I live with my family in a house made from mud and hay. It is very small, but it has everything we need in it. There is a kettle sitting on a black stove, there are cups and saucers on the shelves. There is always wood for the fireplace in winter, and there is laughter all year round.

My mother is sitting at the table preparing food for us. Grandad is half-asleep in front of the television. An old black and white movie is playing. We have no electricity, but my father has hooked a live wire to the grid and we steal all our power from there. It is a dangerous affair so I am not allowed to go near it. My two brothers are out working on the land with Papa.

When I grow up I will work the land too.

My grandmother is in the shed collecting eggs and cleaning out the chicken coop. We keep our chicks in wooden crates. They are lovely and warm to hold, but I no longer have permission to go near them. Ever since I accidentally squeezed one of the chicks so hard it suffocated and died I have been banned from going into the dimness of the shed.

I am very sad about it because I know my father was furious with me. He thought I was being senselessly cruel to a helpless animal, and he lost his temper, shouted at me, and told me he was ashamed of my behavior. A real man doesn’t hurt a helpless creature. Only a coward does that.

I tried to explain, but he didn’t want to hear. He left the house with a scowl, but my mother understood. She knew Mishka was my favorite chick, that I loved her, and I was only trying to love her better. Instead of cooking Mishka, she let me give her a burial at the back of the house. I cried when my mother shoveled dirt over her still, lifeless body.

With carelessness, I had killed the thing I loved dearly.

“Mama, where has Mishka gone?”

“Mishka has gone where all innocent creatures go. To heaven,” she said.

“What’s heaven like?” I sniffed, curious.

“Well, since she was a chicken, heaven is large pasture. There are no cages there. No one will steal her eggs. All the feeding troughs are full of seeds and the ground is full of juicy worms. There are no foxes so she can even stay out all night to look at the moon if she so desires.”

I frowned. “But, Mama. What about the worms then? Do they have to get eaten even in heaven?”

For a moment, Mama was stumped then she said, “Only bad worms go to the chicken heaven so they can be forever eaten. Good worms go to the heaven for where there are no chickens to eat them and they can live happily in the rich soil and the sunshine.”

That made me happy. To think that we lived in a fair universe. Do good and you are rewarded. Do bad and get bad in return.

“Do good people go to good people heaven when they die too?”

“Yes, my little bear.”

“Will you go to heaven, Mama?”

She grinned. “I hope so.”

“What’s heaven like for good people?”

“Well, it says in the holy book that heaven is the most beautiful garden you could possibly imagine. Full of greenery, cool shade, and running water. There are orchards full of fruit trees, fields of fragrant flowers, and angels come to greet you when you arrive at the gates. No one has to work. There is much to eat. Everybody is always happy and there is no such thing as sorrow.”

I listened to my mother in awe. “Will our whole family go there?”

“If we are all good, I don’t see why not?”

“But … what about Mishka? I killed her.”

My mother took my hand. “That was an accident, little bear. You will not be judged for that. Mishka knows you loved her and so does God.”

I frowned. “Is it Papa’s God or yours that knows?”

“Papa’s God and mine are the same. Just like you call me Mama and papa calls me darling and grandma calls me Nura.”

Did I tell you that my father is a Serbian and my mother is a Bosnian? My father is a Christian and my mother is a Muslim, but that did not stop them from loving one another. They loved each other with a passion that often made my grandmother ask for a sick bucket to be brought to her.

Later that day I laid a purple flower on Mishka’s grave, and went about my business. I had to pick firewood, climb trees, slide down the mudbank with my friends, cycling for miles, catch rats … life was good, you see.

It was better than heaven for good people.