Little Man

By Immanuel Mifsud, Translated from Maltese by Ruth Ward

I am two things: a prince and a little man. No one believes me when I say that I’m a prince. I notice that because they start grinning or flat out tell me I’m not. One boy asked me where my palace was.

– Won’t tell.

And he said:

– So where do you live then?

But I didn’t say a word. I didn’t, because Mom told me not to. Here’s what she told me:

– Now listen carefully, you. Don’t you dare tell anyone where we live. 

That’s exactly what she said:

– … don’t you dare …

So when that boy asked me:

– So where do you live then?

I didn’t breathe a word. 

I told him:

– None of your business.

And he said:

– So it’s not true you’re a prince.

And I said:

– Is true.

– Not true.

– True.

– Not.

– Yes.

– No.

– Yes.

– No, no.

– I said yes!

What do I care what that boy said anyway. His name is Keanu.

I am a prince. And a little man. Because Mom says so. Every day she tells me:

– You’re my prince.

Every day before I sleep. But she’s been saying it even more lately, I guess since that day.

Every day she tells me:

– You’re my prince. 

Every day before I sleep.

Almost every day there’s some fight out in the schoolyard. For example there was a fight between Keanu and this other boy from another class. Now, I’m not scared of Keanu. When that Uncle used to visit us, he used to tell me if anybody ever did something to me I should just punch ‘em in the face. That’s what he used to tell me. But then one time I told Mom what Uncle said to do and she said:

– Don’t you dare!

So sometimes I do what Uncle told me, and sometimes I do what Mom said, depending on who the boy who wronged me happens to be. Sometimes I think Uncle isn’t really my uncle. First, I’ve never seen the aunt, and second because Mom keeps telling me not to tell anybody that an uncle comes to visit us. Now I don’t know, but that’s what I think. And it’s been quite a while since he came last, and Mom told me not to ask about him.

– Enough.

That’s what she told me:

– Enough of that Uncle.

I liked him because he always got me something. But what I didn’t like was that Mom used to send me to bed and then when I woke up he’d be gone. It’s been a long time since he last came. Since the day of the fight, everything’s changed. But still, every day, Mom tells me:

– You are my little prince.

On the day of that fight I was crying, and she was shouting at that man and telling him:

– Look! Look, you filthy creature! You’re scaring my child!

Cruel man, that one. Now I’m not talking about that Uncle. Another man. Cruel. This one smoked. And smokers are already cruel because smoking hurts people. Cruel, cruel. He was yelling, and Mom was yelling even louder. She told him:

– Look! My child is crying because of you, you vicious creature!

And he was saying naughty words that Mom tells me I shouldn’t say. He said God and damn and kept on yelling:

– So leave! Take everything you’ve got and get out. This is my place. It’s my terms or no terms.

And again he said God and damn.

My mother has brown eyes. Like mine.

On that day of the fight, I watched her crying. She kept telling me I was her little man.

– You are my little man.

We took a bunch of plastic bags from the supermarket and packed our clothes in them. Even the school uniform. Then we put everything in the trunk of the car and the back seat. It was hot.

– So where are we going now, Mom?

– We’ll see.

– But when are we going home?

– We won’t be going back home. They took it away from us.

– Was it that man, Mom?

– Yes, that man.

– That one who was saying God and …?

– I don’t want you to say those words. Do you understand? Only vicious men talk like that.

– So where will home be now, Mom? Are we buying a new one?

– We’ll see.

– Well, how long are we staying here?

– We’ll see.

– But why did that man take our home, Mom?

– Because he’s cruel.

– That’s for sure. He is cruel, he was saying God and …

– I told you not to say those words!

– I’m hungry.

– Later.

– Can we go to McDonald’s, Mom?

– We’ll see.

– Aren’t you hungry, Mom? We haven’t had lunch yet, you know?

– Please! Let me think.

– Okay, Mom, but not for long because I’m really hungry.

And then, all of a sudden, Mom started banging on the steering wheel and she started crying and banging harder and harder and I started crying too. Then Mom told me not to. She said I’m a little man and then she stopped crying. I kept on for a while, then I stopped.

On that day of the fight with the cruel one we bought pizza from the corner shop and ate it in the car. I didn’t like it and put it away. Mom said I’d be having that same piece I left the next day. So I went ahead and ate the rest. It started raining and I couldn’t make out anything through the windows anymore. 

Then it got dark.

– Where are we going to sleep?

Who knows what I’d said wrong, but she started crying again.

She said:

– I’ll put your seat down so you can sleep. Take off your shoes.

I had no idea that car seats could change into beds. She told me to close my eyes and she kissed me.

