DEATH OF A COCKROACH

Women act when men are asleep. I killed a big cockroach when the household slept.
He (according to me all cockroaches are male, there’s no logic to it) was waiting for me at my bedside as I prepared to retire for the day. He is the guy who waits until dark to spread his little legs and scuffle around, antennas quivering in the air and scaring the daylights out of any woman.
The moment I spotted him, I climbed onto the safety of my bed, while my mind raced for a solution. But there was only one, kill the little ‘devil’ myself. Courage comes not from protection but from being alone in a dire situation. I stealthily removed my slippers, keeping an eye on him. Raising a slipper high above my head I attacked, throwing the footwear hard on the unsuspecting cockroach’s back. That was a moment of pure guerrilla warfare. Not sure whether the enemy was dead or not, I hit again. Eureka. His life had flown.
The dead body had to be removed from the scene of crime. Picking him up on a sheet of newspaper was an option. But I hesitated. The antennae seemed to quiver. Was I being delusional? Had a leg moved? Maybe keeping the chap at an arm’s length might do the trick. I stole down to the back of the kitchen to fetch the broom. The cockroach was in the same position as I had left him. Keeping a safe distance I pushed him out of my room into the corridor. Should I leave him there for the others to discover in the morning? It was not a particularly bright idea.
I decided to play a game. Using the broom as a hockey stick and the dead insect as a ball, I dribbled him down the corridor, into my parents’ room till the French window. What joy to play the national game after so long! But my delight was short lived. My little game had breathed life into that blasted demon.
Uttering a war cry I beat on him with the broom repeatedly, each time gaining more strength and courage. And I had a cheerleader. My mother awoke and was encouraging from the rings. Shouting to keep up my morale, I finally flung him out of the balcony and onto the street. Triumph was written all over my face.
But my father slept soundly throughout the battle. I guess I would have never murdered that cockroach had he been awake.
21-09-08