Ivån Şirof

For you are a worker too
Gicắ Şirof is a background character and later the primary antagonist of a short story entitled, "For You Are a Worker Too" ("Für Sie sind auch ein Arbeiter" in German) written by an unknown author during the Berlin crisis after World War II and published in the public domain between 1978 and the present day.

Relation To Gicắ
Ivån appears 387 words into the story, and is only a background character until his role becomes more and more evident, thus making him the primary antagonist of the story.

In contrast to his brother, Gicắ, Ivån is not a man pushed to extremes in light of circumstance, but rather a cruel narcissist, who is even willing to let his own son die for a crime he did not commit. The purpose of his inclusion in the story is to highlight the fact that Gicắ is not as evil as he seems, especially by comparison to Ivån. Although, itis worthy of mention that Ivån's character is subsequently much flatter than Gicắ's.

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 foot.

In the following months, Gicắ found himself visiting the tomb he made for Džil quite often. He had no corpse to bury, only memories of a friend who until short days ago was alive. It started when Gicắ was out for a walk, allowing his guilt to settle. He wrote Dzil’s name on a stone and placed it on the ground, before he knew it, an entire tomb’s construction had begun. As he was digging and decorating the hole with flowers, Gicắ remembered the years that had since gone by, as he licked the last of the meat’s taste from his teeth.

The tomb was a few feet away from the Şirof house, far enough that no one would know what it was if they passed by. If Hełenê asked, Gicắ would explain that he was keeping his mind occupied. Work was indeed scarce, and it seemed like a plausible explanation, although Gicắ was simply bluffing to himself if he thought that Hełenê was unaware of the events that had transpired. She knew, and so did Ivån, Văsilỳ-Oßteude and Ĭvaņka.

Gicắ never spoke of his children, all of whom had died with the exception of Ĭvaņka, who managed to persevere through the temptation of suicide; a temptation her siblings had all given into, along with Ivån’s.

Văsilỳ-Oßteude had tried to join the other children in tying stones to his ankles and leaping into a ravine, staying at the bottom in wait. The children were found by passersbys and fished from the water. There was a brief discussion, and it was agreed that the children would make a good meal. Văsilỳ-Oßteude coughed and jerked as he awoke as he was carried to a wagon loaded with his brothers sisters and cousins, scaring the passersbys away. He spent the remaining hours of the day returning to the Şirof house, finding himself getting lost along the way, reaching many dead ends until he found his way back. Ivån laughed hysterically at his son’s return.

“Not even that filthy water wants you.” He snorted again and again, holding a bottle of vodka aloft in his hand.

Văsilỳ-Oßteude could only look at the floor, praying silently that his father would not see the tears welling in his eyes. Inevitably, the drops on the floor caught Ivån’s attention. Ivån grabbed Văsilỳ-Oßteude by the chin and looked him in the eyes.

“Here the words I say to you now.” Ivån sneered, vodka staining his breath. “You are the last child I wanted to live. I would have rather seen Fyòdor, Alęxei or even Boģdan survive. They were real sons. And Ankita. She was so pretty.” He paused a moment to adjust his grip on Văsilỳ-Oßteude’s chin. “But you, you embarrass me with your tears, with your weakness. If you do it again, I’ll drown you myself. Better to have the name die with me, than to be survived by a mistake.”

Ivån heard Hełenê coming into the house and he groughly released Văsilỳ-Oßteude, and quickly adopting an air of false sympathy to disguise the prior events. Văsilỳ-Oßteude could look to his left to see Gicắ placing rocks over the shrine, until Ĭvaņka rushed to his side with concern in her eyes.

Throughout all of this, Gicắ managed to remain blissfully ignorant. The tomb was his sanctuary from reality. It kept him not only from Văsilỳ-Oßteude’s torment, but from Văsilỳ-Oßteude’s relationship with Ĭvaņka as well. Gicắ turned a blind eye as the pair began to spend more and more time together. In point of fact, Gicắ ignored them. Part of him knew, but after Dzil’s death, Gicắ had to shelter himself from the reality that surrounded him; the reality, that Ĭvaņka and Văsilỳ-Oßteude were in love.

Gicắ ignored everything for months, until he simply had to stop. Every time he added another stone, or removed another weed, Văsilỳ-Oßteude had gained another bruise.

Eventually, Gicắ saw no course of action other than that of confrontation. He found Ĭvaņka, and told her to stop seeing Văsilỳ-Oßteude. She simply walked away. Gicắ chased after her, pleading for attention. She ignored him, simply wandering into the house. Gicắ refused to back down, putting his foot in the door and chasing after his daughter.

