paid me to, but I’ll help you prepare them.” said Iskra.

“They don’t taste bad.” I said.

“Do you know how to make them?” Alex asked.

“No. But how hard can it be?” I said.

“You can boil anything.” Said Iskra.

“Let’s go quickly so we can surprise Grandma before she calls us to prepare dinner.” I said.

“I need the bag to go to the store.” Alex said.

We ran towards the property. The cottage was empty. We gathered in the dark hallway and closed the door behind us. I pulled out the big pot from the cupboard and handed it to Iskra. I loved being in charge. It made me feel older.

“Fill it up with water.” I said.

Iskra stepped outside to the sink to fill the pot with water. Alex went to help her carry it back. I flipped the gas switch and lit the burner. The flames came up high. I turned them down. Iskra and Alex came back each holding one handle of the pot full of water. Together we raised it and placed it on the burner.

“It will take a long time to boil.” Iskra said.

“Do you think we should put them in now or at the end?” I asked.

“It would be better to put them in at the end. It would be too painful for them to wait inside for the water to boil.” Said Alex.

I felt nervous going anywhere in case someone walked in and discovered what we were up to. We sat criss-cross on the floor staring at the bag of fogs between us. Surprisingly little movement occurred inside. None of us had much to say. I felt tense like I was in a race. Every now and again one of us would get up to check on the water. It did take forever.

“It’s boiling!” Iskra said.

The pot rattled. I raised myself on the tips of my toes to look inside. Bubbles shot up to the surface of the water in a flurry. The steam burned my forehead.

“Let’s cook them!” I said.

Alex and Iskra stared at me frozen. It was up to me to be the brave one again. I untied the handles of the bag and reached in. I pulled out a frog with my hand. He felt cold. I hesitated.

“What if he jumps out?” asked Alex.

“We’ll need a lid.” Iskra said.

She opened the cupboard and pulled out a lid. She placed it on the pot, but it was too small. She pulled out another one. This one wasn’t a perfect fit either, but it was larger than the pot and it covered it completely.

“My eyes feel itchy.”

Alex rubbed his eyes. His face looked red and blotchy. His eyes welled up with tears.

There was no turning back now. I had to be brave. I raised my hand and dropped the frog into the boiling pot. My eyes shut automatically. When I opened them I saw the frog jump out and onto the floor. Iskra handed me another frog. He dangled in the air by his hind leg. I closed my eyes and dropped him in. This one didn’t jump out. I raised myself on my tip toes again to look into the pot. I saw a motionless frog sprawled out on the surface. It was an unnatural way for a frog to be sprawled out like that. It made me sad to see him this way.

Alex started to weep.

“My eyes are very itchy.“ he said.

“I say it’s mange.” Iskra said.

“Stay away from me.” She joked.

“It’s not mange!” cried Alex.

The cottage door opened and Grandma walked in.

“Why are you guys in here?”

Grandma’s face looked angry. She strode to the stove and turned off the burner. She almost stepped on the bag with the frogs.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Grandma looked at the opened bag on the floor. Several frogs had gotten out onto the floor.

“Collect all the frogs and take them outside immediately!” she commanded.

“Alex, run outside and wash your face with cold water. Now!” she said.

Alex ran out to the sink. Iskra and I started collecting frogs from the floor to place them back into the bag. Some of the frogs jumped away as we tried to pick them up. Iskra ran to close the door to the room to make sure no frogs got in there. I tied the handles when we were done and held on to the bag.

“Iskra, hold the door open for me.”

Gradma carried the pot of hot water outside and poured its contents onto the steps. We followed her outside. A cloud of steam rose up as she poured the water out. The body of the dead frog washed down the steps to where we couldn’t see it.

“How did you think this was a good idea?” Grandma shot Iskra and I angry looks.

“We wanted to surprise you with dinner.” I said.

“I think you left your brains by the river. When have we ever eaten frogs?”

“I had them a long time ago. The Mechev’s served them to us.”

“We don’t eat frogs.” Grandma seemed very upset.

“You have made a complete mess.” She continued.

Alex came over after washing his face at the sink. His eyes looked red and so did his whole face. He looked slightly better than before. At least he wasn’t getting worse.

“Alex, go home to your grandparents.”

He looked at Iskra and I and then he glanced at the bag full of frogs in my hand. He looked like he was about to say something, but then he seemed to change his mind.

“See you later.” he said and walked past us towards his house.