Chapter 1 In which Mrs Milica gains ingress to the Colonel's house ...

Among the most prized items of garbage were the spray-cans and the little red jars of
Chinese ointment, inscribed with gold letters. With the former, when you proceeded in
exactly the opposite fashion to that recommended on the can, which is to say when you
threw them on a fire, you could obtain a very decent bang. And a leaping flame or at
least glowing embers, upon which the least breath of wind traced red, contorted and
fearsome dragons, were not at all hard to find. Bonfires were clandestinely knocked
together at the end of the street by the field, around which numerous tales of horror
were improvised, making the little ones shiver and their teeth chatter. Then there were
the bonfires made by old man Hrib in his garden, where a band of children would crowd
together to eat baked potatoes or corncobs, mushrooms roasted over the embers and
other exotic treats, while listening to the old man’s war stories. These stories were
wonderfully suited to the explosions of spray-cans, which provided in miniature the
sound effects of artillery. On no few occasions, old man Hrib was scolded for his
recklessness, especially after one incident in which he sacrificed his own, nearly full can
of mosquito repellent in order to show the children the difference between heavy and
light artillery. When it exploded, the windows of the summer kitchen rattled more than
convincingly, the potatoes splattered apart in steaming chunks that stuck to anything in
their path, and the burning embers outstripped the stars. The hens were clucking as
though there was an earthquake. The dog, with machine-gun-like barks, was jerking its
neck fit to break its chain. The old man, full of enthusiasm, was shouting senselessly.
The children, in their turn, were more than enthused: they were well and truly terrified.
It was lucky that, nonetheless showing some foresight, the old man had placed the
device at a certain distance from the heart of the battle. But that did not prevent some of
them from having to go home with a singed shirt. When, the next day, old man Hrib
found a half-raw potato in the doorway of the shed, right next to the bicycle, he was
sure that none of the children present would ever forget the difference between heavy
and light artillery.
The jars of Chinese ointment – an ointment with the consistency and colour of Vaseline,
but with a sharp, mentholated odour – were also much sought after, and had a high rate
of exchange in swaps between the children. Whereas their parents used the contents to
rub into their temples or foreheads in case of migraine or a cold, the children used them
as an offensive weapon or just for amusement. With a thumb well daubed with