Gicắ Şirof

Background
Gicắ Şirof is the villain of the short story, "For You Are a Worker Too" written by an unknown author during the Berlin crisis after World War II and published between 1978 and the present day.

The Story
Gicắ Şirof was once a man of morals, and of virtue. He had an upstanding job as a coal miner and since freedom had been restored in Berlin, making a clear path for change and rebirth, he believed that he could be as such once again.

Now, Gicắ found himself grappling with Džil Nadḝzhda in the snow. The reason why was clear, but throughout the struggle, Gicắ was somewhat distracted by the fact that Džil had never wronged him.

Džil had been the widowed father of four children until they had all succumbed either to starvation or to the bitter cold. Knowing that Džil could not afford a funeral, Gicắ invited him to bury and mourn his children.

The pair had been friends for many years, and so Džil had no reason to suspect that as soon as his children were buried, Gicắ would strike him with a rock. There was a moment of silence as Džil stumbled forward. To Gicắ’s horror, he saw Džil catch himself before he fell forward. He hadn’t died from the wound, instead, he screamed in pain a moment before throwing Gicắ to the ground.

The pair grappled for what felt like an hour, rolling in the snow, sending fistfuls of white flying in the air. Being of a greater girth, Gicắ was able to gain the upper hand once he gathered his wits. Soon, Džil was pinned in the snow.

“I’m sorry,” Gicắ said, tears welling in his eyes as he wrapped his fingers around Džil’s throat. “I’m so sorry.”

Džil looked up at Gicắ, terror in his eyes and in his nostrils, tears sweat and snot streaming down his face and onto Gicắ’s hands as his pulse became faster and faster.

Gicắ let out an aggravated grunt, coiling his fingers more tightly around Džil’s throat. He pushed harder and harder until it dawned on him that any remaining pulse was gone.

When Gicắ returned home, he began to cook. When the rare occasion of a meal did arrive, it was Gicắ’s duty to prepare the food, set the table and wash the dishes, although the dishes were so seldom used that most in the household had since grown apathetic toward their state of cleanliness.

As Gicắ went about washing his hands, he ignored the drunken remarks of his brother, Ivån from the other room. Gicắ had long since given up explaining that his wife had never cooked. Gicắ supposed it was because Ivån seemed to enjoy making these remarks. He laughed drunkenly at every comment he slurred together. A reminder that Gicắ’s household did not function in that way would dismantle any amusement Ivån felt, and amusement of all kinds has to be kept alive in times like these.

Ivån fell asleep again and Gicắ made the meal as he did always, being sure to keep the servings even, aside from any excess food, which was put aside for the children. He set the table and woke up Ivån and his wife, Hełenê. In turn, they gathered the children.

Soon, the household was gathered around the table. They began to laugh and make casual talk for the first time in ages.

When the youngest daughter asked where the food came from, Gicắ shed a tear. It dropped onto what was once Džil’s ear.