She turned to him when she reached the guest room in the hallway, a room that hadn’t been used in years. She opened the door and Gicắ fell to his knees in simultaneous shock and joy.

Before him was the child of two cousins, a sight that in most circumstances would be a cause for revolution, but in Gicắ’s eyes, it was a shock that warranted a smile, for the circumstances being as they were, the baby boy before him was the only grandchild he would ever be able to call his own.

He heard Văsilỳ-Oßteude enter the room, and he understood why Ĭvaņka was acting strangely, though that was irrelevant. Above all, Gicắ knew he would have to keep quiet.

Days and days went by. During this time Ĭvaņka named the boy Įlslo, and Gicắ was careful to keep Hełenê and especially Ivån away from him. Now, Gicắ had two responsibilities; the tomb, and Įlslo. After mere weeks of alternating between the two tasks, Gicắ decided to multitask.

He placed stones over the tomb in a delicate arrangement while he watched Įlslo, gathering up the child and placing him carefully in the guest room partway through the day while Hełenê was out finding work, where Ĭvaņka and Văsilỳ-Oßteude would take turns caring for him, feeding the infant any wild animals and herbs Gicắ had found during the day, and later rocking him to sleep as Gicắ kept Ivån and Hełenê away from the room in any way he could.

The system seemed to work for a time. When a child is involved, people can become just about anything to keep safety in the atmosphere. Though, like a clock losing a cog, the system lost Văsilỳ-Oßteude.

It wasn’t an immediate occurrence. Văsilỳ-Oßteude decided to go into town to find work one day with Hełenê. He explained that it would not only decrease suspicions, it would also mean, if he was able to get a job, he could provide for Įlslo as he grew. What neither he, nor Hełenê took into account was the uprising.

As they entered the town, Văsilỳ-Oßteude and Hełenê were caught in the crossfire of a violent protest. They attempted to flee to safety, however, Hełenê was killed almost instantly by a hail of gunfire. Văsilỳ-Oßteude survived the encounter only to be arrested on suspicion of being a protester.

Văsilỳ-Oßteude requested that Ĭvaņka be sent to the station to answer questions, the request was denied and Ivån was contacted and sent to the police station instead, as he was Văsilỳ-Oßteude’s next of kin. Văsilỳ-Oßteude hoped that his father would vouch for him, in the interest of justice, if not his son’s well-being.

To no one’s surprise, Ivån glared at his son, and told many lies about his involvement with the uprising. The questioner nodded his head and sent Văsilỳ-Oßteude to be executed. Văsilỳ-Oßteude was dragged from the room kicking and screaming as he met his father’s fiery gaze.

Later that evening, as Ĭvaņka and Gicắ sat in silent remembrance of the loved ones they had lost, looking over Įlslo as he slept, they heard Ivån laughing hysterically to himself from the other room.

Ĭvaņka went to investigate, and she found Ivån sitting with empty vodka bottles all around him. He turned to see her, and he grinned.

“I’m picturing him now,” Ivån said rising to his feet to look Ĭvaņka in the eyes. “The bullet passing through his skull, and leaving his head a bloody mess as he falls to the ground, his body flopping in bits of his own brain.” He tilted his head, noting that Ĭvaņka refused to meet his gaze. “So this is what comes of your little affair. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Ĭvaņka said nothing to Ivån, silenced by her anger. An air of disdain filled the room, until Ĭvaņka’s heart sank upon hearing Įlslo’s wails from the other room. Ivån pushed past her, grabbing a knife from the kitchen and growling to himself as he neared the guest room.

Gicắ heard his brother approaching and slammed the door shut, putting his weight against it and holding Įlslo in his arms, the wails of the infant sounding in his ears as the footsteps grew louder and louder, until they stopped at the sound of glass breaking.

Gicắ soothed Ilso until he was quiet until he stepped outside to see Ivån unconscious on the floor, Ĭvaņka standing over him with a broken bottle. The pair said nothing, they merely threw him into the ravine and watched as his body sank, a ready meal for whoever found him, with any luck, it would be the crabs, fish and sea lice.

In the next few months, Ĭvaņka got a job at a restaurant. Gicắ spent his time teaching Įlslo to read and write, and of his father. One day, in his early childhood, Įlslo put Văsilỳ-Oßteude’s name next to Dzil’s on the grave. Gicắ did not protest. He could only smile.