On her pension, Mary Louise, apart from the usual utility bills and buying groceries at the wholesale sale, allowed herself a small treat—a packet of coffee beans.
The beans were already roasted and when she cut the corner of the packet, they released an intoxicating aroma. You had to inhale with your eyes closed, shutting out all other senses except smell, and then a miracle would occur! With the enchanting fragrance, a surge of strength seemed to flow into her body, and dreams of distant lands from her girlhood would surface—visions of ocean waves, the sound of tropical rain, mysterious rustles in the jungle, and the wild cries of monkeys swinging on vines…
She’d never seen any of it, but she remembered her father’s tales, always off on research expeditions to South America. When he was home, he loved to tell young Mary about his adventures in the Amazon Valley, sipping strongly brewed coffee, and the smell always reminded her of him—the lean, sinewy, sun-tanned traveler.
She had always known that her parents were not her biological ones.
She remembered how at the start of the war, a woman who became her lifelong mother found her—a lost three-year-old girl who had lost her family. Then, life unfolded like everyone else’s: school, studies, work, marriage, the birth of a son, and now the result was solitude. Her son, some twenty years ago, persuaded by his wife, chose to live in another country and thrived with his family in London. In all that time, he visited his hometown only once. They called each other, and he sent her money monthly, but she saved it in a specially opened account. Over twenty years, a substantial sum had accumulated, and it would go back to her son. Later…
Lately, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had lived a good life, full of care and love, but a borrowed one. If not for the war, she’d have had a totally different family, different parents, and a different home. Her fate would have been entirely different. She barely remembered her biological parents, but she often recalled the girl her age, who was always by her side in those nearly infant years. Her name was Annie. Sometimes she could hear them being called: “Annie, Mary!” Who was she to her? A friend, a sister?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the short beep of her mobile phone. She glanced at the screen—her pension had been deposited into her account! That was good news, very timely! She could take a walk to the shop and buy some coffee—she’d finished the last of it yesterday morning. Carefully tapping the pavement with her walking stick and avoiding autumn puddles, she reached the entrance of the store.
At the door crouched a grey, tabby cat, cautiously eyeing both the passersby and the glass doors. Pity stirred in her heart: “It’s cold, poor thing, and probably hungry too. I would take you home, but who would want you after I’m gone? And as for me… today or tomorrow.” But feeling sorry for the unfortunate creature, she bought a cheap packet of cat food.
Carefully, she squeezed the gelatinous mass into a plastic tray, and the cat patiently waited, gazing at her benefactor with loving eyes. The shop doors swung open, and a stout woman stepped out, her facial expression promising nothing good. Without a word, she kicked the tray, sending the chunks of jelly scattering across the pavement.
“You tell them and tell them, but it’s no use!” she barked. “Don’t feed them here!” and turned away with irritation.
The cat, cautiously glancing around, began to pick up the pieces from the pavement, while Mary Louise, breathless with indignation, felt the first pangs of an impending attack. She hurried to the bus stop—only there were benches. Sitting on one, she frantically fumbled through her pockets, hoping to find her tablets, but in vain.
The pain mercilessly surged in waves, as if her head were being gripped in a vise, her vision darkened, and a groan escaped her chest. Someone touched her shoulder. She slowly opened her eyes—a young girl was staring at her fearfully.
“Are you alright, grandma? How can I help?”
“In the bag,” Mary Louise weakly gestured with her hand. “There’s a package of coffee. Take it out and open it.”
She leaned into the package and inhaled the aroma of roasted beans once, then again. The pain didn’t vanish but lessened.
“Thank you, my dear,” Mary Louise whispered weakly.
“My name’s Lily, but thank the cat,” the girl smiled. “She was right here with you, meowing so loudly!”
“And thank you too, my dear,” Mary Louise stroked the cat sitting right next to her on the bench—the same tabby.
“What happened to you?” the young girl asked with concern.
“An episode, my dear, a migraine,” Mary Louise admitted. “Got too nervous, it happens…”
“I will walk you home, it will be hard for you to get there alone…”
“… My granny also has migraine episodes,” Lily recounted as they drank weak coffee with milk and biscuits in Mary Louise’s apartment. “Actually, she’s my great-grandmother, but I call her ‘granny.’ She lives in a village with my grandmother, my mom, and dad. I’m studying here, in nursing school, training to be a paramedic. Granny calls me ‘dearie’ too. And you look so much like her that I almost thought you were her! Have you ever tried looking for your relatives, the real ones?”
“Lily, dear, how can you find them? I hardly remember them at all. I don’t know my last name or where I come from,” Mary Louise recounted, stroking the cat warming on her lap. “I remember the bombing when we were traveling in a carriage, then the tanks… And I ran, ran so hard that I couldn’t remember myself! Terrifying! Utterly terrifying for life! Then a woman picked me up, and I called her mom all my life, and now she is my mom. After the war, her husband came home and became the best dad in the world to me! The only thing of my own I had left was my name. And my real family, most likely perished under those bombs. Mother, and little Annie…
She didn’t notice Lily shudder and look at her with wide, blue eyes:
“Mary Louise, do you have a birthmark on your right shoulder, shaped like a leaf?”
Caught off guard, the woman choked on her coffee, and the cat stared at her intently.
“How do you know that, dear?”
“My granny has the exact same one,” Lily quietly said. “Her name is Anne. She still can’t hold back tears when she remembers her twin sister, Mary. She disappeared during the bombing, during the evacuation. When the enemy cut off the roads, they had to return home, there they survived the occupation. But Mary disappeared. No matter how much they searched, they never found her…”
Since morning, Mary Louise couldn’t find peace. She paced from the window to the door, awaiting guests. The grey tabby cat didn’t leave her side, looking into her face with concern.
“Don’t worry, Maggie, I’m alright,” she reassured the cat. “It’s just my heart is pounding…”
Finally, the doorbell rang. Nervously, Mary Louise opened the door.
Two elderly women stood frozen, gazing at each other with eyes full of hope. In this mirror, they saw not the lost color of the blue in their eyes, the grey curls of their wavy hair, or the solemn wrinkles at the corners of their mouths.
At last, the visitor exhaled a sigh of relief, smiled, stepped forward, and embraced the homeowner:
“Hello, Mary!”
And on the doorstep, wiping tears of joy, stood her family…