– You are my little prince. Now sleep until morning.

– But tomorrow will that man give us our house back?

I like Keanu but sometimes he gets on my nerves because he keeps on saying I’m not truly a prince, and that if I were a prince I would live in a palace and there aren’t any palaces in our town. I know where Keanu lives because once I saw him playing by his house. He lives in a really big house with a swing on the front lawn. A while ago he invited me to come and play. Maybe on that swing. And he even told me I should come for a sleepover. I’d come on a Friday after school and Mom could pick me up on Sunday. We’d be playing the whole time. That would be fun! Because Keanu’s got a lot of games you play on the television. I had one game like that and I’d gotten good at it too but then, after that fight, I don’t get to play it anymore. Mom tells me I’m a little man now, I’m not some child anymore. And that’s just not fair. It’s not good being a little man. Keanu is my age and he still plays. He always plays. And in the summertime he even swims at home.

– You swim at home?

– Of course I do.

– What! How? You have a sea at your house?

– Sea? What sea! We have a pool in our backyard. And how come you don’t have one too if you’re such a prince?

I feel lost because Mom warns me off talking about all this. She tells me to just keep my mouth closed and it’s nobody’s business where we live. When I told her about the sleepover at Keanu’s she said no.

– Why?

– Because I said no.

– Not fair!

– Look, if you go over to your friend’s, we’ll have to return the invitation and have him here. Got it?

Miss Katja. I so love Miss Katja. I got to know where she lives too, because after that fight we were in the car and I saw her coming out of her house. Miss Katja has a beautiful home right down from the school. She has a blue and white car, and sometimes she parks almost at the school and there’s a man sitting next to her and she gives him a kiss before she gets out of the car. I saw her. Mom told me not to stare because it’s not my business, but I love Miss Katja. She plays games with us in class. She loves me too. But … Because once I told her:

– Miss Katja, do you know that I’m a prince?

I noticed Miss Katja didn’t know about that.

– A prince? Wow, I have a prince in my class this year!

I told her I’m a little man too but mostly I am a prince.

– So let’s see: if you are a prince, what would your mother be?

– A mother.

– Yes, but if you are a prince, what do we call your mother then? What is a prince’s mother called? Come on, tell me.

– Mother. Or Mommy.

– A prince’s mother is called a queen. Didn’t you know that? So, if you are a prince, then your mom is a queen, right?

– I’ll tell her.

Then Miss Katja ruffled my hair and kept on talking:

– So, if you’re a prince, then you must live in a palace, no? A big, big palace!

Even Miss Katja mentions the palace. Like Keanu.

– You live in a very beautiful house, right Miss? You live down the way.

– Oh my! How did you know that? Must have been one of your guards at the palace who told you that, right? That’s what I think.

– No. I saw you a few days ago.

– You like my house?

– Yes.

– But your palace must be nicer than my old house, right?

There’s a stinky, stuffy fuelly smell. And it’s dark. Mom gave me a flashlight to do my homework, otherwise I wouldn’t see a thing. That day when she’d picked me up from school, she told me somebody had given me a present: a bed. I’d been sleeping on a mattress on the floor ever since we started living in this garage. It’s dark here, but at least now I have a bed. Mom still sleeps on the floor but she said that one day someone will get us another bed.

It’s no use having the flashlight. And there won’t be any homework. I can’t do it.

Poor Miss Katja. Today I knew I was going to cry. She told me:

– Give me your Maltese exercise book.

I didn’t want to. I gave her my math workbook instead.

– They’re all correct. What a good boy. Now show me the Maltese so I can correct your sentences.

I didn’t want to give her that exercise book. There were no Maltese sentences in it because I never wrote any.

– Come on, my dear, give me your homework so we can see what nice sentences you’ve written.

– Will you give me a sticker for my math problems?

– You’re right, you do deserve one because you got them all correct. Now let’s see those Maltese sentences. Maybe I’ll give you another sticker. Come on.

So I handed over the Maltese exercise book.

– Oh! Where are the sentences you were supposed to write?

Now what should I say? Mom told me not to ever say anything to anyone. Not even to Miss Katja.

– You didn’t do your Maltese homework.

– No.

And that’s when I start crying.

– Have you forgotten them?

I cry.

– Come now, don’t cry. Sometimes people just forget things. You know what happened to me yesterday? I forgot my house keys and I couldn’t get in!

– You mean the home you have down the road.

– Yes, that one. Now look, I want you to stop crying. I’m giving you back the exercise book and when you get home you write those sentences. And make sure you don’t forget them again because then I’d have to tell Mom. All right?

