🪳La Cucaracha🪳

Ta-ta-ta-ra-ta, ta-ta-ta-ra-ta, ta-ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ta.

“Yes, hello? One sec. I’ll buzz you in.”

Bzzzzzzz.

Max opened the door and felt a jolt—excitement, adrenaline—he couldn’t tell. Two men blocked the entry, their backs loaded with metal tubes, as if heading off to dive into the ocean. Their gray overalls and masks were more fitting for a war film.

“Hello, sir. ‘Kill for a smile’ at your service. Is everything prepared?”

Max went through everything again: no food left around; fridge emptied, because yes, the buggers made it to the refrigerator as well; cupboards emptied; clothes packed and sealed in vacuum bags.

“All done, as requested, yes.”

This was the third pest control company he called, the third one to come to his door, spray everything, only for the damned cockroaches to reappear just weeks later. Three time’s a charm, they say. It will work, it has to. Finally, he’ll reclaim his home from the disgusting creatures that took it over, along with his life.

“Here is our card, sir, should you need us again. You can return home in 12 hours, but we recommend 24. We lead the war, you get your peace. ‘Kill for a smile,’ sir. Thank you for the business, and don’t forget to leave us a review.”

Without words, Max performed a short military salute, not understanding why he even did that, and opened the door.

Just before stepping out, he saw a cockroach crawling on the floor. Raising his knee, he stomped on it without mercy, then left without looking back. He had a good feeling about these new guys. They looked professional.

24 hours later

Max turned the key once. Click. Twice. Click. Then, he twisted the handle and got inside. Instead of smelling like poisonous gases, the air was fresh and lemony. He swept around the room with his eyes. Silence. No rustle, nothing to see, total stillness. He rushed to the couch and found the cushions in place, seemingly cleaner than he remembered. Almost afraid of what he would find underneath, he braced himself and yanked one up. Nothing.

‘Maybe not under this one, but there are two more,’ he thought.

Swish, swish. Still nothing, no life, complete, utter stillness.

He was free.

A stomach growl reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything for the last 24 hours, possibly more. The groceries were still in his car, where he kept them all this time, fearing insects’ feces and whatnot. After bringing them inside, he filled the fridge and admired it as if it were an artwork depicting plentitude.

Two eggs, sunny side up, a slice of golden toast, crunchy and soft at the same time, brushing his teeth, and a well-deserved rest.

Now that the beasts were killed, tomorrow, his life will resume.

Max fell asleep with a smile on his face.

8 hours and 48 minutes later

Max stood under the running hot water for longer than usual. He enjoyed the sight of the tropical shower curtain. No cockroach climbed the palms today. All he wanted was some breakfast and a good day at work.

He ate alone and made sure not to leave any crumbs that could invite back the pests. Once the dishes were washed, dried, and placed in their cupboard, he left for work whistling his ringtone, defiantly.

Ta-ta-ta-ra-ta, ta-ta-ta-ra-ta, ta-ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ta.

9 hours later

Click. Click.

Max filled a bowl with some KFC popcorn chicken and sat in front of the TV. He felt off—oddly untethered and without purpose. The silence, too complete without its rustle, unnerved him. Must be the stress of the last months, he thought. The cockroaches had been all he thought about. He let the hate grow in his heart until it gnawed at it. He could now let go, unclench, forgive himself for it.

While explosions and gunshots took over the screen, he fell asleep with his hand in the greasy bowl.

2 hours later

He opened one eye, then the other. A soft tickle on the back of his hand. Something was moving there. On the inside? On the outside? A black dot, crawling in a limpy way, sidelooped as if it only used three legs.

Could it be? He looked around. Stillness. No life, just his and the black moving dot. He looked closer, raised his other hand to pounce on it but froze. His gut ached, twisted with unexpected guilt. Oh, hell, it’s only one and so tiny, he thought.

“Were you just orphaned?” he asked the baby cockroach, ‘cause honestly, that’s what it was.

“I’ll take care of you, buddy, no fear.”

An empty matchbox, a small square of thick net, some grated carrots—a home.

“Tomorrow we’ll see. Once you get better, I’ll release you in the world to try your luck elsewhere.”

That night, something settled inside, and Max slept well.

Max’s Journal’s Entries

Day 1

The little thing in the box is… eeew. But rather cute, in the weirdest of ways.

I’m not sure if he ate any carrots. At first, I thought he was dead, but some fried bread crumbs from last night’s dinner revived him.

… will see after work.

To find out:

—Do cockroaches drink water?

—How, and how much?

Note to self—proposal for a new KFC motto: “Kill the living. Revive the dead.”

John is fine. He ate both the bread crumb—all of it—and the carrots. Even though his movement is contained, as it should be, between the box’s walls, his leg seems better.

Water—essential, like for humans. Cockroaches eat liquids, though they don’t drink them like we do.

He needs a family name. The family I took from him, restored with a name. Desperado.

John Desperado. Yes, I think it has a good sound to it. Protected by God and a bit desperate. He’s both.

