Pippi

Even from a distance, knowing nothing about her, she struck me as, how to put it, pleasantly a little crazy.


Hair: short, messy, as if an egg with green paint had been smashed over it.

Face: large, not beautiful, but not ugly either.

Clothes: worn-out Pippi Longstocking.


My dog, of course, didn’t pass her by and went over to say hello, which delighted Pippi.

“What’s his name?” Pippi asked.
“Her name is Vesna,” I replied.
“I had a dog too,” Pippi began. “Big as a wolf. And she also walked freely like yours. She was thirteen.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I felt the sun heating up so strongly that it became hard to breathe. Still I was too groggy to take off my heavy black jacket.


“May I walk with you?” Pippi asked.
“Of course.”

She came closer. I turned and set our course towards the shop. Meanwhile Vesna found a flat cake of shit in the bushes, and when I said “ugh!”, Vesna responded by walking towards me, still chewing. Pippi reacted immediately. With her bare hands she pulled the cake from Vesna’s mouth and carried it over to the trash bin.


“Where are you from?” she asked.
“I’m from Belarus.”
“Where’s that?”
“Roughly to the left of Russia, between Poland and Ukraine.”
“And what is it like there?”
“I don’t know.”


All I knew was that I needed coffee and a little shade.


“And where do you live?” I managed to ask.
“I’ve been here sixteen years now. Once I lived on the street with my daughter. You don’t mind that I’m walking next to you?”
“No. Why did you live on the street?”
“I don’t know why. At some point I needed it. I went to Spain and we lived there on the street. What was your dog’s name again?”
“Vesna.”
“I’ll walk with you a bit longer?”
“No problem.”


Without taking off my jacket, I kept walking as if no one were beside me. When Pippi saw the shop, she stopped.
“Have a good day,” she said.
“Thank you. Take care of yourself.”


Now it was too late. I slipped my hands into my pockets and walked on.