Well, I’m trying. I’m trying really hard but I just can’t. I have no idea how to write these sentences. And I haven’t told Mom about not doing them either. I’m afraid she’d shout at me. No sentences again. I just couldn’t.

– Tell me. Why haven’t you written your Maltese sentences this time? Are you becoming one of those mischievous boys? Didn’t you tell me that you are a prince? That’s what you told me the other day, did you not? Princes are always good. Always, always. Now what shall we do?

Again I try, again I cannot. Again I will not write the sentences. It’s not that I don’t want to write them, but I can’t. Tomorrow Miss Katja will surely shout at me. Maybe I should cry again. If I start now, my eyes will hurt and then I’ll tell Miss Katja that my eyes hurt.

– Why are you crying?

I didn’t want Mom to see me, but it’s too late now.

– Miss Katja will shout at me.

– Why will she shout at you? What have you done?

Because I can’t do the sentences homework.

– Stop crying, I can’t understand you. Why will Miss shout at you? What have you done? Have you been naughty?

– No! But I can’t write the sentences.

– I told you to stop crying! Why can’t you do your homework? I gave you a flashlight, so you can see well enough. Why can’t you write the sentences?

I hand Mom the Maltese exercise book where I’m supposed to write the sentences and when she looks at it she hugs me and starts crying herself.

– Don’t worry. Go and get me the colored markers from your school bag and go to sleep.

– But I can’t write the sentences and Miss Katja will shout at me.

– Go and get the markers and go to sleep. Don’t worry, tomorrow evening you’ll write the sentences.

– But what do you need the colors for?

– Do as I told you and then you’ll see. Come now, prince. And I don’t want you to cry anymore. See, I’m not crying now either. So come on.

Today Miss Katja didn’t come to school. Usually when this happens I get sad because I end up going to Miss Alison and I don’t like her. But I was lucky she didn’t come today because she’d have shouted at me for sure because of the sentences. Keanu didn’t come either. I think he’s sick. I’ll walk by his home today. Mom won’t be there, so she gave me the key. I’ll count how many houses there are from school to Keanu’s home. There must be a thousand. Or a hundred. Keanu’s is the nicest. Look, there’s the swing. And look at the size of that front door! And the balcony’s so nice. I’d like to knock and check on him. Maybe he’d let me stay and swing for a while. But Mom told me not to go to Keanu’s, otherwise he’d want to visit us. What a beautiful home Keanu has. Even the swing is nice. 

The fuelly smell. Dark. We have a bulb but in the evening it hardly lights. I’m supposed to have fishsticks and fries. I don’t like them much when they’re cold. But it’s okay. Then I look toward the bed and almost get a fright. Then I feel happy. Mom must have drawn that picture! That’s why she wanted the colors! 

Write five sentences about: What I see through the window of my room.

from the windw of my room i see a nice and lrge gardin

from the windw of my room i see many treess and flower

from the windw of my room i see a big swimming pool whit many fishes in it

from the windw of my room i see a lot of son and big and yellow

Today, Miss Katja did come. Just as soon as we got to the classroom I turned in my Maltese exercise book.

– Ah! My good boy! You haven’t forgotten the sentences today. So let’s see what you can see from your room.

Keanu is still absent. If he was here I’d show him my sentences. He sees mine and I see his.

– My goodness, how many beautiful things you see from your room! You must be living in a palace.

I feel so happy when Miss Katja tells me that. I don’t care if Keanu doesn’t believe me as long as Miss Katja does. 

– You know what? One day, I’ll come to your place so that I too can look through your window. Let’s do that, eh? Can I come to your place one day so I can see these beautiful things from your window?

The story was first published in the Maltese by Klabb Kotba Maltin. 

About the author and translator:

Immanuel Mifsud is a four-time national literary award winner and a Member of the National Order of Merit of the Republic of Malta. He was awarded the European Union Prize for Literature and is the first Maltese writer to have given a reading at the U.S. Library of Congress. Novelist, poet, playwright, and translator, Mifsud altered the landscape of Maltese literature by making the unspeakable speakable. He is a founding member of PEN Malta and its current president. He lectures in literary theory and Maltese literature at the University of Malta. 



Ruth Ward’s creative collaborations center on the Mediterranean, particularly Malta and Spain, where she has long worked on flamenco and other Spanish dance productions. Her translations of poetry and fiction have recently appeared or are forthcoming in The Los Angeles Review, The Maine Review, AGNI, The Common, Modern Poetry in Translation(London), Hunger Mountain, and Southword (Cork, Ireland). Her works have been published, performed, or translated in sixteen countries. She is a U.S.-based member of PEN America.