The Autobiography of Mercutio Polinski by Genadiya Kortova Page A

book
with a weary face. And I, engaged with the story and filled with
amazement, went home disappointed and stayed awake ’til morning.
Because I knew he was going to read to her again, I impatiently
waited for the evening to come once more. Then I sat behind one of
the large volumes of someone like Shakespeare or Flaubert, whom I
also knew thanks to the writer. I became all ears when he opened
the book, and listened to the end of that most extraordinary story.
Those were the moments when I became the happiest person…I mean
mouse…I mean dreaming creature, in the world. That is because I was
taught never to judge others on their appearance. And while
listening to the stories of the writer, I felt I was something more
than a mouse; I was a dreaming creature.

II .

    Why Mum Punished Me, and How
I Stopped Being Invisible…
    Let me tell you how I met Rosa and her
father Paul.
    Having spent so many long days behind
the books on their bookshelves, I wanted to see them in reality so
much. Yes, in reality; everything you can’t touch seems so unreal
that you can easily mistake it for a fantasy. I didn’t want them to
be a mere fantasy. I dreamed that I would see them and they would
see me, as I said, in reality; that they would pet me; and that
together with the writer, I would muse over the profound and
insightful ideas of one of his interesting books. And since I
really wanted and dreamed of that so much, shortly it
happened.
    One day (in fact it was evening), when
my mother couldn’t find me in my room, she got really worried about
me. And since she was one of those worrying mothers who would
always cry when their children don’t come back from the playground
on time, she started calling for me.
    “ Mercutio! Mercutio!” she
cried breathlessly.
    She had named me Mercutio because she
liked Shakespeare very much, although she wouldn’t admit it openly;
Mercutio was one of her favorite characters. She also said his name
sounded proud and strong. She wanted me to be proud and strong,
just as my name suggested. That is why she had called me
Mercutio.
    So she had been calling my name again
and again, until she got really tired. Exhausted, she left our
house and went into the writer’s house. It took her some effort,
but she climbed onto the bookshelf for a better look over the vast
space spreading out in front of her. Just then, the writer was
putting one very heavy book on the shelf where she was standing.
Mum wasn’t quick to see the book, and as she was trying to hide
from it in one of the corners of the shelf, the book somehow
trapped her tail. Mum’s frightened scream startled Paul, and he
dropped the book on the floor. Brave as she was, especially when
someone arrogantly teased her tail, my mother Margueritte jumped in
front of him and scolded him, dressed in her everyday wear—a pink
sleeping gown and nightcap. Paul was really astonished by that
speaking mouse, but I think he was mostly impressed by her wearing
an old-fashioned sleeping gown and unfashionable pink nightcap. But
mice are known to be old-fashioned, after all. Although I dare say,
I am not old-fashioned at all. I wear a white linen shirt and long
cotton trousers in a chestnut color. Sometimes mother would make me
wear a white-spotted blue bow tie, which I didn’t like much. But I
wore it, just because I respected my mum.

    So that writer of mine, instead of
getting angry with my mother for telling him off, laughed happily
and stroked her reassuringly on the nose. He had never seen a
speaking mouse before, and was really interested. But she stamped
her feet, as she told me later, and hid behind the books of Victor
Hugo, who was kind enough to provide her with the sanctuary of his
book covers. All that time, I was fast asleep. When I woke up, my
mother had already found me, and she was carrying me by the scruff
of my neck through Rosa’s room. I rubbed my eyes with my paws and
grouchily looked around. When I saw him, the writer was looking at
me with