Tonight, I’ll give him some hazelnut waffle crumbs mixed with yogurt. Just a baby, needs strength.

Day 2

I know it sounds strange, but I think he recognizes me. Technically, I didn’t kill his kind; I paid others to do it. That’s stupid, truly. They are C-O-C-K-R-O-A-C-H-E-S.

However, when I get closer at feeding time, he’s slowly climbing the inside wall toward the tiny gate I cut in the net, just some duct tape over a hole, really.

He’s growing fast.

Evening

Had to change the box. His fourth leg is fine now, despite him trying to make me think it’s not. He still limps a little, but I caught him using that limb to wrestle a croissant flake and push it around. Dinner tonight is salmon putanesca and French baguette belly bits. Not too bad.

He seems to enjoy capers.

Day 3

I caught him sleeping on his back. He has six legs, not four as I thought he did. He was limping on purpose, hiding the other two.

Maybe he was just scared. Those exterminators looked ferocious, and he didn’t know me at all, seeing that I called them and all. I just wanted my peace. My right to solitude, undisturbed. Was it too much? Anyway, he seems comfortable in his new home.

Oatmeal for both of us today. Instant. Must head to work earlier. Important project.

Later.

Got praise and a raise today! Big day.

John is fine, but can stay a while longer.

Steak and a splash of sparkly today.

We’re celebrating.

Day 7

John outgrew the new box. We’re now living in a shoebox with a plexyglass piece on top. Not only does he need some light, but air, too, so I drilled some holes into it and sanded the swarf down.

John’s food intake increased, too. He eats about 30 g of protein daily. I wonder if I should feed him crickets.

He responds when I call him and does a little dance. He can’t wag his tail, as he has none.

He’s not hiding his legs any longer.

Off to work.

The entire day I thought about taking John out of his box. Not quite to free him, but just from time to time, so he can walk around, stretch his six legs—all out and strong.

John is out, and he’s not running. He crawled on my hand, like the first day. A bit creepy. It takes time to get used to it, but that’s fine. Now, almost as long as the stretch of my joint, he rests in the crook of my elbow, like napping.

We watch TV together, and I swear he was laughing. My skin tickled a few times, not in an unpleasant way.

“Time to sleep, Desperado!”

Unbelievable, he went to his box all by himself.

He fully deserves half of my tiramisu.

“Night, Johny!”

Day 11

I’ve run out of boxes. I have no choice but to let him roam—just until tonight. I’ll look for a cage or something, but it’s one thing to be boxed in and another to live between bars. Inside a box, freedom has no taste, but behind bars, it might get one.

A small dish with oatmeal—if I eat it every day, it should be good enough for him too—and a smoothie made of smoked turkey, Greek yogurt, and a handful of almonds. Proteins are important.

Evening—Desperado was at the door, waiting for me. Fitting, since I returned home with a dog bed. An XL one. John loves it although it’s almost too small for him. Still, it’ll do for now. I sit on the couch, he on his new bed. I roll a joint and inhale profoundly. We both get the munchies and eat chips. The salt and vinegar kind. Who would have thought cockroaches like vinegar?

I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight.

Day 17

John sleeps stretched on the living room floor, his head on the XL dog bed, antennae hanging over the edge like flattened, sparse hair. I must cook him some eggs. He is eating more every day. I am happy just to see him eating, especially since my appetite has never been voracious. Three… four eggs, some cheese and a bit of ham. That would make a fine omelette.

A green smoothie. I’ll make enough of it for both of us.

I feel tired today. I’ll skip work, maybe spend the time relaxing, at home, with Johny.

Twenty-two days later

Brrring! Brrring!

“Coming!”

“Good morning, ma’am. We were asked to do a wellness check on your neighbor, Max Kindred. Do you know if he’s at home or maybe if he traveled somewhere?”

“Good morning, officer. No, I don’t. He’s one of those who keeps to himself, but now that you mention it—I haven’t seen him for days. Even his bins were left outside after the garbage truck passed. Now that I think of it, that’s unusual. Not like him at all.”

“Do you know of anyone we can call? Friends, family?”

“No, I’m sorry. We aren’t close.”

A screwdriver inserted in the right spot opened the door right away. The first uniformed man entered, with his gun drawn. He stepped back almost immediately, his face twisted in horror.

“Stop right there,” he yelled at the other. “Don’t come in! Cockroaches! Everywhere! On the floor, on the walls, the ceiling! We need the exterminators first!”

Twenty-four days later

Max’s coworkers start a Facebook group to investigate his disappearance. The group gets an instant following of three thousand members.

One month and a half later

BREAKING: Scientists Discover Human DNA Inside Giant Cockroach

It suggests that everything we knew about evolution is wrong.

“GIANT COCKROACH ALIEN RACE INVASION”

“The truth about aliens’ experiments on humans”

“THE END IS HERE AND IT’S BROUGHT BY COACKROACHES”

“Are You the Next Host? Find Out with This DNA Test”

On the ‘Find Max’ Facebook group, cute images of dogs, cats and political rants are now shared daily.

No one remembers who Max was.

Only the cockroaches.